Carnacki: The Watcher at the Gate Read online

  “Indeed, it took Fraser quite some time to get to the point as he continued hemming and hawing about Catherine’s trip to Chelsea and the potential dangers to which she had exposed herself. When I pointed out that this made her, in my eyes at least, a singularly brave child, I could almost see his chest swell with pride, and it was with that he began to tell me what I had come all this way to hear.

  “‘Catherine has always been a bright girl,’ he began. ‘We wanted a sister for her, but it was not to be and I am afraid she has grown up rather lonely. When she first started to complain about the thing in the closet, we took it as an appeal for attention and I resolved to spend more time with her. But what had merely been disturbed dreams have turned just this past week into fully-fledged nightmares. All children have them, I am sure—but not all children share them—and not all children seem to be able to make them real.’

  “When I asked for an explanation, there was none readily forthcoming. Mrs. Fraser stared at her lap, refusing to meet my eye, and Mr. Fraser looked like he might suffer a rupture should he be forced to speak of something that was clearly so far outside anything he had previously dreamed of in his philosophy.

  “‘I cannot bring myself to tell of it,’ he finally said. ‘But I can show you something I doubt you will believe unless you see it with your own eyes. After the child’s second nightmare I started to hear things in the house—in the cellar in particular. I put it down to vermin—but Mrs. Fraser had to be reassured. We both went down to have a look and …’

  “At that precise moment Mrs. Fraser let out a small nervous yelp and dropped her tea cup to the floor, making a fresh dark stain on the rug, There followed several minutes of that peculiar kind of panic you only ever see in over-meticulous households. Fraser drew me to one side to keep me out of his wife’s way as she apologized too profusely. She had us move the furniture and took up the whole rug, where you and I might merely have dabbed at it with some hot water, then carried on our way. The little domestic disturbance did, however, give Fraser a chance to take me aside.

  “‘Come, Mr. Carnacki—you shall see for yourself. Let me show you what we found in the cellar.’”

  c

  “Fraser led me to the rear of the house. The cellar door was recessed in an alcove of a small, spotlessly clean scullery with all modern appliances. The only old part of the whole room was the door to the cellar itself, which was solid oak and seemed several centuries older than the property itself. Fraser obviously noted my puzzlement.

  “‘We had the house rebuilt when we bought it, almost from this level up—it was originally an old single story cottage but I’m afraid the brickwork was not strong enough for the extra floor and attic we wanted to add. Cost me a fortune, too, at the time. But I’m rambling. Yes, the cellar is old. Just how old, I have no idea, but several centuries at least.’

  “He opened the door and took an oil lantern from a ledge just inside, then led me down a flight of steep stone steps. I saw immediately that his estimate of the age of the old remnant of the house was off—and probably by a factor of ten. My practiced eye told me that these walls had been hewn out of the bedrock at least a thousand years ago—and very possibly considerably longer ago than that, stretching back into antiquity.

  “Even then it was not so much the age I noted first as the damp—the air felt thick with it, and the walls ran with cold moisture, like a thin layer of night sweats.

  “The steps, a dozen of them, led us down into an equally rough-hewn chamber that ran the whole length of the dwelling underneath the house. The space was so large that the oil lantern did not illuminate the far end, which sat in a pitch dark that I could almost imagine was daring me to explore it.

  “‘I had thoughts of keeping some wine down here,’ Fraser said, keeping his voice low as if afraid of disturbing the silence. ‘But it is just too dashed damp and floods far too often. I told Mrs. Fraser that the property was too close to the river, but she insisted it was the home we were meant to have. But here is what I wanted to show you.’

  “He raised the lamp to show me the wall nearest the steps. It showed signs of what I took to be pick or chisel marks, as if someone had been working at it, and with some force.

  “‘Are you planning on extending further?’ I asked. Even given the dim light from the lamp I saw that Fraser’s face was pale, almost ashen.

