Carnacki: The Watcher at the Gate

by William Meikle

  “‘Fog?’

  “‘Probably an effect of the field itself—you know, like the patterns you can make with magnets and iron filings?’ He sounded like he was trying to convince himself rather than me.

  “‘Anything at all could have happened—you have no conception of what lurks just beyond that boundary. We are damned lucky to still be here.’

  “He looked pale, but pointed at the floating egg again.

  “‘But look, it’s stable now!’

  “It sounded like a plea. I didn’t listen to him. I was thinking, of the barn filling with oily, glistening bubbles. They popped and spawned yet more bubbles, then more still. They filled everything with rainbow color, expanding through the building, spilling out into the orchards, over the railway line, engulfing everything in their path and humming along as they ravaged—there was more than the deaths of a cat and a few rats at stake here—much more.

  “‘Shut it off,’ I said. ‘Do it now, before it’s too late.’

  “He looked at me as if I was insane. ‘But we’ve done it, Carnacki.’ He pointed at a stack of batteries off to one side. An array of meters showed that the power inside them was building rapidly. ‘Energy from nothing. This is fortune and glory stuff, right here; this is our place in the history books.’

  “‘Forget the history books. I’ll be happy to have some more history. Shut it down, before it does for us all.

  “Swithin watched the meters rise for several more seconds. And finally he gave the order—whether it was because I had asked, or whether he was satisfied with his results I did not care. This time I was looking at the egg as they tried to manage the shut-down.

  “It was indeed too late. Far too late.”

  c

  “Two eggs now hung in the void side by side, just touching, each as black as the other, twin bubbles only held in check by the forces generated by the electrical equipment. I was suddenly all too aware how fragile that field had been earlier. The hum throbbed louder. The eggs pulsed in synchronized agreement.

  “‘Do something, Swithin, before it’s too late.’

  “‘I’m trying,’ he said, pulling out copper wire and untwisting valves to no apparent effect. The throb from the field went up a notch until it felt like being inside a vast kettledrum beaten by a manic giant.

  “Four eggs hung in a tight group, pulsing in time with the magnetic throb. Colors danced and flowed across the sheer black surface; blues and greens and shimmering silvers that were now all too familiar.

  “‘Shut it off,” I shouted. Swithin had stopped trying to pull out wires. All his attention was on the chamber in the void as each of the eggs trembled and calved.

  “In the blink of an eye there were eight.

  “The crystal valves howled in anguish. I was vaguely aware of Swithin attempting to connect yet another battery to the system, but I was past caring, lost in contemplation of the beauty in front of me.

  “The eggs calved again, and again.

  “Thirty-two now, and they had started to fill the barn with dancing auroras of shimmering lights that pulsed and capered in time with the vibration and the whine of the valves. Most of the scientist chaps took this as their signal and beat a hasty retreat, but Swithin was made of sterner stuff. He stepped closer to the calving eggs.

  “‘Carnacki!’ he shouted as he tried to disconnect the system. ‘I need you.’

  “Sixty-four now, each a shimmering pearl of black light.

  “The colors filled the barn, spilled out across the floor, crept among the rafters, danced in my eyes, in my head, all through my body, as I felt a flicker of memory. A hundred and twenty-eight bubbles hung in the void—and I realized they formed an image I had seen before—in the Sigsand MS. Just as suddenly, I knew exactly what was happening, and I felt a fresh twinge of fear—and not a little awe.

  “At that same moment Swithin pulled the remaining wires out from where they were attached to the batteries. The drone faded to a whisper, the drumbeat slowing and diminishing, leaving us in almost complete silence.

  “The eggs had already divided into two hundred and fifty-six. The void was filling fast, threatening to spill over into the barn itself, which shook and quaked, sending fine dust falling all around us.

  “A crack ran through the wall to my left, and two of the large battery cells on the far side fell over. There was a sudden burst of color; red, blue and shimmering silver filled my head.

