“He was so desperate to depart, and I was so keen to just get on with the job that I let him go, and once again I was left to my own devices in a deserted factory.
“I knew as soon as I opened the door to the kiln shed that I was in the right place. The whispers started almost immediately from the vicinity of the leftmost oven, one that showed its newness by the brighter coloring of the brickwork, not yet darkened by fire and age.
“Dim sunlight came in from soot-blackened skylights high above, but a gloom hung over the whole shed and there was a most definite feeling of anticipation, as if my adversary was waiting for me to make the first move.
“If that was indeed the case, I was determined to oblige. I wasted no time in setting up my defenses, and thankfully had enough replacement valves in the traveling box to ensure a complete pentacle. I had a bad moment when I thought there was no local power supply at hand, but I finally found the box in a store cupboard and was able to hook up my cabling to the main supply.
“I switched the pentacle on, and stepped into the circle just as the murmuring whispers began again in earnest.”
c
“And now, a quick digression, if I may. You will remember that I have spoken previously of the fact that I now consider water to be a primary conduit between this plane and the Outer Darkness. After seeing the creeping shadow in the warehouse, and now hearing it again in the kiln shed, I was rapidly forming a theory as to the provenance of this latest manifestation. It was a thing from the depths of a mill pond—lying there for centuries deep in the wet clay, possibly even bound there, having been caught between two realms.
“Then it was dredged up, molded from water and clay, tempered by fire and forced into brick, where there was more heat, more fire—and, I now believe, a concentration of its power. The very firing of the kiln brought it forth, into the china of the dolls, back out into the world and searching for a way back to its source.
“Such were my thoughts as I stood in front of the kiln and the shadows gathered, thick around me despite the sunlight overhead. I had a theory, that much was true.
“But I had not a clue as to how to apply it in practice, and all I could do was stand as the darkness got thicker still and the whispering rose to a roar.”
c
“Once again I had to endure the flare and whine of the valves as pressure was brought to bear on my circle. And I was just thanking my lucky stars that at least there weren’t any damned dolls this time when I heard scraping and rattling at the main door.
“‘Brown? Is that you?’ I called, but of course I knew it wasn’t—I could hear wood scrape on wood, china clacking against china. Such noises could only come from one source—those damnable dolls were at the door. And it was only a matter of time before the wood gave way and they would pour in to engulf me in a flood of pale blue eyes, grasping hands and smothering velvet.
“A blue funk took me again, leaving me trembling and tongue-tied. But I could not even flee, for the main door was, as far as I could ascertain, the only entrance or exit, and I could well imagine the wall of animated wood and china that waited just beyond.
“Besides, I had other matters of more immediate concern. The shadows around me swirled faster and faster, and the roaring sound went up and up until I felt almost as if I stood at the center of a great gale. Blackness pressed all around, and the pentacle was sorely tested.
“And yet, aided by the strength of power from the main supply, or perhaps aided by the fact that I had gotten the better of this blasted thing the night before, my defenses held.
“More than that: the valves, refreshed by the newer additions, started ever so slowly to make gains against the darkness. The green in particular spread and strengthened, casting an eerie glow around the shed that the darkness shrank away from. The scrabbling and scratching rose to a frenzy against the main door as the yellow joined the green in pushing the shadows aside, bringing washes of color, almost spring-like, through the whole expanse of the kiln shed.
“The howl from the shadows rose to a crescendo, but even as the shadows surged the blue valve flared bright to join the others. As it had in the warehouse the night before, the darkness shrank away until it had coalesced, almost thick enough to be solid, in a mass around the kiln. Taking my cue from the night before, I bent, lifted the blue valve, and strode out of the circle.
“The shed door burst open, allowing a flood of dolls inside, a wave four feet high that washed across the floor toward me, some of them crawling, some staggering on stubby legs, but all intent on smothering me in their smiling china kisses.
“And that I could not allow.
“I stepped forward and thrust the blue valve deep into the black shadow.