  “‘Nothing so mundane,’ he replied. ‘When we came down here that first time, the bird filled the room. We thought it mere shadow until it moved—huge and black, almost like some giant bat were it not for the beak—a yellow protuberance as strong as any sword. That was what made the noises we had heard—and that was what made these gouges in the rock. The foul thing scraped its beak back and forth on the rock, and as we entered from above, beady black eyes stared into us, as if we had been tricked—or perhaps summoned—into its presence. Now have you seen enough? I would rather not stay here.”

  “I concurred with that, at least, for there was a bally strange feel to that dank cellar, and I suddenly felt the need for some warm air and a smoke. Just as Fraser turned away, something on the ground caught my eye. I picked it up and put it in my pocket for later perusal, then joined my host in almost-trotting back up the steps, out of the past and into the modern day.

  “It was only when I reached the scullery that I could inspect what I had found—a feather, jet black and shimmering, warm in my hand and throbbing slightly, as if running water ran in old pipes close by.

  “I had not taken Fraser for a smoker, but he joined me on the rear porch when I excused myself and went to light up. He took it like an amateur, all quick puffs and no inhalation, but it did serve to calm him somewhat, and he had some color back in his cheeks as he spoke.

  “‘So tell me, old chap. Can you help us?’

  “I was not yet even sure of the nature of the thing this family was dealing with, but I did know one thing—I could not in good conscience allow them to deal with it alone. I resolved, there and then while sitting on that back porch, that I would do all in my power to prevent any harm coming to them, and Fraser and I shook hands on the matter.

  “I told him I would return that evening, and took a carriage back here to Chelsea at all haste to make my preparations.”

  c

  “I learned some time ago that having a box already prepared was handy in this kind of situation, where speed was of the essence, so I did not need to pack the pentacle or its accoutrements. I did, however, lug the Faraday cage out from where it was stored in back, and spent twenty minutes reassuring myself it was still functional, for it had been quite some time since it was last out of storage. The floor of that Kingston cellar had been damp, and I was not at all sure that either my circles, or the pentacle itself, would be of any use down there in the black.

  “After I was happy with my kit I retired to the library with a pot of tea and a pipe. There was indeed some need for haste in the matter, but as I have said, I did not yet know what I was dealing with, and a perusal of the shelves and some of the more esoteric tomes might prove fruitful. Besides, it also gave me a pause in which I could gather my thoughts.

  “The girl, Catherine, had only used the word once, but I started my search by looking for lore on Black Swans, for I already knew the place of swans in ancient myth and legend. As you chaps well know, the white swan is a common motif in the old tales, normally as a symbol of virtue and purity. I also knew that black swans were not known to us here in England in antiquity, being a fairly recent discovery from the Antipodes. Until then, “black swan” had always been a term for an impossibility—something that did not exist.

  “So I was most surprised to find a reference I had not previously spotted in the Sigsand MS, a warning to anyone undertaking one of the many procedures in the great game of Alchemy.

  “‘Ye swan glides ouer ye silver sea of ye pasified Anima Mundi at ye zenith of ye work of whitening. Yet let ye bird be black, and ye shall have naught but calamity.’

  “Try as I m
ight, I could find no other tales or legends pertaining to a black swan. It may have been that the child was mistaken, and it might indeed have been a different black bird entirely. But that thought would only lead me in the opposite direction, to tales of black crows and ravens and eagles far too numerous for me to have time to sift them for anything pertaining to the case at hand. A quick perusal of Jessop’s History of ye strange and wonderful things of olde London pamphlets in the hope of some mention of mucky ducks in Kingston yielded nothing further. It seemed I would have to survive on my wits.

  “I had much to think on as I took another carriage, loaded almost full with my kit, on a slow trip back to Kingston through the worst of the traffic.”

  c

  “It was early evening by the time I arrived back in Kingston, and getting rather gloomy. The river flowed quiet and calm, but in the growing dusk it seemed to take on the semblance of a gray snake, sinuously slithering its way through the metropolis to the sea. I immediately cursed myself for an over-imaginative old fool and got down out of the carriage as it pulled up outside the Fraser house.

