CARNACKI: The New Adventures (14 page)

“The dog whined, softly though I distinctly heard it, even through the glass of the window. The girl seemed to
stroke
the poor creature’s head for a moment, and then the ragged thing shuddered once, twice, and with a third convulsion it moved no more.

“The air of sadness that I spoke of? That hung over the woods, the cottage? It changed somehow then,
lifting
in a fashion, I suppose, though I could still feel it in the atmosphere around me. The figure of the girl stood up again, and from her hand trailed a thin thread of dull light; so minute was it that I believed at first that it was not really there, a trick of the light or some such. But, as I shifted my position slightly, I discerned the thread to be real, or at least as real as the entire scene playing out before me. There was little in my experiences with the unknown to inform me on what I had just witnessed; I was lost, a feeling I can assure you was not a welcome one.

“The spectr
e of the young lady turned and moved towards the trees once more, oblivious of my presence, or so I assumed. As I continued to watch, she did a strange thing as she approached one gnarled and particularly ancient specimen of oak. Once next to it, she reached out her hand again and set it just above a small part of the tree that had long ago formed a little basin or cup that had recently collected rainwater from a small shower earlier in the day.

“I suddenly felt that the apparition would be gone in a matter of heartbeats. Animation flooded back into me and I surged forth, hoping to approach the girl outside the cottage and verify her reality.

“I crept to the door of the little house and opened it, slowly and carefully. It creaked as doors will do on such old structures, and so I risked it all and flung myself through the opening and into the clearing. Turning towards the trees, with my naked eyes I spotted the ghostly form of the girl.

“My immediate impression was that she was, in fact, nude. This impression was then replaced with my di
scernment of wispy clothing of a sort that hung on her form like rags. Then, with colder realisation, I could see that the girl was draped in a shroud.

“Incredibly, she rotated in place and faced me. I swear to you that a look of puzzlement came over her features and then one of alarm. Forgetting myself, fo
rgetting my experience with beings of her kind, I opened my mouth to speak.

“Then, before my eyes, she vanished. Her figure grew dim and like a memory, faded from view.

“The miasma of sadness returned. I retreated to the cottage, spent. Falling into the armchair from which I had risen barely a few minutes before, I drifted into an uneasy sleep.

“In the morning, I exited the cottage and looked around the clearing. There I found the canine, quite dead and cold. That at least I had not dreamed. The girl
—well, at that moment I was not certain of anything. I removed myself to the cottage once again and re-exited an hour later, fed and cleaned and properly clothed for a short hike. I needed to think; and the great outdoors, I presumed, would afford me the clarity of thought and imagination I desperately needed.

“Before I struck off, I remembered something from the night before and, finding the tree I sought, looked down into its little water-filled cup. There, floating on the surface of the water
, was a small clutch of beetles, all very dead. I gazed at them for a moment and then moved off and away from Tranquil House feeling anything but tranquil. To be frank, I was in a bit of turmoil.

“I had intended to avoid Mr. Willow’s place, but, u
nsure of its exact location, I stumbled upon it a few hours later. The man in question was chopping wood as I approached and looked up at me sourly when he heard my footfalls in the dead leaves that swirled around us in the slight breeze.

“‘
Didja find yer ghost, Mr. Carnacki?’ he asked without preamble. I felt that I had little to hide and saw no reason for subterfuge.

“I admitted that I had.
Willow screwed up his features and spit on the ground near where he’d set his axe down. He looked back at me, shook his head ruefully, and returned to his chopping. As I moved to leave, I caught a momentary glimpse of a sickly-looking female face peering out at me from a window in the side of Willow’s small cabin.

“I walked the woods for another hour or so and then made my way back to the cottage. I had made up my mind about how I would approach another night at Tranquil House, inspired not only by the deep thought with which the walk had
gifted me, but also, somewhat surprisingly, the caretaker’s curious attitude.

“As night fell for a second time in my weekend at the estate, I prepared myself for the coming challenge.

“You may remember my previous mentions of the Sigsand Manuscript and how the knowledge within it had aided me on more than occasion in my cases. That evening I looked to it once again to guide me. There is a little-known portion of it that details a practice which has been referred to by numerous designations, but which here I will call the ‘false death.’ That is only an approximation in English, but one that will suffice for our purposes. I think, perhaps, you may see where this is headed, yes? Can you understand? I set out to enter into a state that night that would duplicate death but not wholly embrace it. Yes, of course it was a gamble—with the stakes my life—though at that time I didn’t entirely see it as such. The picture of the girl was becoming clearer to me, and I hope you will not think me mad when I explain my reasoning behind the attempt.

“The apparition had approached the dog
—obviously it had been wounded in a fight with another animal—only because it was dying. Near death, the dog offered something the girl wanted . . . or wanted to
do
. Am I being clear at all? Death was the key; not life. The animal was at the end of its mortal existence, and that had attracted the girl.

“My presence, after I had exited the cottage, drove her away. My plan was to approach death that night so that she would in turn approach
me
.

“As I said, I prepared myself. I was about to depart on a journey the likes of which I had never truly env
isioned previously. Oh, I have explored death in other ways, surely, as you and our friends have heard me speak of; but this,
this
was something entirely different.”

Carnacki paused then
, sat back into his great armchair, and took a few thoughtful puffs on his cigar. I wondered if perhaps he was debating whether to continue his narrative, but after a moment or two he spoke again.

“The Sigsand Manuscript is not entirely clear on a few points of the ritual, but I gleaned enough from it to enter into the initial tranc
e state and then . . . beyond.