“The shock as electricity surged through the cables threw me aside, but I was able to turn in time to see static run and crackle all over the blackness as it shrank, smaller and smaller, eventually shrinking back into the kiln itself as the electricity kept sparking. Blue light washed all around me. The dolls tumbled to the floor as one, suddenly quiet again and there was a final loud crack.
“The kiln fell in on itself in a tumble of brick and dust. The electricity crackled just once more, then fizzled out. My valves dimmed and died with a soft whine that sounded like victory, and once again I was left in a silent factory.
“But this time, despite the throng of dolls all around me, I felt quite, quite alone.”
c
“So as you can see, Dodgson, I was indeed victorious. I decided to spend a night here at the inn to ensure I was right in that conclusion, but just this morning I visited the factory and Brown has got the workforce back and working. They have even started shipping out dolls again, now that they are sure that the whispering has gone, the darkness dispelled.
“As for myself, I am not so certain, for I know the ways of the Outer Darkness only too well.
“It will be a while before I can look another doll in the eyes.
“Yours as always, C.”
A Cold Christmas in Chelsea
I was late in reaching Carnacki’s residence on Boxing Day, having been delayed in ensuring my in-laws got safely to Kings Cross Station in time for their train north. I was further inconvenienced by having to walk along the Embankment, due to a shortage of carriages during the holiday period. It was a particularly cold night, so I walked briskly, but even so it was already after eight o’ clock when I arrived at Carnacki’s door.
Of course the others were there before me, but much to my astonishment dinner was delayed, a previously unheard-of circumstance in Carnacki’s household. Carnacki himself was most apologetic for the fare eventually put in front of us, but in truth there was nothing that would give us any cause for complaint. There was no hot food, but Carnacki more than made up for that with a splendid table of hams, pickles, caviar, fresh bread and the most remarkable selection of fine cheeses. For the occasion he had also raided his own extensive cellar to provide some aged port that was smoother and more refined than anything I had ever tasted before. By the time we rose from the table I was more than satisfied and eager to hear Carnacki’s latest story.
He did not keep us waiting any longer than it took for us to fill our glasses and get some smokes lit. He stared into the fire for a second or two as if gathering his thoughts, then started his tale.
c
“Gentlemen,” he said. “You find my house in a state of some disarray. I can only apologize again for the rather meager fare on offer tonight, but I trust the story as to how I was reduced to this situation will serve to appease you. I had intended to relate an adventure from a visit to Chislehurst Caves, but that can wait for another day. After all, a Christmas story requires a Christmas setting.
“The story starts two days ago, on the cusp of Christmas Eve, when there was a knock at the door. I was quick to answer it, for I was expecting a delivery of ham and pickles. However, it was not the butcher’s lad on the doorstep, but rather a small, well-dressed lady of quite some age. She was also the
coldest person I had ever seen; her skin was almost blue, translucent as fine porcelain, and when she offered a hand to be shaken it was like grasping a cold stone.
“‘You have to help me, Mr. Carnacki,’ she said. ‘I don’t know where else to go.’
“Of course you chaps know me well enough to see that I could not turn away such a mystery from my door, not even on the eve of Christmas. I invited the old lady inside and bade her sit by the fire, thinking that I might at least get her warm while hearing what had brought her to my door.
“She took to my brandy readily enough, like someone well used to hard liquor, but when she finally started to speak, her eyes were clear and bright, although the heat had done little to dispel the blue tinge to her skin.
“‘It started two days ago,’ she said. ‘When I bought this ring.’
She showed me an emerald ring, rather gaudy to my eyes, on her left index finger. It had a large stone of some quality, and the setting had obviously been fabricated with great skill, but as a whole there was something remarkably unsavory about the thing that made me avert my eyes after a second or two.
