Jason stopped smiling to himself. “What? Nah man, it’s too dangerous,” he was quick to rule out, “well actually,” he began to add, “I may have dreamt that I did, but of course that’s a bit different.” Eugene quit looking at the picture. “And do you still have dreams like this?” his voice couldn’t help but drop a few octaves. “Well yeah, kind of. There’s this recurring one in which I’m abseiling down a black hole. I’m scared but I feel like I’ve got a responsibility to go down there.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I dunno, I guess it’s my subconscious looking for new highs.”
“And this hole you go down, does it have certain characteristics?” Jason laughed. “Shit, I dunno. That’s asking a lot.” Still he gave it some thought. “Actually, yeah!” He looked happy to remember. “There’s a couple of deadwood trees near the opening and a fissure that goes all the way into the dark.” His expression quickly changed from happy to sad, carefully touching the stitches around his mouth. “Then there is this feeling that I’m about to be engulfed. I think with all the stress that it trigged me to harm myself in my sleep.” Jason looked directly at Eugene with teary eyes. “Some kind of mental breakdown.” Though he did not buy it Eugene wanted to give him something to hold on and gently nodded. That was enough for today. “Do you mind if I keep this?” asked Eugene referring to the picture. “Sure.”
This picture took a significant position on his desk alongside the books. In between sifting through publications on law and mental health, Eugene would give it brief glances. During the evening it was studied, to see if he could spot things which related to Jason’s dream, for any clues which may lead to a more penetrating question. Jason’s style of drawing was a rough, scratchy kind that actually suited the landscapes. There were no trees or fissure in this one but Eugene knew that did not mean it wasn’t a meaningful projection. Today was one of those extra-long ones but he knew a little tiredness helped you see things differently. Tracing details with the butt of his pencil, Eugene worked his way down to the opening and found himself returning to this mark on the wall which he could not tell if it was the beginning of a fissure or not. It looked like some kind of indentation…no…it looked like a face. The lamp was pulled directly over to illuminate it as best he could. Something began to click. Eugene got in contact with the police. There was an item found on Jason of which Eugene did not originally attribute any significance. He could now see that he had been too dismissive. It was in his hands the next day.
Though it had this lucky charm vibe it was nothing of the kind, too finely crafted and substantial to sit in a pocket or go on a keyring. What was more like a mini artefact was a small bust of an oblong tribal mask with sleepy eyes and a long skinny nose – in that sense similar to many. What separated it from others were lifelike creases on the forehead and a set of masterfully rendered teeth, not bared but stuck on. It was amazingly smooth to run your fingers over. The immediate impression was marble but it seemed to have some volcanic rock in there. At the bottom of the neck was a small platform. Dr Peale knew he was holding something of genuine value. Of course its significance was more important but showing Jason right away was not advised. The plan was to work his way in slowly while the hospital did what they had to so Jason was civil to both them and himself.
As it seemed to open Jason up visits to the workshop were increased. Drawings became something of a silent communicator, disclosing things which he did not speak of. Eugene continued with the compliments and asked him more about his trip to South Africa. Two weeks later he felt he had hit a brick wall, and then, just as he was at a rare loss of how to approach things, Jason began to give a little feedback. Drawings became very specific, repetitive. When told that he had done lots of the exact same thing he did not seem to take it on board and continued. “This is definitely one of my favourite places,” he confirmed like he had never said it. Eugene was not detecting a lack of emotion but a lack of acknowledging what he was doing. It was like another instinct lived within, a thought which made Eugene frown for its decidedly unscientific subtext. At the end of this session he made sure that staff members weren’t giving Jason anything more than sedatives or vitamins, the latter of which his meat-only diet did not cover. The end had come to another slog.
Dr Peale got out of bed as early as 5 a.m. though he was to be woken earlier the following day. At 3 a.m. he was phoned by the hospital to be informed that Jason had severally injured himself. When Eugene arrived there as fast as he could Jason was being treated. The primary witness was questioned.
