CARNACKI: The New Adventures (13 page)

“Just tell me what to do.”

“For now crouch on the ground and don’t move.” Carnacki set his lantern down and opened his leather satchel. He removed a black cloth bag from the satchel and untied the top of it. Turning quickly, he sent the contents of the bag scattering around, forming a crude circle around himself and Sir Hugh.

“What is that stuff?' said Sir Hugh.

“Salt. Not the best protection, but there’s no time for anything else.” Carnacki dropped the cloth bag and made the second and third signs of the Saaamaaa Ritual. He hoped that in conjunction with the salt, which had been dredged from a marsh where the remains of a thousand slaughtered Roman soldiers lay, the signs would be enough to keep the doppelgängers at bay.

The glowing figures were almost upon them. Ca
rnacki drew his revolver, though he knew it would do him no good. He felt better just holding the weapon. The ghostly Edward and Alice paused just outside the edge of the salt circle, their forms wavering as if they were underwater illusions. Then they went around the circle and vanished into the trees behind the two men.

“They’
re gone,” Sir Hugh said.

“For now,” sai
d Carnacki. “We must reach the Druid circle before they return. I don’t have enough salt left to protect us again.”

“It isn’t far,” said Sir Hugh.

They reopened their lanterns and resumed their journey through the dark forest. After a few more minutes had passed they came out into a small clearing. Any relief Carnacki might have felt at being free of the oppressive trees was diluted by the sight of the Druid circle. It was made of eight man-high stones. The stones leaned at odd angles and seemed to give off a faint phosphorescent glow.

Carnacki said, “Whatever you do, don’t enter that ci
rcle.”

“What is it that we're looking for here, Carnacki?”

“The source of the malady that threatens Edward and Alice.”

“You mean it’s not the doppelgä
ngers?”

“Those wights are the tools but not the master. Now wait here, Sir Hugh
, and remember what I said. No matter what I do, don’t enter the stone circle.”

Carnacki approached the D
ruid circle, letting the light from his lantern play over the stones. As he went he mumbled certain phrases that he had learned from a master of Celtic mysticism. Even to most historians the Druids were an almost mythic order. They left no written records and their arcane rituals were memorised and passed down the years from Druid to Druid. Those rituals were thought to be lost to time, but Carnacki knew of secret orders who even now maintained their rites.

Carnacki stopped when he was beside one of the stones. The light from his lantern faltered and died, though no wind had touched it. H
e was dimly aware that Sir Hugh’s lantern had failed as well. As his eyes became accustomed to the darkness, Carnacki could see a deeper patch of shadow within the ring. This singular darkness writhed and twisted like smoke in a whirlwind.

Carnacki realised that he was looking at a ghost unlike any he had ever seen before. It was a malignant and ancient spirit that had waited within the circle of stones for centuries. The Celtic incantations he had whispered could not affect the thing, but they allowed him to see it. And, he thought, with no great feeling of comfort, the entity was aware of him as well. The shap
eless and constantly shifting area of darkness was extending itself towards where he stood.

Carnacki took a step back, reaching into his pocket for a vial of powdered silver which he habitually ca
rried. He popped the cap off of the vial and scattered the glittering dust in the air towards the shadow. The extended area of darkness retreated, but didn’t lose any of its menace. Most dark things couldn’t abide silver, but here it was useful only as a shield. He knew of a fellow occult investigator from America who carried a silver-edged sword.

Carnacki moved away from the stone circle. Sir Hugh, who had been watching in mute horror, said, “What is that thing?”

“I believe that it is the ghost of a Druid. One who was perhaps buried within this circle of stone.”

“But what does it want with
Edward?”

“It want
s his life force, Sir Hugh. Unless I am mistaken, it needs the lives of your son and his fiancée to escape the confines of that circle.”

“Then it’
s a prisoner.”

“It is for now. But if your son dies, that may allow it to escape into the world.”

“We have to stop it, Carnacki. We have to save my son.”

“I agree, but how? If I had access to all the tools in my labor
atory I might be able to exorcise the spirit, but we don’t have time to go back for anything. If we are to end this evil, it must be now.”

“Then you've no idea how to destroy it?”

“Only one, and a desperate one at that. But if I’m to do it, I must do it now. Have you a pocket knife, Sir Hugh?”

“Yes, I always carry one.
But how will that help? You don’t intend to fight that thing with a knife?”

“No, but the r
itual I have in mind, like all Druid rituals, must begin with blood.”

