The Agartha Talisman: The Agartha Talisman, #1

By Eden Lambert

An unassuming house, two missing children, a world hidden beneath our own.

When Abi moves home with her family, it isn't long until she discovers that the previously long-abandoned house holds a sinister secret. Fleeting shadows move between rooms, the family dog senses unseen forces, strange things happen. But this is no haunting.

A chance discovery triggers a chain of events leading to the opening of a portal to Agartha and caught between two warring factions, the mystery begins to unravel.

Alongside an unlikely ally, Abi embarks on a perilous journey facing physical and emotional demons. Danger lurks around every corner where creatures beyond imagination lie in wait.

Can she find the missing children and return home where things may never be the same again?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Eden Lambert
• Release date: Oct 24, 2024
• ISBN: 9798227025463

Book preview

PART ONE

Change

CHAPTER ONE

Black Cats are the Best Cats

Three hundred and sixty-two, three hundred and sixty-three, three hundred and...

Nearly there! came a cheery yet agitated voice from the driver’s seat. Two more miles to Melton! And for goodness’ sake, get your feet down off the dashboard! If we have a crash and the airbags go off, you’ll kick your own teeth down your throat.

Mum, you’re such a drama queen, said Abi, hauling herself upright in the passenger seat and scraping her tatty, worn-out shoes down the dashboard onto the floor. How much longer? she asked, holding her nose to block an odour which had been present for the past two hours, yet seemingly hadn’t bothered her until now. I’ve been stuck in here for ages and it stinks!

Only a few more minutes, and you know what Buddy’s fur is like when he gets wet.

Well, why don’t you ever bath him? she said, turning to scowl at Buddy, the family’s eight-year-old German Shepherd who was dozing on the back seat. He opened one eye to look at Abi, then closed it again. Buddy usually travelled in the car boot, but that was full of bleach, flannels, the vacuum cleaner and many other things which Mum had used to clean the old house before they left.

He had a bath six months ago, remember? You helped Dad to bathe Buddy and Sabre, just before he went to Afghanistan. Dogs don’t need bathing that often, and you know he doesn’t like it — you both got wetter than the dogs did!

Buddy was an ex-service dog and had lived with the family since he was a puppy. He was retired now, so they had adopted him as a pet. Sabre, also a German Shepherd, was nearly two years old. He was away serving in Afghanistan with Dad on his last tour of duty as a Royal Military Police dog handler.

Abi began counting the swipes of the windscreen wipers again — she’d forgotten where she was up to before. One, two, three...

Mum gave a sigh, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the steering wheel ever tighter to suppress her annoyance at Abi’s relentless counting. She started counting to ten herself, thinking calm thoughts.

A year earlier, Abi had been diagnosed with Asperger Syndrome. Prior to that, Mum had thought that she was just an awkward, fractious child, and that given time, she would grow out of it. But as she grew older, it became apparent that there was something more. She could be extremely short-tempered and get herself terribly upset over things to the point of hyperventilating — things which ordinarily wouldn’t bother anyone to that extent. She didn’t like to be around people and rarely had friends at school — she liked to keep herself to herself.

Dad spent so much time working away that Mum had been left to deal with most of this alone. Though it had been a relief to discover why Abi behaved the way she did, it was still difficult to adjust. She had found much of the help and support she needed from local Asperger Syndrome family support groups back in Aldershot.

Can you drive faster? I need the toilet, announced Abi.

Who’s driving? Me or you?

Will you teach me? she grinned, already knowing the answer.

No, Abi, you’re twelve — you know you aren’t old enough.

***

The rain had stopped as the car arrived outside the house. Abi had given up counting, but the windscreen wipers continued to judder and bounce back and forth across the dry glass.

Here we are then — home at last! said Mum, doing her best to sound encouraging.

This isn’t home, she thought.

Buddy, as always, was first to react, climbing slowly to his feet and giving his tired bones a stretch. The identification tag on his collar rattled like a mini cowbell as he shook himself vigorously, sending damp-smelling fur flying all over the seats.

Buddy! Stop it! screamed Abi, drawing up her knees and pulling her arms tightly across her face to shield herself from the clouds of dog hair swirling around the car’s interior. Mum, can you get him out?

In a minute — there’s someone I need to talk to, and you know Buddy is wary of people he doesn’t know.

Two men were taking the last of the family belongings from a van parked on the driveway as a smartly dressed lady stood by the gate, chatting to them. Mum opened the door, getting out to speak to the removal men as the lady hurried away.

