* * *
At that point Carnacki stopped again. He looked pensive as he tapped fresh tobacco into his pipe.
“I find I am loath to continue,” he said after a moment. “We are reaching the climax of the tale, and in the telling, I may have to divulge things that you will not be able to talk of save to each other.”
“Come man,” Taylor said. “We have kept your confidences in the past, and gladly. You cannot leave us high and dry at this stage of proceedings.”
“Dashed bad show Carnacki,” Arkwright said. “Do you not trust us?”
“With my life,” Carnacki said quietly. “You are the best friends a man could have. But trust is not the issue. Once I tell you what must be told, you will not be able to forget it. And the thoughts that will accompany the tale’s conclusion may lead you to question many of the tenets you hold dear... indeed it may even lead you to question the very nature of reality itself.”
Arkwright guffawed.
“You always were the one for melodrama Carnacki. Come, tell us your tale, and we shall discuss it afterwards as usual. It cannot be anymore outrageous than some of your other stories.”
Carnacki smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
“My dreams are haunted now,” he said. “I had hoped not to inflict the same on you. But if you insist...”
Taylor and Arkwright spoke almost simultaneously.
“I insist.”
Carnacki lit his pipe.
“Very well. Let us rush on to the conclusion. But do not tell me you were not warned.”
* * *
“The Ballroom was as cold and clammy as before,” he continued. “The equipment lay in the middle of the floor near what remained of my circles. Although my defences had proved of no use so far, I did not want to abandon them completely -- more for my own peace of mind than from any feeling of confidence in their efficacy. I spent five minutes repairing the damage I had done before turning to investigate what the engineer had brought.
“He had been as good as his word. Not one, but two new phonographs lay on the hardwood floor. They looked to be the latest models, and I guessed that they had been raided from the first class cabins. Jessop would have spent hours poring over the technical specifications of these fine boxes, indeed as would I given the time. But for now, I was aware that the aural onslaught could return at any moment.
“I wound up both machines and waited.
“The whispering that signalled the start of the manifestation started almost immediately after I’d lit up a pipe. I set the wax discs recording, clamped my teeth on the stem of the pipe and prepared to endure whatever was coming.
“I must tell you chaps, I never again wish to be exposed to such sheer terror as that which engulfed me. It lasted mere minutes but felt like I had been tossed in a shrieking howling maelstrom for hours. Sweat poured from every pore and I believe that, had my pipe not been made of stern stuff, I might well have bitten it in two. The noise swelled and rang through the huge empty space, filling every nook and cranny with fear and panic.
“Then, as quickly as it had come, it was gone.
“It took me long seconds to realize that silence had fallen. My every muscle trembled, as if I’d undertaken many hours of strenuous activity, and my heart pounded so loud in my ears that I was afraid I might burst with the tension. It was noticing that the cylinders were still recording that got me moving.
“I switched both off and started one replaying, realizing, too late, that I had forgotten to wind up the machine. That proved to be a blessing in disguise. The playback started at a very slow speed... and that’s when I realized that what I had been listening to all along were voices, human voices raised in terror, but speeded up to an unnatural degree.
“I have the cylinder in a drawer in my library, and someday I may play it for you chaps, but trust me, you never want to hear it as I did, in that empty liner in the midst of the dark empty ballroom. People screamed, and footsteps rang on the hardwood, as if fleeing from some unseen terror.
“I tasted salt in my mouth again, and I realized that the manifestation was returning. But this time it came as images... no, more than that, almost solid figures. The people who made the sounds appeared in front of me, as if in a stage play, running and screaming with no hint that my presence had in any way been noted.
“Even when I stepped outside my defences they ignored me. But their terror was real enough. I watched as the initially full ballroom emptied, people climbing over each other in their frenzy to escape, grown men leaving weeping woman and children in their wake in their rush.
“I followed the throng out into the corridor where the fleeing crowd was joined by vast numbers of guests in their nightwear, and panicked crew members, all trying to reach the outside. The taste of salt grew stronger, and the boat lurched underfoot.
“Suddenly I knew I had to find out what might have caused such a manifestation, which was surely a message of some kind from the Outer Regions. I waited until the corridor had cleared and made my way slowly towards the bridge.
“There was a curious overlap in my vision, with the current ship which I inhabited overlain on the one where the terror was being played out. I considered that I might be seeing a previous emergency on the boat, but I had not read of such a thing occurring in the vessel’s relatively short history, and surely an event of such a magnitude would have been reported?
“My puzzlement did not last long. I arrived at the bridge to see a worried Captain dictate a telegraph. His voice came to me as if from a great distance, but the words are stuck in my memory.
“Mayday. RMS Lusitania struck by German torpedo thirty miles west of Cape Clear Island. Taking on water and listing badly. Estimate ten minutes until capsize. Many dead. Mayday.”
“There is more, but I want to stop here, and consider something.”
* * *
Carnacki paused and puffed at his pipe.
“German torpedoes,” he said softly. “We all know such a thing, although possible, has not happened. But hearing the rest of the telegraph got me thinking, about free will, and destiny. I have never been a believer in fate, cleaving to the principle that I always have a choice in the direction of my future.
