When first this happened I was given some level of sympathy. Both my illness abroad and the stresses of my return journey were known by my colleagues and it was understood that for a short while small relapses might occur. But as these attacks continued to grow in strength the light in which I was regarded began to dim. If these attacks happened in the morning I could lose a whole day's usefulness. The sympathy I had been given by Mr. Dennings since my visit to Parrel House soon faded, and I could sense my slipping from favour. No matter how I fought to control my humours these attacks continued with ever increasing frequency.
I had never before displayed any of the symptoms of a nervous disposition, and yet so soon after my return from Romsey it was noted that I would jump and twitch at the slightest noise. I have developed a discomfort if I remain in crowded spaces for too long, and the feeling of being watched has risen to an uncomfortably pervasive level. I cannot sit still for more than a few moments without feeling those searching eyes on the back of my head. What is wrong with me? Why am I suffering so? Even now, as I sit at my writing desk, every few moments I am compelled to glance behind. There is no place within this room where any may hide, or to enter the door without my noticing. Common sense dictates there cannot be anyone in here with me, and yet I am unable to stop myself from looking.
My situation came to a head in early November. There was occasion for one of the other clerks to venture down to the archives, and the condition in which I had left them was discovered. When I had fled that room I had paused barely long enough to cram all the papers onto the shelves, let alone give any thought to their proper place. At no point had it occurred to me to return and rectify this. When the condition of the shelves and the disorder of the forms I had been reading was discovered, Mr. Caine and Mr. Dennings were furious. Quickly they went about deducing the culprit, and soon it became obvious I had been the last person to venture there. I was called into their study, and, in the state of panic I was in, I found myself wholly lacking the wherewithal to defend myself or concoct some ready excuse. I was told in no uncertain terms of my disgrace. Moreover, my constant attacks had led them to believe the extra responsibility had proved too much for my constitution. Whether it was some lingering effect of my illness or simply a weakness in character, the firm could not entrust such important dealings to one as unreliable as myself. Their decision was that I would be returned to my former position as a mere clerk.
What has becoming embroiled with the Leer family and their cursed histories done to me? I cannot forget those things I have read or heard, nor make any sense of the questions they throw up. I have read and re-read the words in this journal, desperate that some logical and clear detail might be revealed in its pages. Yet my hopes seem to have been for nothing. I go over the facts as I have written them over and over again, but can make no sense of the mania that has broken my career and left me in terror of invisible fears.
Monday, 2nd December 1816
It is another dark and threatening day. Despite my exhaustion I woke well before any hint of the dawn. Bathed only in the baleful darkness of the early hour I was struck with the absolute certainty that some other presence shared the room with me. I cannot explain it, as it was pitch black and I could make out no signs of movement. I am ashamed to say I panicked, and clamped my head under my blankets like some callow child woken from a nightmare. Eventually I chided myself for a fool and gathered the courage to face the agent of my paranoia. Throwing myself from my bed I scrambled to open my curtains. The faint light of the street lamps was enough to calm me and allowed me to check once again that I was indeed alone.
Today, as I left the office, I purchased fresh lamp oil and a number of good quality candles which I have placed around my room. As much as I hate this weakness that has grown within me, I cannot face the thought of waking once again in the dark as I did this morning. I fear my nerves are broken by this business.
My days are duller now than they have been, and I wonder if this goes some way to explaining my wandering mind. The demotion of my prospects with Caine and Dennings has struck me hard. If I had only had the forethought to return to the archives and tidy the mess I left, I might have saved myself. Yet I allowed these fears to control me. I have lost that advancement on which I had pinned so much of my future, and let my mind occupy itself with this debilitating mania.
Wednesday, 4th December 1816
Yesterday I was struck by another of my attacks and, giving in to melancholy, decided to drown my sorrows. Today I am regretting it.
Only an hour or so into my day, the door to the main room in the office was opened for just a moment and I heard Mr. Caine dictating a letter concerning the Leers. Only for the briefest moment could I hear him, but suddenly my mind was swamped with thoughts and memories and an irrational panic. It was too much for me. Air seemed to rush around my ears, while at the same time my breath became shallow and hard to catch. Wholly unable to hold myself in check I almost broke down completely. Those around me looked on with the derision I deserved. I felt a wreck. A pitiable mockery of a man.
I managed to somehow muddle through the day, likely to a far lower standard than I should have, and on leaving passed by the way of the local gin shops. While I have never practiced abstinence, neither have I been a heavy or frequent drinker. Last night I drank huddled and alone, the eyes of my fellow clientele resting on me. My misery was my only company.
Eventually I found my way back to my rooms. As I lay there in my stupor, I found myself pondering on my situation with a new mind. Whether Edgar Leer had indeed been struck by some ancient curse or not, I cannot deny the fact that my involvement with his family has cursed me. My attacks had all taken place whilst dealing with the Leers. Perhaps if I could be free of them, I might be able to free myself of this mental affliction? I am young and resourceful and would soon manage to rise up once more from the lowly position I have found myself cast down to, whether with Caine and Dennings or with some other firm. I actually fell asleep in a far brighter mood than I had felt in weeks.