  “I blinked, looked back, and the eggs were gone as quickly as they had come—there was only the empty containment chamber. But the damage had been done. The crack in the wall widened. A portion of the roof collapsed, fell to the floor and immediately disintegrated into dust. Swithin and I looked at each other, then made for the door.

  “We only just made it in time. The whole barn was coming down around us. We burst through the door together, reducing it completely to dust and splinters in the process. We emerged into sunlight, blinking, as the barn caved in on itself at our back.

  “A pall of dust rose up from the ruined building. I might have been the only one that noticed, but it did not disperse in the breeze—instead it seemed to thicken somewhat. A rainbow aura hung above the beeches for a long second, breathed, twice, then seemed to fall to the ground to be swallowed into the earth.”

  c

  Carnacki stopped again, clearly showing signs of some fatigue. I fetched him some more brandy, and he got a fresh smoke lit before continuing.

  “That was it, for Friday at least. I was hurried away from the area by the same sergeant who had shown me in earlier, and within the hour was on a train back home, arriving just in time to fall into bed and a troubled sleep full of dreams of dancing rainbow colors and bursting eggs.

  “I checked the early papers on Saturday to see if there were any reports of anything untoward in Kent, but all seemed quiet and I heard nothing more about the matter … until Monday morning. I was sitting in my library, perusing the Sigsand and contemplating several diagrams I had found there when there was a knock on my door. It was Swithin, and he looked as sick as any man I have ever seen.

  “He only just managed to walk the short distance from the door to my library, and fell in a heap in the nearest chair, clearly exhausted. Despite the fact that Monday was one of the warmest days of the summer so far, he had wrapped himself up inside a voluminous overcoat several sizes too large for his frame, and he looked like a child, sitting there in my chair lost inside his parent’s clothes.

  “Indeed, he looked so ill that I broke out the Scotch, which he took to readily despite it not being long after ten in the morning. After he had downed a goodly quantity his cheeks took on some color and he seemed to have the strength to talk.

  “‘I need you to come back to Kent with me, Carnacki,’ he said.

  “‘Give me one good reason why I should,’ I replied.

  He stood, somewhat shakily, dropped off the overcoat and undid the cuff of his shirt.

  “‘No, you do not understand. I really need you,’ he said.

  He rolled up his sleeve. The arm he exposed wasn’t just an arm.

  “‘I guess we didn’t get out of that barn fast enough.’

  I saw tendons and flesh through a hand-sized trans-lucent area. It looked almost opaque, and grooved, as if it had melted then reformed. There was a soft appearance to the flesh that I did not like the look of at all—it reminded me all too much of some of the manifestations of the Outer Darkness I have encountered on my various adventures.

  “‘Whatever was done is not over,’ Swithin whispered. ‘Lights have been seen in the sky over the orchards. The trees, the fruit, the very ground itself are all sickening. And we are all sorely afflicted—all of us who worked on the machine.’

  “At that Swithin fell silent, as if unable to continue.

  “In truth I did not need much explanation, for I could imagine it all too clearly in my mind’s eye. And my morning reading had only confirmed the seriousness of the situation to me.

  “
‘I shall need Churchill’s help,’ I replied. ‘For what I have in mind is beyond my own means.’

  “Swithin looked up at me, tears filling his eyes. ‘I am to get you anything you need,’ he said. ‘Mr. Churchill has already given the order.’

  “I told him what I would require. He had a small military truck waiting in the street and one of the two men inside was dispatched off toward Whitehall with my procurement order for delivery, post-haste, to Kent. I had the driver pack my defenses in the back of the vehicle then it took the two of us to lift Swithin into the passenger seat. I had to prop him upright most of the way as we headed at some speed through South London and out through Bromley, heading once again for East Malling.”

  c

  “Swithin looked like he might lapse into unconsciousness at any moment, so I tried to keep him awake by summarizing what I had found in my library. I don’t know that he heard more than the half of it, but talking it out did a great deal to get the matter straight in my own mind. I have told you already that I recognized the cluster of black ovoids that formed in Swithin’s contraption, have I not? Well, now I had more—I had a name for the phenomenon, one that is as old as mankind itself.

