MANCHESTER HOUSE

by Donald Allen Kirch

  "You have an obligation to SOURCE, Jonathon," Night insisted, pointing a fatherly finger at him. "Regardless of the fact that our methods are different, you have an obligation. I hope that we can at least understand this phenomena should we survive. That way if faced by another team they would know how to control it. In controlling it, we could learn to understand."

  "You're right," Holzer agreed.

  "More than right, my friend," Night joked, although rather dryly. "I intend to, as you Americans say, 'kick some ass'."

  Holzer laughed. He couldn't help it. He stared at Night with softness in his eyes which showed more than friendship.

  "Thank you, my friend," Holzer said.

  "Thank you, Jonathon." Night bowed his head.

  Both men separated, doing what they could to get ready for the job that was ahead of them. Night, joining Lars by the main staircase, took his weapon from the deaf man, inspecting it. Lars, Holzer noticed, had opened Night's conjure kit and the old man was taking out several objects and putting them in the many pockets inside his black cloak. Holzer could see that Night was loading up his arsenal, hoping to battle a wolf but prepared if he ran into a grizzly.

  Holzer turned to his team, doing all that he could to control his own fears.

  "Okay, guys, we have to do this by the numbers." Holzer found himself pacing and rubbing his hands together. You could take the man away from academia, but you couldn't take academia away from the man. "What equipment do we have left, and does it work?"

  His team members stared at each other blankly. They could not believe what they were hearing.

  "Professor," Miranda stated, tired, "almost all of our equipment is damaged or close to it."

  "Don't you think that I know that?" Holzer stated, controlling his emotions. At no point did the professor want to show his anger. Once he showed his anger, his fear would not be too far behind. "Focus, people. Focus. What do we have?"

  Miranda and Teresa started rummaging through the stack of equipment.

  "Thermometer," Teresa said, holding it up.

  "An old EMF reader," Miranda stated, disappointed. "Both EMR detectors are fried. Guess we will have to use this thing."

  "Better than nothing," Holzer agreed.

  "Compass," Miranda said, placing the thing around her neck.

  Sinclair found an old instamatic camera, holding it up with surprise.

  "Hey, Doc, found a camera! I'm back in the game."

  "Great!" Holzer beamed. "Glad to hear it."

  "No monster's going to keep me from filming this event," Sinclair stated, reading the back of the camera. His face started to droop in disappointment. "Even if I only have two exposures left."

  In any case, the SOURCE team was up and running in less than two minutes. They all gathered up their gear and joined both Night and Lars by the main staircase. The house was way too dark to just walk through it, and they only had one flashlight left to venture through the dark.

  "Jonathon," Night said.

  "Yes?"

  "Look on the bright side."

  Holzer waited, saying nothing. His body language, however, told Night to continue with his thought.

  "This case is well worth a semester of college studies and should provide your students with something more than the ordinary."

  Holzer gave the opinion some thought and for the first time since he woke up, the professor had something to smile about. "Good point."

  "Of course it is a good point."

  "I could possibly write a paper on this as well."

  "Or a book."

  "Perhaps."

  Night smiled, loading his crossbow with oil. "Perhaps."

  Manchester House seemed to get darker. It was particularly creepy since the lights from the camera and other flashlights were not around on this extraordinary night. Holzer promised himself that he would never allow broken flashlights to get in his way ever again. He cursed himself for not thinking of extra lighting.

  "Why is it so dark?" Sinclair asked, his instamatic camera posed in his hand just in case.

  "The house is aware of our intentions, Mr. Sinclair," Night explained. "That is all."

  "Right," Sinclair responded, his eyes filling with a sarcastic wonderment.

  Night studied the cameraman's reaction and knew that the man was making fun of Night's morbid warnings about Manchester House. But this didn't bother Night. He had been faced with many a "modern man" who scoffed at his teachings, warnings, and images of dangers yet to come. That was the way of things.