We’re almost done here, Mrs Russell! announced a third man emerging from the house just as she closed the car door. Abi couldn’t hear what else was being said as Mum and the removal man engaged in conversation. He gesticulated wildly with his arms as he spoke while Mum listened, nodding occasionally, and this amused Abi. Mum could talk for England, so she had to smile to herself upon seeing her trapped in a one-sided discussion where she was unable to get a word in edgeways.

Buddy, now sitting up on the seat, whimpered and whined as none of the people outside were paying him any attention.

Abi’s smile quickly faded. Shut up, stupid dog! she said. Buddy slid down onto his tummy, letting out a disgruntled grumble. He didn’t understand English, but he knew when someone was cross with him, even if he wasn’t sure why.

Abi removed her glasses before pulling down the sun visor from above the windscreen. Opening the vanity mirror on the back, she began inspecting her long brown hair, picking out clumps of dog fur and dropping them to the floor. She flipped the sun visor up, just as Mum nodded to the removal man before turning back to the car.

Mum flung the door open, appearing much less positive than she had tried to be all day. There’s bad news, and there’s worse news.

The house isn’t ready so we get to go home? beamed Abi. She remembered the workmen had accidentally cut through a water pipe in the new place a few weeks ago, ruining the carpets and bringing down part of the dining room ceiling.

No. Repairs took longer than expected, so there’s no carpet in the spare bedroom.

OK, so... is that the bad news, or the worse news?

We’re only using that room for storage, so it isn’t the end of the world. The other thing is, they’ve dropped the television and broken it — they’re putting it in the cellar out of the way before they leave, as it’s too heavy for me to move.

Great! Abi sulked. No Dad, no internet, and no TV!

I know, said Mum. But we’ll make the most of it, won’t we? I start my new job on Monday. Tuesday is your first day at Lingfield Academy so we only have a few days to kill, and it gives us time to sort out our things. Everything will soon be back to normal — you’ll see. She was trying to be reassuring, but all she had achieved was in making Abi think it was going to be a long, miserable weekend.

She folded her arms in protest. Oh, fine!

Mum’s new job was as a part-time dental receptionist. Abi would usually be at school while Mum worked, but this Monday would be different — she would be home-alone for three entire hours with nothing to do. At least, nothing enjoyable — nothing other than sorting through boxes of stuff.

Abi pushed the car door open and climbed out, faking a coughing fit and flapping her arms around as if the loose dog hair was a swarm of angry bees.

This isn’t even where Dad works! she grumbled, spotting a plumber’s van parked outside the neighbour’s house.

It’s only two miles from here, across town. It’s the closest we could get.

Their old home in Aldershot had been what’s called an SFA, or Service Family Accommodation — a special type of house which the families of servicemen and women get to live in. Abi hadn’t minded that, as all their neighbours were service people too and Dad knew many of them. But this house was a Substitute Service Family Accommodation, or SSFA for short. These are regular houses, which are sometimes offered to servicemen and women when an SFA isn’t available.

Who was that lady? asked Abi.

I’m not sure, Abi, probably a tourist — she had an accent. It looks like there’s a thunderstorm coming! said Mum, hurrying towards the front door with Buddy trotting alongside on his lead. A rumble of thunder exhaled from the swelling storm clouds above. Thunder and lightning terrified Mum. Whenever there was a storm, she would insist on turning off the TV and unplugging it from the wall, ‘in case the aerial gets hit by lightning’. That wouldn’t be a problem today since the TV was already broken.

Mum’s fear of storms had rubbed off on Abi when she was younger. If a storm came at night, she would leap out of bed, running faster than an Olympic sprinter to the relative safety of wherever Mum was; either in bed herself or downstairs in the living room, and they’d huddle together until the storm passed.

Dad wasn’t afraid of thunder and lightning — he wasn’t afraid of anything. When he was at home on leave, he would carry Abi back to her bedroom and sit on the edge of the bed with her so they could watch the storms through the window. You can tell how far away a storm is by counting the seconds between the lightning and the thunder, he would say. Abi spent so long focusing on this, she had forgotten why she was ever scared of storms.

Billowing black clouds swirled above the rooftops. A subtle flash of lightning flickered in the fading light, illuminating the darkening sky.

One... two... three... four... five...

A deep rumble of thunder resonated between the rows of houses. Five miles away, surmised Abi. While she wasn’t afraid of the storm, she wasn’t stupid either. Lightning could do damage, however small the chance, so it was best to be indoors. Time to face this, she said, dawdling reluctantly towards the house, stopping at the bottom of the three steps which lead to the front door left ajar by Mum. One... two... three, she counted, hopping up each one before pausing at the top to look at a large, cast-iron door knocker shaped like a lion’s head, hanging in silent gaze on the heavy wooden door. A spider’s web of ivy crawled up the outside of the brickwork and slithered its way around the old sash windows. All the other houses on the street had fancy, modern-looking double-glazed windows and uPVC doors. She raised a tentative hand towards the door, pushing it open. It creaked and groaned with reluctance as she did so. This felt wrong — like she shouldn’t be here. I wonder if this is how burglars feel? she thought to herself, peering into an unfamiliar, dimly lit hallway as lightning flashed once again.

