by C. J. Waller
Whatever was down there, it didn’t want to be filmed. Or maybe it couldn’t be filmed. Paul remembered the yawning black chasm that had opened up when he and Piers had gone to investigate the altar, and he turned cold. In a way, this just confirmed it for him. The church wasn’t just a building, and the so-called monster wasn’t simply an animal. There was something else in the loch, something detached from what they all understood as reality – and it had killed Piers. The jumble of static and tumbling blocks continued on the screen as the camera tried to make sense of this new altered state, but it was futile. Normal rules didn’t exist in that place. Paul was now certain of this.
“What’s up with it?” Yolanda asked. She sounded croaky, like she was trying not to hiccup. Paul glanced at her. Her body was rigid, her pulse fluttering wildly in her neck.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I think… I think it’s trying to film something it can’t interpret.”
“What do you mean, it can’t interpret?” In contrast with Yolanda, Mags was angry. “How can it not interpret it? It’s a fucking camera! You point it, it shoots. It’s not exactly complicated kit. Maybe the footage has corrupted. That must be it. Something is wrong with the machine. Maybe its housing is cracked and water got in, or something. Or maybe its memory has gone. I don’t know. We’ll have to ask Decker. He’s the tech geek. He’ll be able to clean it up.”
Paul wasn’t so sure. He wondered why he hadn’t thought of data corruption. It certainly was the most sensible interpretation of what they were seeing, but something deep within him knew that wasn’t it. He’d been in that abyss. He knew.
As quickly as the footage had disintegrated, it sprang back to life. It showed his flight through the window, only to fall apart again when he chanced a glance back into St Machan's. When he turned his head back to the surface, the footage cleared once more and never fragmented again, right up until he was dragged back into the boat by a panic-stricken Mags and it was switched off.
“Still think it’s just corrupted?” he asked Mags, quietly.
The look Mags gave him was hateful. “Screw you,” she said, and clambered awkwardly to her feet.
“Where are you going?” Yolanda asked.
“Out,” Mags said. She stormed away.
“Without any shoes on?” Yolanda called after her.
“Leave it,” Paul said. He ran an exhausted hand over his face. “She’ll come back.”
“Corrupted footage, huh?”
“I know. I think she needed to believe that.”
“The middle section… could still just be corrupted…”
“Yeah, it could be. But do you believe that?”
Yolanda paused. “No.”
“Neither do I. She wasn’t down there. She didn’t experience it.”
“Paul… what did happen down there? I mean, I know you tried to explain before, to the Sergeant, but it didn’t make much sense.”
Paul sat back and sighed. It didn’t make much sense? How did she think he felt? He hadn’t really allowed himself to think about it. Not just Piers' death, but all of it. He simply didn't have the words to describe what had happened to him. That yawning gulf... the impenetrable darkness... the thing that dragged Piers down... it was beyond anything he'd ever experienced. It was probably beyond anything anyone had experienced.
Something else bothered him, too. He dragged the little bar at the bottom of the video back and watched the footage through again.
Down in the dark, it'd felt like an age. Sure, he had no cues to help him mark the passage of time, but he couldn't sworn it had been a good quarter of an hour, possibly even longer.
According to the timer, it had been a scant minute and a half.
He leaned forwards and rewound it again, stopping it just before he had dived down to look for the altar. This time, rather than trying to make sense of jumbled mess the footage, he kept a close eye on the corner of the screen, where the date and time was displayed. It was hard to keep track of it given how much the picture skipped and stuttered, but eventually, after a few repeats, he had it.
Something deep within his chest clenched and turned icy.
“What is it?” Yolanda asked.
“I'm not sure. Watch the timer. It’s hard, but watch what it does.”
He rewound it again so she could see. She peered at it intently, but when it finished no dawning sense of understanding bloomed. Instead, she just shook her head.
“Sorry… I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be seeing. It’s too fragmented. Sorry.”