  “‘People have long searched for a way through to the other side—whatever their idea of that other side might be. It is only logical that over the course of those long millennia, from primitive tribesmen, through great civilizations and all the way up to your most recent forays, that some have succeeded, in some small part. The gate is there for any who want to look hard enough. And yesterday you found it, and opened it, just a fraction. Part of our place here, our Microcosm if you like, has no doubt gone over there to the Great Beyond—just as part of something from that side has seeped over here—and you yourself are feeling the effects.

  “‘The Outer Darkness would quickly surge through all these gateways, were it given the means to do so—but there are checks and balances in all nature, and it is no different with the gateway itself. I recognized the configuration of your hanging eggs from something the Persians discovered nearly three thousand years before you—now there is some history you should have considered—they called it Darbān and it is the source of many legends that follow over the centuries. It now has many names. You may have heard it called the Opener of the Way.

  “‘My hope is that just as it opens, so it may close. But that is something that remains to be seen. If the gate has been opened too far, it might be too late to ever close it again, and the sickness—your sickness—will spread and fester, and darkness will once again cover the face of the earth. We can only hope we are in time.’

  “‘We did not know,’ Swithin replied in a hoarse whisper. ‘How could we have known?’

  “‘You could have asked me. And you should have razed it to the ground when I said so. Now we may be too late.’”

  c

  “My suspicion that we were too late was reinforced as we arrived in East Malling just after noon.

  “Even for a small village in the rural heartland, it was far too quiet for a Monday lunchtime. The inns and taverns lay empty and nothing—not even a sparrow—moved on the streets. A Canterbury train flew past as we reached the junction but if it was meant to stop, the driver had decided to ignore it, and barreled through at some great speed, as if afraid to hang around too long in the vicinity. The air felt too hot, too dry, and everywhere one looked, one saw the instantly recognizable shimmering rainbow aura.

  “Had we the time, I might have stopped and investigated further. But I had no doubt that the shrubbery in the gardens, the trees and the hedgerows, possibly even the people themselves wrapped up abed, would be slowly crumbling down into a fine dust that would soon be subsumed into the dancing rainbows as it spread—and fed.

  “I saw more signs of the proliferation of the malignant influence as we made our way through the maze of orchards. Every tree was withered and twisted. Rotting fruit hung in oozing pustules, dripping globs of pus to a dry, dusty ground that sent up puffs of rainbow dust in reply. A glance in the side mirror showed that even our own journey down the track was sending up clouds of the dust, glittering rainbows rising high in the air kicked up by our wheels. I urged our driver to make all haste for the copse of beeches, and he did not have to be asked twice.

  “Two more army trucks waited for us just outside the ring of beech trees—Churchill had made good on my offer, and indeed, the supplies had made better time than we had. Several bemused squaddies shared a smoke and cast worried glances at the treetops where the rainbow aura hung and shimmered in a huge, ever-shifting, amorphous bubble; it almost seemed alive.

  “I wasted no time in getting about my preparations. I had the squaddies help unload the two trucks—one of them contained the heaviest-duty diesel generator available and fuel to run it, and the other contained as much electrical wiring and as many colored crystal valves as could be found in the limited time available.

  “You see, I hoped—it was my only hope—to pit my color theory against the opening gateway, to send a message to the other side that we were not prepared, that that gate must be shut. I only hoped that someone—or, rather, something—might be listening.

  “I also knew that setting up my circle outside the beeches would be futile—rather than fight against something, on this occasion I had to focus on containment. I had the men set up a great pentacle of the colored valves, with the ruin of the collapsed barn smack in the center. Such was the size of the thing that the wiring had, of necessity, to be threaded between the trunks of the trees, the pentacle encompassing most of the area of the copse.