Carnacki took the knife and used it to prick his index finger. Then he
stepped back to the Druid circle and smeared his blood on the closest stone. The shadow shape roiled like a thundercloud.

“Now what?” said Sir Hugh.

“Now we wait, and I do not think we shall have to wait long.”

Carnacki stood looking at the entity
, and as he watched an area just in front of the shadow began to glow with a pale and eldritch light. The area of light grew larger, and then suddenly it was a glowing human figure—an exact duplicate of Carnacki.

The doppelgänger walked out of the circle, directly towards where the two men stood. Carnacki said, “Move away from me, Sir Hugh. Don’t let this creature touch you. It was made to drain my life force, but it can take yours as well.”

Sir Hugh did as he was told and Carnacki stood still, waiting for his double to reach him. “Come on, Zoroaster,” Carnacki said.

The doppelgä
nger reached Carnacki and attempted to pass through him. Carnacki felt a wave of cold flow over him as he came into contact with the malicious duplicate, and his strength fled his body. It seemed that his consciousness was tottering on the edge of some black and nameless gulf of outer darkness.

But even as the thing reached him, he made the sixth and seventh signs of the Saaamaaa Ritual and again b
egan speaking the ancient Celtic incantation. The doppelgänger
staggered backwards, unable to pass completely through Carnacki. Carnacki felt his strength returning and he pressed forward, forcing his duplicate back towards the circle.

The ghostly Carnacki stepped past the boundary of stones and into the circle. At once a g
reat wind came up, and the cloud-like entity began to howl as its mass was swept up and whirled around. The ground shook and one of the standing stones toppled, almost striking Carnacki, who leapt backwards at the last moment.

The
entity began to disperse, losing its cohesive form and blowing away on the unnatural wind. Carnacki watched until there was nothing left of the thing before turning back to Sir Hugh.

“Is it destroyed?” Sir Hugh said.

“We can only hope. But we should hurry back to Collins Thorpe House and see if defeating the entity has saved the two young people.”

“But what did you do, Carnacki?”

“I’ll explain once we’re back at the manor house.”

Sir Hugh Collins was overjoyed to find both his son and future daughter-in-law sitting before a roaring fire. Carnacki smiled as the normally reserved man embraced Edward and Alice in turn.

“It was the most amazing thing,” Matilda said. “It was as if all their strength came back to them at once. One moment
Edward was lying senseless in bed, and then he was rushing to see to Alice. Then both of them were as you see them now. Completely restored. They were famished, and I fed them here in front of the fire.”

“It was Carnacki’
s doing,” Sir Hugh said. “We saw the doppelgängers, and he banished them and the foul thing that created them.”

“We are forever in your debt, Carnacki,”
Edward said.

“Now tell me, Carnacki,” Sir Hugh sai
d. “How did you know about the Druid’s ghost and how ever did you defeat your doppelgänger and the ghost itself?”

Carnacki, who was beyond weary, leaned back in his chair and began to spea
k. “Once you told me about the Druid ring, I began to suspect something of what might have occurred. You see, I don’t know if any of you are aware of it, but yesterday was the autumnal equinox. The equinoxes were very important to the Druid calendar and to their rituals. But like I told you, Sir Hugh, all those rituals begin with blood.

“Thus I suspected the unfortunate coincidence of e
ither Edward or Alice injuring themselves within the Druid ring. One drop of human blood would be enough. The druids practised human sacrifice, and the combination of blood and the equinox awoke something that had been sleeping under the stones for years. Do you understand?

“I suspect that the Druid whose spirit we met was pe
rhaps a very powerful mystic. His brother Druids wouldn’t have buried just anyone within their sacred circle. When his spirit awoke, he wished to be free in the world once more, but he needed sacrifices. He needed the life forces of human
beings. Obviously he couldn’t wield a knife, but what he could
do was to create doppelgängers, duplicates that could drain the life out of their originals and feed that power back to him. He was too weak to leave the place of power, the Druid ring, but if he could gather sufficient strength he could escape.”

“And do what?” said Sir Hugh.

Carnacki shrugged. “There we enter the realm of supposition. In any case, this ancient Druid spirit was draining the life from Edward and Alice and would have gone on to do the same to others.”

“Except you stopped it,” said Sir Hugh.
“So tell me, how did you do it? Why did you give it the means to create a doppelgänger of yourself?”

