Carnacki: Heaven and Hell

by William Meikle

  “I now had a scent in my nostrils and my dander was up. I dredged through almost my whole collection, collecting clues as I went. I soon had more than enough information to form a theory.

  “In a quest for titillation the Hellfire Club pretended to be many things, including the worship of old Gods, the practice of Satanic ritual, and the adherence to pleasures of the flesh as a means of enlightenment. But what they had never bargained for was that one of their experiments would actually work. One night in 1777 -- a night when Dashwood himself was not actually present -- they used an obscure chant from the Sigsand MS. And in doing so, they called down a dark entity from the Outer Regions that consumed what little souls they possessed. The rest is somewhat unclear, but the Parish Records tell of a cleansing ritual, and I was rapidly coming to believe that the aforesaid cleansing had not been performed in the proper manner. Yes, the Abbey itself had been cleansed. But somehow, in a manner I did not yet understand, the darkness had not been sent back to whence it came, but had rather been sent elsewhere... into the mirror.

  “All that remained now was to test my thesis and to find out exactly what manner of thing had taken up home there on the other side of the glass.

  “As day began to turn to night I again prepared my defences against what might come. I applied more garlic and holy water to the pentagram, and tested the viability of the valves in the electric pentacle. Once satisfied, I made myself a somewhat hurried supper of slightly stale bread and hard cheese, washed down with my last bottle of porter. At just past seven I settled again inside the pentacle, armed with a full pouch of tobacco and my resolve to see through what may come.

  “And as before the voices came through first before the images, but as I lit the first pipe the figures appeared and the mummery began. This time I tried to pay more attention despite my disgust at the actions being performed. I was almost grateful when the red-suited figured appeared, chanting the ritual.

  “I tried to fix the exact phrasing in my mind as the darkness started to build in the depths of the mirror. I stood up just as the first of the black tendrils crept across the Abbey floor. It was now time to make my move.

  “I had to give my legs a stern talking to, for I was in quite a funk I can tell you. The prospect of leaving my defences had me quaking in my shoes, but if I was to discover the secrets of the mirror I had no other choice. Even as the blackness crept and covered the whole mirror I stepped out of the pentacle and stretched a hand out to touch the frame.

  “Icy cold gripped me, from fingertips to elbow. The blackness crawled all over the inside of the mirror, thrashing violently like a nest of vipers. The mirror thrummed under my touch. Behind me the valves of the pentacle flared, casting sharp dancing shadows across the library.

  “The cold crept further up my arm. It already felt like icy stone all the way to my shoulder. I was now sure of my theory. An entity from the Outer Regions had been imprisoned in the mirror. But I had underestimated the effect it could still afflict outside the bounds of the glass. Now I was paying for my mistake. My hand moved without my volition, reaching towards the surface of the mirror itself. If I did not take action, and dashed quick, I would be pulled inside to join the other damned souls.

  “I had little option. I brought to mind the words of the Incantation of the Raaaee and shouted them at the top of my voice. The echoes rang around the library, sending the valves flaring and sputtering. Almost at once the grip on my hand released and I fell away to the floor. When I had regained enough of my senses to rise the mirror was once again showing only my wide-eyed reflection."

  * * *

  Carnacki paused again.

  “I would suggest at this point that we all have one last stiffener,” he said. “For we have finally come to the meat of the tale, and the means by which I made an end to the matter.”

  We were all unusually quiet as we refilled our glasses that night. Somehow the fact that the tale had taken place in this same house lent a certain verisimilitude that, no matter how exciting, had been lacking from Carnacki’s previous tales.

  He seemed to read our mood.

  “Yes, I understand how vexing this must be. It was doubly so for me, coming to the realization that a denizen of the Outer Realm had taken a foothold in my own library. I was determined to be rid of it, no matter the consequence.”

  He waited once more for us to settle, then continued.

  * * *

  “I had no time for any rest. I would not suffer such a thing a minute longer than necessary. But what was I to do? Breaking the mirror was an option I but briefly considered, for that would only release the entity onto this plane and allow it freedom to roam. I was not strong enough to combat that eventuality. I also considered merely storing the looking glass in a dark place where no one would see it, but I knew that would forever prey on my mind. Besides, the creeping cold that had gripped me might yet creep further, and that too I could not allow.

  “I needed direction. A rapid perusal of the Sigsand MS was enough to give me an inkling of a plan. And by Jove it had to be rapid, for even as I read I felt the cold sneak across the room, as if trying to seek me out. I only warmed when I stepped back into the relative safety of the pentacle, carrying the MS with me.

  “The recording, if indeed that is what it was, began to play again behind the glass of the mirror but I attempted to ignore it as I scanned the rituals, seeking the one that I required. In the end I found what I needed in my own notes, written several years before in my Addenda to Harzans Monograph and Astral Coordination and Interference. It was a transcription of a verse I had discovered deep in the musty catacombs under York Minister, a ritual related by a Roman who knew certain secrets, and used them to cleanse the ground around the original temple on the site. The mere act of reading it brought it back fully formed to my mind.

  “I was as ready as I was ever going to be.

