âWhatâs in cell 119?â
Albertson looked up at me for the first time since Iâd sat down. Iâd been building up the courage to ask about 119 for ten minutes, but his expression made me wish Iâd kept my mouth shut. He leaned across the desk, examining me closely. I felt suddenly nervous, was I about to be fired before my probation period was even up?
âWhat did you say James?â
âItâs just, I was running over some of the blueprints in the library and-â
He interrupted me, his voice full of menace. âWhat were you doing with the prison blueprints James?â
I tried to cover my tracks, I hadnât planned for him to pick holes in my story this quickly. âI was looking for possible escape routes, wanted to see if weâd missed anything. Anyway I found a discrepancy, at the end of E wing.
He leaned back on his chair, looking like a cornered animal, dangerous and unpredictable, liable to lash out any moment. I had to tread carefully. âWhat kind of a discrepancy?â
âOn the 1910 blueprint. I noticed E wing has an extra cell that isnât there on our evacuation maps - 119. I just wondered what was in there.â
He smiled. âDo you know how old this prison is James? The first inmates moved in here in 1824 and since then the site has been rebuilt no less than five times. The whole place is riddled with dead ends and empty rooms. If I had my way, weâd knock the whole thing down and start again. I wouldnât give it any more thought.â
âThatâs just it sir. I donât think itâs an empty room. Thereâs a door down there, blocking the hall to 119 and the inmates say they hear things from in there when theyâre in the yard. What if itâs an escapee hiding?â
âDo you think we wouldnât notice an escapee? It's rats James. Nothing more. Now if you want to get on in this job I advise you not to nose around in areas that do not concern you.â
He ushered me out and I headed out into the yard. 01341 was waiting for me, the oldest inmate here. Everyone just called him Doc.
âHello James,â he said, looking up from his seat as I walked by. âHow did it go?â
âHe told me to drop it.â
Doc chuckled. âI knew he would. Just doing his job though he doesnât even know why. It was all before his time.â
âWhatâs in 119 Doc?â He motioned for me to sit beside him. âYou know I canât.â
âI forgot. No sitting with inmates. Things didnât used to be like this but that Albertson sure has a rod up his ass about discipline.â He looked past me, checking to see if anyone else was listening. âIâd only been here six months when the wall blocking 119 fell down. I only found out because Harris was roped in to rebuild it. He was my bunkmate back then, a builder before he killed his wife. It was all a long time ago of course. I was barely out of my teens.â
I smiled, running my eyes across the yard to check on the other inmates whilst Doc wiped the sweat from his brow.
âHarris came back to our cell white as a sheet, trembling all over, carried between two guards. It was an hour before I got a peep out of him and even then it was barely more than a whisper. He stared up at me, his eyes watering. I still remember how scared he sounded. âThereâs someone back there Doc,â he says to me.
âI knew where he meant. We all did. The talk of ghosts in E wing was a regular topic in the canteen, not that any of us really believed it. Iâd only ever been down there once and I hadnât heard a thing. In my first week in here I tried to escape. Ended up down E wing when I ran up flat against that wall. It was the darnedest thing. The corridor just ended in a solid brick wall. It smelt of damp and something else, something I couldnât put my finger on. They caught me down there and I spent a week in solitary for that little escapade.
âAnyway, Harris said the wall had collapsed when they took him down there. Dust and bits of brick piled on the floor. Everyone in uproar, the governor yelling blue murder as Harris is told to start rebuilding. No time to waste. All the while, the governorâs pacing up and down, gripping a revolver in his hand and occasionally pointing it down the hall to 119, past the pile of bricks.
âHarris started clearing the rubble to one side when the governor yells at him, says thereâs no time but to just rebuild a foot further back. âI didnât know what the rush was Doc,â he says to me, âbut I do now. I saw it Doc. The eye that watches.â Iâll never forget that sentence. The eye that watches.â
He stretched his arms as another guard strolled past the two of us, nodding in my direction. Doc waited until heâd gone before continuing.
âHe set the first course of bricks they brought him. They were laid out along the ground when he heard it.â
âHeard what?â
âA banging coming from 119. Said it sounded like someone was hammering on the door, trying to get out. âWhatâs that noise?â he asked the guard bringing him another bucketful of mortar.â
âLet me guess,â I said, remembering my meeting with Albertson. âThey told him it was rats.â
Doc nodded, mopping his brow again as the noon sun beat down. âSo Harris kept building as the banging gets louder. âThat ainât no rat,â he says but the governor just whacks him with the butt of his revolver. âKeep going.â Harris looked up at me, his hands shaking as he seems to relive it all, his hands still coated in brick dust as I hold them in my own, trying to calm him. âIt started wailing Doc,â he says to me. âLike nothing Iâve ever heard before.â Howling and screaming coming from 119 and the governor doesnât bother trying to explain it anymore. Just points the gun directly at his chest. So Harris kept building, that wall went up course by course until itâs as high as his chest.