“But what I heard next gave me pause for, you see there was a date spoken, a date I could scarcely believe.
“Dictated by Captain Turner, Fourteen-twenty hours, May Eleventh, Nineteen hundred and fifteen.”
There was a moment’s uproar in Carnacki’s parlour as we came to understand the import.
Carnacki gave us a second, then waved us into silence.
“Now you see what has caused me to anguish over this telling,” he said. “I always believed that time was an arrow, that the past was gone and the future still to come. But what if everything in the Macrocosm exists simultaneously? Are we all mere pawns, forever destined to walk preordained paths? I admit that thought depresses me mightily. What I have seen makes me wonder at the purpose of my very existence.
“But to return for a moment to the tale. The figures around me began to fade as they reached the end of a cycle. The bridge emptied and, although the boat on which I stood was firm enough, the one in the vision lurched alarmingly and once again I felt as if I had got a soaking. I was buffeted as if by a strong current and I swallowed the taste of salt water.
“But I had an idea, one born back in the barrow in Larkhall.
“I returned to the ballroom and began experimenting with different speeds of playing the cylinders I had recorded. I knew that different sounds, being as they are at source mere vibrations, interact with other sounds. In extreme circumstances, one set of noises can act as a dampener for another, in effect cancelling themselves out to produce silence. It was this I was attempting to do now.
“I had to force myself to endure three full cycles of the howling and screaming, spending the best part of the night watching over again as frantic passengers crushed into too small an exit. I was an emotional and physical ruin by the end,
but finally I had it. I cranked up both phonographs and replayed them back, one at full speed and one two seconds ahead on starting, but timed to finish at the same instant. The resulting noise was an unholy cacophony. But it did the job asked of it. While the phonograms were playing the howling manifestation faded and died until the phantom images stopped moving and not even a whisper of a scream could be heard. When the phonograms stopped there was only a deep silence in a Ballroom which already seemed warmer and more inviting.
“I stayed there for two more days, but there was no recurrence of anything untoward. McAllister is sober now, and most thankful for what I have done. But as I left, I saw the same fear in his eyes as I feel in my own heart. I did not tell him of the date I overheard the doomed Captain dictate, but I think he knows that one day, perhaps soon, there will be a major problem with the Lusitania. McAllister is a stout fellow. I do believe he means to stay with the boat, and endeavour to mitigate the severity of what may come.
“I wish him well.
“As for me, I have been to the Admiralty, trying to impress on them the danger that is, or will, be caused by German U Boats. But you chaps can see their problem, can’t you? They cannot in all faith accuse the Germans of something that hasn’t happened yet, and they cannot ask Cunard to keep the Lusitania in dock in Liverpool, for it would bankrupt that great company.
“No, life shall go on. Or rather, life always goes on. I have seen a new manifestation of the Outer Realms during this case, one that I wish I had not. I find at the moment that I cannot look ahead to the future with any great confidence, not for my own part in my own destiny, or for this country’s part in what I fear must come to pass in little more than five years.”
* * *
It was a sombre Carnacki who looked up at us as his tale finished.
“Well chaps. Have I dented your view of what is right and proper in the world?”
None of us spoke. We had sat and listened to many of Carnacki’s tales, revelling vicariously in his adventures. I believe we all now realized that with the adventure comes a realization that we were privy to things we might not be meant to know, or even understand.
“Those dashed Huns,” Arkwright said. “Someone should make them pay for what they’ve done.”
Carnacki smiled wanly.
“Will do, my dear Arkwright. Will do. And I have no doubt that what I saw will come to pass, no matter what we here might do to try to prevent it. All I can say is that I for one do not intend to ever take a sea cruise, and I suggest all here refrain, for many years to come.”
We were all still quiet as Carnacki herded us onto the porch with a soft “Out you go.”
Jessop accompanied me along the Embankment for a time. We were lost in our own thoughts, neither of us in the mood for conversation. It was only as we parted at the bridge that he spoke.
“I say old chap,” he said, taking a newspaper from his coat pocket. “I did not want to bring this up in front of the others, but I cannot keep it to myself. I think it is pertinent.”
Indeed it was, and it has haunted my dreams for many a night since.
The newspaper was the Daily Mail, and the headline seemed to leap out of the page at me.
“Germany preparing for war on the British Empire.”
The Haunted Oak
That Spring evening I arrived outside 427 Cheyne Walk at almost the same moment as Jessop, and even as my companion rapped on the door I spied Arkwright and Taylor arriving from the East. In that manner Carnacki was able to show us all inside at once, and for some reason that made him laugh out loud.
“These acorns at least have not fallen far from the tree,” he said as he took our coats, but as ever refused to elaborate further until he was good and ready.
The conversation around the dining table mostly concerned the forthcoming start of the cricket season, and Carnacki seemed happy enough to let Arkwright dominate, as was his wont if given his head. We feasted on a fine piece of pork with all the trimmings, washed down by some dashed smooth claret. Arkwright regaled us with his opinions as to who was the best bat in the country, and why the England squad would always be the best team in the world for decades to come.