  “Swithin, despite a growing lethargy and despair, managed to cannibalize a deal of electrical equipment from the other huts. He came up with a rather ingenious set of switches for controlling the crystal valves—a method I indeed hope to be able to use in future adventures—and finally I was able to pronounce that we were ready.

  “It had taken most of the day; the rainbow aura had thickened overhead and was humming slightly, glowing bright against a sky that was dimming as dusk fell.”

  c

  Carnacki paused again.

  “And now we come to it, gentlemen. So if you’d like to refill your glasses for the last time—and if Dodgson would be so kind as to oblige me again—let us get to the end of this remarkable tale, while I still have the energy—and the inclination—to see it through.”

  Once more I did as requested, pouring Carnacki a very stiff brandy, for he looked like he might need it, being as drawn and haggard as I have ever seen him. I was thinking on his description of the man Swithin’s illness as I sat back in my chair and waited to hear him out.

  He took some time getting a smoke lit, and sipped at his brandy before starting again.

  c

  “As you have probably gathered, I did not have a great deal of hope of any success. I sent the squaddies away—there was no sense in exposing them for any longer than was necessary. Swithin refused to leave with them.

  “‘This is my mess, in the main,’ he said. ‘I intend to see it sorted, whatever it takes.’

  “We stood side by side, smoking a last cigarette as the light went from the sky. The rainbow aura danced overhead, hissing slightly, almost singing as I threw the switch and turned on the pentacle. My colors, a wash of blue and yellow, filled the glade and overhead the aurora dimmed, and seemed to shrink.

  “‘It’s working,’ Swithin said, although I was by no means certain of that.

  “Seconds later what appeared to be a thin fog started to rise from the ground all around where the barn had collapsed, glowing faintly and pulsing in time with the thrum and hum emanating from the pentacle.

  “Swithin pointed at his little box of switches.

  “‘What now, Carnacki? How is your color theory going to work?’

  “We must attempt to nullify the rainbow—as you know, colors can either work together, or cancel each other out—let us see how a hefty dose of blue does against it.’

  “I flicked th
e switch that Swithin had indicated controlled the blue end of the spectrum. The crystal valves flared, white, blue then white again, so bright that I had to avert my gaze. The pale glow in the fog inside the pentacle took on a blue tinge. Sparks flew, like arcs from a Van de Graaf generator, making the hair on my arms stand on end. The very ground around us started to buck and sway.

  “I flicked a switch to add more yellow.

  “The fog immediately thickened and became almost palpable.

  “‘I think you’ve got it, Carnacki,’ Swithin shouted.

  “Even as he spoke a black tear opened in the air above the ruins of the barn, accompanied by what sounded like the ripping of paper. A single black egg, no bigger than my thumb, hung there.

  “The egg quivered, a rainbow aura danced over it, and ever so slowly it became two, oily sheen running over their sleek black surface. They hummed to themselves, a high singing that was taken up and amplified by an answering whine from the crystal valves.

  “As two eggs became four, the whole copse rocked from side to side in rhythm.

  “The dance had begun.”

  c

  “Eight black eggs hung impossibly in the air above the ruined barn, oily and glistening, thrumming in time with the vibration from the pentacle that was getting ever louder, ever more insistent. I had to resist a sudden urge to start clapping in time to the beat.

  “Thick fog glowed in an aurora of rainbow color and swirled angrily in the darkened grove of beeches, but whatever the pentacle was doing to contain it seemed to be holding, for now.

  “Eight became sixteen, then thirty-two just seconds later, clustered in a tight ball that spun lazily in the air. The beeches themselves were changing too—the trees had become noticeably thinner, almost translucent and swirling rainbow fog clearly moved through them. They thinned further, almost ghostly now, then vanished completely until there was only the dark ground and the darker eggs hanging over it—sixty-four now, and singing louder.