But my dreams? The dreams that assailed me last night remain with me now with a vivid, unreal recollection. It was a dream unlike the hovering nightmares I had previously suffered. I was in my cabin on the April Mercy, though not as it had been on the journey. The room did not toss and tip, but was sturdy as if stationed upon land. There was no door. All else was the same but there was no way for me to leave the room. How long I remained there in that prison of a cabin I cannot say, for time passed strangely as it often does in dreams. Nor did I seek out escape. In fact, I felt a strange peacefulness within me. I simply sat. Waiting. For what, I do not know.
I wish that sense of peace I felt remained with me now. I awoke this morning with none of the optimism I felt the night before. The subtle thoughts and creeping worries rest on my mind again. No longer do they come in sudden attacks, but grow like an infection. The words of Edgar's notes begin to float before my eyes with greater and greater frequency.
I go over and over these notes, desperately seeking some easy and mundane answer, but can find nothing. I know there is more to this than I can see! It cannot simply be in my mind. What is it? Something follows me. I am never alone, and I no longer fool myself into believing it is something of this world. I have come to the conclusion that if I trust my own mind then I must accept some outside influence as the cause for my condition. I am afraid. I believe I can only be free of this mania once I understand it more, and yet each time I have sought to make an understanding it has only led me further down the path of madness. Can there be an answer? Am I meant to know more? Am I capable? It has been almost a month since I have had any direct business regarding the Leers, yet my mind is assailed more than ever by this paranoia. Perhaps it is not they who hold this sway? Could it be they are peripheral? They must be included somehow. But how?
Tuesday, 10th December 1816
It is no good. I have tried to empty my mind of this whole affair but it is impossible. I had put this journal away, th
inking it another symptom of my mania, but every moment I was in my rooms I could feel its presence, the urge to put my thoughts onto paper. Even in my childhood I was never able to simply give up on a challenge. Each task I have undertaken in my life I have surmounted. Since my last entry I have thought much on this matter, and have deduced that this trait of character is the cause of my distress.
The only conclusion I can see is this: my mind recognises there is some answer within this mystery, and without finding the solution it will not allow me to continue with my life. It is no weakness of the soul that afflicts me, but an inborn and stubborn tenacity. Until I can solve the riddle before me I will be unable to know peace. This is why these thoughts return to me each time I try to move on; my mind rebels at a task left undone.
I have read and reread this journal until I can almost recite it by rote. I have spent my evenings reliving memories, attempting to recall any facet of my travels I may have left out; some detail, perhaps, that I believed unimportant at the time. I know there must be something I have missed, some key that will unlock this puzzle.
In doing this I have come to certain conclusions that must be accepted, however strange and unseemly. Firstly; despite all rational belief, it must be accepted that there is something about this business that is not of this earth. There are things in this world we do not understand; occult and unholy things that we, in our quest for peace and sanctity, choose not to acknowledge. I must accept that the reason I have been unable to rationalise the things that have happened to me is because they are not rational. There is something else, something supernatural. Many would call me mad if my acceptance of this fact became public knowledge. There are some, I am sure, who already whisper that my mind was cracked by my travels, and who would take whatever excuse they could to have me sent to the asylum with the fools and the lunatics. Despite that, I must accept this simple truth. What answer is there other than madness?
And what about this presence that has followed me since Buenos Aires? Still I sense it. I feel it in the empty room with me. There is no rational justification for it. Since I know I am not mad, I must accept the supernatural element.
Accepting this fact brings such a clarity to events that have otherwise defied explanation. How else was the cargo of the Endeavour not lost as all evidence said it should have been? That the winds that followed me from South America culminated in that one great maelstrom in exactly the same spot as the other poor vessel sank? That which was put down to coincidence by my naïve insistence of the 'rational' must, upon examination, be recognised as some external and malevolent force. There can be no rational explanation but the irrational.
Seeing this, my mind has found a focus it has lacked for many weeks. I can see the goal that I must reach in order to regain my composure and my life. I must come to understand what it is that has happened to me. Only then will my mind allow itself to rest, and my life be my own again.
It is now clear that in my investigation into the last days of Earl Edgar I stumbled upon something far greater and more spiritual than I at first recognised. Something, some evil phantasm, has become attached to me. This is the architect of all my suffering and woes. To combat it, I must comprehend it.
My first step must be in holiness. My fall in circumstances has required me to find cheaper lodgings, and so I have found a room in a decent house on the edge of town, close by a local church. There I begin each day in prayer, that God might grant me protection from that which haunts me. In this action I find a peace that has eluded me for so long, but on leaving the building once more the attending spirit settles upon me. It grows stronger now, perhaps sensing that I have resolved to battle it. I can go nowhere without the certainty it is with me. I have purchased a small pocket bible. I had hoped consulting its pages might give me some protection whenever I felt most assailed, but it grants me little comfort. Still, I shall be strong. I shall not allow this thing to overcome me.
