Sanctum Arcanum

by Alexander Kautz

  Drawing the final page from the typewriter, I carefully laid it into the wire basket upon my desk. My attention slowly travelled about the bookshelves and clutter that lay about the room. It wasn’t a mess as of yet, but would be if not attended very soon. It only took a few minutes to sort the notes and put away the books that were scattered all about the office and desk. At which point, feeling the late hour, I wearily slumped back into my chair.

  I really loved the antique roll top desk and enormous shelving that Red Cloud and the others had brought for me. It had reduced the previous clutter and offered a more sophisticated and even inspirational environment. Such things had always brought me the greatest of pleasure. Just working around antiquity inspired and compelled me to create more. And then there were the oddities and curios that filled my shelves and office. I would imagine that certain shops might have been jealous of my little collection. Grinning, I peered throughout the shelves, admiring the assortment of figural fiends, faeries, magical relics, protective talismans and assorted minerals.

  Above all and greatest of my treasures was still that amazing golden beryl. It was an enormous shimmering orb, which resting upon a silver tree of trailing roots and branches sat centrally upon my desk. A crowning ornament, it remained covered by day while keeping me company through the night. Red Cloud had warned against such things. He was concerned that an orb might offer someone or something else an opportunity to likewise be gazing back. In any event, I had little to fear. What could anyone possibly gain, should they really be looking? Just a tea-gulping writer as he typed through the night. It was hardly a thing of consequence. Yawning, I covered the beryl with a black silken cloth and closing the window, decided to retire for the evening.

  I had attempted to move from the chair, but was suddenly halted by the cat. Merlin just sat before me, blocking passage as he stared up with those big, yellow eyes. I had almost smiled, but then noticed that something had caught his attention, and it had certainly not been me….

  Slowly turning, my gaze fell upon that large golden orb. The black silken cloth had fallen away and as it slipped down and onto my desk, I peered into the globe. It shimmered like morning dew caught within the suns first rays. I watched, mesmerized and half expecting something to appear in the sparkling crystal’s face. But nothing moved within its reflection beyond my own shadow.

  It was at that very moment that Merlin had suddenly growled. I had looked down as he began hissing, and then suddenly raced madly from out of the room! Unsettled by this reaction, but refusing to look away, I just stared into the stone. But still, nothing happened. I didn’t see anything, but now felt or sensed that something was indeed happening.

  The sphere began to shift upon its base, slowly turning until revealing what appeared as a window in the stone, and stopped dead. Swallowing hard, I slowly moved back from the sphere, my eyes and full attention now focused upon that strange and shining portal. And then, within a blink of the mind’s eye, I saw it! Like a number of films running separately but in sequence, images of scenes, places and people. Some of which I had never seen or known before!

  And then, amongst the images a sudden blackness as one figure stood out clear and pale as it stopped, and turning, gazed back at me. I knew that face! Those dark eyes and that black cloak! Standing in the deep shadows behind Dr. Marlowe stood the child-like form of the demon!

  “Michael—,” Marlowe called back from out of the sphere, the sound of his words echoing in my mind rather than my ears, “Return to me—before it is too late….For there is a great danger—a darkness that even now seeks to destroy you….”

  I almost fell from the chair as I leapt back, and grabbing the silken cloth, dared cover the globe. My heart raced, my thoughts a blur as fascination had become horror. At first I had thought to hurl the damned thing from out of my window, but could not do it. It was as though some strange power now held me at bay, as clutching the globe, I had moved and halted before the sill.

  In a thoughtless moment I ripped the cloth away, and trembling uncontrollably, stared down into the stone. Nothing but the cold and shimmering reflection now greeted my wide and terror- filled eyes….

  “I’m hallucinating—it’s nothing. I’m just over-tired and have far too much on my mind…”

  Although I hardly believed my own words, I had uttered them in the hopes of rationalizing before the fear took me any further. A hysterical mind was always far more susceptible to suggestion, and at the moment it was the last thing that I needed.