  “Young Catherine waved at me from the window of her room as I arrived, but once the driver had helped me into the hallway with my kit, there was no one to greet me save Fraser himself.

  “‘My wife has taken to her bed with nerves,’ he said by way of explanation. ‘And I have given the girl strict orders not to leave her bedroom. I thought it best, under the circumstances.’

  “As I had no bally idea what might be best under these circumstances, I kept my mouth shut. I was about to lug my kit down to the cellar when I spotted that the Frasers had a fuse box in a tall glass case at the back of the hallway. They were on full external electricity.

  “‘Is your power supply constant?’ I asked. ‘Is it stable?’

  “‘Yes to your first question, and no to the second,’ Fraser answered. He was eyeing my equipment with a jaundiced eye, as if concerned I might be attempting to smuggle a bomb into his cellar. ‘We only got it because Mrs. Fraser insisted, it being all that the women at church could talk about for months. I cannot abide it myself—the lights are too harsh, and the blasted thing could burn the house down at any moment.’

  “‘And yet it will suit my purposes tonight rather splendidly,’ I replied. I had him open the case, and after some jiggery-pokery I managed to attach the pentacle valves directly to the main supply. Then, grateful that I would not be forced to heave the heavy battery up and down that flight of steps, I took the valves and my small box of chalk and garlic down into the cellar.

  “I had to make two trips in any case as I needed one hand to hold the lantern—Fraser declined my offer to watch the proceedings and retired to the parlor, where I heard the clink of decanter on glass.

  “Once I had everything down in the cellar, I had the devil of a time trying to inscribe my protective circles. Take my advice, chaps. Never try to draw chalk circles on a damp stone floor. I was close to packing it in and going straight to the Faraday cage when the darkness at the far end of the room seemed to grow and swell. I had two choices: I could either flee, or stand. I hurried to set up the valves, stepped inside the circle and switched the pentacle on just as the darkness grew deeper still.

  “It pressed against the limits of my circle, the valves reacting by flaring ever brighter. I saw immediately the benefits of being connected to the main supply—there was no throbbing, no generator noise, and once fully lit, the valves maintained a constant brightness that did much to keep me calm as the darkness pressed, more insistently now, against the defensive circle.

  “The air tasted much more damp, and I felt cold moisture on my cheeks. I tasted salt and heard, even above the whine of the valves, a high, far-off keening—sea gulls in flight. I smelled grass and cut flowers, then the air was full of another noise that took me a second or two to identify. But once I had it, I knew immediately what it was—the sound of great wings beating, and the accompanying rustle of feathers.

  “The darkness grew thicker still, and the air much more damp, such that I struggled to draw breath. There was more salt at my lips now—a most definite taste of the sea, and standing there surrounding by blackness I felt a swell, as if the floor bucked and swayed like a boat on the ocean—a long, slow swell that spoke of great depths beneath me.

  “Feathers rustled again, and wings beat. The valves dimmed, then brightened to a glare—then the blackness surged like a huge wave, breaking over my defenses. I was sent tumbling to the floor as my pentacle was ripped apart by some unseen force, the valves popping like firecrackers, my chalk circle overwhelmed in a wash of darkness. Even the oil lantern succumbed and I was left, lying there in the dark in the cold, dank cellar.

  “Somewhere, wings beat, and feathers rustled before silence fell once more.

  “I am not ashamed to say that I crawled my way out, every fiber of my being expecting a further attack at any moment. Thankfully for my sanity, none was forthcoming.

  “As I reached the foot of the steps—more by luck than judgement—my hand fell on something, there in the dark. I did not need light to know what it was—I had been given another black feather.”

  c

  “I followed Fraser’s worried shouting from above and quickly made it to the top of the steps and into the stark, clean modernity of the kitchen. He took one look at me, and I saw from the look on his face that he did not like what he saw.

  “‘Good God, man—has there been another flood?’

