“I finally had a spare weekend. I took a room in the Black Bull and, armed with chalk, string, the flashlight and my small valise of basic protections, I went back down into the tunnels.
“My first action on reaching the chamber was to set up a protective circle in chalk, garlic and holy water. Luckily the floor was dry and the chalk applied easily, and as I am well practiced through many repetitions, it was only a matter of minutes before I was able to stand in the center. I immediately noticed that the base-level vibration in the area had already been dampened, so I started up the carol with little trepidation, trusting to my defenses.
“‘Here is joy for every age, every generation,
“‘Prince and peasant, chief and sage, every tongue and nation.’
“The chamber echoed back at me—the sound less strong, less strident than before, and I was well able to withstand the shock of it to my system and even to dispassionately examine some of its effects as I stood there with the sound ringing all around me.
“It appeared to be a purely aural phenomenon, a most peculiar vagary of the acoustics in this particular chamber. Furthermore, there appeared to be no menace, no threat at all from it—it was merely a loud sound that was at the exact frequency required to produce anxiety—and even fear—in a susceptible mind.
“Confident that I had already got to the bottom of the matter I spent the rest of the day, while the batteries lasted, in examining the scratches, sketches and fragments of doggerel on the walls. Some of it was rather rude and graphic, but some showed a rare degree of erudition. It quickly became obvious to me that others, seekers after knowledge like myself, had made previous attempts to delve into the secrets of this cave, and I had a most pleasant afternoon trying to decipher their esoteric scribbling.
“The only thing that vexed me slightly was the obvious dampening effect of my protective circle, which should not have occurred if the phenomenon was indeed a purely aural matter. But that was a minor quibble, and I would not let it spoil my good humor after what I considered to be a successful conclusion to the affair.”
c
“Once again I put the Chislehurst Caves out of my mind and went about my business—but if I was done with the caves, they were not yet done with me.
“It was not quite a year to the day from our first meeting when I opened the door again to young Crowther. It was immediately obvious that the passing of the days had not been kind to him. He could have been scarcely older than twenty, but he seemed to be carrying as many years again, and was close to weeping as I showed him inside.
“This time I did resort to the brandy, for I have rarely seen a lad more in need of it, and after the liquor had revived him somewhat, I got another story out of him—one that proved to be rather more serious this time.
“‘It wasn’t my idea, Mr. Carnacki, sir, but I thought it would be a jolly jape to go along with it, so last week we returned to the caves, with some girls who we hoped to impress with a bit of a scare and have a cuddle with afterward.
“‘When we saw that someone else had been there and had scribbled black magic marks on the floor—well, we nearly fled there and then. But Bill Carruthers—he’s always been the leader when it comes to doing anything silly—started singing, and the walls started to echo and at first it was all jolly shouting and laughter. And yes, there were some cuddles. It was only after we left that the troubles began.’
“The lad broke down in such tremulous weeping that I was quite at a loss what to do with him, but he eventually pulled himself together enough to finish the tale.
“‘I’ve been seeing them—we all have, Mr. Carnacki—all of us who were there have been seeing them. We are still seeing them. And hearing them too. A dozen hooded monks, all shuffling and chanting and singing and coming out of the walls like spooks.’
“‘Seeing them?’ I asked. “You mean to say you are seeing them here?’
“The lad glanced over to the library door, then quickly away again before nodding.
“‘They’re just over there now,’ he said, whispering as if in fear of being overheard. ‘And they are still singing that bally carol—you know the one—only it’s in Latin now, Ecce, nouvum gaudium. It just keeps going, on and on and over and over and they are always there and I cannot get rid of them and … you must help me, Mr. Carnacki. The doctors have already carted poor Bill Carruthers off to Bedlam, and I fear the same fate for myself ere too much longer.’
“‘Of course I could neither hear nor see anything untoward at the library door, nor was there any sense of a presence in the room, but the lad was clearly distraught and caught in some acute psychic malady.
“I remembered the dampening effect my circle had on the phenomenon in the cave, and I had the lad take some more brandy while I quickly drew up my protection on the library floor. If he spotted the likeness to the circles they had seen on their recent visit to the cave, he was either too frightened or too polite to mention it. Minutes later I was done, and I had him step inside the protection.
“He smiled almost immediately.
“‘They have gone. I don’t know how you’ve done it, Mr. Carnacki, but you’re a bloody miracle worker. They’ve bally gone.’
“Unfortunately we quickly discovered that the dampening effect only persisted as long as he stayed inside the circle. I fetched him a chair while we considered our next move.
“After a while I came to the only conclusion I could.
“‘We shall have to return to the caves,’ I told him, and all the color left his face at the thought.
“‘I am not sure that I am able,’ he replied.
“‘And I am not sure you have much choice in the matter—not if you wish to avoid joining your friend in Bedlam.’
“He went quiet at that, but over the course of the next hour or so he came round to my way of thinking. We also discovered that one of the talismans in my collection—a medieval charm against witchcraft—proved efficacious in, if not quite dispelling his spooks, at least in keeping them far enough at bay that he could stand to leave the circle for a while.