  So as the SOURCE team, Night, and Lars approached the mansion's basement door, all Ingrid Night could do was match smile with skeptical smile.

  "Humor, Mr. Sinclair," Night said, slowly opening the door to the basement, "is a powerful weapon, sir. One, I have noticed, that you use with superior skill."

  "So?" Sinclair said, placing his camera on his belt.

  "You will have need of it this night."

  Both men exchanged a hard and long glance. Out of the corner of Night's eye, Holzer could be seen watching the two, wondering what had just taken place.

  "Jonathon, I would advise you to keep this one for use later in the battle."

  Holzer nodded his head, agreeing.

  "Battle?" Sinclair asked, confused. "What battle?"

  "The one we are heading into, Mr. Sinclair."

  Night opened the door, offering Sinclair the chance to lead the way.

  To everyone's surprise, Sinclair started toward the door.

  Before the cameraman could venture beyond the threshold of the basement door, Lars respectfully placed his hand forward, pushing Sinclair away from the dark opening, stopping him. At first Sinclair was upset, but upon seeing the look on Lars' face -which held no ill will-the cameraman stepped back instead.

  Night laughed.

  "Do not feel so bad at this, cameraman," Night said, patting Sinclair on the shoulder. "Because there is great danger, I will go first. But you can follow me if that is your wish, sir."

  Sinclair turned to look into Holzer's face.

  "What do you say, Doc?"

  "Do what is best for the group, Mr. Sinclair," Holzer said. "But do not stand in the way. We have others who are seeking answers here as well."

  Night raised his hand with a reassuring gesture. "Believe me, Jonathon, you will all see what is going on, but from past evidence of this place I will lead. I do not wish to place any more lives in danger. Agreed?"

  All team members nodded their heads in agreement.

  The battle was on.

  Sinclair stepped forward, readying his camera. He took his place as second in line.

  Night, hollowly laughing, agreed.

  Lars let the cameraman pass.

  * * *

  Night stood at the opening of the basement door on the edge of battle and froze. He closed his eyes, using only his hearing. Stretching out his senses, he waited.

  "Tell your people what I require, Jonathon," Night whispered.

  Holzer looked up at his friend and realized that Night was praying-preparing for a fight. How many times in his life had he seen this strange and mysterious man do this very thing? There was something noble in the act, and something very frightening. Night had mentioned Sterling Castle earlier in the day and Holzer had been there to see Night's battle. The whole thing took over a week, and Holzer still winced at the memory of the iron taste of blood in his mouth. The horror of it all!

  However, this latest SOURCE team was new to Ingrid Night.

  They had the right to be warned.

  "People," Holzer began, clearing his throat. His nervousness was compounded by the fact that Night was chanting in Hebrew in front of him, blessing the area around the basement's door. "I need you all to listen, and listen carefully."

  All eyes fell on Holzer.

  "Our fellow colleague Ingrid Night is currently cleansing himself for the confrontation he feels will be soon to come."

  "Professor?" Miranda asked, her clipped accent brightening up t
he night air. "What are we venturing into here?"

  "War," was all Holzer could say. "I'm afraid once we enter this door, science as we know it will no longer apply."

  "Doc?" Sinclair asked, his eyes questioning.

  "Mr. Night is a soldier of a very old religious order who has used SOURCE to his ends. After all, he is one of the founders, by God!" Holzer paused. "Just be careful, and do not trust what the beast tells you. Stay on the path that Night is opening."

  "In other words, 'don't stray onto the moors'," Sinclair joked, faking a rather bad English accent, which he noticed caused Miranda to give him a discouraging face.

  "Mind your ass, that is what I'm saying. This is serious, people. You all entered into the realms of parapsychology to seek answers. Now's your time to find them."

  "Professor? Can we trust what we are doing here?" Teresa asked.

  Holzer looked into the brown eyes of the young psychic and was troubled by her innocence. Would she be able to tackle this adventure?

  "No," the professor finally stated.

