The Traveller's Stone

by S J Howland

  ‘It’s your hand, mate. You’ve got two of them.’

  Xander jumped again as Will appeared behind him, and his friend gave him a curious look.

  ‘Bit twitchy today, aren’t you?’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Xander. He hesitated and then pointed at the stone on the wall. ‘Do you see anything weird about that?’

  Will stared at the stone intently for several seconds.

  ‘I give up. What’s weird?’

  Xander shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant.

  ‘Nothing, I s’pose.’ He felt strangely reluctant to describe what had happened.

  ‘Well, that was a fun game,’ said Will. He turned away, scanning the room for the rest of their class. ‘C’mon, they’re not here. We’d better go find them. It shouldn’t be too hard; we just need to follow the smell of hopelessness and despair.’

  Xander followed Will in silence. He glanced back once over his shoulder at the stone as it hung innocently on the wall and then stiffened. It was glimmering again with that elusive light, but none of the people wandering past it seemed to have noticed. Xander looked away with a shudder. This place was seriously weird.

  Finally, they tracked down the rest of the class, penned up in a small room. Mr Tubner gave no indication that he’d even noticed they had been gone, as they slipped into the back of the group. He had at least stopped talking, although Xander suspected the relief was only temporary to allow him to surreptitiously tidy the thin black strands of his comb-over.

  Will nodded towards the teacher and sniggered.

  ‘Who’s he trying to impress?’ he asked.

  Xander shrugged and wandered over to examine the only object in the room, the stone frontage of an ancient temple. The bright lights overhead threw the shadow of the building on the pale marble floor in sharp relief and Xander winced. His stomach still felt distinctly uneasy. As he walked around the side of the temple, Xander realised the shadows on the floor were wavering, as if the light that cast them was flickering, and a faint sound of static hissed in his ears. He glanced up in irritation but the lights shone steadily.

  ‘What’s the matter with this place?’ Xander muttered under his breath. Fury flamed through him, the surge of aversion shocking him rigid. ‘I’ve had it with all this. I need to get out.’

  The words burst out of him in a near shout, drawing startled glances from the surrounding people.

  Mr Tubner looked over in vague surprise to see Xander glaring at him, and then glanced at his watch. ‘Lunchtime,’ he conceded with a reproachful look, which was wasted since Xander was already halfway through the door.

  As soon as he was back in the cool atrium, in the soaring space filled with natural light and normality, relief rushed through him. He scrubbed his hands through his hair, waiting for the rest of the class to catch up and feeling foolish. He tried to rationalise what had happened, that he had obviously been hungry and fed up, and had imagined things. A memory of smooth, cold stone flashing into light tingled for a moment in his fingertips, but he repressed it ruthlessly.

  Will hurried through the doorway, ahead of the rest of the group, his concerned face lightening as he saw Xander waiting self-consciously.

  ‘You all right?’

  Xander shrugged and grinned sheepishly.

  ‘Yeah, fine. Just low blood sugar or something.’

  ‘Come on then, or we won’t get a seat,’ said Will, dismissing Xander’s odd behaviour as perfectly normal if it was hunger-related. He marched off to the large grouping of seats on the far side of the atrium, and Xander followed him after an apologetic grimace at Mr Tubner. Ten minutes later, with his sandwiches eaten and a large iced bun in his hand, Xander was quite sure he had imagined the whole thing.

  Without warning, the raucous sounds of his classmates faded abruptly, as if they had been muted, and were replaced by a soft buzzing noise, disorientating and disturbing. At the same time, the light in the atrium dimmed into a strange twilight, turning the people into faded versions of themselves, moving in slow motion.

  Xander stared around wildly, his stomach sinking, and it was across this curious monochrome scene that he first saw them.

  They strode across the atrium, the faint glow around each figure throwing them into sharp relief in the dusky light. There were five of them, four men and a young woman whose bright red hair seemed like the only colour in the whole place, and they came from different directions but were converging, Xander realised, on the hallway he had just exited – the Egyptian halls. They moved through the crowds of people as if they did not exist, and no one but Xander seemed to have noticed the half-light or the silence.

