The Shadow Beyond

by Daniel Reiner

  “Thank you for your help, ma’am,” the lieutenant said. “You can put your dining room back in order.”

  She smiled nervously and nodded.

  “Mr. Adderly,” he said, leaning in to me. “You are not being charged with anything. Yet.”

  With that, they left.

  Mrs. Bettings was beside me the moment they were gone.

  “I can’t believe what they were saying,” she said, trembling slightly. “I didn’t tell them, but I know you did nothing wrong.”

  She paused, tried to continue, paused again. Then it poured out.

  “I hope you’ll forgive me, but I have to admit, I spied on the two of you last night. It’s not as if I didn’t trust you. Well, I wasn’t watching, just listening. Not the whole time. Just here and there. The two of you were talking about your wedding plans—just before she…”

  She wiped away tears as they dampened her cheeks.

  “Oh please forgive me. This is so terrible.”

  I hugged her.

  “Of course I forgive you,” I said. “Though I hope if I’m arrested, I can count on you to clear my name.”

  She nodded vigorously.

  Two of the men finished their breakfast and left, leaving Mr. Hunt from the second floor to eat alone. Though we had never spoken before, I had seen the man frequently around the halls of the boarding house. In fact, from what I had gathered, he rarely spoke to anyone at all. But he had never been unkind to me, always just ignoring me. Mrs. Bettings dried her eyes and poured me a cup of coffee.

  “I’ll be right out with a plate full of eggs and potatoes,” she said, and hustled off into the kitchen.

  I sat down and nodded to Mr. Hunt. This time he did not ignore me. Just the opposite, his response was to stare at me. I picked up a section of the morning newspaper and tried to distract myself with it, hoping to not find any mention of the events of last night. One article I did scan through was a report on the annual contributions to the university, with a Mr. Jebediah Higgins of Boston at the top of the list, outranking even the DuPonts. When I turned the page, I noticed that Mr. Hunt continued to stare at me.

  It was more than a little unnerving.

  At that point, I began to just look at headlines, but a mention of Doctor Gardiner caught my attention and I stopped to read it.

  LOCAL ARCHAEOLOGIST TO LECTURE IN EUROPE

  ARKHAM—Yesterday, Doctor Quentin Gardiner of Miskatonic University announced plans to lecture across Europe this summer. He will be spending the month of July crisscrossing the continent, with stops planned for London, Paris, Bern, Rome and Heidelberg. The focus of his talks will be on the comparative architecture of tomb structures, taking into account the materials available, as well as the subsurface geology of the surroundings.

  More recently, Doctor Gardiner may be better known for his work with charitable organizations than in the archaeological field. His last expedition, an excavation in the Egyptian desert three years ago, met with some measure of difficulty. The mummified remains discovered by Gardiner and his team were unfortunately destroyed by a rapid decomposition of unknown cause, after being shipped all of the way back to Miskatonic University. The Doctor was quick to accept the blame for the incident, although rumors at the time suggested otherwise. Nevertheless, his forthrightness only served to reinforce his reputation and integrity in the community that loves him so dearly.

  The lecture trip is being initiated and sponsored by Doctor Rainer Donau of the University of Heidelberg. Doctor Donau is world-renowned for his decades of work in the Middle East, and it can safely be stated that he was influential in shaping the field of archaeology into the form it has taken today.

  Another turn of the page, and Mr. Hunt’s eyes were still boring through me.

  “Is there something I can do for you, Mr. Hunt?”

  I did not expect a reply. The fact that I got one was almost as shocking as what he said.

  “You can die, Mr. Adderly,” he said sharply. “Although it is probably too late for that to remedy the situation, it is nevertheless still my sentiment. The mark of the Accursed is strong upon you.”

  He finally dropped his gaze, then gathered his things and stood up shakily.

  “I’ll be dead inside of a week. I know it. In the time I have remaining upon this Earth, I do not wish to see you again.”

  And with that he walked off.