“It’s okay. It is hard to see and I might be wrong – but hang on… wait a minute… damn, sorry... there – look.” Paul fiddled with the footage until he managed to pause it at just the right point. The screen was still a mess of blocks and static, but in the corner, he could just make out the faint ghost of the camera’s timer. Yolanda craned forwards until her nose almost touched the screen. Then she looked up in utter disbelief.
“That can’t be right.”
“I know.”
“I mean, that really can’t be right. It’s impossible.”
“It is.”
“How… how does that even happen?”
“I don’t know.”
And he didn’t. Because who could decipher constantly changing numbers that made up the time and the 00/00/0000 that made up the date?
Chapter Nineteen
They found Mags in the sitting room, nursing a whisky. Judging by the frowns Mrs Kelly shot her as she bustled in and out, she did not approve. Judging by the glowering stares she threw her back, Mags didn't care.
Paul hesitated before sitting. Yolanda hovered behind him. Although he knew Mags well enough to blunder in on her in the shower – or worse, that one time after eating dodgy breakfast burritos in New Mexico, on the toilet – he felt awkward just helping himself to a seat. In the end, she rolled her eyes and waved at him to sit down, muttering ‘Jesus Christ’ under her breath as he did so. Yolanda followed his lead, but if the way she stiffly perched on the chair was anything to go by, Paul guessed she’d rather be anywhere but here right now.
“I’m sorry,” Mags mumbled.
“Sorry?” Paul said.
“Don’t make me repeat it.”
“Oh, God, no. I didn’t mean it that way.” Paul reached over to touch her hand. She tensed, but allowed it to rest there long enough to reassure him that he wasn’t the problem.
“You… you find anything else? You know, on the… on the…” She looked up and gestured with her head to their room above them.
“Not really. Nothing to help us prove what actually happened down there, anyway.”
“But we did manage to isolate what looks like a time anomaly,” Yolanda chipped in. Paul shot her an angry glance. This was not the time, nor the place, to be talking about such things. You never knew who might be listening.
“A what?” Mags said.
“It’s not important,” Paul said. Mags' brows lowered in confusion, but she still nodded slowly. She might not understand what they were on about, but she understood he was reluctant to talk about it – and why.
As if summoned, Mrs Kelly bustled over. “Do either of you want anything?” she asked. It was clear from her tone that she disapproved of Mags’ early drinking; the yardarm must’ve been a lot later here than back home.
“Uh, yeah,” Paul said. What could he ask for that might take some time to prepare? “Nothing alcoholic, though. Tea, maybe?” He didn’t really fancy tea, but it took time to make properly, and if there was a woman who liked to do things properly, it was Mrs Kelly.
Mags must’ve caught onto his thinking, because she chipped in too.
“Yeah, that might be nice. Although, can I have a coffee? Take the edge off this.” She raised her glass and clinked the ice against its sides.
Mrs Kelly growled under her breath and gave them a curt nod. “If you insist. And you?”
Yolanda shrugged. “I don't know. A Coke?”
“A Coke?” Mrs Ke
lly repeated, sounding like she’d never heard of such a thing before.
“Or tea. Tea will be fine,” Yolanda said.
“Right. Two teas and a coffee. Milk and sugar?”
“Yes, please.”
“Fine. I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
She turned sharply away and stalked off. They watched her leave the room and paused for a moment to make sure she wasn't lurking round the corner, listening in. When they were certain she had gone, Paul turned back.
“We saw some kind of time anomaly,” he said. “After you left, Yolanda and I managed to isolate a frame that showed a random string of numbers where the time should be, and the date was a string of zeros. Have you ever heard of such a thing?”
Mags tossed back the last of her whisky, grimacing as she did so. “No, I haven't. But then again, I'm probably not the best person to ask.”
At that, Paul couldn't help but glance to the doorway. If this had been a TV show, Decker would stroll in at this point, as if summoned by their collective need, but this was real life and the doorway remained resolutely empty.