“What happened?! I thought he was properly sedated?”
“We didn’t give him any more than you suggested,” insisted the guard, not wanting to be blamed. “As I passed his cell I looked in to see him sat cross-legged with glass on the floor from a broken TV screen. I got back up before opening the door and turning the lights on. Then we saw all the blood.” Eugene was shaking his head and eyeing the guard angrily. It was hard to get the next part out. “He partially turned his head so we could see his lips had been completely removed, and then there was this speech, like a loud whispering - chatting his teeth and using the back of his throat.” On that last remark it was now curiosity that stabilised Eugene’s anger, like he could feel wild theories becoming more plausible.
Jason’s forecasted condition threw Eugene into action. Aside from the treatment needed to his mouth he would then be more heavily medicated which would render him drowsier, less useful during workshop talk. At his office, Eugene paid less attention to the books which steered his profession and more on the drawings and that strange artefact…those teeth…what Jason had done to his mouth…and the constant drawings of the place which had become of singular significance to him. There was plenty of research done on tribal masks and fantastical cults of worship but Eugene kept hitting a dead end. As was always his method, something more thorough was needed.
Though a man of science it was Dr Peale’s admission of the mind’s secrets that made his opinions so incisive. Never had he quit a case nor was he about to wrap this one up with a second-hand diagnosis. The next step in this investigation was beginning to light up. The police were informed of recent events and disapproved at what the psychiatrist planned to do. As Jason lay in his bed, drugged and restrained, Dr Peale booked himself a flight to South Africa.
4
Eugene knew he was putting his reputation on the line with this. Whenever doubt crept in he reminded himself he had not been led here on a whim. The hospital employer’s assertion that Jason had been speaking another language when found in that gory state had convinced him that, if he was going to get to the bottom of this, he needed to go to that frequently sketched place. He had taken several drawings with him. Coupled with the visual descriptions and memorised road names, Eugene was confident of finding a place “a mile off the Blyde River Canyon.” As a point of pride, because he preferred to take the reins with every facet of his job, he planned to be shown the basics in abseiling and attempt the very same one Jason did. That was not however the sole objective.
He had been in correspondence and planned to meet up with Professor Imamu Odili, a graduate of Cape Town University and historian of African culture. The inkling was that he may put things into context once Eugene had resurfaced from where Jason had gone. For much of the fifteen hour flight Dr Peale looked over the drawings and hoped his patient was doing as well as one could be given the circumstances. He then drifted into something close to sleep for three hours before landing at Kruger Mpumalanga airport.
With its thatched roof this airport had a distinctly foreign air to it. When he got off the plane Eugene felt the heat and knew he must be quick about donning his summer hat if his neck wasn’t to catch fire. Rather than book a taxi he made his way to a nearby car rental. It was an hour’s drive to his humble lodge which was in a good location for both an abseiling shop and the Blyde River Canyon. After getting some shuteye days consisted of learning to abseil and checking up on Jason’s progress via email. Quickly he became competent, s
oaking up every step and safety measure of his patient’s favourite hobby. In just over two weeks he had bought his own equipment.
On the day of what you may call a professional adventure, Eugene got in contact with Professor Imamu Odili, informing him that he would arrive in Johannesburg in a matter of days. Following that he made sure everything needed was correctly laid out on his bed before collecting and sticking it in his rented car. It was important to go about this as had Jason, even trying to get in his frame of mind. An hour into the stuffy drive which an open window tried to ease Eugene saw the turn onto the road which Jason frequently recited. He followed it until it came to its natural conclusion and figured he must have walked from here. The rope was stuffed in a bag and went around his shoulder. Ahead lay a magnificent rocky vista, to look at that is, ominous to traverse.