  I had quickly but carefully placed the stone back upon its base, covering it, and just stood there for many minutes, pondering, doubting what had just happened. I would not even dare utter their names, especially in the darkness where such things waited, watched and listened….

  A sudden movement drew my attention into the doorway as Merlin returned. He appeared his usual self again, leaping into the chair beside my desk, curled up and prepared to nap. I had moved toward him, and gently petting the dear beast, leaned down to look him in the eye.

  “The Egyptians believed that cats were the guardians to the gates of the underworld. Did you know that?”

  He had just looked at me as though questioning my sanity, and then yawned as though suggesting that I leave him to his nap. I smiled, and scratching under his chin, listened to his deep rumbling purr before deciding to call it a night.

  “Well, pleasant dreams, old friend--,” I moved to switch off the lamp, and wandering from the room, looked back at him in the dark, “I’ll leave the bathroom light burning, just for tonight….”

  He had looked back at me, the hall light reflecting eerily as his eyes shone a brilliant green. He was a large animal and seemed even bigger in the dark. I had never been afraid of him, but something just didn’t feel right. It was almost as though he had changed when the light had gone out, and something else, a shadow with burning eyes, now gazed back at me.

  Switching the light back on, I turned toward him and stood silent as he had simply vanished from the chair. I felt my heart leap into my throat as Merlin suddenly brushed against my leg, wandering into the room from behind me. He had been in the kitchen the whole time and had just returned….

  I watched as he casually strolled over to the old chair, and leaping onto the cushion, settled down for the remainder of the evening. It was the first time that I had left my office light burning through the night, and was certainly not the last….

  Tuesday, September 10, 1974.

  The morning had started even slower than usual. Taking tea closer to noon, I had enjoyed brunch with Caitlin at my desk. It had been an overcast day, the sun peeking from behind the heavy clouds from time to time. We had shared waffles and mixed fruit, and laughed over plans for a Halloween gathering in the gardens. All the girls from the office were simply ecstatic with the idea, and had even offered to decorate. It was during the course of this conversation that Rich had called, sounding more urgent than usual. I had agreed to meet with him the following morning.

  “Is everything alright, sweetheart?” Caitlin had appeared concerned as I hung up the phone.

  “It sounds as though Rich has stumbled over something interesting.” Sipping at my tea, I reached for her hand from across the desk, “It’s local—so we will not be going out of town this time.”

  “Well, you certainly said a lot about nothing. Maybe you should consider a career in politics?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, dear--,” Petting her hand and smiling, I shrugged it off, “I suppose that my mind is just occupied by too many things at once?”

  “Or you have developed a recent talent for being evasive when asked anything.”

  Before I could reply, Eva entered the room with a tray of tea, and chuckling, said, “Recently developed? He’s always been evasive if you ask me. You’ve just failed to notice it until now, my dear.”

  “I wouldn’t call it evasive.” Attempting to define a proper explanation, I was cut short by Eva. As placing down the tray, she waved a finger at me, “D
on’t even bother, you’d be wasting your breath trying to pull the wool over my eyes, laddie.”

  “She has you there, my love.”

  Sighing and pouring a cup of tea, I shrugged, as kissing my cheek, Eva winked, “See how he even managed to avoid the question in the first place?”

  Caitlin turned to me as Eva vanished in the hallway. I could see by her expression that curiosity now haunted her every thought. “So, exactly where were you and Rich planning to go tomorrow? Save the discretion and mystery for the public and authorities--,” She smirked, tugging at my sleeve, “You should be able to tell your wife.”

  “Well, good grief--,” I shrugged, and attempting to appear quite sincere, said, “If a man tells his wife—the whole world is certain to find out soon enough!”

  “Women have secrets that men never find out. And keep them better than any man ever could.”

  “You have—secrets?” She had caught my attention.