One... two... three... four... five... six... seven...

Distant, rolling thunder rattled the tired old windows — so low, she could feel it in her chest. Seven miles away now.

***

Stepping across the threshold felt like travelling back in time. The door swayed itself closed behind her with a long, agonising creak, stopping slightly ajar as Mum had left it earlier. Abi pushed it with both hands, closing it with a loud slam which echoed through the entire building.

She shuffled her feet on the antiquated tiled floor. The long, narrow hallway lead to an old-fashioned kitchen at the far end. Several doorways gave access to other rooms on the left, and a wooden staircase led up into a faint yellow glow coming from the landing. The house felt cold and eerie, like nobody had cared for the place in decades.

Out of the corner of her eye, Abi thought she glimpsed a shadow moving across the top of the stairs. Mum, are you up there? she called out, wondering where her new bedroom was.

I’m in the kitchen — your room is upstairs, second on the left. Can you sort your wardrobe out, please?

I must have imagined it — stupid creepy house, she thought. Abi often wondered how Mum could answer questions before she had even asked them, yet it happened with alarming regularity.

Flicking a grubby-looking switch on the wall, a bulb hanging from a wire at the top of the stairs began to flicker and glow, but the dark, wood-panelled walls absorbed much of the light. She climbed the staircase, gripping the wooden handrail and counting each step as it creaked beneath her feet.

Eleven... twelve... thirteen, she concluded, reaching the top and noting that some people thought that the number thirteen was unlucky. Abi wasn’t superstitious at all. In fact, opening an umbrella before you go out into the rain made perfect sense, otherwise you’d get soaked while you struggled to open it outside. Walking under a ladder is fine, too — better that than wandering into the road to get past it and being squashed flat by a bus. She also concurred that black cats are the best cats.

Second door on the left, she recalled. At the end of the landing, two doors faced each other. The one on the right led to the spare room, piled high with brown cardboard boxes — several with her name written on the side in black marker pen. She pulled the door closed so she wouldn’t have to look at them any longer. That’s going to take forever!

Her bedroom door was wide open, with pale light pouring out onto the landing. She peered inside to see her bed against the far wall, complete with her bedside table and reading lamp. An empty wardrobe, bookcase and chest of drawers stood to attention against the woodchip-covered walls, alongside more boxes marked, ‘Abi’s clothes’. The carpet was ancient-looking; a hideous dark brown colour with frayed edges. In fact, it was more of a rug than a carpet — it didn’t meet up with any of the skirting boards, revealing black-painted floorboards all around the sides.

Through the curtainless window, lightning flickered and flashed, now too distant to hear the accompanying thunder.

She pulled a length of brown tape from one box, opening it up to take out the clothes before hanging them randomly in the wardrobe. When she had packed up her clothes, she had craftily stuffed them into the box while still on their hangers, foreseeing the minor inconvenience of having to spend ages putting everything back onto hangers later.

Abi didn’t own many clothes. She hated to be the centre of attention, and even a compliment such as, you look nice today, would make her feel awkward and self-conscious. Her clothes were mainly dark colours and all very similar in style — that way she wouldn’t stand out or draw attention to herself.

As grim and uninviting as it looked, this room was to be her own safe space where, like at their previous home, she would spend most of her time alone.

CHAPTER TWO

A Paranormal Twist

Abi made her way downstairs, pausing at the top to consider sliding down the handrail — her plan thwarted by a large wooden acorn-type structure sitting on top of the post at the bottom. She winced at the thought of colliding with it backside-first.

Thirteen, twelve, eleven... she counted, checking that the number of steps hadn’t changed since she went up them ten minutes earlier. At the foot of the stairs, she grabbed onto the wooden acorn with one hand, using it to swing herself around a hundred and eighty degrees to face the kitchen, the soles of her shoes squeaking on the tiled floor.

Could you close that door for me? asked Mum as she washed and dried the cutlery, looking towards the half-open door in the room’s corner. There’s a draught coming up.

Abi glanced through to see a flight of stone steps leading down into almost total darkness. What’s in there?

That’s the cellar — they put the TV down there, so it isn’t in our way. Fancy a chippy tea? suggested Mum from the kitchen as she placed the last of the knives and forks into the drawer by the sink. I think there’s a chip shop just up the road, and I’m sure it’ll be open on Fridays.