  Xander was halfway across the atrium before he even realised that he had moved, in time to see a sixth person appear, striding over to join the others. With a small shock, Xander recognised the tall man with the black dog. He spoke briefly to one of the figures, a man with cropped dark hair, and his terse voice travelled across the distance to where Xander stood, frozen – ‘There’s shade-trace. It’ll hit in twenty-four hours’. The tall man walked through the archway, but the dog paused on the threshold and then turned; its cool stare cut across the pallid people in the atrium and burned into Xander’s eyes, challenging him. The dog’s head tilted in unspoken invitation before it turned and disappeared through the archway.

  Xander looked back at the mysterious figures, only to meet the narrowed gaze of the crop-haired man. Xander returned the stare, struck by the coiled tension in the man, whose hard muscles were revealed by the rolled up sleeves of his light shirt, and the long scar – obviously old as it had faded to silver – running down the man’s right cheek. The man made a slight movement towards Xander, but then his head jerked towards the Egyptian halls, as if something within had urgently captured his attention. He signalled to his companions and they all strode through the doorway; the man did not waste another glance on Xander. He was the last through and, as he passed, Xander saw him make a quick gesture with his left hand. The marble doorway glowed a brilliant blue, fading almost immediately, by which time all of the strange figures had disappeared.

  The world around him lurched back into light and sound, but Xander stood immobile, staring at the doorway across the atrium and completely unaware of the irritated looks of the people whose paths he blocked. He heard Will’s familiar laugh back at the table but felt oddly dislocated. The light was too bright, the colours clashed and he could not get enough air in his lungs. The logical part of his brain was scrambling to provide a rational explanation but unfortunately it was failing. Xander could not look away from that now innocent-seeming doorway.

  ‘Don’t do it. You don’t want to know,’ Xander muttered. He had never been prone to flights of fancy – someone in his family had to stay in touch with reality – but he did have a wide streak of natural curiosity, and he wrestled for a moment with the urge to walk through the archway and see what would happen. Uncertain, he glanced back at the tables where the rest of his class were still eating lunch, the normality of the scene making those brief moments of dislocation seem like a strange dream.

  ‘This is ridiculous,’ Xander said, out loud. Things like this just did not happen. His mind made up, he turned away from the Egyptian halls and resolutely walked back to the table and real life.

  *

  Xander was still determinedly not thinking about it as he turned his key in the front door and pushed it open. He hung up his coat, damp from the continual drizzle, in the narrow hallway and kicked off his shoes, before heading into the kitchen to grab a handful of menus. He flicked through them, unenthusiastic despite his empty stomach, and threw them back onto the cluttered tabletop. The kitchen was dark and silent, the overcast sky outside allowing little light to come in through the narrow window. Xander shivered, then flicked on the lights and reached for the remote to turn on the television. The room seemed more cheerful immediately and Xander remembered that he had baked beans and cheese, which would at least be quick and filling. He pulled open the fridge door,
and paused in surprise.

  The note on the plate holding the green peppers, cheese and beans now had a large ‘NOT’ in Mrs Mac’s neat handwriting above the words ‘Xander-supper’ and on the shelf below was a large, foil-covered bowl that had definitely not been there that morning. Xander pulled the foil back to reveal a generous portion of homemade lasagne and a huge smile spread over his face.

  Five minutes later, the rich, cheesy smell filled the kitchen, making it feel warm and cosy. Xander ate the generous portion in small bites, so it would last as long as possible. Finally he scraped the last remnants from his plate and sat back, feeling rather overfed but contented. He dumped his plate into the sink and wandered through into the sitting room, where he curled up on the squashy sofa and flicked through the channels on the television, full up with good food and comfortably dozy.