“I had laid myself out on a sofa that I had moved closer to the door of the cottage, just below the window that I had used the night before to spy on the event in the clearing. At first, it was somewhat difficult to peel back the outer layers of my thoughts to quiet the
m, but on attaining the First Plateau I moved on to the Second. From there I fairly easily alighted on the Third Plateau, and there I paused.

“I will speak of the following matter as if the place I visited then w
ere a real, tangible environment. There is no other way. No physicality actually existed there, but I ‘saw’ the Plateaus as visible platforms of a kind—gateways, if you will, to the beyond. I looked back every so often, tracing my path and memorising it; there was always the thought of my return, no matter how deeply I must dampen my mental workings. There is no movement of any kind in death, outwardly or, most importantly, inwardly.

“Time passed, or the illusion of time passing. At the Sixth Plateau I paused again as anxiety washed over me; had I
gone too far? You will sympathise with me, surely, that anyone else would have asked himself the same question and felt the same small stab of panic at that same time. I, a living man, was in a realm that should have been closed to me. And I was not entirely certain that the path I had set out on was not disappearing behind me. And for what? To attract a spirit? The anxiety increased. I turned myself to look fully at my footprints, and it was at that moment that I sensed another’s presence.

“Something was approaching the cottage. My ‘false death’ had sent a signal, I suppose, and I was about to receive a visitor.

“I had no vision in my death-like state, no way of looking out into the waking world and identifying what was transpiring near my mortal shell. All at once, on the Sixth Plateau I felt cold. Mind you, there was no real heat to speak of along my path, but I had not felt cold, either. A numbness crept over me, and my panic rose like bile in my mouth. Outside, the door to the cottage opened.

“I tried to open my mouth to scream; it was impo
ssible. A light came on over my head that lit up the Sixth Plateau like a bonfire. Still the cold permeated my frame. Something drew nearer and nearer, a low rumbling like an approaching storm—no, like a great wave upon the ocean, a rushing of water that threatened to drown me utterly, body and soul.

“Soul, yes; that’s what was at stake. My soul. All at once I felt it being pulled
at around its edges, as if it were being lifted off a clothesline by someone eager to get in before it rained. I tried to shout again, but no sound issued from me. Something had my essence—my soul—and it was being taken from me. I could no more fight it then one can fight the wind.

“The irony of it all was that I was not dead, only playing at being dead. Do you understand me?
I was not dead.
But something or some
one
believed I was and was facilitating the final journey that I was not ready to take!

“I railed against it, struggling mightily and clutching
at my very being with all the power left in me after the descent—or ascent—from Plateau to Plateau. Oh, how I fought! It was the fight of my life, or at least I wrestled with the something as if it were.

“I admit that I had almost given up. The great rus
hing pounded in my ears; my very breath was being ripped from my lungs, and I felt myself dying for real. I was finished, surely.

“Then I felt the sadness. The very same sadness that infused the woods around Sir Miles’ estate, the ove
rwhelming sadness that I guessed sprang from the girl. It replaced the terrible rushing and washed over me in its stead. There was also a note of confusion; of that I am very certain. Whatever it was that had come for my essence was in great, horrible doubt. Shame came over me then: I had tried to trick it into approaching me, and the jig was up. I was not dead, only ‘play-acting.’

“All at once, it was gone. With absolute quiet all around me, I crossed to the Fifth Plateau, and then to the Fourth and back to my state of life, blessed life.”

My friend paused again. His face was ashen and drawn. I too felt the burn of shame on my face, for it was I that had brought him to relating the tale and to his present torpor. He looked at me through slitted eyes and motioned towards the liquor cabinet, divining his intention. I hurried to pour him a short brandy, and he sipped at it until it was gone. After several minutes, he seemed to gather himself together. I thanked God then and there that Jessop, Arkright, and Taylor were not present to see Carnacki in such a condition. He had always been a towering figure to us; an odd duck, to be sure, but someone we respected and admired. They needn’t see him at his worst as I had.

“I confirmed that I was alone in the cottage and then removed myself to bed. I slept for over twelve hours, don’t you know? The next day, I gathered my bags and walked to the manor and asked to see Sir Miles and his wife. Sitting them down in a cheery little room just off their library, I attempted to describe my experiences at Tranquil House. They were confused, of course; how could they not be? I myself was confounded at much of what I had gone through.

“Just then, as I finished my narrative, Willow appeared in the doorway, hat in and hand and a sober look on his weathered face. He asked if he could speak to his employers, and so I got up to leave. The man caught me at the door and asked me to stay; it seemed what he had to say was something I was to be included in hearing.

“The young girl, he explained, was his own daughter. She had died not quite two years before
, and a part of him and his wife had gone with her. Willow described a vibrant young woman who loved all life and most especially the little ones, a kind-hearted girl who never hurt anyone or anything.

“‘
She caught the influenza,’ said the caretaker, his voice breaking. ‘She never came out of it. We . . . beggin’ yer extreme forgiveness, Sor Miles . . . we buried her . . . buried her on the property, right here with us.’

“Sir Miles and his wife were clearly dumbfounded. They stammered out protestations, but not as you might think. No, they railed against the injustice of losing a child and asked why they were not told. Willow hung his head and said quietly that he was mightily angered when the girl had
fallen sick and the Paulys had not asked as to her whereabouts and still had not asked after her when she was gone.

“Sir Miles and his wife had no answer to that. A mi
nute passed, then two, and finally Lady Pauly asked if the ghost was most certainly that of the caretaker’s daughter. He nodded and said he believed so. She then asked why he had not told them that. Willow replied that he was quite sure that he would have been let go if he had brought up such foolishness, and that his wife was terribly ill herself and he could not afford to care for her and be without work.