  I was astonished. I had never sensed any animosity from the man, just indifference. And this was not just animosity. The mark of the Accursed? And what did he mean when he said that he would be dead inside a week? I was still reeling when Mrs. Bettings emerged from the kitchen a few minutes later with my breakfast.

  “Do you know anything at all about Mr. Hunt?” I asked her.

  “Not really. He keeps to himself. He’s the ideal boarder, actually,” she said with a little laugh. “He’s quiet, he’s clean, and he eats very little. He owned a small shop in town for many years—a bookstore. After his wife died two years ago, he sold his home, gave the business to his son, I think, and moved in here. Every morning at breakfast he reads the newspaper from front to back—every single word. That’s all that I know. He’s been here for two years, and that’s all I know about him.”

  “Well, I spoke with him briefly just now, and he treated me as if I were the vilest person on the face of the earth. He said he wished to never see me again. Do you know if he’s ill?”

  “Well, I suppose I can’t say for sure,” she said, setting the plate down in front of me. “Don’t be offended by his words, Robert. He’s old and very lonely, I imagine. It’s been eight years since I lost my dear Edward, and I still have days when I feel bitter because of it.”

  As she returned to the kitchen, I became aware of my ravenous hunger, and attacked the food she had prepared. I would have to send telegrams to my parents and to Elizabeth’s relatives, informing them all of the tragedy. First, however, I had to locate her Uncle Thomas and Aunt Marie. They would be expecting her to arrive on a train that afternoon.

  The events of that day were a blur. After changing my clothes, I raced out of the building and off to the telegraph station. The clerk helped me compose a telegram to be delivered to Elizabeth’s aunt and uncle. Because of the uncertainty of the surname, he recruited the aid of a telephone operator in Boston who informed us that there were two men with the name Thomas Wentworth. He recorded the addresses for both. I offered to pay for two telegrams, but after hearing my situation, he would have nothing of it.

  Word of Elizabeth’s demise had spread swiftly around the campus, and upon returning to the boarding house, I was met with a flood of friends and acquaintances offering condolences. Mrs. Bettings provided refreshments, and even a light dinner as day dragged on into evening. It was late when the last of the visitors departed. Weary of playing host, I desired an escape from the confines of the house. Upon stepping outside, my eyes turned to the night sky, exceptionally clear that night and full of stars. Professor Josephson’s rambling speech from the day before came to mind. The stars are aligning, I remembered him saying. And he had asked me to stop by and help him with some calculations. With no particular goal in mind for my walk, I decided to try to visit with him, despite the lateness of the hour.

  His home was only a few blocks away on the east side of campus, and I covered the distance quickly. When I arrived, the library was still brightly lit, and I could see the shadow of a figure moving about through the curtains. After hesitating for a moment, I knocked on his front door loud enough to ensure that he would hear me. Within a minute it opened—just a crack at first, until he could see that it was me.

  “Robert? Good heavens, it’s late. Is everything alright?”

  “Professor, forgive me for disturbing you, but I wanted to be sure you had heard the news. Last evening there was an…accident.”

  My voice caught in my throat.

  “What is it, Robert?”

  “Elizabeth is dead. She…burned to death. I felt that I needed to inform
you, and you had asked me yesterday to visit you today, but I was unavoidably detained during the course of the afternoon.”

  “Elizabeth Wentworth is dead?”

  I closed my eyes and nodded grimly. He continued to stand in the doorway without speaking, obviously shocked by the news.

  “Professor, what did you mean yesterday when you said that the stars were aligning?”

  At that, he swung the door open fully, and pulled me inside. After stealthily looking around outside, he slammed the door closed.

  “Robert, you must believe me when I say that I never expected any of this to affect you.” His voice shook as he spoke. “But I was wrong. The stars are not aligning; they are aligned. I discovered it last night after triple-checking myself.”

  He stopped, and silence hung between us. I could not comprehend what I was hearing.