“I'm sure he'll be back soon enough,” Mags said.
“But what if he doesn't come back?” He hadn't meant to say that out loud, but it slipped out anyway. It was Mags' turn to reach over the table and squeeze his hand.
“I'm sure everything will be okay in the end,” she said.
“I don't know, Mags... this feels different.”
“We have to keep our hopes up. I know it feels like we're in the thick of it, but all we need to do is find the car and drive away. That's it.”
When she put it like that, it did sound easy; almost childishly so. But none of the weight crushing Paul's heart lifted. If anything, it felt heavier.
“What about Decker? We can't leave him here.”
Mags said nothing. She avoided his eyes and withdrew her hand, conflict scrawled all over her face.
“Paul, I know this is hard, but we have to think about getting out of here.” Yolanda spoke carefully, as if trying to talk someone down for a ledge. “We're going to have to do something soon, whether Decker is with us or not. No, please, hear me out. I don’t know what is going on here, but I definitely have the feeling things are only going to get worse if we stay.”
“What are you saying?” Paul said. “No. We have to go and look for him. We can't leave him here.”
Yolanda sighed, looking pained. “I hate to say this, but we have to be practical. Decker's from this town, so we can only hope that whatever they have in mind for us doesn’t apply to him. I've been wondering for a while if that's the reason why they've isolated him, which is why we can’t wait for him. If he gets back before then, fine – but we have to leave, and we have to leave soon.”
“No. We can't.”
“Paul... Yolanda's right,” Mags whispered. “We can't stay here. We have to leave.”
“But.. but... no! How can you sat that?”
“I'm sorry. I really am. But we don't have any other choice.”
Paul's heart stuttered and died. He was all ready to argue, all ready to fight, but a small, rational part of him knew they were talking sense. The back of his throat grew gritty with the realisation.
“I'm sorry. I really am,” Yolanda said. “I know you don't want to hear this, especially from me, but we have to be sensible. We can always send in the cavalry later, but right now we have to think of our own safety,”
“Mags?” He looked up, hoping to see something that might resemble sympathy to his plight. Instead, he saw sadness and pity. He withdrew his hand from under hers. She sighed heavily, her jaw clenched.
“Paul... please, don't do this. Don't withdraw. It's not him. It's not us. It's this place. I want to get him out as much as you do, of course I do, but we can't risk it, not now. We need to leave, and the sooner the better.”
“But surely... surely we can go and look for him? Before we leave? I mean, we have to at least try. We can't just leave him here. We can't.” Much to his shame, Paul's eyes blurred. Part of him couldn't believe they were even thinking like this, but another treacherously sensible part knew it was the only way.
Whether he wished to admit it or not, this was now a matter of their survival.
“I know this is hard,” Yolanda said. “But we can't risk it. I know I don't know him half as well as you and Mags do, but in a way that puts me at an advantage. We all know something is going on here. Piers is dead... Decker is missing... what next? We can't afford to wait and find out. We have to go. It's already getting dark, so I say we wait until the early hours and then make a run for it.”
“Yeah. I agree,” Mags said. “We'll have more of a chance under the cover of darkness.”
“That gives us a few hours to go and find Decker,” Paul said. A glimmer of hope struggled upwards, through the despairing sludge that filled him. “We could go now.”
“I don't think we can,” Yolanda said. “If it's any consolation, I don’t think he’d deliberately betray us, but he might say something to his family that would give them a hint. Plus, going out might raise suspicion.”
The glimmer faltered. “Can't we at least leave him a note, or something?”
“And leave a clue for Mrs Kelly to find? I'm know this sounds heartless. Brutal, even. But we don't have much of a choice. If he gets back before we go then, of course, we can tell him, but we can’t go looking for him. It'll make them suspicious. It might sound stupid, but I can't help but feel like we are in a lot of trouble here.”
“I can only agree on that front,” Mags said. “I felt it when we first arrived. I don’t know what it is, but there’s a definite... atmosphere here.” She shivered. “Can't you feel it?”