To hug the river canyon was the smart thing to do. Sure footing was needed when Eugene peered over the edge, to see if the theme of rushing water changed, if there was an inviting opening. As the first few deadwood trees appeared Dr Peale wiped a sweaty brow in anticipation. On further examination things did not look quite right. Also, though a good drop from here it was not something which would have whetted Jason’s appetite. Eugene gulped his water and looked back to clarify the route he’d come. “Jason likes to challenge himself,” he panted and kept going up this incline. When he got to the peak he could see the next series of turns that the canyon took. It was quite a distance before it turned out of sight again. Just before it did Eugene saw two deadwood trees and their arrangement instantly struck him. He knelt down and pulled out one of the drawings. Yep, that was it, shimmering in the heat.
Twenty more minutes and Eugene carefully approached this circular opening with two deadwood trees. There was an abundance of red sandstone. A look down this hole revealed it to be deep. Green leaves were visible as things started to go dark. Eugene confirmed more characteristics. A small boulder was a key feature. As he got near it that lingering 10% of him that felt silly disappeared. Slings were left wrapped around it. Evidently Jason had felt this was a prime position from which to descend. That was good enough. Acting carefully but without pause he secured his own slings, made all the essential knots and was glad he had brought so much rope. There was a pause once everything was set; a moment to reconfirm everything was good to go. Nobody was in sight. The wind was mild. All it did was cool the sweat. Eugene did one more count on everything he had been taught and dangled over the edge.
In the next moment the psychiatrist was in the hands of the equipment. With an easy motion he descended a metre or two at a time, lightly pushing away from the wall. A depth of about 100 feet made this much scarier than any of his training. To focus on the wall in front and maintain his rhythm was the top priority. The lower down he got the more his confidence grew. Vegetation arched over the floor like an organic roof. When he got a closer look at the floor it was smoother than what he had been hiking over. A third to go and the walls closed in, blocking out much of the sunlight. He refocused on the descent as he neared the bottom. Upon touching down Eugene could see that this space was the same as the opening, now well above him. After disconnecting from the rope it was left hanging to be ‘jumared’ up once done. Eugene stretched and got his flashlight. The soft buzzing of insects broke the silence.
He kept the helmet on and walked into the middle of this secret area. There was a patch of discolouration on the stone floor, like it had been burnt. Looking up from here provided a narrow but clear view of the sky. There was little evidence of human intervention, at least not at first. A series of rocks in between the vegetation stood out the more he glanced at them. He walked over to run his fingers over one. It was unusually smooth, ideal to sit on. When he did the others struck him as purposefully arranged. Ideas fluttered about. Next the perimeter was defined. Surely this was not the only space. As it turned out one of the trees’ sagging branches veiled another opening in the red sandstone. Eugene pushed it above him with growing intrigue.
The passage that followed was no more than three metres. Eugene perceived grass but could only confirm that was the case after standing on it. Things were very dark. Turning on the flashlight was a must and lit up walls ridged like the inside of a giant intestine. That was a head-scratcher but Eugene had to keep looking. Soil mounds did not appear to be natural formations. Then he focused on something that was decidedly man-made – some kind of alter. Both its size and composition recalled one thing which the psychiatrist happened to bring with him. The small artefact was removed from an inside pocket. A quick study of its base and the altar suggested a fit. Hesitant at first, Eugene smiled at himself and slot it in. A moment passed. As expected nothing happened. He backed up which enlarged the flashlights beam. Yes, there was something else – writing above the altar, carved in deep and precisely.
It was almost a hieroglyphic type of language. All he could do was take a snap of it with his phone and hope Prof. Odili would be of assistance. Taking the artefact back was more difficult than placing it. Back in his possession he felt a rise in its temperature, ever so briefly. The whole time there had been this faint smell which defied category. Eugene had a gulp of water, strolled back into the main area and proceeded to attach himself to the escape rope. In what is sometimes used to self-rescue, Eugene put his foot through another loop which served to pull him upwards. This was just as scary as descending but more tiring. As he pulled himself back onto that sun-baked peak a sense of real discovery overcame the fatigue. His instincts had been rewarded. Reclaiming the rope he triumphantly marched back to the car. It was hard to sleep while Prof. Odili’s inbox filled up with all kinds of overexcited questions.