“It was a very risky thing to do, I admit,”
said Carnacki. “I knew that if my plan failed, I would be giving the Druid’s ghost the power it needed to escape its prison. However, I had no means to fight the ghost itself and no time to gather those means.

“So I cut myself and allowe
d the ghost to create a doppelgänger. You see, over the years I have had much training in various types of mysticism and forms of mental powers. I’ve studied with the masters of such things. I gambled that I would be able to keep my duplicate from possessing me. Also I still had certain objects of protection on my person, and then there is the Saaamaaa Ritual. I could have used the final secret line if I had to.

“Fortunately
, though, my defences proved sufficient. And when the doppelgänger couldn’t pass through me, the spell was thrown back on its creator. I reasoned that the Druid’s ghost hadn’t built up enough power to deal with such a backfire, and I was correct. The mystical energy flowed back and the Druid’s ghost lost whatever reserves it had stored, causing it to fall back to its dormant state. I hope you understand.”

“Do you think it could be awakened again, sir?”
Edward asked.

Carnacki said, “I think it unlikely. During the struggle one of the standing stones toppled. An incomplete ring loses its power. In fact, I had considered trying to destroy one of the stones to defeat the ghost, but we had no tools with us and we never could have toppled the stone by hand.”

Matilda said, “Well, whatever you did, you saved my boy’s life, and Alice’s as well. You are always welcome here in this house, Mr. Carnacki.”

“Carnacki,” Sir Hugh said, “when your doppelgä
nger was closing in on you, you called it Zoroaster. What did you mean?”

Carnacki smiled. “A line from Shelley, my friend. From
Prometheus Unbound.
‘Ere Babylon was dust, the Magus Zoroaster met his own image walking in the garden.’ It seemed to fit.”

S
o excited was I to relate my adventures abroad to my friends that I raced to Cheyne Walk in Chelsea along the Embankment and then realised that I had not actually seen the usual card of invitation from Carnacki. This thought occurred to me as I set foot upon the porch of the man’s domicile, but with momentum moving me along I made a snap-decision and rang the bell.

I imagined that Jessop, Arkright
, and Taylor had preceded me and were already enjoying a drink before dinner was served. Checking my watch, I frowned at the door. It remained unanswered, which was odd indeed; I could not remember ever waiting on any past visit.

Courageously
—some might say recklessly, or even rudely—I turned the knob and swung the door open. Then I stepped inside and was greeted by a sight that will remain with me for the rest of my days.

The entry hallway was dark, save for a clutch of ca
ndles arrayed around a body that lay prone on a small table off to one side. The figure looked stiff and lifeless. Treading my way over to it, I saw with a start who it was that lay there, as if dead to the world: Carnacki, my friend.

Disbelief assaulted me first, then panic, and then confusion. I leaned over the man and took in his ghastly grey pallor, the absence of chest rising and falling with breaths, and the complete lack of signs of precious life. I heard small sounds like gasps echoing a
round in the hallway, but realised that they came from my own mouth.

I was dumbfounded
. Had my friend, he who sought to solve the mysteries of death itself, finally been claimed by that all-powerful and undeniable force? And if so, who had laid him out there, as if in a mortuary?

I listened for a moment but detected no other sounds in the house. We were alone, or rather
I
was—Carnacki was far beyond, I presumed. Still in shock and disbelief, I saw my own hand, my very own fingers, creep towards the body, haltingly at first but then with certain purpose. Even before I touched the colourless skin of Carnacki’s face, I sensed a radiating coldness from it.

Then, in a mixture of sheer wonder and utter horror, I saw the eyelids on the lifeless skull flutter and then open.

“Dodgson,” said Carnacki with a dry croak, “why, whatever are you doing?”

A short time later, after I had been given a rather large bracer of brandy to calm my jangled nerves, my friend sat down in his great armchair, lit a cigar
, and stifled another chuckle of amusement at my shaky state. I myself saw little to be amused at in the situation.

“Carnacki,” I said with some exasperation, “you must admit that if you yourself had come upon such a scene
like that . . .” I waved my hands about futilely, searching for the words and spilling my drink.

The man nodded, suppressed a smile. “Yes, yes; of course, lad. I can see your point. Please accept my hu
mble apologies for startling you—though you did queer up quite an experiment for me, you know.”

I set my brandy down, leaned forward in my chair
, and asked him what he meant by that. Experiment? Carnacki had told me many strange tales of his profession which involved the supposed spirits of the deceased, but I had never heard of his own excursions into the Undiscovered Country. I sensed another story coming on and eagerly leaned closer to my friend to catch every word of it.

