Unspeakable Secrets of the Aro Valley

by Danyl McLauchlan

  He wept until his mobile phone rang.

  Danyl took it from the pocket of his kimono and stared at it, dumbfounded. His phone! Of course! He checked the display: Verity. Verity was calling him! He was saved!

  He answered it. ‘Verity? It’s Danyl. Help me, I’m trapped in a well.’

  Her voice was fragmented and distant. ‘Hello? Danyl? Don’t speak, just listen. I need to—’ The rest of the sentence was drowned out by static. His phone gave a plaintive little yelp indicating his battery was dying. He didn’t have much time.

  ‘Verity! I’m down in a well!’

  Her voice cut back in. ‘— . . . no business of mine what you do with your life.’ The line was clearer now. He could hear her anger through the static. ‘But you could have had the courtesy to tell me you were seeing someone.’

  ‘The well at the top of Epuni Street!’ His voice rose several octaves. ‘Verity!’ She couldn’t hear him. Maybe it was the connection? He was at the bottom of a well, after all—that might affect the signal. He clambered halfway up the shaft, braced himself in position and held the phone as high as he could. ‘Verity!’ He shouted. ‘Campbell has me trapped!’ That should get through. He held the earpiece to his ear.

  ‘Instead you take her to dinner at a restaurant owned by my best friend. Oh, that’s real subtle. Why didn’t you just—’

  Unbelievable. Danyl bared his teeth at the phone. Here he was, in extreme, dire peril, and Verity was engaged in point-scoring and character assassination. Absolutely typical. He snapped at the phone, ‘You broke up with me, Verity, as I recall. So I can eat dinner with whoever I choose, whenever I choose.’

  ‘I didn’t break up with you. You were depressed. I left because I thought it would help you get well.’

  ‘Oh, so you were doing me a favour when you walked out and ruined my life?’

  ‘Everybody’s always against you, aren’t they, Danyl. When are you going to realise that your problems are caused by you?’

  ‘You know what?’ Danyl’s voice quavered with rage. ‘You left me. That means I don’t have to listen to this any more. The hell with you, Verity.’ He hit the disconnect button, and instantly appreciated that this had not been a smart thing to do. He tried to call her back, but it went through to her voicemail. OK, forget Verity. He hung up and dialled the police emergency number. The operator answered almost instantly, and then Danyl’s phone blipped again, the call cut off and the display light went dead.

  Danyl sank to the bottom of the well. He stared at the black plastic screen of his phone. Maybe the police could triangulate the signal, somehow. Or maybe Verity would come. She would realise his plight outweighed her own, selfish emotional needs. But did she understand he was trapped in a well? She must. He had been very clear on that point. She would come, Danyl assured himself. All he had to do was wait.

  He crouched in the cold mud, leaned against the wall and closed his eyes.

  ‘Danyl, wake up.’

  Danyl woke. He lay on his back. Verity was shaking him. She said, ‘There’s someone in the house.’

  Danyl had learned a lot in his first month of living with Verity. He’d learned, for example, that she liked to lie awake at night listening for faint, nigh-imperceptible noises—birds on the roof, cars on distant streets—so she could shake him awake and demand he get out of bed and investigate them.

  He replied, ‘We’re fine,’ and rolled onto his side and nestled into his pillow. Then he heard a door creak, followed by muffled footsteps coming from the rooms below. He sat up, clutched Verity and whispered, ‘There’s someone downstairs.’

  ‘Call the police.’

  ‘My phone is down there.’

  ‘So is mine.’

  Fine. Danyl got up, put his pants on and crept to the top of the stairs. The landing was bright with moonlight: the stairs descended into darkness. He walked down them, stopping halfway when he saw an electric light flick on, casting a man’s shadow across the hallway floor.

  Danyl shrank back as the man came into view: a tall, dark shape turning from side to side, whispering to itself as it moved down the hall. Danyl crept down the stairs as it passed below him. He backed into the kitchen, his heart pounding, and then slowly drew open the cutlery drawer and grabbed a butter knife, then tiptoed back to the hall.

  The closet door was open. Light streamed from it. The intruder was in the room-between-rooms.