“‘It caught my eye straight away,’ she continued. ‘I was in Depworths, in the Strand. Do you know it, Mr. Carnacki? I have been a customer there for over forty years now, and I hold no truck with any of the tales told about the shop. Old Mr. Dunsworth would never be party to anything criminal. I remember the time …’
“I coughed discreetly, aware that little old ladies with access to brandy might have a tendency to ramble that would not be conducive to either the telling of a story, or do much for the contents of my liquor cabinet. She did not look in the slightest chastened, but did return to the point of her tale.
“‘To cut a long story short, I purchased the ring and was so enamored of it that I put it on my finger before even leaving the shop. Once out on the Strand, I immediately regretted not wearing a heavier coat, for a cold wind cut through me, and I was not able to shake off the chill despite being able to quickly hail a carriage that took me all the way home to Knightsbridge.
“‘The cold stayed with me all that first evening, despite me throwing a succession of fresh logs on the fire and sitting as close to the flames as I dared. I did not equate this new chill with my purchase earlier in the day … not then. I went to bed as cold as I have ever been and not even a full hot-water bottle was enough to heat these old bones. In the morning … yesterday morning … I could scarcely move and had to brush frost from my skin as I bathed. I tried to remove the ring when I made my ablutions. And that is when I found out that I could not. It is frozen … frozen solid to my finger.’
“She held out her hand again and I forced myself to take a closer look. And, by Jove, she was right. The gold band was indeed frozen to the skin, which was gray and wrinkled, beneath which the flesh was already dead and starting to blacken.
“‘That has to come off,’ I said. “Else I am afraid you will lose the whole hand.’
“She looked up at me with heavy tears in her eyes.
“‘Do you not think I have tried? And if I go to a surgeon, they will just lop off the finger and have done with it. No. I don’t need a doctor, Mr. Carnacki. I need a different kind of expertise. And I believe it needs your kind of expertise, for you see, it was the ring itself that brought me here. It showed me where to go.’
“At that precise moment I did not have a single clue as to how to reply to that statement. I plied her with more brandy, lit up a pipe, and had a dashed good think. I could bring nothing immediately to mind that would remedy the poor lady’s situation, but as you chaps know, there are certain rituals in the Sigsand MS that are efficacious in a variety of situations. The poor lady was becoming ever more blue despite the brandy and the roaring fire, so I resolved that action would have to take place sooner rather than later. I left her sitting by the fire and went through to the library to make some preparations.
“I will not bore you again with the details of my protective circle, save to say that I had to make several modifications to my usual defenses to counteract the fact that the object of the working was going to be inside, rather than outside, the circle. Once I had done my scribbling in chalk, and had gone over the lines with garlic and holy water, I deemed I was ready and called for the old lady to join me.
“She seemed reluctant after getting her first sight of the chalked circle on the floor.
“‘Are you sure, sir, that this is not the devil’s work you would have me take part in?’
“‘On the contrary, madam,’ I replied. ‘It is the work of what you think of as devils, and that I think of as manifestations of the Outer Darkness, that we are trying to dispel. Come, join me in the circle.’
“I took her hand again, feeling the cold immediately seep deep into my palm as I guided her in stepping over the chalk outline and into the center of the circle. Even as we did so, the air around us took on a deeper chill, and I saw my breath condense in front of my mouth.
“I wasted no time in starting the chant I had committed to memory—an exorcism spell, if you like to think of it in that way, and one that has served me well in the past.
“‘Servo mihi per totus vestri vires. Ter inter orbis, reus subsido totus, malum pessum.’
“The air immediately started to warm.
“I chanted again.
“‘Servo mihi per totus vestri vires. Ter inter orbis, reus subsido totus, malum pessum.’
“The old lady’s palm grew warm in mine and the air around us lost its chill. I took her hand and slipped the ring from her finger.”
c
Carnacki stopped, looked up at us, and smiled.