“Young Crowther slept in the chair inside my protections that night—his first period of rest for a week—while I made preparations for another visit to Chislehurst Caves.
c
“We set off early the next morning immediately after a hearty breakfast. We took a carriage, rented for the day. Given the aural nature of the phenomena we had uncovered so far, I took my basic protections and the two large phonographs that had served me so well in the past. I was particularly thinking of my encounter in the barrow at Larkhall, and wondering whether I might need something similar in the current situation. I also ensured I had sufficient spare batteries for the torch, given that we might be down in that cavern for some time.
“Crowley sat mostly silent for the entire three-hour journey, clutching the talisman I had given him tightly in his hands and staring out the window. He did, however, seem greatly rested from the previous night, and was no longer prone to either bouts of weeping or twitches of hysteria, so I felt I was at least making some progress.
“On our arrival in Chislehurst I had the carriage driver help me down into the cavern with the phonographs, then sent him away for two hours. The chap seemed very happy with the arrangement, and I had no doubt he would spend the time telling everyone in the bar in the Black Bull of the strange goings-on below their feet.
“All that was left to do was set up the protections and the phonographs—and persuade young Crowley to join me in the chamber. The protections were the easy part, for the circle, though smudged, was still clearly delineated on the floor. The phonographs were also easily set in place inside the circle, and readied for recording. The persuasion of the lad took rather more effort, for he was in quite a funk, even standing as he was in bright sunshine in the copse at the mouth of the caves.
“‘They are stronger here,’ he said. ‘I can hear them again—can see them coming out of the cave mouth. I think I will just stay here and �
�’
“‘Live in fear for what remains of your life?’ I said. ‘We talked about this last night, Crowther. Now, it is of little matter to me whether you stay or go, but I intend to go down there and face whatever waits for me. For the sake of your sanity, I would suggest you do the same.’
“And with that I turned on my heel and left him as I headed for the cave.
“I heard his footsteps right behind me as I went down into the dark.”
c
“The cavern responded immediately to our entrance, our footsteps being taken up and echoed in an almost martial beat, as if a drum was pounded in the distance. I caught a glimpse of Crowley’s pale, wide-eyed features in my torchlight as I showed him the path to the protective circle. I let him step in first, then quickly moved to join him.
“‘It’s working here too,’ he said, and gave me a wan smile. ‘Those dashed monks have gone and the singing has stopped. But I fear my circumstances are not greatly improved.’
“‘Let us see, shall we?’ I replied, and started to sing. Given that his vision had been of the monks, I launched into the older, Latin version of the carol.
“‘Ecce, novum gaudium,
“‘Ecce, novum mirum.’
“The old walls responded straight away, echoing my voice back at me, amplified and augmented as if by a massed bass choir until the whole chamber rang once more. And yet, I felt none of the vibratory ill-feeling, felt no compunction to run—the protective circle had once again dampened the worst of the effects.
“Still singing, I passed the flashlight to Crowther, then bent down and switched the first phonograph to record.
“‘Virgo parit filium,
“‘Quae non novit virum.’
“As I stood, young Crowther grabbed at my arm.
“‘They are here again, Carnacki. Can you see them? Please tell me you can see them.’
“And, by Jove, I could indeed see them as he waved the torch beam around the chamber. A dozen hooded figures walked slowly counter-clockwise around the perimeter of my defenses. They had their heads down and I could not see their faces, but they moved in time to the rhythm of the carol.
“I kept singing to the end of the verse, and kept recording as the answering chorus came back at us, ever stronger from the walls, long after I had stopped. I waited until a full verse was done, then switched the second phonograph to record while I reversed the first.
“This was the dashed tricky bit—I am sure you chaps remember from my previous stories that in cases of aural disturbance such as this, the timing is all-important. Crowther and I waited until another full verse played back. The hooded monks walked, the carol rose to a screaming fury as of a thousand voices, and then, right at the end of the verse, I set the first phonograph to play the backward chant while the second recorded the whole thing.
“At first I thought it was going to be a complete failure. The cacophony was worse than a squealing fight among a crowd of cats, and a hundred times louder. My head felt like it might implode under the screeching pressure of it, but slowly, surely, the counter-chant of the backward-playing phonograph began to take effect.
“The monks started to fade, becoming soft and insubstantial until they seemed like little more than mist in the torchlight, and then they were gone. The echo and ring from the walls lessened and faded to little more than a whisper and the first phonograph played the rest of the reversed carol to an end in otherwise complete silence.
“‘Are they gone?’ Crowther asked. ‘Are they really gone this time?’
“‘There is only one way to know,’ I replied. ‘Step out of the circle and wait—and do not worry, for you will be able to step right back in at the first sign of bother.’
“As it turned out, he had no need to step back into the protections. It seemed that my theory had borne practical fruit—his visions, both aural and visual, appeared to have been completely dispelled.