  Danyl could hear the sound of splashing; liquid dripping. He inched along the hall; when he reached the door he pressed his back to the wall and peered around the edge.

  The room-between-rooms was piled high with cardboard boxes—mostly filled with Verity’s books and clothes—and dozens of framed photographs and paintings stacked against the narrow unfinished wooden walls. Campbell Walker stood in the middle of the room, a torch in one hand and a dark, rectangular container in the other. He wore a green surgeon’s gown with the DoorWay project logo emblazoned on the breast, and he was sobbing, taking in deep, rapid breaths.

  ‘Campbell?’

  Campbell looked up. His eyes were red, devoid of thought, overflowing with pain.

  Danyl leaned against the door. ‘Campbell,’ he said again, relieved. ‘You scared the hell out of me.’

  ‘Did I?’

  ‘My heart is pounding. I thought you were some psychopath.’

  ‘Indeed?’

  Danyl hadn’t seen or heard from Campbell for four weeks, ever since the night he hit him and fled his tower. Since then the building had stood dark and no one in the valley had seen or heard from him. Until now.

  Danyl said, ‘Listen, Campbell. I know we left things on a bad note.’

  Campbell did not reply. He bowed his head, his face dipped into shadow. Danyl cleared his throat. ‘I feel bad about what happened. Running out on you. Hitting you in the face with my satchel. Hey, do you want to go sit in the kitchen?’

  ‘I’m glad you hit me.’ Campbell’s voice was low. He did not look up. ‘It was for the best.’

  ‘Oh. Good. You’re welcome.’

  ‘After you left I opened your satchel.’ Campbell shifted position and the rectangular container tucked under his arm made a sloshing sound. ‘I read your notes. I read the ending of your book.’

  ‘Did you like it? Can I have that back, by the way?’

  ‘It means you can stop pretending. I know what you are. I understand everything now.’

  ‘Everything?’

  ‘Everything. I know what the DoorWay compound is.’ He kicked something at his feet. ‘And I know what this abomination really is.’ Campbell dipped his torch. It lit up a large cardboard box: the printing on its side read, ‘Saltwater Sponge Gametes’. The archive. Danyl’s novel.

  Danyl had expected this moment. Campbell’s final reckoning. Although Campbell was acting weirder than he’d anticipated. He replied, ‘Yes. About the archive. I knew you’d come asking about it. Actually I’m surprised it took you this long.’

  ‘I’ve been lost in darkness,’ Campbell replied tonelessly.

  ‘OK. Anyway I’m fully prepared to turn it over to you. What I’m suggesting, though, is that you let me keep it for a few more months, and I use the basic ideas in there as inspiration for my next book, which won’t mention the DoorWay Project at all. In return, I’ll give you a share of the profits when it’s published. Deal?’

  Campbell did not reply. He fumbled with the container in his hands, and then tipped it upside down. Liquid poured from it, covering the box at his feet. He said, in a voice of quiet conviction, ‘The way must be closed.’

  ‘I feel like we’re not negotiating.’ Danyl made an encouraging back-and-forth gesture. He smiled winningly, and then the smell of the liquid reached him. ‘Is that petrol?’ He coughed. ‘Campbell? Are you here to burn down my house?’

  ‘I’m here to rid the world of an atrocity. But so what if I a
lso burn down your house? Didn’t you burn down my life? Aren’t you trying to burn down our whole world?’

  ‘No. Not really.’

  ‘I trusted you and you betrayed me. I raised you up out of nothing and made you my bard.’

  ‘I don’t really know what we’re talking about.’ Danyl tried to sound very, very reasonable. ‘But if we stop pouring petrol on things and go into the kitchen and talk over a coffee I’m sure we can work things out non-combustibly.’

  Campbell tossed the empty petrol canister aside. It landed with an empty clatter somewhere behind him in the darkness. ‘I can’t sleep!’ he cried. Every time I close my eyes I wake up back there. How can you stand it?’

  ‘Or how about tea,’ Danyl said soothingly. ‘I think we have jasmine.’

  ‘The nightmare ends tonight.’ Campbell took a plastic cigarette lighter from his pocket and lit it with a flick of his thumb. Danyl yelped and stepped backwards.