  “Of course—we all have secrets, my love.”

  “And what secrets might those be?”

  “Dark and sinful secrets--,” She blushed, “The type that can never be told.”

  “But we should never have secrets—I’m your husband.”

  “I’ll make you a deal--,” She almost purred, gazing deeply into my eyes, “You tell me where you’re going, and, I’ll tell you something, too….”

  “We’re just going over to New Westminster to investigate a possible haunting.”

  “What was so hard about telling me that?” She appeared surprised.

  “It’s not what it was--.” I shrugged, “But the fact that you were trying so hard to find out.”

  “Oh, I see--,” She laughed, waving a finger in shame at me, “But now that you told me your secret, I’ll have to tell you mine, as agreed.”

  “Alright then—tell me your dark, sinful and mysterious secret.”

  “Well--,” She thought briefly, and blushing, her wide green eyes became glassy, “My secret—is that I am even sneakier than you, and know how to get my way.”

  She was half right. I had never disclosed the location or facts of the details….

  Wednesday, September 11, 1974.

  It had been a rather unusual request that had brought my attention to the Woodlands Sanitarium. Standing upon the main street and facing the black iron gates, I pondered while awaiting my friend. It had been built in 1878 as an asylum for the insane, and then later used to house the mentally challenged, physically handy-capped and deeply disturbed. Resting high atop a hill on East Columbia Street in New Westminster and overlooking the mighty Fraser River, it had stood there for the better part of a century.

  The original hospital had been a large old manor house, which was located near the corner of East Royal Avenue and McBride Boulevard. Well maintained and residing within its own gardens, a gnarled and crooked tree stood guard before the now empty structure. To the far east of the property existed an overgrown gully, and beyond rested the B.C. Penitentiary. Another building which had been erected in the same year, and was still functioning….

  In all appearances the sanitarium could just as easily have been a castle. With mighty stone walls, it had numerous dark and barred windows and crowned turrets. The aged and yellowed buildings of which there were several adjoining the facility, stood pale against the clouded horizon. The property was enormous. Filled with large oaks and willows, it was entirely surrounded by a cement barrier with black iron-spiked fencing. I knew that barrier had not been fashioned to keep anything out but rather hold someone within. There was a time when the patients had once wandered those grounds. Like ghosts they had lingered in white gowns, always watching, ever present. Some more coherent than others, but most existing as mere shadows of who they had once been.

  “I wonder what nightmares you have witnessed over the years.” The thought escaped me while turning to greet my swiftly approaching friend.

  “Sorry if I’m a little late--,” He gasped, having run the entire length of the street, “It’s impossible to find parking anywhere around here.”

  “I parked on McBride Boulevard, just up past East Royal Avenue.” I informed him, “There are modern parking facilities to the rear entrance to the buildings. It would have also saved us a considerable amount of walking. Unless there was some reason that you felt we should keep our presence here somewhat secret?”

  “Of course not—we’re expected.” He scoffed, nervously looking about, “I’m down on Front Street. I hid the truck on a dirt road, down by the river’s edge.” He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder, “Hopefully I won’t get towed.”

  Noticing my blank and questioning stare, he shrugged, and smiling mischievously, said, “You can hardly blame me. With all the sneaking around that we’ve done, it’s just instinctive now….”

  “We do not sneak around.” Arguing, I thought briefly before saying, “We simply take certain precautions to avoid notice in sensitive situations.”

  He had said nothing in reply, but simply motioned for me to lead the way. I shuddered as we passed through the gates, uncomfortable as we began making our way up the cement pathway and toward the main building.

  There was a distinct chill in the morning breeze. It was in that moment that I heard him mumble in a barely audible tone, “I wonder if this is a sanitarium? Or just a building for taking certain precautions with people with sensitive conditions…”

  Raising an eyebrow in question, I simply ignored my friend’s sarcastic jest. But feeling rather unsettled by the place in general, broke the silence, “I find it strange that a psychiatrist would even consider speaking with us about a possible haunting.”