  “The stars are indeed aligned, and something has come through. And your Elizabeth is dead because of it.”

  “Because of it?” I said. “Because of what? Elizabeth died in the dining room, not out under the stars. How could the stars have anything to do with the fact that I watched her burn to ashes right in front of me?”

  “Perhaps the two of you should come in here.”

  I looked behind the professor. Standing outside the open doors of the library was Doctor Gardiner.

  “Both of you. Let us sit down and discuss the matter.”

  Professor Josephson nodded and led the way into his lavish library, and Doctor Gardiner closed the huge double doors in the east wall. The room was much as I remembered it from my rare visits, the north and south walls being filled floor to ceiling with hundreds of volumes. A large fire burned fiercely in the hearth in the west wall—I found myself partially hypnotized by its awful splendor, so much so that when I finally looked away, I was surprised to find there was another gentleman standing beside the large mahogany table in the center of the room. I didn’t recognize him.

  “Robert,” Professor Josephson said, “I believe you are familiar with Doctor Gardiner.”

  “Sir,” I acknowledged. He was of medium height and build. Though he was more than fifty years old, he still sported a full head of brown hair. We had never officially met, but among the archaeology students I had become acquainted with—Elizabeth being one of them—his eyesight had a legendary reputation. With the retirement of the previous head of the department a few years previously, Doctor Gardiner had been appointed to the position at the unusually young age of forty-eight.

  “And this gentleman is—”

  “You may call me Mr. Carter,” interjected the fourth man. “Howard Carter.”

  I had seen a picture of Howard Carter recently, and this was not he. This man was very handsome and much younger than the other two, though still older than me. I guessed he was near forty, and he had a muscular build. Dressed as a businessman, he really seemed to be the kind of man more comfortable on safari in deepest Africa than sitting in an office. For some reason, he wanted to remain anonymous. At that point, I just wanted answers to my own questions. His identity was of no concern to me.

  “Gentlemen, this is Robert Adderly,” said the professor. “He’s a graduate student at Miskatonic University with whom I have worked for several years now. I trust his work and I trust his word. It seems he has endured a great tragedy, which I believe is directly related to our current predicament. Robert, if you please.”

  I did my best to recount my tale—from my proposal the previous afternoon, to my arrival before them that evening. They listened without interrupting. It was only after my testimony that the questions began—inane queries about fishy smells, sounds of whippoorwills, or wild, rushing winds. I repeatedly tried to emphasize to them that the fire had not so much as singed a single object—myself included—while Elizabeth was completely consumed.

  At last the questions ended. My throat was very dry, and I asked the professor for a drink of water. He walked to a shelf on the west wall of the room, removed some books, and extracted an exquisite decanter from a hidden compartment. A generous amount of the liquid was poured into four brandy snifters, which he also pulled from the hideaway. After the glasses were distributed, we sat and wordlessly sipped at our drinks.

  As I sat there, their persistent and nonsensical line of questioning forced me to doubt myself. Had I overlooked some other detail of the event? I searched my memory, but nothing came to mind. Nothing else stood out. I could feel my anger returning.

  As if on cue, Doctor Gardiner spoke up.

  “I think I speak for all of us, Robert, when I say that I am sorry for what has happened to you. You have our condolences on the death of your fiancée. I spoke to her several times. She was a bright and wonderful young woman.”

  He paused there, and I sensed I wouldn’t like what he was about to tell me. I was right.

  “However, you must believe me when I say that there is nothing we could have done to prevent it. This phenomenon you describe has been documented throughout history. Though the science behind it is not fully understood, it falls into the category of mundane physical processes. No connection has ever been established between spontaneous human combustion and the…phenomena we concern ourselves with. In other words, your fiancée was no more than an unfortunate victim of circumstance. There is nothing we can do to help you.”

  “But how can you be sure?” I asked. “What do you mean the phenomena you’re concerned with? Professor Josephson seems to think there’s a connection. Can’t you at least tell me what it is that you do?”