  “I was soaked through from head to toe, but this was not Thames water from the river outside—it was salt water, from cold dark depths, and Fraser’s last words had just settled a matter I had already been considering. I was beginning to get an idea of the nature of the thing that I had confronted in the cellar.

  “‘Help me with the big cage, if you please,’ I said to Fraser after a smoke and some of his Scotch had settled me.

  “‘You’re not thinking of going back down there, are you?’

  “‘I most certainly am. I need to find out if I am right—and then, if I am, I shall need your permission for something. And I am afraid Mrs. Fraser is not going to like it—she is not going to like it one bit.’”

  c

  Carnacki broke off his tale to allow time for us to charge our glasses, and when we were all settled once more he did not immediately return to the tale.

  “I have spoken before of the nature of water as a conduit,” he said. “I believe that its nature as neither one thing nor the other, neither solid nor ice nor vapor, means that it can be—and most certainly has been—used as a bridge between the Microcosm and the greater Macrocosm. Entities from beyond can travel, sometimes back and forth at will, along these bridges if the conditions are just right.

  “And sometimes—if conditions are not exactly perfect—something might get trapped.”

  c

  “It was near midnight before I got the cage set up to my satisfaction in the cellar, having also spent some time in gathering the scattered remains of my pentacle. It was obvious to me now that my color theory had no place down here with this thing that preferred permanent blackness. I was more or less certain by that point as to how to resolve the matter—taking the cage down into the dark was to satisfy my curiosity more than anything else. Although I will admit that I required another stiffener of Fraser’s Scotch before I headed back down into that dim, damp place.

  “That being said, I was not, as you chaps might expect, in any great fear for my life, for I had a theory, and that was what I was now attempting to prove.

  “I had hooked the Faraday cage up to the mains in the same manner as I had with the pentacle previously. When I closed myself in with the oil lamp—and a freshly lit pipe for comfort—it started to hum and spark in the damp as soon as I tripped the switch.

  “At the same time, the darkness almost immediately swelled, gathering in the cellar as if my presence had been duly noted. The cage bobbed and ducked, as if taken by a tide, and I had the most curious feeli
ng that I was floating in a heavy swell, so much so that I was glad I had not eaten for some time.

  “The cellar got darker still, and ever more damp. I tasted salt again on my lips, and heard the beating of great black wings, but that soon subsided as an even heavier wave hit the Faraday cage side-on and, despite clearly sitting on the stone floor of the cellar, I also clearly started to sink.

  “Down and down I went, into ever deeper darkness, a place where there was no light, no sound, just the swell, as slow and steady as a great heartbeat. I felt cold and, strangest of all, a great peace, a peace that lasted for aeons and would last for aeons yet to come. And somehow the black bird was there with me, whispering at my ear.

  “Finally the darkness faded and the taste of salt receded. The cage sat, strong and firm on the floor—my pipe was not yet done, so although I felt I had been gone in a dream for an age, the whole bally thing had lasted less than a couple of minutes.

  “But my theory had indeed been right, and had been proven true by that last thing the black bird had whispered in my ear. It had only been one word.

  “‘Home.’”

  c

  “All that remained now was to convince Fraser of what had to be done, and in some sense that was the most difficult task of the night.

  “‘What do you mean, it is not a swan at all?’ he said over some more of his Scotch in the parlor. ‘What the blazes is it then?’

  “I attempted to explain my theory—that the presence in the cellar was a thing of some great age, a traveler of the seas that had become trapped in one of the intermittent floods that plagued our great river.

  “‘But what of the feathers, man? What of Catherine?’

  “‘The feathers are no more than a means of communication—a calling-card, if you like to think of it that way. I believe that we have Catherine to thank for bringing the matter to light—it is the very strength of her dreams that has enabled our communication to proceed, albeit after some misunderstanding. Our thoughts have consequences—as a man of the world, you know that already. Through Catherine, this entity has made itself known, and just now, in the cellar, it communicated its desire to me—something it has been trying to do since it got here. It wants its freedom.’