âThe governor started to relax a little then but the wailing didnât stop, not for a second, and as he pushed the last brick into place, he looks through the gap and the spyhole to the cell was open. âI saw an eye Doc,â he says, beginning to rock back and forth on the bed. âIt was watching me as I put that brick in place, screaming all the while. The governor tells me he wants another wall. One isnât enough and all the time heâs pacing up and down.â So Harris built another wall, knowing he was sealing someone up in there, entombing whoever was in 119. By the time heâs done, they canât hear the screaming anymore and the governorâs finally walking away, still muttering about rats. I went to sleep with the sound of Harris rocking on his bed but next morning I wake up and heâs gone.â
âWhere did he go?â
âI donât know James but I never saw him again.â
âWhatâs back there Doc?â I asked, a shiver running down my spine despite the heat in the yard. âWhatâs in 119?â
âI donât know James, but I think maybe thereâs an inmate in this prison thatâs been here longer than me.â
âBut thatâs not possible. Without food, without light. Trapped in there. Heâd have starved long ago.â
âMaybe, or maybe itâs someone that doesnât need food. I heard a story from someone once. They told me about an inmate that survived an execution. Survived three executions. They hanged him, injected him, even shot the bastard but he just wouldnât die. Did you know 119 was the condemned cell back then?â
I shook my head. âI thought the condemned cell was in B wing.â
âWhat if you were misled James? Life is all about what ifs. What if I hadnât taken the gun on that bank job? What if that cashier hadnât tried to wrestle it from me? Maybe I wouldnât be in here at all, maybe Iâd be a free man. Now what if you tried to kill someone and they couldnât die? A prisoner who couldnât be executed. You couldnât just let them go so what could you do? What should you do?â
âI donât know,â I replied, feeling dizzy all of a sudden and having to lean on the wall to keep myself upright.
âMaybe you could lock them away and try and forget about them. And maybe thatâs worse than execution for the man in the cell and you know what I think James? The thought that keeps me up at night, even now. I hope he really did whatever he was in here for and do you know why? Because to do something like that to an innocent man, someone we could be studying, find out just how theyâve lived this long. Maybe thatâs the real crime here.â
I mulled over Docâs words for a long time afterwards. What if there was someone back there? Kept locked up alone in the darkness for God knows how long. And what if they were innocent?
I had to see for myself. It wasnât hard to talk my way into E wing. I made it down to the end, past 116, 117, 118 and then I stopped dead in my tracks. The corridor was blocked by a solid iron door, a piece of old black tape covering the keyhole. In my pocket was a key, a rusty old key Doc had given me, refusing to say where heâd got it from. Pulling back the tape I shoved the key into the door, taking a deep breath as it slowly unlocked. The screeching rusty sound of metal on metal echoed down the hall as the door swung open towards me. I had the strangest feeling I was being watched but when I looked behind me there was no one there. I was alone.
Behind the door was a brick wall, just as Doc had warned there would be. But the damp had done for the mortar same as it had all those years ago and a shove of my hand was all it took for the whole thing to crumble to the ground. I coughed as a plume of smoke filled the air around me. Waving my hand in front of me to clear away the dust, I climbed over the rubble and found myself standing in an empty corridor. In front of me was a cell door, 119 painted just below the spyhole.
I took a step forward and then jumped as the sound of banging came from inside the cell, loud and urgent.
âIs someone in there?â I asked, still unable to walk up to the door. The smell was too powerful, a ripe, rotten stench filling my nostrils.
The only response to my question was a high pitched wail, a long drawn out sound that rose and fell, making my ears ring and sending me staggering backwards, anything to get away from that terrifying noise. I stumbled back over the pile of bricks and fell to the floor, banging my head on the iron door. I turned to face it as I clambered to my feet. The door was closed. I hadnât closed it. I shoved it with my shoulder but it didnât budge an inch.
The wailing died down a little, just enough for me to hear the key being pulled from the lock, trapping me in here with whoever was in 119. Whatever was in there.
âI told you to drop it.â The governorâs voice reached me from the other side of the iron door, shouting through to me. âBut you wouldnât listen. Whereâd you get the key James?â
âLet me out of here,â I yelled, hammering on the door as the wailing grew louder behind me. âLet me out!â
âYou wanted to know about 119,â Albertson called back through to me. âNow youâve got all the time in the world to find out.â
âWho is he?â I called, trying to keep my voice calm even as my heart raced in my chest.
âSomeone whoâs been here much longer than I have. Maybe longer than any of us.â
âBut who is he?â
âWhy donât you go and ask him?â
I edged towards the cell, my feet moving against my will, drawing me towards 119. The spyhole caught my attention as the wailing reached a deafening volume. Leaning forwards I peered into the gloom of the cell. I could just make out a shadow moving inside and then I staggered back as an eyeball appeared at the other side of the spyhole, bloodshot and watery and impossibly old, staring out at me. I fell to the floor, sliding backwards, anything to get away from that unblinking gaze.
I only stopped moving when I came up against the iron door, yelling for help until I was hoarse but nobody answered my cries. All I can do now is hope somebody notices Iâm missing and comes looking for me. Just sit here and wait with that unblinking eye watching me and a sound I think I recognise coming from behind the iron door. I canât be sure of course but it sounds a lot like someoneâs building a wall out there.