  “I stared into the mirror, having to sit through another playing of the basest profanities before the red-suited man walked into the scene. That was my cue. As he started to chant his debased ritual, I too began a ritual of my own, finding the sing-song rhythm of it as I went.

  “Ri linn dioladh na beatha, Ri linn bruchdadh na falluis, Ri linn iobar na creadha, Ri linn dortadh na fala.

  “The darkness gathered in the depths of the mirror, but it seemed to quail and quake before my words, staying in the distance rather than speed forward as before. My voice rose to further counteract the red-suited man’s vile utterances.

  “Ri linn cothrom na meidhe, Ri linn sgathadh na h-anal.

  My ritual was proving the stronger, and the dark entity stayed far back in the depths of the mirror, but I was coming to realize the futility of my chosen path. I was certainly able to control the darkness... but only for the length of my own chant. As soon as I stopped, the surging shadow would return. It was with a heavy heart I came to a finish.

  Ri linn tabhar na breithe Biodh a shith air do theannal fein.

  The darkness seemed to cringe, but my ritual was done. I was crestfallen. All I had done was delay the inevitable.

  “Or so I thought. The mummers on the other side of the mirror had ideas of their own. It was not a recording... it had never been a recording. Something of the Hellfire Club members had also been trapped in the mirror, call it their souls if you will, or their spirit. Whatever it was, they had used the time I had gained for them. Even now pale faces and hands pressed flesh against the inside of the mirror, eyes wide, voices raised in plea.

  “‘Free us.’

  “I tried the only other thing I knew. I cried out at the top of my voice.

  “Damnú ort!

  “The valves of the pentacle flared, so bright I had to close my eyes against the glare. Ice ran across the walls and shelves of the library, crystals cracking against old leather and paper. When I opened my eyes again the surface of the mirror showed only the nest of writhing black tendrils of the entity. But my library was now full. Pale wraiths flowed, smooth and swift, around the
edge of my pentagram.

  “I had no time to investigate them. The blackness started to creep out of the mirror, bringing with it a new deeper chill that started to seep up through my spine. Long wispy tendrils reached for me.

  “The pentagram held, for now. The valves crackled and flared and the whole library danced with light. More of the dark spilled out from the mirror and I saw that the tendrils were merely appendages from a main body -- an amorphous shadow, bulbous in some places, flat and smooth in others, all of it shimmering like oil on water. The air filled with whipping, thrashing shadows.

  “But I allowed myself a small smile. It was out. It was in my domain now. And I knew what to do. I raised my voice in chant again.

  “Ri linn dioladh na beatha, Ri linn bruchdadh na falluis, Ri linn iobar na creadha, Ri linn dortadh na fala.

  “All around me the pale wraiths joined in until our voices rose in a chorus fit to fill one of the great opera halls, ringing like a bell in the tight confines of the small library. Slowly, inexorably, the blackness shrunk and diminished, borne down by our song. It tried to creep back towards the mirror, but I took my cue from the dancing wraiths and raised my voice higher alongside theirs.

  “Ri linn cothrom na meidhe, Ri linn sgathadh na h-anal.

  “There was now little more than a rugger-ball sized shadow in front of the mirror.

  “Our chorus raised in one final cry of joy.

  “Damnú ort!

  “The pentacle’s valves flared, bright as sunlight. The last note of our chant blasted like a thunderclap through the library.

  “Everything fell silent. When my eyes recovered from the flash there was only my own reflection in the mirror, brightly lit by the calm steady glow of the electric pentacle. At the last I bethought I saw a small scrap of blackness creep through the wood of the frame and slide back inside the glass, but when I looked again, it was gone.”

  * * *

  Carnacki sat back and smiled.

  “And as an afterthought, I shall tell you one other thing. I feel as fresh as a daisy. Never better in fact. It is as if all my ailments have been washed away. Now, what do you chaps make of it?”

  I confess we were at a loss. Jessop came closest to Carnacki’s own thoughts.

  “Those wraith chappies?” he asked. “Were they souls do you think?”

  Carnacki paused before answering.

  “You all know my opinions on the matter of the soul,” he finally replied. “I think they were more vibrational entities, something of the revellers that was caught in the mirror at the same time that the dark thing from the Outer Regions was summonsed. And there they have stayed, for all these years, forced to replay the night of their entrapment over and over -- a true Hellfire Club, wouldn’t you say?”

  We could only agree.

  “And your counter ritual freed both the dark and the light from their bonds?” Jessop asked.

  Carnacki nodded.

  “I would like to think that those entities of light, who came from such debauched revellers in the Hellfire Club did, in the end, find a measure of peace on their release, and that in every darkness there is at least the smallest measure of light. Somehow, that gives me hope.”

  He rose, and we knew that was also our cue. But before he showed us out he allowed us all a closer look at the mirror. Arkwright refused to even consider getting close to it, but I walked over and studied, not my reflection but the shadows in the depths of the glass. Something black flickered, back in the distance.

  Carnacki spoke softly at my ear, so that only I would hear.

  “Do you not also think that in every light, there is also just the smallest degree of darkness?”

  Before I had time to reply he showed us to the door.

  “Out you go,” he said jovially and we shuffled into the night air.