“I can see that I’ve piqued your interest,” he said while blowing out a bit of cigar smoke. “Yes, there’s a meaning and a method to my ‘madness
,’ and you shall hear of it, if you like.”

He needn’t even ask; I was all ears.

“Two weeks ago,” he began, “I had the pleasure of making the acquaintance of Sir Miles Pauly and his lovely wife. You remember them—there was a bit of fluff in the papers last year about their estate, about the kennels they keep there and some sort of award their dogs had won. Regardless, I was invited to come and stay over with them there for a few days and, finding a hole in my busy schedule, I accepted.

“After only an hour there at Pauly Pines
—yes, a silly appellation—I came to realise that its owner is the literal salt of the earth, one of those rare human beings for whom you develop a deep admiration and begin to trust in their every utterance. For one such as myself, who has brushed up against the worst that humanity has to offer in this world and the next, meeting Sir Miles was something of a revelation. His wife, too, is an open and honest person, a good mate for the master of Pauly Pines.

“But it was shortly thereafter I formed my eternal opinion of my hosts that I divined that there was more to their invitation than a weekend of good food and amiable conversation. They had a problem
—the kind of problem that a man of my experience would find interesting. Cutting to the chase, I asked Sir Miles to explain the situation.

“‘
Damnable thing,’ he said sheepishly, clearly reluctant to speak much further on the matter. ‘The little wife and I seem to have a, well, a—a ghost!’

“Sir Miles then screwed up his resolve and began to outline a series of odd happenings that centred upon a small structure, a cottage that rested upon the outskirts of their property. Tranquil House they call it; you can guess by the name that it is both picturesque and peac
eful there, one of those settings that an artist would sell his soul to capture on canvas or in chalks. For myself, I received an immediate rush of unease when Sir Miles first said the name to me. Though I believed every word he spoke, I knew the little cottage was, even before seeing it, in the middle of a whirlwind of turmoil, not tranquillity.

“‘
What would you have me do?’ I asked my host. The thought of a restful weekend had vanished from my mind, and I opened all my senses for the puzzle that Sir Miles was laying out for my edification. He explained that for the past year the estate had been witness to a string of what he could only call ’queer soundings.’ Unearthly noises spread through the trees on the grounds at night, weird lights around the cottage moved away if anyone approached them, and a vague feeling of unease floated about the acreage of Pauly Pines.

“I seized upon that one word ’unease,’ for that was what I had felt myself. The very word indeed. Seeing the concern in my hosts’ eyes, I seemed to grant them some comfort by holding up my hand and volunteering to stay over in the cottage and get to the bottom of the distu
rbances. Sir Miles, visibly brightened, told me he’d fetch his caretaker to take me in hand.

“
The caretaker, a man called Willow—it seems the entire estate was riddled with odd names—presented himself as a surly sort, uncommunicative and begrudgingly helpful. It was only when I remarked to him on the walk down to the cottage that I had been asked to look into the disturbances that he grew more animated.

“‘
I shouldn’ think Sir Miles’d bother with such claptrap, sor,’ he growled at me over his shoulder. ‘No, I can’t credit it. He minds things he shouldn’ an’ he doesn’ minds things he
should
.’

“With my own faculties focused on the investigation ahead, I cared little for favo
uring the man with a retort to that. So I merely nodded in assent, a gesture that went unnoticed by Willow as he insisted on walking ahead of me the entire time and never looking me in the eye. Rude sort; you know the kind.

“As we neared Tranquil House, I began to notice that the light around was seeping away, owing not only to the lengthening day but also to a queer quality of the environment there that I shall not put a name to. No, it was odd indeed. The trees surrounding the little stru
cture were very old, if I’m a good judge of such things, and they hung about the area. ‘Hung,’ yes, that’s a good word for it—the trees hung down and permeated the air with their ponderous presence. Overall, the immediate area around the cottage was filled with a kind of miasma; not evil or foreboding necessarily, but definitely melancholy and infused with a tangible sadness. Do you take my meaning here? You must try to picture the scene: the little house, squatting in a clearing that was barely larger around than its walls and caged in by giant old trees that held the sun at bay and seemed to weep with despair.

“
Willow glanced back at me as he walked up to the cottage’s door and pulled out a set of keys that hung on a rusty old ring. He grumbled something under his breath and, turning a key in the door’s lock, swung open the portal and stepped aside, staring at his shoes.