“The lad helped me lug my gear back up out of the caverns. As I turned to leave I thought I caught a glimpse of something at the corner of my eye, a subtle movement in the dark and an accompanying whisper, but I thought nothing of it in my relief at such a painless end to the day’s work.
“We had a pint of porter in the Black Bull with the coach driver, then headed for home. I gave Crowther the first wax cylinder, with instructions as to how to play the backward recording should his visions recur, and we parted most amicably in the late evening.
“I retired to bed that evening considering it a job well done.”
c
Carnacki stopped there, and made to rise from his chair. Arkwright was not slow to voice his annoyance.
“But that’s no bally kind of story at all, Carnacki. And you’ve finished dashed early as well.”
Carnacki smiled. “I assure you, chaps, the tale is by no means over, but I have need of a stiffener before going any further. The affair of the Chislehurst Caves has its hooks into me far deeper than I had anticipated. But first, let us fill our glasses and light fresh smokes, for far from being an early night, I might be keeping you past your bedtime to tell the full tale this evening.”
Suitably mollified, we did as we were bid, and minutes later we were once again settled, waiting for Carnacki to get his pipe going to his satisfaction before he continued.
c
“I did not hear from young Crowther again, so I think it is safe to conclude that his part in the tale is now done and that I was successful in that part of the proceedings at least. But there was one thing I had not planned for.
“You see, where Crowther had been infected—for want of a better word—with those aural and visual demons, so too had I been likewise afflicted, although it took some time for it to become apparent.
“I was not getting much sleep over the festive period that followed, caught up in a round of entertaining and being entertained, so it was some time before I took proper notice of something that had been just on the edge of my perception for days.
“I was hearing whispering. It only happened when I had complete quiet, so you can see how I did not take note at first. And in those early days, it was only when I was lying abed, just before sleeping or just after waking up. It was a wordless murmur, without cadence or form, and throughout January I was able to dismiss it as an artifact of dreamland or a mild hangover that was telling me I wasn’t getting any younger and perhaps should cut back on the liquor.
“But throughout that spring the voices grew louder, more strident, and when I started catching flashes of light and movement in the corner of my eye at inopportune moments I knew that something was amiss.
“I did indeed begin to hear a pattern in the sounds, and see images, sometimes fully formed, shifting and dancing where there should only be empty space and darkness. I even came to recognize the tune—it was not in English, nor even in Latin, but in some Germanic tongue I could not quite identify. The figures were not monks, but leather- and sackcloth-clad, both men and women, long of hair and somewhat unkempt as they sang and danced—it was the same tune as that blasted carol, and I was coming to hate the bally thing.
“As I had in the cave, I experimented with the phonographs, and was able to gain myself some degree of protection while staying inside a circle in the library, and even more when utilizing the power of the electric pentacle, but I could not spend my life like that.
“I managed to hide all this—rather well, I thought—from you chaps, and even ventured out on several cases despite being plagued by the damned visions and songs at the most inopportune times. But something had to give when, by early summer, I started seeing the capering, dancing figures in broad daylight and hearing the rough singing to the detriment of all other sound. There was only one thing for it—I had to make another return to the darkness of Chislehurst Caves.”
c
“This time I made rather an expedition of it. I had the pentacle, the generator, the phonographs and my small valise sent on by carriage to the Black Bull. I packed enough clothing for a w
eek and took myself down to Chislehurst by train, arriving too late that first day to do anything but enjoy a fine supper in the Inn. I say enjoy, but the experience was not exactly pleasurable, as the visions and sounds were louder by far there, close to their source, and I am afraid I must have looked rather peculiar to the bar’s patrons as I muttered oaths to myself and waved away at thin air.
“After a disturbed night’s sleep, I spent the early morning transporting everything down into the dark chamber below the copse. Finally, and with some relief, I was ready to begin.
“I stood in the pentacle with the lights at their lowest setting and set one of the phonographs to record as I started up again with the carol. I sang in English to begin with and became more than a little baffled as I realized there was no answering echo or rising chorus from the cavern walls.
“I reset the phonograph and tried again—Latin this time, and the reply was immediate. The leather- and sackcloth-clad dancers came out of the walls, answering my Latin with their harsh Germanic chant. I recorded the sounds as the volume rose to fever pitch. The valves of the pentacle flared and whined, with washes of green and yellow flooding the chamber as I came to an end of the first Latin verse.
“The sound went on rising around me as I switched off the phonograph, reversed the playback, and counted down the beats until starting it off again.
“And as before, the results, if not immediate, were forthcoming. The echo from the walls faded and died, the dancing figures seemed to thin and become insubstantial. Slowly but surely the cacophony died around me, the valves went dim and quiet and I was left standing alone in the chamber, silent save for the Germanic chant and, barely audible in the din, my Latin song, playing on the phonograph.
“I switched the playback off and stood there for long seconds in the silence before stepping out of the protections. I was ready to step back inside at the slightest provocation, but there was no repeat of the dancing figures, no more Germanic chanting. It seemed that, in the same manner as I had cured young Crowther of his affliction, I had likewise cured myself.
Carnacki: The Watcher at the Gate Page 20