  Mr. Carter answered me bluntly.

  “We cannot. And as I’m sure Professor Josephson can tell you, it is information the likes of which you do not want to know.”

  He paused, and I looked over at the professor, who only nodded and closed his eyes.

  “The human race, in general, cannot hope to comprehend the knife-edge upon which our reality is perched. There are a fortunate few in all the world who can experience the horror—”

  “What about my hands?” I shouted in frustration. “Not a mark on them!”

  “Who can experience the horror,” he reiterated slowly, emphasizing each word, “that is so inextricably intertwined with the history of this planet and not go insane.”

  I looked him in the eyes, still angry. He matched my gaze. He continued only when I looked away, the professional chill returning to his voice.

  “We must apologize for misleading you, but Professor Josephson spoke rashly when he suggested a connection between your experience and our field of expertise. He was wrong to mention anything at all to you.”

  This last comment was directed at the professor, who did not look at him.

  “Once again, we offer our heartfelt condolences. Please try to accept that your fiancée had a fatal, if extremely uncommon accident, and leave it at that. Good night, Mr. Adderly.”

  I looked over at the professor. He rose from his chair and waited for me to do the same. I finished my brandy, then stood and left the table without a word. The professor walked beside me to the library doors, opened them, then escorted me to the front door.

  “I’m very sorry, Robert,” he said as I stepped outside, his voice sounding as dejected as I felt. “But please, try to forget all that you have heard here tonight. Please. Forget it all.”

  There was much I wished to say to him. What nonsense! Sounds of whippoorwills? Smells of fish? My temper boiled up and I fought to control it. The clock in the hall struck midnight as I pulled on my coat and walked out into the cool air, ominous stars filling the night sky.

  With the bitter aftertaste of the previous night’s encounter still in my mouth, I arrived on campus at eleven o’clock the next morning, knowing the professor would be in his office at that time. As I turned the corner past the library, I noticed a familiar figure about fifty feet in front of me. Doctor Gardiner was heading in the same direction as I—exactly the same, as it happened.

  I slowed my pace a bit to be certain that he would not detect my pres
ence. Sure enough, he made his way directly to the professor’s office on the second floor of Beaumont Hall. I followed him as closely as I was able, always staying out of his sight. As we reached our common goal, I hid around a corner about twenty feet away. The door to the classroom neighboring the professor’s office was cracked open. It was clearly empty, the lights switched off. I crept in silently and locked the door behind me. Beside the lectern stood a connecting door that led into the professor’s office. I put my ear to the keyhole and listened.

  “—any more! That abominable Higgins can perform his own calculations! He questioned my work. For nearly an hour he questioned my work. I would not have notified you if I was not one hundred percent sure.”

  “Sam, please. You are not the first to be insulted by his abrupt manner. But he is right. He’s one of the few who have seen beyond the veil and retained his mind enough to tell it. As have Dunlevy. And MacNulty. And I…at least, I’d like to think I’ve retained my mind.”

  He chuckled briefly before his tone turned serious again.

  “We must stay together—we must—despite petty personality differences. We have a duty to fight as well and as long as we are able. We need you, Sam.”

  There was a long pause.

  “Quentin, I must know. Why question the boy’s experience?”

  “It was a ghastly, fantastic coincidence. The event that the stars foreshadowed could not possibly have occurred in our own backyard! We could not possibly be so lucky. The Earth is yet intact, and while it seems that the event was not blatantly catastrophic, it may take us weeks, or even months to discover what transpired that night. We shall pay attention to the news reports from every corner of the globe. And when we do find it, we’ll let you know.”

  I heard Professor Josephson sigh tiredly.

  “This time, I don’t think that I want to know. I have learned far too much these last ten years. I’m frightened, Quentin. I’m old. I’ve lived a full life, as full as could be expected. I…I know this line of work can be dangerous. You warned me right at the start. But at this point, it’s not my life I’m afraid of losing. It’s my soul.”