“‘
Here ye be—and if it weren’ an order from Sir Miles himself, I’d have no part o’ it,’ he whispered, barely audible. Fortunately, the silence in the little clearing was absolute—no birds, no animals, no breeze through the branches—and I heard every syllable of it most clearly.

“‘
I shall commend you to your employer for your help, Mr. Willow,’ I told him as I crossed the threshold of Tranquil House. ‘I trust you will be around somewhere nearby if I need any more assistance?’ The man looked up at me with a start, fixed me with a look, the first of our entire acquaintance, and then narrowed his eyes into an observational squint.

“‘
Aye,’ he said with a kind of hiss. ‘Aye, me and the missus live just over there, a stone’s throw or more. Ye need but shout an’ I’ll hear ya. Good day t’ya, sor.’

“I shook my head at the man’s impertinence and churlishness as he shambled away, but then turned back to the task at hand. The cottage awaited me and I entered it, shutting the door behind me and latching it.

“Night came soon and it found me before a small fire I’d managed to light in the little house’s hearth. The glow from the flames dispelled a bit of the gloom about me, but did not drive it off completely. The sadness I mentioned before was overpowering at that moment, but I steeled myself for its onslaught and made up my mind to crack a
book I had found on a shelf in the cottage and read myself into a preamble to slumber. If there was to be a ghost, I would have it approach in a natural fashion, not due to any movement or action of my own to force it into the open. I sensed that this was the best scheme for the situation.

“Some hours later I awoke from sleep to find I’d drifted off with the book still open on my knee and the fire in the hearth nearly absent. Frankly, I was none to
o happy with myself and got up to see what I could do to build the fire up again.

“Then I noticed a light just outside the window, out in the clearing somewhere.

“Pale and wan, the light seemed to me to be spread out over a length of, oh, let us say, ten feet or more just beyond the first ring of trees around the cottage. Peering through the window, I watched as it moved back and forth, wavering as if in a breeze, or, better still, as if with the movement of a weak tide at the beach. I had seen a display like this before and I silently wished the light to come nearer to the little house.

“The most remarkable thing happened just then. Out of the corner of my eye, while I was staring at the will-o
’-the-wisp, I caught a kind of movement on the other side of the clearing. From out between two trees stepped a canine.

“The animal moved slowly, hesitantly, taking one small step after another, but gingerly, as if in great pain. Though dark outside, almost Stygianly so, the queer light that danced just outside the clearing allowed me to see that the dog was injured. Blood shone on its left flank and from its head and jaws. Then I saw that one of its eyes was sealed shut with blood
—or perhaps the eye was missing all together. I couldn’t be sure.

“I watched as the animal moved toward
s the cottage, haltingly, its gaze clearly unfocused and its mien unsure and unstable. The feeling of sadness that permeated my surroundings intensified, nearly eliciting a gasp from me. Some part of me, that natural section of our humanity that views a creature in distress and desires to render aid, roiled and nagged, but I tamped it down and continued to only watch, to witness the unfolding events.

“The light among the trees coalesced into a single source but still wavered in the air, sliding from tree to tree, as if to garner a better vantage point to ‘see’ the
dog. I felt very strongly that something was about to transpire. Within a matter of seconds, I was rewarded in that assumption.

“The dog came to a stop, raised its head ever so slightly
, and then fell over. It lay there, barely moving save for its tongue sliding in and out its mouth in a kind of slow-motion panting. I could see that its chest lowered and rose in a ragged mockery of breathing. There was no doubt in my mind that it was near death.

“Then
—and here I must beg your indulgence in my feeble attempt at description—the light from behind the trees moved out into the clearing. When I say ‘moved,’ that is hardly the most apt word for it; in fact, it . . .
rolled
out into the opening, in mid-air, much like a spool of cloudy thread or yarn releasing its wares. At the end of the ‘thread’ there was a sort of blob or ball of light, stronger in luminescence than when it wavered among the trees and becoming even brighter.

“The ball of light took the form of a figure. A human figure. A girl, in fact.

“The diaphanous figure of the girl—I would guess her age to be about thirteen or so—walked towards the canine. Walked or floated or . . . it is very confusing, for I am not sure now how it came to be near the animal from where it had exited the woods. That is something that is difficult for me to recall. Regardless, the girl hovered over the dog and reached out with one vaporous extremity to touch it. . . .