The next morning Dr Peale was happy to see his enthusiasm shared. Prof. Odili told him it was okay to arrive at his home tomorrow which he had prepared for the occasion, “clearing you a work space.” The next dawn Eugene dropped his car back near Kruger Mpumalanga airport and caught a quick flight to Johannesburg. As he came in to land there was something reassuringly familiar about a cityscape. The professor did not live in the thick of it but in a neighbourhood with grand houses and pristine gardens, a far cry from the slums of Soweto where people pray daily for good fortune.
A taxi brought him to the edge of a long driveway. Eugene walked up to the large, modern looking white house and was answered a few seconds after knocking on the door. Prof. Odili wore a big smile and shook the psychiatrist’s hand. Eugene was pleased to meet someone cut from similar cloth – a workaholic who had no desire to start a family. They formally moved into a lounge where the host proudly bannered his P.H.D on the wall. A selection of refreshments helped Eugene feel at home. Next was to show the guest where he was sleeping but after brushing over Eugene’s trip here they were both itching to get down to it. From one of his pockets Eugene removed a printed copy of the picture he had taken in that rocky void. Prof. Odili’s expressive face tightened up as he studied it. Dr Peale then put the artefact on the table.
“This was found on Jason Bickley at the scene of the crime. When I abseiled down to the area which matched the drawings I told you about there was some kind of altar which this ornament slot into.” Prof. Odili sat up with a face that needed convincing. Eugene continued. “Now I gather this has something to do with a tribe but I fail to see how that explains his actions.” He massaged his chin as he elaborated. “But I was hoping that, if you are able to translate what I have printed I believe it will get me closer to the truth.” Prof. Odili gave a little shake of the head then smiled. “As promised I will help,” he began in his strong accent, “but I still find it something that a forensic psychiatrist, no less one with your track record, is looking for clues in legend instead of neurology.” Eugene flashed a sarcastic smile. “I find myself unable to explain this case of a young man, with no history of any mental illness, to suddenly be led to kill multiple people, undergo a drastic change of personality, remove his lips and be reported to speak a bizarre language. And you know I wouldn’t have come here had I
not exhausted certain avenues.” Prof. Odili couldn’t argue there and refocused on the printed paper. “Some of the characters look familiar but not all of them. This may take a few days.” As Eugene was shown his room for the next week or so he gazed out of the window, hoping for the next clue. Despite all that travelling a nightcap was needed to shut down.
5
Time flew by at Prof. Odili’s. Days were filled up with reading, discussing and emailing the hospital to check on Jason’s progress. Aside from his injury which meant lots of pain killers and liquidised food there had been “a marked reduction in somnambular activity.” He had been visited by his parents with the help of writing equipment and plans were being made for reconstructive surgery. Eugene’s take was that he simply didn’t have the energy to do anything but recover though without seeing him in person he could not pigeonhole this improvement.
Imamu’s quest to translate was proving difficult but he now had another set of eyes on it, someone he had kept in contact with since graduating. The same person had also recommended a couple of books. They were brought back to the pad and given to Eugene who was responding to the hospital with words of encouragement for his brave patient. Prof. Odili gave a little knock on a door which was partially open. “I’ve got a couple of books which may be of interest.” Eugene thanked him then asked how things were going with the translation. “There are just a few characters which we’re not sure if they’re letters or a type of emphasis. I’ll admit the prospect of a lost dialect is exciting. The good news is it seems to lend from others so it should just be a matter of time.” Eugene raised his brow for a more precise answer. “A matter of days,” smiled Imamu.
Dare to Read: 13 Tales of Terror Page 11