  Xander woke with a start, feeling disorientated. It was dark outside and he squinted at his watch, which showed that it was half-past ten. Surprised that his mother arriving home had not roused him, he rolled off the sofa and walked out into the blackness in the hallway.

  ‘Mum?’ he called, but there was no reply. He flicked on the lights and went partway up the stairs, looking through the banisters, but his mother’s room was dark and empty. Back downstairs, he glanced into the kitchen but everything was just as he had left it earlier, only a faint smell of lasagne lingering. Xander retraced his steps and slumped down on the sofa. It was not the first time that Mrs King had returned late but today the house felt particularly empty to Xander. He steadfastly refused to wonder why that would be the case.

  As if on cue, the picture on the television screen broke up with a brief sound of static. Xander felt a swift, crawling sensation down his spine at the sound, then shook his head as the picture returned to normal.

  ‘Don’t be stupid,’ he admonished himself. He would not let his imagination run wild again. Deciding to get a drink from the kitchen, Xander walked across the hallway, only to freeze as the sound of static assailed him once again. The picture on the television in the kitchen was rolling over and over and then, even as he stared at it, the signal vanished altogether, leaving the screen fuzzy.

  With a quick, convulsive movement, Xander lunged forwards and turned the television off. For a moment there was total silence, then a faint buzzing began; it seemed to come from the air itself. Out of the corner of his eye Xander saw movement by the fridge, as if the shadows were shifting by themselves, flickering and wavering on the floor. A memory of the strange temple from the museum crawled at the base of his skull and Xander’s breathing quickened and his skin prickled, though his feet felt rooted to the floor.

  The brash sound of the telephone ringing cut through the oppressive atmosphere and Xander, in the release of tension, dived into the hallway and snatched it up.

  ‘Hello?’ he gasped.

  ‘Hi Xander.’

  The sound of his mother’s voice, sounding as normal as ever, filled him with relief.

  ‘Mum,’ he blurted. ‘Where are you?’

  Despite his best efforts, his voice was shaking a little but his mother did not appear to notice anything wrong.

  ‘I’m still at work,’ she said brightly. ‘We’ve had a bit of a breakthrough and since our deadline is coming up soon, we thought we would just carry on while it’s going well. I just thought I would make sure you were okay at home. You don’t mind, do you?’

  Xander glanced around, trying to figure out how to explain why he did mind and it was not okay. It all sounded very unlikely as he groped for the right words.

  ‘Xander?’ she prompted, as he remained silent. ‘Are you okay there?’

  Xander let out a breath. ‘I’m fine,’ he said carefully. ‘It’s just – it’s been a bit weird today and the TVs have all got static.’

  ‘That’s just the rain,’ his mother interrupted. Xander heard a voice in the background calling her name. ‘I have to go, so don’t stay up late and I’ll be back tomorrow. Sleep well.’

  ‘Mum?’ said Xander, but the ring tone showed that she had already hung up. Slowly, Xander put the telephone back and then went into the sitting room, where the picture on the television was now rolling in and out. He picked up the remote control and turned it off.

  ‘Just the rain,’ he repeated, but it did not sound convincing, even to him. He shivered. There was a distinct chill in the air and a hint of movement in the corner again. Xander found that when he looked straight at them, the shadows on the floor and walls appeared still, but his peripheral vision clearly showed them shifting and flowing together, puddling in dark masses. The television stood blank in the corner, but the faint sound of static hissed in his ears. His heart now thudding painfully in his chest, Xander was shocked to see his own breath hanging in the air before him in the sudden, penetrating cold which had invaded his home.

  A surge of fear galvanised Xander into action. With a terrified yelp, he grabbed the lamp from the side table by the sofa and the tall standing lamp by the door, his hands shaking as he fumbled with the plugs. He bundled them under his arms and raced up the stairs, stumbling in his haste as he caught the unmistakable signs of shadows massing in the hallway. He snatched up another little lamp from the upstairs hallway, before retreating into his bedroom and slamming the door shut. Hastily, he switched on his desk lamp and bedside light before setting up the other lamps around the small space to ensure that no area remained unlit. When he had switched them all on the whole room, and particularly his bed, was bathed in brilliant light. Xander checked to make sure that there were no shadows which might start moving in inexplicable ways, then pulled his curtains shut and dived into bed where he lay with his heartbeat thumping in his ears.