  "Can we still use our scientific equipment, Professor?" Miranda finally asked.

  "I would be disappointed if you didn't," Holzer replied, trying to control his pride in Miranda's zeal. "After all, we are still scientists."

  "After a fashion." Miranda winked.

  "After a fashion," Holzer agreed.

  Holzer turned to face Night. He was third in line, followed by Miranda and Teresa at the end. It was the silent suggestion of Lars that the young psychic be at the rear in case "something" wanted to attack from behind. Using her powers would be a good insurance to seek out any hidden enemies.

  "Ingrid, we're ready." Holzer's voice betrayed the fear that was behind his words. His hands were shaking.

  * * *

  Night stepped onto the basement's first step.

  "I am a servant of God," he prayed. "Evil will not harm me, for it fears my conviction. The Lord is my guide and he is my shield."

  The house became aware of Night's presence and knew of his power. Night was sure of this and could feel the air around him become difficult to walk through. As if solid, the air was becoming a force he had to battle.

  "Lars!" Night yelled, holding out his hands.

  By the same mysterious reasons as before, the deaf man seemed to sense his master's call and his needs. Reaching into Night's conjure kit the deaf man produced a pair of funny goggles, placing them into Night's callused hand.

  "Night goggles?" Holzer asked.

  Night turned, giving his young friend's curiosity a friendly nod. "Something like that. Yes, my friend."

  Night put on the goggles.

  A Tibetan monk he had met in China gave the goggles to him during the revolution that nation had in the fifties. They were made from a stone which, it was said, fell to earth from "the tears of God." Night had discovered long ago that the goggles saw what mortal eyes could not-they had saved his ass more than once.

  "Oh my!" Night said, adjusting the focus of the lenses.

  Manchester House was indeed aware of their attempt to get to the haunt's heart. Manipulating the air, Night could see several invisible tentacles arching from wall to wall, creating a sort of psychic spider web in the entire entrance to the basement. So thick were these invisible strings of energy, they seemed to make the very air dense and more difficult to pass through. In all his life, this was a unique thing for an experienced warrior of the supernatural.

  "What do you see, Ingrid?" Holzer was heard asking.

  Night turned, looking at Holzer. With his goggles on, Night looked like an alien bug of some kind. He was clearly excited.

  "Jonathon, the Lancelot-Pool ley line is real! There is proof of the energy coming from as well as stopping at this site."

  "Proof?" Holzer asked.

  "Proof!" Night confirmed. "The energy seeping up from this foundation is amazing. Quite extraordinary, if I do say so!"

  Night turned back, motioning with his hands to have everyone follow him.

  The energy rods seemed to stop their attack once Night had made everyone aware of them. Kind of like the old superstition of saying "Boo!" to help alleviate one's fears on a cold autumn night.

  The rustling of plastic started to attack everyone's ears.

  "Here comes the plastic sound," Sinclair said, his voice clearly frightened.

  The mood of the basement was dark. Upon descending, they should have ventured down a seven-foot decline, fourteen stairs, and two concrete steps, onto a cobblestone foundation.

  What they found wasn't on the blueprints.

  Night took off his goggles. He rubbed his eyes.

  "Dear God!"

  * * *

  Holzer, looking up from his EMF reader which he didn't like as much as the EMR detector-less reliable around electrical wiring-realized that the line had stopped. He too was feeling uneasy. He had counted thirty-eight steps to the bottom of the stairs.

  "Professor?" Teresa asked, placing her shaking hand on his shoulder. "Why have we stopped?"

  Holzer looked up at what Night was marveling at and he too was at a loss for words.

  The entire foundation of Manchester House had changed, grown, and broken free from its normal time and space. Where there had once been a simple natural stone foundation, four walls and a furnace basement, there was now an endless space that seemed to stretch out as far as the eyes of the SOURCE team could see.