  ‘Campbell. Please, you’re a reasonable man.’

  ‘Death to the conduit!’

  Danyl remembered that he was holding a knife. He flourished it and it gleamed in the torchlight, but Campbell was oblivious to the weapon. He was whispering something and staring into the fire, and it occurred to Danyl that a man standing in a pool of petrol holding a naked flame would not be receptive to physical threats.

  So how to proceed? Reason wasn’t working. Trickery? Run away? The best approach, he decided, was to rush Campbell and hope the lighter didn’t land in the petrol. He tensed himself, ready to strike; Campbell raised the lighter high above his head. He met Danyl’s gaze and whispered, ‘Your master’s plan ends here.’

  ‘No! Wait—what master?’

  Campbell didn’t reply. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath . . .

  A voice shouted, ‘Campbell!’

  His eyes flicked open and Danyl jumped, startled, as Verity appeared beside him in the doorway, holding a glass of water. She threw it at Campbell, dousing the lighter. He stared at her in shock, and then sparked the lighter again, ineffectually. It dropped from his fingers and he sank to the ground, a high thin wail rising from his sobbing frame. He reached into the archive and pulled out a handful of petrol-soaked pages, then clutched his head in his hands and pounded the side of his skull with his fists. ‘Abomination,’ he moaned, pressing the pages against his face. ‘Abomination.’

  ‘Give me a minute alone with him,’ Verity said, patting Danyl’s arm. ‘I’ll take it from here.’

  ‘I’m not leaving you with him. He’s literally insane.’

  ‘He’s sick,’ Verity replied, ‘and I can help him. By myself.’

  She backed Danyl into the hall and closed the closet door in his face. He stood in the sudden darkness, blinking with confusion. He heard footsteps, then the sound of Verity’s voice murmuring in the next room: soft, reassuring, calm. Then silence broken by Campbell’s choked replies.

  Danyl pressed his ear against the door, straining to make out the words. Campbell gasped, ‘How is that possible?’ Then his voice lowered, and all Danyl heard were whispers and the sound of petrol dripping.

  He went to the kitchen and filled a stockpot with water and stationed it by the closet door, just in case things got out of hand. Then he went back to the kitchen and served himself a slice of Verity’s banana cake, and ate it as he waited.

  What could they have to talk about, he wondered. Campbell had obviously gone crazy. Did the DoorWay drug rob him of his senses or, since he was always, frankly, kind of crazy, did it tip him over the edge? Was Verity safe in there with him? Wasn’t it Danyl’s role as her boyfriend to protect her from crazy men drenched in petrol?

  He was still wrestling with these questions when the door to the room-between-rooms opened and Verity and Campbell emerged. Campbell’s eyes were dry. He looked calm. Subdued. Annoyed.

  Verity said, ‘Get him a glass of water.’

  ‘I don’t want your filthy tap water.’

  ‘Hey, sounds like the old Campbell’s back.’

  ‘Silence, imbecile.’

  ‘We’ve reached an agreement,’ Verity said, leading Campbell into the kitchen. ‘Campbell has agreed not to burn down our house.’

  ‘Nice work baby.’

  ‘In return,’ she continued, ‘we’ll agree never to publish anything from the archive, or ever mention the DoorWay project to anyone, on pain of destruction. I told Campbell about our other archive.’ She widened her eyes at Danyl as she spoke. ‘With digital copies of your DoorWay notes.’

  ‘Oh, the digital archive.’ There was no digital archive. Danyl nodded. ‘Yes.’

  ‘And I threatened to make it public if anything happens to us, or our property. We’ll post it on the internet, hand out photocopies in the streets—’

  ‘Like samizdat?’

  ‘Sure, Danyl, like samizdat. The point is, Campbell, if anything happens to us, the world will know about DoorWay. Leave us be, and we’ll remain silent. You can trust us. You have our word.’

  ‘Trust you? Your word?’ Campbell looked at her with disgust. ‘You have made a compact with everything that is unholy, and you dare talk to me of trust?’ He turned to Danyl. ‘Please, writer.’ His eyes were imploring. ‘She doesn’t know what she’s doing. She can’t. But you understand what I’ve seen, what this arrangement will do to me. You can’t leave me in this condition. Have some humanity.’ He reached out, his fingers outstretched. ‘Please.’