  “Well, he didn’t exactly refer to it in those terms.” Rich sighed, “He called them unexplained incidents. And, he also offered to provide a few professional opinions concerning some of our research into, well, obsession and possession. I promised to keep everything strictly off the record. Or, I doubt that he would even be speaking to us.”

  “Well then, you certainly managed to get behind the “iron curtain” so to speak. Psychology and psychiatry are medical professions that blatantly refuse the possibility of the preternatural. If it isn’t some form of chemical imbalance that can be corrected by medication or electrocution, they’ll stay altogether clear of the subject.”

  “Like you always say--,” He winked, “Discretion is the better part of valor.”

  “I say a lot of things. Many of which have gotten us both into serious trouble in the past….”

  “And that’s a talent too--,” He laughed, “We just need to get better at getting out of trouble…”

  “It seems to me that trouble is the trade--,” I looked into the bare limbs of the trees, “And that surviving it is all that counts….”

  “I read an article about another missing person out at Harrison Lake--,” He shuddered with the recollection, “I don’t think that I’ll ever go near open water again.”

  “It’s likely just the temperature and tides--,” Looking to Rich, I noticed that he appeared rather pale and sickly, and asked, “Are you feeling alright? You look a little under the weather.”

  “Well, I haven’t been sleeping to well--,” He frowned, “I’m still having nightmares about that thing at Harrison Mills. I woke up screaming the other night and scared the living daylights out of poor Maya.”

  “You aren’t the only one, my friend--,” I remembered a telephone call with Carrie, “Apparently Scott has been having the same problem. Carrie told me that he’s been waking up with anxiety attacks in the middle of the night.”

  “And, how have you been managing?”

  I looked from my friend toward the dark towers of the asylum, “Lately, it seems that the worst nightmares have happened when I was awake….”

  It was an overcast and unusually cold morning for the West Coast. There was a light fog drifting upon the grounds which creeping among the deep shadows of the old trees, now haunted my imagination. On several occasions I thought to have seen the sp
ectral forms of people. As little more than pale shadows, they lingered from behind trees and silently watched us within passing. I had attempted to ignore the phantasms, considering them little more than the products of a fleeting fancy, but then caught Rich taking notice of them as well….

  “The fog--,” I pointed out as he nervously glanced back at me during a moment of uncertainty, and I said, “It has a tendency to play tricks on the mind in this dismal light.”

  “I wonder if it’s just the fog….”

  I had decided not to attempt answering that. Although the place did not feel anything like the Duff Glenn, it certainly had an unnerving appeal entirely of its own. It was almost as if those who had once lived, and over time long passed from that place, had never truly left….

  Looking toward the enormous buildings, I could see the pale glow of lights behind the large and barred windows. As they grew closer, I could make out the pale pastel colors and the motionless shadows of those who simply stood and silently stared out. But then, through the stillness came the obvious sounds of shouting hysterical voices and muffled screams! It was enough to cause us both to falter upon the path. It was like nothing either of us had previously experienced, as we now stood upon the brink of madness and before the doors to the land of the living lost….

  The moment having passed, we continued to the main entrance and large double doors. Rich had politely opened the door before me and followed. As entering into the main lobby, we paused to look around. The room was enormous and yet the air was stagnant, heavy with the scent of decaying wood and antiseptic cleaners. The pale tiled floors were polished like glass and the walls all about were a sickly green. I could hardly imagine being incarcerated in such a place. If the dismal colors did not drive you mad, then the stagnant air and stifling odors certainly would.

  There was a large glass-enclosed counter where several nurses were occupied with clerical work and telephone calls. Contained in their glass cage, they appeared as little more than prisoners themselves. I was already feeling nauseated and strangely disturbed in the place. I could not wait to see what it had in store for us next. Wasting no more time, we made our way toward the counter and promptly introduced ourselves.