Abi pushed the door closed with her foot. I guess so, she said in a rather unenthusiastic tone, though she was secretly pleased that Mum wasn’t trying out another of her ‘special recipes’ which was usually composed of things Abi didn’t like. On such occasions, she would opt out of Mum’s culinary experiment, playing safe with oven chips or pasta with cheese, and chicken nuggets or fish fingers.

Are we going in the car? asked Abi.

No, we’ll walk — it’s not far, and the storm has gone now. Buddy can come, too — a walk will do him good. Out of nowhere, the sound of Buddy’s collar jangled towards them. If there was one word he understood, it was ‘walk’. He stopped beside Mum, sitting proudly, waiting to be attached to his lead.

Abi twisted the door knob anti-clockwise, pulling it open — silently, this time. She slammed it closed, then opened it again, realising that the door’s hinges didn’t creak and squeak if she pulled it open quickly enough.

Stop messing about — I’m starving! said Mum.

Abi went outside, jumping down all three steps, splashing into a small puddle that had formed at the foot. Ew, my sock’s wet! she giggled. She had worn the same battered old shoes for more than a year; the sole of her left shoe had a split right across the middle, letting in water.

I don’t know why you won’t wear the new ones I bought for you.

Abi shook her foot back and forth in an exaggerated attempt to drain the excess rain water from her shoe. These are comfy — the new ones make my feet sore.

You just need to get used to them. Come on, let’s go, said Mum, changing the subject to avoid what would certainly end in an argument about shoes. It’s ten past seven. You might have to wait over the road with Buddy if it’s busy, she warned.

***

They reached the end of the street, turning the corner. Up ahead, an illuminated yellow sign with the word ANDY’S formed into the shape of a fish, marked a single shop in the middle of the row of houses.

No queue! said Mum, delighted that the foul weather seemed to have put most people off. Take Buddy and wait here, will you?

Abi took hold of Buddy’s lead. A blue litter bin stood outside the shop, overflowing with used fish and chip papers. The dog sniffed at its contents excitedly, before turning his attention to the bin itself, cocking his leg to mark the bin and everything in it as his own. Buddy! she scowled. Dirty boy!

He’s got to do it somewhere, laughed Mum. Fish and chips, then?

Yep, she said as Mum disappeared into the shop.

Hello there, said the man. What can I get for you?

Fish and chips twice — wrapped, please.

Coming up. We’re just waiting a few minutes for the chips.

The man behind the counter was a chubby chap, wearing a white jacket and trousers with red and white checks. He had a white trilby on his head, and a name badge on his jacket which read ‘Andy’.

Buddy sat to attention with his ears upright, staring wide-eyed through the open door of the chip shop. He let out a whimper.

And a big sausage for Buddy! shouted Abi.

And a big sausage for Buddy, please, repeated Mum with a wry smile.

Oh, I heard her! I should think half the street did! New to the area — military, I suppose? he asked. Andy had a lot of regular customers who were service families, and many had German Shepherds just like Buddy, but he hadn’t seen Abi or Mum before.

Yes, we’re moving in today — Sycamore Street. It’s been such a busy few days, I can’t be bothered with cooking tonight.

Well, that’s what Fridays are for! said Andy, lifting an enormous basket of steaming chips out of the fryer to drain.

The house is a bit run-down, to be honest, said Mum — clearly less happy with the new house than she had led Abi to believe. It’s a lot more old-fashioned than we’re used to.

Sycamore Street — number fifty-two, is it?

Yes, number fifty-two — do you know it?

Andy’s face darkened. Everybody knows number fifty-two — that place has been empty ever since... well... for donkey’s years. Salt and vinegar? he asked, scooping red-hot chips onto a sheet of greaseproof paper and placing a large piece of battered haddock on top.

Yes please, on both.

Andy placed the two fish and chip packages into a plastic bag with ‘Andy’s Fish Bar’ printed on the side in blue letters. And a sausage for Buddy — that’s fourteen pounds twenty.

Keep the change, said Mum, handing over fifteen pounds.

Thank you. Mind how you go, said Andy. Abi couldn’t help noticing the look of concern on Andy’s face.

Mum smiled awkwardly, turning to leave. Once outside, Buddy immediately set off in Mum’s direction, almost dragging a daydreaming Abi over. She pulled hard on his lead. No, Buddy! Bad dog!

He shoved his nose into the bag full of food, searching for the sausage which he already knew had his name on it, before the trio headed back to the house, with Buddy keeping the food under close guard.

***

Back at home, they sat at the table with food laid out on the paper it had been wrapped in — the only way to eat fish and chips. Abi poked at her fish with a