  ‘I do want to have some humanity.’ Danyl hesitated. He wasn’t sure how to put this. ‘But I still have no idea what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Fine!’ Campbell snatched his hand back. His eyes were narrow slits, boiling with fury. ‘I should have expected no less. You have your truce. But mark my words, you haven’t seen the last of me. Someday—yes, someday—I will destroy you.’ He fixed them both with a baleful glare and sneered, ‘Goodbye, traitors. You deserve each other.’

  He turned his back on them and marched across the kitchen, breaking stride to lash out and knock the tin containing Verity’s banana cake off the table. It landed on the floor face-down. Danyl stepped towards it, but Verity stopped him. ‘Let it go.’

  Campbell walked through the back door, trailing the scent of petrol and madness. They watched him stumble across the uneven terrain of their backyard and then disappear into the darkness. A few seconds later the sound of sobbing carried through the icy spring night air.

  ‘Where’s he going?’

  ‘There’s a path back there,’ Verity replied. ‘But I don’t think he knows that. Poor creature.’

  ‘Poor creature?’

  ‘You heard him. The DoorWay compound has obviously driven him insane. He needs help.’ She put her hand on Danyl’s arm. ‘But he’s beyond our reach. I can’t imagine who could cure him.’ She stared after him sadly, and then shook her head. ‘Let’s go back to bed. We’ll clean up in the morning.’

  She led him down the hall and up the stairs, then stopped at the top and sniffed her kimono. ‘There’s petrol on my robe.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘Could you wash it for me tomorrow?’

  Danyl slid it from her shoulders and kissed the back of her neck. ‘You can count on me.’

  Hours passed. The circle of sky overhead changed from blue to black. He crouched at the bottom of the shaft, so lost in his memories that he didn’t notice the sound of footsteps beneath the evening birdsong until they were almost upon him.

  Was it the police? No, they would have dogs and helicopters. Verity! It had to be Verity! Relief washed over him. He stood and called out, ‘I’m down here!’ The footsteps quickened.

  She had come for him! He was saved! He looked up with a joyous smile as a head appeared over the mouth of the well.

  ‘Hello, traitor.’

  He sat down again.

  ‘There’s a metaphor at work here,’ said the Campbell Walker
, his voice dripping down the well shaft. ‘You’re stuck down there in the darkness, and I’m above you in the light.’

  ‘It’s night-time.’

  ‘Silence. I’m above you in the metaphorical light. Your perspective is limited. You glimpse only a fraction of things, while I gaze out at magnificent vistas—’

  ‘In the darkness.’

  ‘And see all and understand even more. What I’m saying here is that your place in the well symbolises ignorance and I symbolise enlightenment. Do you see?’

  ‘I think I get it. Are you here to let me out of this well?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘And no.’ Campbell chuckled. ‘I’ll release you in a symbolic sense, in that I will tell you the story of my search for the Priest’s Soul and thus free you from your ignorance. But in actual physical terms, no. You’re staying in the well.’

  Danyl squinted up. Campbell’s head was just a gap in the stars overhead. ‘Just tell me one thing.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘What is it?

  ‘What is what?’

  ‘What is the Priest’s Soul? Also, where is it? I guess that’s two things.’

  There was an astonished silence from the top of the well. Campbell laughed incredulously. ‘What is it? Is that what you asked? Are you really that stupid? All this time you’ve been searching for something you know nothing about?’

  ‘I’ve only been searching since yesterday.’

  ‘Oh, foolish little traitor.’ Campbell laughed again. ‘The Priest’s Soul is knowledge. The Priest’s Soul is power.’

  ‘OK, but more specifically, what is it? What does it do?’

  ‘Its exact properties are mysterious. Lost in the mists of—’

  ‘You don’t know either.’

  ‘Silence!’ Campbell pounded the stone lip of the well. Presently he said, in a calmer voice, ‘I know enough. Prepare yourself traitor, and I will tell you the true story of the Priest’s Soul.’