Such flights of fancy made for a most pleasant evening, but we all knew the highlight was still to come, and we rose eagerly as Carnacki indicated himself ready to retire to the parlour. As ever he gave us plenty of time to fill our glasses, get smokes organized, and settle into our respective chairs before he started.
“I have a dashed interesting tale to tell this evening,” he began. “It may not illuminate the dark corners of the Macrocosm as several other adventures have, but it has raised interesting questions, some of which I am as yet unable to answer with any certainty.”
And having thus piqued our interest, he swung into the story.
* * *
“You chaps know already that I have been spending some time investigating a series of disturbances at Chislehurst Caves. That tale is not yet ready to be told, but be sure, matters will come to a head soon enough. My story this evening also takes place in the same town, but concerns a totally different matter.
“It begins last Monday. I had spent a whole day underground delving and probing in the caves, and I was in need of some wind in my face and tobacco in my lungs. I had booked into The Bull’s Head for a few nights, and I was enjoying a glass of beer and a smoke in the garden when I was approached by a clergyman.
“He was most apologetic for disturbing me -- so much so that it verged on embarrassing, but once I got him to sit at my table and accept my offer of a half pint of shandy he settled somewhat.
“‘Your fame has spread to this small corner of Kent Mr. Carnacki,’ he began. ‘One cannot spelunk in our caverns for long without curious tongues starting to wag. I for one have heard tales of your kind deeds at the Royal Hospital, and it is rumoured that the Admiralty also owes you a dept of gratitude. I may be a simple old country vicar, but I keep my ear to the ground.
“‘I have need of a man with experience with... shall we call it an apparition, for want of a better term?’
“He drowned the half of shandy with the air of a man used to taking his ale, and indeed smiled broadly when offered a stronger brew. He insisted on fetching the round from the bar, so I sat and sucked smoke as the sun started to set, wondering where this latest encounter was to lead me.
“‘It concerns the King’s Oak on the edge of the churchyard,’ the old man said on his return. I noticed he was already a third of a way down his glass, and resolved to get his story as quickly as I could, before I was lured in a drinking session with the clergyman.
“‘Of course we call it the King’s Oak,’ he continued. ‘But no one is sure exactly which King it is named for. All we know is that it has sat in the top corner of our land for at least five hundred years, and maybe longer.
“‘For most of that time it has been no more than an old tree like any other in the land. There are no stories regarding it, other than its name -- no local legends to relate, no miscreants being hung from its boughs. In fact, there is nothing to explain what has recently become a most worrying series of hauntings.’
“With that he drained his beer, and looked at me expectantly. I gave in to the inevitable and went to the bar, returning with a pair of tankards. Once again he took to it like a man with an unquenchable thirst.
“‘This tree,’ I asked, hoping to move the story forward. ‘You said there have been a series of hauntings?’
“To my relief he put the ale down long enough to answer.
“‘Most surely,’ he said. ‘Old Mrs. Green from Collen Cottages nearly jumped out of her frock on Saturday night. And our gravedigger Brian, possibly the least imaginative man I have ever met, will not go anywhere near the tree, citing the bogle as justification. It may be no more than a case of hysteria among the villagers, but I would like at least to have the opinion of someone with experience in these matters.’
“‘And you have not seen anything yourself
?’ I inquired.
“He shook his head, at the same time finishing off the remnants of the ale. I decided to take the bull by the horns -- that way I might be able to make a strategic escape from the inn without seeming discourteous.
“‘I do believe I would like to see this tree of yours,’ I said.
“‘Now?’ the vicar said, and the disappointment on his face was almost comical.
“‘Afraid so old chap,’ I replied. ‘I must be back in the caves come the morning.’
“As I followed him through the bar and out into the road I saw him give a longing look at the ale pumps, and I knew that given the chance he would consume more ale, but to his credit, he led me outside.
“We walked through a very peaceful village to the entrance gate of an old churchyard. By this time darkness was falling fast, but the sky was clear and a moon just rising. There was time yet for some investigation.
“The graveyard was an old one, most of the stones weathered and encrusted with moss and lichen. But when he led me past the church to the rear the stones became further apart until after a while there was only grass underfoot.
“The Oak tree was now clearly visible in the top corner of the plot. He had been right about the age, and I could now see why it might have gained a certain reputation. Its gnarled twisted boughs stretched out, overhanging a large area, and it gave an air of a skeletal figure, grasping for something just out of reach.
“I thanked the vicar for his time, and walked towards the tree.
“‘Please, take care Mr. Carnacki,’ he called after me, but showed no sign of accompanying me. Perhaps he took the stories more seriously than I had imagined. I put all other thoughts out of my mind and concentrated on examining the tree itself.
“My first impressions of age had been right. The trunk showed signs of many vicissitudes over the years since it had been a sapling, from love notes carved in the bark to the telltale scars of lightning strikes and fire. But none of this had stopped the tree from thriving. It was only as I got closer still that I saw one possible reason for the rude good health. The ground here was furrowed, rising and falling at regular intervals. It was only by standing slightly to one side that I could see the pattern.
Carnacki: Heaven and Hell Page 13