  I thought long and hard on the walk homewards, and it was several days before I could bring myself to shave.

  The Tomb of Pygea

  It was with a certain degree of anticipation that I called on Carnacki that particular Friday at his lodgings in Chelsea at 427, Cheyne Walk, for it had been some time since we last had supper. I met Jessop on the Embankment and we walked the rest of the way together, both of us wondering what frisson of delight our host would have for us on this particular evening.

  As ever Carnacki made us wait until after supper had been finished and cleared away, but in truth that was not a hardship, as he had once again provided a fine table. He delivered a Mediterranean repast; from a fresh sardine starter, through some truly excellent swordfish, to a soft creamy dessert laced with coffee, all washed down with a particularly fine Frascatti.

  Later, as we settled in our usual places in the parlour, he invited us to sample a cloudy drink that smelled strongly of aniseed, assuring us that it was quite the delicacy. Arkwright was the only one who took to it though, and the rest of us charged our glasses with some of Carnacki’s excellent Scotch, lit up our smokes, and settled in our chairs, ready for our host to regale us with his latest adventure.

  * * *

  “It starts, as many tales do, with a knock on my front door,” Carnacki began. “It was last Thursday morning, a little after eight, and I had but recently finished breakfast, was halfway down my first pipe, and had reached page four of the Times. Whoever he was, the caller was quite insistent, knocking again before I could reach the door. When I finally opened it, he already had his hand raised for a third attempt.

  “At first I took him for a tradesman, for there was a pattern of ingrained dirt on his hands and in the creases of his face that told of a life of hard physical work, but his voice was cultured, although a tad excited as he spoke. It all came out of him as soon as I opened the door, without a pause to let me even query as to his name.

  “‘Mr. Carnacki sir. I desperately need your help. The gaffers have given me just two days to get the men back to work, and I have nowhere else to turn. It’s the foundations you see. The men refuse to go down there. It started after we found the coffin. There’s been scares and scrapes, and young Jennings lost an arm. It is all I can do to go down there myself, and I come from a line of miners taught not to be feart of the dark. The brass say we are just swinging the lead, but I can promise you sir, there is something down there, something nasty. I was at my wit’s end, but I heard tell that you helped the chaps out over that thing at the Larkhall Barracks. Can you help me? Please?’

  “Now you can imagine I was quite flabbergasted by this outpouring but aside from that, I was also to some extent intrigued. I invited the fellow in and plied him with strong coffee and tobacco which was enough to calm him somewhat and enable him to give me his story in a more coherent fashion.

  ”He started by handing me a card from which I learned that he was called Menzies, and that he was an engineering consultant, neither of which helped me greatly. It was only when he started to talk that I could grasp the reason he had arrived at my door.

  “I finally learned that his name was pronounced the Scotch way, that he was currently the foreman for the building of the new arched edifice on The Mall near the Admiralty... and that they had a haunt in the foundations. He told of a virulent phantasm that had his workers, stout hearted fellows to a man, too scared to approach within yards of the afflicted area.

  “There was more to the story. There always is, but I shall come to that anon. Let us cut to the chase. I grasped the nettle immediately, ordered up a carriage and accompanied Mr. Menzies to the work site on The Mall.

  “It had been several months since I’d ventured through Trafalgar Square, so I was somewhat amazed at the sheer scale of the building work being undertaken. It was no less than a new entranceway to the heart of the city, a rival to Rome’s St. Sebastian gate. I could see the plan, to focus the eye through the new arch and down the long straight to the Palace itself. When it is done it will enhance the pomp and ceremony, and no doubt will be seen as a great marvel.

  “But for now, it is a work in progress, a vast building site
of scattered stone and timber. Mr. Menzies led me to the heart of it, where a group of men stood smoking hand-rolled cigarettes, trying to hide them in the cup of their hands. He showed me to a makeshift staircase that was little more than a hastily bashed together ladder.

  “‘Mind your footing Mr. Carnacki,’ he said. ‘We shall be installing a stairwell at this point... if work ever gets restarted.’

  “He lit an oil lamp and went in front of me down into a deep hole.

  “‘We shall have a generator down here anon,’ he said. 'We’re having a dueced of a time getting a line down here that will work. But the lamp will suffice for now, if we stay close together.’

  “The ladder led us down to a rough-hewn chamber. It was immediately apparent that this was not part of the building work, rather a void that had been discovered during the construction.

  “‘We need to get this lot shored up and squared away,’ Menzies said. ‘But I can’t get the men to come near. Let me show you why.’

  “He led me away from the ladder, deeper into the chamber. Along the left hand wall lay a long, low box of stone covered in rough carvings.

  “‘This was all we found when the roof caved in,’ Menzies said, leaning over with the lamp in order that I might have a closer look.

  “I saw immediately that the box was Roman in construction, similar to many on display in the British Museum. The one below me was more ornate than most, the carving crisper and more detailed than any I had seen before. Menzies moved the lid aside with a foot in order that I could see the interior and by Jove what a fright I got. The lamp lit a skull smiling up at me, eyes seeming to move in the empty sockets as the light swayed slightly in the foreman’s hand.