Paul wanted to disagree with her, tell her that, of course he couldn't feel anything, but that would have been a lie. Because she was right. There was an atmosphere here that went beyond mere hostility towards strangers and into the realms of something truly unsettling. A sense of what he could only think of as pressure was building to intolerable levels, like the air before a storm, and at some point, it was going to break. What 'it' was, he didn't have a clue; the only thing he was certain of was that when it did break, it would be too late.
“So, how are we going to do it?” He tried to squash the sense that he was betraying Decker down to a deep place where it might suffocate and die. “This place is miles away from anywhere, and we don’t have our cars any more.”
“I think we’re going to have to steal one,” Mags said. “I don't know whether you've noticed, but all the cars here are old – even the police cars. I can get into one of those in two seconds flat, and starting one is a simple matter of wires. I’m guessing immobilisers haven’t travelled this far north yet.”
“You can hot wire a car?” Yolanda said. “I’m impressed.”
“Hey, you aren’t the only one with a misspent youth. Us smaller-town girls also had plenty of opportunity to get into trouble.” She shared a grin with Yolanda. Paul didn’t join in, but this time it wasn't thoughts of Decker that stopped him, but rather something Mags had said.
The cars.
The cars were all old. She was right. He couldn’t recall seeing one modern model. Not one. If he was a betting man, he’d lay money on it. In fact, he’d go one step further. He’d lay money that they were all at least twenty-five years old.
Twenty-five years.
It had been twenty-five years since Decker had left Dùisg a' Pheacaich.
“You okay?” Mags asked.
Paul snapped his head up, unaware that he’d been frowning. “Uh, yeah. I’m fine. Just thinking, that’s all.”
“You didn’t hear me, did you?” Mags said.
“Uh, no. Sorry.”
“I was just saying I'm sure Decker is okay,” Mags said. “I’m sure we won’t have to leave him here.”
Paul didn't agree.
Twenty-five years...
A clinking sound heralded Mrs Kelly's entrance. She carried a tray with two steaming pots
and four cups. Paul was about to ask her why four, but before he could, Decker trailed in behind her. He looked tired. No, he looked exhausted. Paul's heart leapt and he jumped to his side, concerned, and went to embrace him, but something about his demeanour meant he stopped himself and only touched his arm instead. Decker offered him a weak smile in reply, and much to Paul’s dismay took a small but very definite step backward. Paul frowned, and Decker dropped his gaze.
“Everything okay?” he murmured.
Decker gave a little shrug, but said nothing. Mrs Kelly set the tray down on the table behind them, her lips puckered, her stance disapproving. Usually such an attitude wouldn’t have bothered them; they always maintained it said more about the person than themselves, but judging by his subdued entrance, Decker wasn’t going to help him fight the good fight today. Paul felt something akin to anger flare up, but it soon died down and settled into an ashy mess of disappointment and worry.
Whether it was to break the uncomfortable silence or simply because she hadn’t caught on, Yolanda smiled brightly at everyone and picked up the teapot. “Shall I be Mum?”
Paul and Decker exchanged one, last look. Decker’s eyes were so full of defeat, Paul’s heart broke.
“Tea or coffee?” he asked.
“I don’t think-” Decker started.
“No… tea or coffee?” Paul asked again. He raised his eyebrows in the hope that Decker would pick up on his desire for him to stay. Decker let out a ragged sigh and all but whispered ‘coffee’ before perching himself on a chair next to Mags. Yolanda handed him a steaming cup, which he shakily added three sugars to. Now Paul knew something was wrong. Decker never took sugar in anything. Although he had a sweet tooth, he said diabetes ran in his family and it wasn’t worth the risk.
Yolanda continued dishing out the drinks with a quiet question as to everyone’s preference. When she finished, they huddled over their mugs as if taking solace in their warmth. On the other side of the room, the clock’s incessant ticking deafened them. In the end, Paul could stand it no longer.