I am resolved now to what I must do. Clearly Edgar discovered the story of the cargo from the tomb of Ptalantohtep. He must have been struck by some curiosity, and determined to investigate. Before his settling in Buenos Aires he was known to travel on such whims. I know there must be records of his actions and movements at Caine and Dennings. I must search them out.
Wednesday, 11th December 1816
Nothing.
I hoped to begin my search today. The papers I need will be in the archives. Once I have done this I will be able to move on. But today both Mr. Caine and Mr. Dennings decided to work late, and with both in the office I was afforded no chance to do so. Obviously my privileges have been curtailed and I can no longer make a visit to the basement without being questioned as to my purpose.
The presence at my shoulder seems stronger today. I could barely sit still. Its observance of my actions is an almost physical sensation, as if someone had their face mere inches from my shoulder. Each time I turn there is no one there, but the moment I face forward again I feel it. Several times I was forced to resort to my bible to calm myself. I took a passage at random and read until the sensations retreated to a point where I could make the attempt to focus on my work.
I hear those around me whispering. I fear my behaviour has been noted. Try as I might to keep my countenance plain, I worry my intentions are known. They would not understand. All those within the firm know of my disgrace. They all know I have no business in the archives. I must do it in secret. The one benefit I gain from my disgrace is none find it too strange that I stay so late. It is expected that I should work the longer hours to regain my former place in our employers' favour. Yet I cannot be seen to be obvious. I must find proof before anyone can understand what I have come to understand. But with those two remaining, I could not stay too long without arousing suspicion.
I am strangely tired. I have only just arrived home and yet my eyes are heavy. So heavy.
Thursday, 12th December 1816
Last night I dreamed. Falling asleep almost as soon as I lay in my bed, I was quickly whisked away; my mind taken unbidden with images and sights that I cannot account for. It was dark, yet I could see well enough. All was stone, or was within stone. A great tunnel stretched before me, never ending and somehow both greater than I could possibly perceive and yet so small as to enclose me tight. I ran; both pursued by and the pursuer of some agent I could not define. Fleeting glimpses of half recognised faces swept past, always gone before I could turn to look. A sense of fear and urgency filled me. I felt mad. There was no control. The stone enclosed and surrounded me.
I awoke with the lanterns still burning, thank the Lord. The room was cold with the chill of winter yet I was drenched with fear sweat. I sat panting, staring into the lamplight as gradually the pounding in my heart subsided.
Once again, today I was unable to seek those files I require! Again my employers stayed late. All day they watched me, until I could no longer remain without building suspicion.
Friday, 13th December 1816
At last! Today I was able to begin my search. My employers are now away on some business. I again designed to work late, enduring the stares and whispers of my fellow clerks as they one by one made their way home. I know they suspect me of something. Why must they stare so? I keep to myself, as much as I can with this damned presence over my head. I am careful. I know this supernatural observer is with me night and day, but what if that knowledge causes me to miss some earthly spy. The thought has not occurred to me before. I must be careful. I cannot afford for any to discover my course of action before I can explain myself!
With our employers away, no others had any need or desire to work late and I was soon alone. Quickly I rose and locked the door so I would not be disturbed. I worked fast. I hoped to be done with my task in one session, for as much as it was necessary I still recalled the emotions that had burst forth at my last visit and caused me to flee those dark confines. Searching carefully through the files, I found very little that was of use. There was no detailed report on Edgar's life. What w
e did have were legal notices and invoices, those papers required for the management of the Leer estates. The most I had to follow Edgar's progress were forwarded invoices from countries around the world.
The last official documents bearing his signature were from 1806, the last time Edgar visited England. I could not discern exactly what brought him back on this rare visit, but it seems someone managed to get his attention long enough to present him with a selection of legal documents for his mark. Knowing what I do of the man, I cannot think he cared much for the contents or paid much attention and signed for little other reason than to be done with it. Most were regarding the sale of the family's holdings or other payment of debts. Much of what used to be the Leer riches had been sold to pay for Edgar's extravagant lifestyle.
My work was stilted, as the whole time I felt the presence in the room with me. My concentration suffered, for I feared both the spirit and some earthly agent that might be watching me. Should I be discovered I would likely lose my position within the firm entirely, and with it any chance to find what I required.
As it was, I was unable to locate any one piece of solid worth, but was able to make certain circumstantial assumptions that smack of the truth. I could ascertain that after leaving England for the final time, Edgar and his wife next travelled to Egypt in 1807. There were various invoices that look to indicate he planned to undertake something of an expedition. This must have been it! Whether he learned of it before or during his visit to England, this final expedition must have been inspired by the mystery of the Endeavour. I can find no other evidence that Edgar travelled anywhere else before appearing in Argentina, where I know he stayed until his death.
The Serpent's Eye Page 9