  ‘This is insane,’ he muttered, but he could hear the quiver in his own voice. He lay awake for a long time, his fingers stuffed in his ears to block out the intermittent hiss of static and his eyes fixed on the gap under his door, where he could see the ebb and flow of shadows shifting strangely in the hallway beyond. Finally, exhausted, Xander fell asleep. Outside his door, the darkness moved and swelled until the dawn drove it out.

  *

  When Xander woke up, his head was groggy and he blinked in surprise to see most of the lamps in the house surrounding his bed and trained on him. A faint headache left him confused for a few moments until remembrance swept over him and he sat bolt upright in bed, pushing his hair out of his eyes. Daylight filtered around the edge of his curtains, the shadows on the floor remained firmly in their places and downstairs he could hear the faint sound of his mother’s voice, evidently on the telephone to someone. Everything seemed quite normal. For several minutes, Xander tried to persuade himself that it must all have been in his imagination, but the ring of lamps around his bed stood as silent witnesses to the strange and frightening occurrences of the previous night.

  There was the sound of light footsteps on the stairs and then a tap on the door. It opened and his mother’s untidy head poked around it.

  ‘Good morning,’ she said brightly. ‘You must have been tired. It’s almost lunchtime. I’m making some beans on toast, if you’re hungry.’

  She beamed at him and shut the door again.

  Xander looked around his room wryly, wondering what it would be like to live with a mother who might notice that her son had brought every lamp in the house into his bedroom. He clambered out of bed and turned off the lights one by one.

  Down in the kitchen his mother had turned the television on again, and a weekend news programme with a perky, rather over-enthusiastic presenter blared out; the picture and sound were as bright and sharp as normal. It would have been all too easy for Xander to convince himself that he had imagined it all, were it not for the cold feeling in the pit of his stomach.

  ‘Mum?’ he said, perching on a chair and balancing the plateful of singed beans on toast on his knee, since the table was once again covered in piles of files and papers. He hunted for the right words. ‘Have you ever had something weird happen? You kno
w, something you just can’t explain?’

  Mrs King glanced up from the papers she was reading while nibbling at a forkful of blackened toast.

  ‘Everything can be explained, Xander. You just have to find a rational explanation.’

  She smiled vaguely and returned to her work.

  Xander ate a few more mouthfuls, turning this over in his head. A rational explanation sounded very much like something he would like to find. All of this strangeness had started yesterday in the museum, with that odd stone on the wall, and then the temple room when the shadows had first moved in bizarre ways. He vividly remembered the smooth, cool feel of the stone under his fingers before it had flared into impossible life. Perhaps there was something on the stone, Xander reflected. He’d heard of funguses which could cause hallucinations and it was possible, in fact he thought it was quite probable, that something like that would be on a stone tablet from an ancient tomb deep underground. That would mean that all the strange things he had seen and heard were just caused by a reaction to whatever had been on the stone. He was chasing the last few baked beans around his plate, congratulating himself for having identified a scientific explanation so quickly, when his inconvenient memory reminded him he had only touched the stone because his fingers had passed straight through the thick, protective perspex sheet fixed over it.

  ‘There has to be a reason for all this,’ Xander muttered, mutinously.

  ‘Hmm?’ said Mrs King, without looking up from the papers on which she was scribbling.

  Staring down at the empty plate in his lap, which was not providing him with any answers either, Xander suddenly thought about the unusual group in the atrium. He would bet they knew what was going on in the museum and he frowned a moment, trying to recall the words of the tall, white-haired man. He had said something about shadows or shades and mentioned twenty-four hours.