Arkwright was outraged. “Blast it, man. That’s no kind of a story at all. There’s no … no …”
Carnacki smiled again. “I believe tension is the word you are looking for, old friend. But I agree entirely. Up until now, the tale of the ring has been one of a simple exorcism. Up until now. But if you will recharge your glasses, gentlemen, I will get to the meat of the story soon enough. The night is yet young, and there is much left to tell.”
c
“Like Arkwright, I too thought the story was over. The old lady took another glass of brandy to fortify her on her journey home. By the time I got her to the door the color was high and red on her cheeks, and her hand was warm in mine as she passed me the ring.
“‘You had best keep hold of this, Mr. Carnacki,’ she said. ‘Think of it as payment, if you will. It cost me fifty guineas, and I shall never wear it again. Besides, I believe it wanted to be here, that somehow you are what it was after all along.’
“With that cryptic remark she left. I was given no time to argue with her, as the butcher’s lad chose that very moment to deliver my hamper. I stored the ring in my waistcoat pocket … and immediately forgot about it as my evening became a whirl of provender deliveries, carol singers, well-wishers, and stolen moments of peaceful solitude by the fire.
“I went to bed full of resolve to spend the next day preparing a splendid meal for you chaps, my dearest friends. But it was not to be.
“I woke in the pre-dawn hours, chilled to the bone. At first I thought I had left a window open to the elements, but when I tried to get out of bed I quickly found that my whole right hand side felt like a cold block of stone. I managed, with some difficulty, to get my arm free from the covers, and in the little light that comes through the bedroom window, I saw a faint green glow from where the emerald ring sat, snug and tight, on my right forefinger.
“I am afraid to say I took something of a funk, remembering the sight of the gray, dead skin on the old lady’s finger. I staggered to my bathroom and ran hot water over my hand, to no avail. The ring remained frozen in place, and, as a result of the water I had poured on it, was now covered by a thin film of fresh ice. My whole arm, up to the elbow, had turned blue, my veins showing as black spidery lines just below the surface. And I could feel the cold creeping, ever further up the affected limb. My breath steamed in front of my face
and a fresh chill settled in my spine.
“A spiderweb of ice traced itself across the washstand mirror. The tendrils of the web grew together until the whole mirror was covered in a thin layer of frost.
“Then there was a loud squeak, as if a finger traced a clear line on the cold glass. A message started to appear, slowly, shakily at first, them with more certainty. Time seemed to stop as the writing continued—the only sound was the squeaking of a phantom finger on the glass. I could only stand and watch until, finally, it was done.
“‘Help me. For pity’s sake, help me.’”
“It gave me the willies, and I got out of there, right sharpish.
“My first thought was for my immediate protection. I got dressed as well as I was able given the fact that my right arm was now all but useless, and quickly made my way downstairs to the library. I was most thankful that I had not got around to clearing the defenses from the night before as I stepped into the circle.
“I immediately felt a rise in temperature, only a small one, but enough to give me hope that I was not in imminent danger of freezing. I raised my voice in the chant that had proved so effective the previous night.
“‘Servo mihi per totus vestri vires. Ter inter orbis, reus subsido totus, malum pessum.’
I felt a slight tingle of warmth in my arm—but my hand stayed frozen.
“‘Servo mihi per totus vestri vires. Ter inter orbis, reus subsido totus, malum pessum.’
“Frost ran across the floor and up the shelves of the library, crackling against the leather spines of the books. I felt warmth spread in my arm, from the elbow as far down as the wrist, but the cold would not relinquish its grip on my hand.
“I stood there for fully half an hour, repeating the chant. I was managing to keep the cold confined to my right hand, but I was not able to do anything about the spread of ice outside my defensive circle, which I am afraid to say was becoming extensive in the extreme.
“By this time thin morning sunlight was coming through the dome overhead, but dimmed due to a buildup of ice on the inside of the glass above me. The whole floor of the library looked like nothing less than the frozen surface of a misty lake; a thin fog hanging six inches deep across an inch of black ice over the wooden floorboards. More ice crawled over the shelves, rising up to meet that which flowed down from above. I was slowly becoming caged.
Carnacki: The Watcher at the Gate Page 7