  Holzer had once investigated a haunting on board a famous naval aircraft carrier and had befriended a retired Commander. It was during this friendship that Holzer learned that the average eye scan could pick up ten miles of the earth's circumference.

  Holzer believed that he was seeing at least that much in mileage below the mansion-which, according to science, was impossible.

  "What is all this, Ingrid?" Holzer asked.

  Night looked down at his trusted servant, Lars.

  Lars had seen much in his life, some of it even beyond Night's comprehension. What Night was seeing reflected back up into his own eyes was fear in Lars'.

  "Jonathon, I do not know."

  Holzer dropped his EMF reader. It spiked as high as the detector would allow.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Ingrid Night swallowed a nervous gulp as he tried his best to hold a poker face. He was scared and there was no way around that fact. The wondrous labyrinth that he and his friend had run into, which had once been the basement of Manchester House, was more than he was mentally ready for.

  The hanging plastic tarps, which seemed to hold some kind of importance in all of this, were stretched out by the millions, spanning across both time and space, taking on a maze-like structure. Night could only compare what he saw to the inside of a giant nautilus shell.

  Purplish skies greeted the entire SOURCE team where there had once been boards from the overhanging floors. They could all feel a healthy wind spanning across the entire underground world. And they all seemed to realize that they were being watched.

  "Jonathon," Night said. He waited for his friend to join him.

  "Yes?"

  "Look up toward the entrance to the basement and tell me what you see."

  Holzer gazed back and was surprised to see that the staircase they had traveled down was no longer visible. However, hanging in the air above them, at least a hundred feet off the ground, floating, teasing, was the halfway open door to Manchester House. Holzer could clearly see the inside of the mansion.

  Something was moving inside the house.

  Police officers!

  "We can't leave, Ingrid," Holzer said. "We're trapped."

  "Not trapped. Kept where we can be controlled."

  "Ingrid, I saw police officers in the mansion."

  "Perhaps we have been gone a very long time." Night gave his young friend a horrid look, one that did not produce much positive reaction from Holzer.

  "We've only been down here a few minutes."

  "By our reckoning, Jonathon," Night stated. "By our reckoning."
>
  Holzer shook his head.

  "I want to leave this house, Ingrid. I have had enough."

  Night patted Holzer on the shoulder.

  "Then we need to win."

  "Then win."

  Night placed his hand out for Lars to see. The deaf man again seemed to read what the tall man in black needed to proceed. Night's face lost all emotion. All he could think about was the task at hand.

  A silver Star of David was resting in Night's hand.

  He raised it above the small group of people with him and waited.

  Nothing happened.

  "Oh-oh!" Night said, looking at Lars with worry.

  "Oh-oh?" Holzer repeated. "What do you mean by that, Ingrid?"

  The winds started to grow stronger and the sky above them turned a little darker. If they all stared hard, they could barely define the outlines of the overhanging boards of the mansion's basement. Although the icon Night had produced did not seem to have the effect hoped for, it was producing some results.

  The ground started to shake.

  Spirits of all types, shapes, and sizes began to fling themselves upon the members of the SOURCE team. Before any of them realized it, they were covered with corpses. Clawing, begging, and screaming for salvation.

  "Ingrid, get us out of here!" Holzer screamed. The professor was busy taking a loose notebook and hitting a headless corpse of a Native American who was frantically searching for her head. The unfortunate spirit's neck oozed with thick black blood. The smell was enough to have caused a battle-educated soldier to get sick in his helmet.

  "This is only round one, Jonathon," Night reassured.

  Lars opened up Night's kit and produced another crossbow weapon. This time Lars was going to join his master in the fight. The deaf man put on a pair of goggles not unlike Night's, although more scientific-more normal.

  "The creature seems to be growing in strength, Jonathon," Night explained, motioning Lars to join him. Both men stood back to back. Each was scanning the area in all directions.

  "Creature?" the SOURCE team members all said in unison.

  "There is a creature at the heart of this maze," Night explained, cocking back the firing trigger of his crossbow.