Sanctum Arcanum

by Alexander Kautz

  “Yes--,” Deciding not to conceal the facts from her, I attempted an explanation, “He owned some property in Harrison Mills. It was an old logging camp, the last investigation that we completed. There was an accident—his boat caught fire, sank and we narrowly escaped with our lives. But we couldn’t save him….”

  “I’m so sorry, my love--,” She held me tightly, pressing her face against mine, “Now I understand why Rich has been having those terrible nightmares as well.”

  The remark had drawn my immediate attention, as seeing my concern, she said, “Maya told me that he was waking up in the night. Sometimes—even screaming….”

  “Apparently Scott is suffering from the same night terrors--,” I had admitted, “I’m sure that it will all pass, given a little time.”

  “I read some of what you had written--,” She kissed my cheek, gently stroking the side of my face with her fingers as she watched my every reaction, “It must have been absolutely terrifying, because your version of the incident is a real nightmare. I’m not surprised that none of you are sleeping properly.”

  “Well, you know me--,” Attempting to comfort her with a little light humor, I said, “If someone plants flowers, I’ll write about the grave in their garden.”

  “As long as it’s just a story, I don’t mind.” She seemed suspicious and suddenly disturbed as she looked away and toward the window, “Sometimes it just seems all too real.”

  “That will teach you to read that trash.” I pulled her close, and winking, said, “Look at me—I’m having nightmares just writing it.” Before she could reply I leapt forward and nibbled at her neck, making her giggle hysterically as I proceeded to attack her with passionate kisses!

  “Oh goodness—aren’t you frisky tonight!” She had laughed as I drew her down from the chair and upon my lap. Blushing, she has mischievously looked about before quietly asking, “Does this mean that we’re skipping the tea and just heading off to bed?”

  “Well, let me think about this for a moment—work or wife?” I winked, “I’m not sure—what do you think?”

  She had not even uttered a single word, but her blushed complexion and glassy-eyed grin had said it all. I had risen from the floor, lifting her and carrying her giggling from the room as she switched out the light in passing….

  Saturday, September 14, 1974.

  The morning had come all too soon. Rushing through breakfast and making a number of telephone calls, I still felt as though I should have remained in bed. It wasn’t that I was feeling weak, wearied or sick—or maybe it had been and I was just too frightened to admit to it?

  Regardless, I had met Rich at the main gates as promised. Still chewing away at some dry whole wheat toast, I hesitated before tossing it into the hedge. No sooner had I done this, than did I notice that the birds had not even touched the previous two slices that still lay there. Hopefully they would remain undiscovered by dear old Norman, or I would never hear the end of it from Eva and Caitlin.

  The rumble of an engine caused me to turn as Rich now appeared before the gates. But rather than the usual work truck, he was driving something entirely different! I looked down upon the two-tone, silver and maroon 1972 Buick Riviera GS and just smiled. It was a sport model with mag rims, bucket seats and a console. With a long front end resembling the Cadillac of that year, its sloping, sporty curves ended in a long rear end and torpedo-shaped back window.

  “I thought that we should try something different for a change?” Rich waved at me, “I got a sweet deal on this one!”

  Climbing into the car and dropping into the seat, I narrowly missed hitting my head on the low roof. It was much different than what I had been accustomed to, but definitely a sporty and beautiful automobile.

  “It has a 455 cubic inch engine, three speed automatic, console shift and power – everything!” He seemed quite proud, as pulling away rather fast, he said, “What do you think?”

  That was when I first noticed that Rich was wearing a gray three piece suit and matching trench coat. He had cut his hair, put on a watch and looked a proper businessman! Indeed, we were a proper looking pair, and many might have mistaken us for police detectives!

  “A suit—and what has happened to your hair?”

  “It was Maya’s idea, really--,” He thought for a moment and offered a large and toothy grin, “And besides, we should look respectable at work.”

  “Well, you certainly do look terrific, honestly.”

  “Thanks—but don’t get too used to it--,” He laughed, “I’m only going to do this when we’re at work. I’ll be my usual slobby old self the rest of the time.”

  “I can live with that.” Looking over the dash and interior, I leaned back into the seat, “This certainly is comfortable, has pick-up and is definitely a nice looking machine. Does it come in a convertible?”

  It seemed that my question had taken the wind out of his sails, but he just smiled in reply, “Not this model—the back window is unique.”

  “It certainly is--,” I agreed, admiring the black interior, “It’s a real beauty.”

  “Actually, we have to stop at my place to drop this one off.” He winked, and adjusting his glasses, said, “I bought something else, too. I wanted something different and found two that I really liked. I couldn’t make my mind up at the car lot—so I bought both.”

  “Oh—,” I just looked over at him, curious but almost afraid to ask, “And what was the other vehicle?”

  I had initially expected to see some kind of “hopped up” truck, but was utterly surprised as he pulled in beside the car and parked. His grin was so big that it threatened to permanently crease his face.

  I could only stare in utter awe at the triple black 1966 Ford Thunderbird convertible! Parked against a background of golden and fiery-hued leaves, it stood out like a dark angel. The heavens had been clouded and gray, but the car reflected the autumn like a fire among the trees. Its lines were sleek and sloping, the bumpers low and like a shark’s mouth, gaping. It was a gentleman’s sports car, while faintly resembling the television Batmobile. I had fallen in love with it at first sight.

  “So, what do you think of it?” He had leapt from the Buick, and waving for me to follow, insisted that I take the driver’s seat.

  “It’s absolutely beautiful.” Gripping the tilt-away steering wheel and gawking at the beautiful chrome dash and console, I was speechless!

  “Start it up--,” He tossed me the keys, “It’s got a 390 and goes like a bat out of hell. Runs and rides like a brand new car.”

  Starting the engine, I just listened as the dual exhaust rumbled, “This doesn’t sound like a factory engine and exhaust.”

  “Well, it’s tricked up, just a little.”

  “Just a little--,” I laughed, touching the accelerator as the engine roared, and I knew that it was something very special, “It sounds amazing.”

  “I had a feeling that you might like this one.” He waved for me to follow, “But we’re going to ride with Detective Emerson today. So, let’s get our butts out onto the street.”

  “Are you planning on starting a car lot?” I laughed as we made our way out of his driveway and onto the sidewalk.

  “Look who is talking.” He slapped my shoulder, “You have two Cadillacs and a couple of Chryslers. I’m just trying to catch up!”

  “Alright, you have me there. But—I have to ask.” I looked back at him, “Where and when did you find the opportunity to run off and do this?”

  There was a sudden moment of stillness between us. He seemed almost reluctant to admit it, but then said, “Oddly enough, this would never have happened, but I was awakened from a nightmare early this morning. It was just after five and I couldn’t get back to sleep. So, around eight, I went for a drive and ended up at a car lot on the far side of town.”

  “If I was inclined to do the same thing whenever I woke from bad dreams, I would own a car lot by now.”

  He had smiled, but not laughed in his usual manner. His eyes growing
dark with concern and crossing his arms over his breast, he seemed at a loss for words. I knew that something was truly troubling him and turned in question, “Rich, honestly, what’s bothering you?”

  “It’s a number of things.” He looked back at the Buick and then to where I stood, “I’m not so sure about this new investigation. After what that thing said to you at the Asylum—well frankly, I’m worried about you and scared for all of us.”

  “I know and understand how you feel, but we can’t just stop when things get dark.”

  “I’m afraid of losing you, everything that we have done and everyone that we love.”

  Moving closer to my friend and placing a reassuring hand upon his shoulder, I gazed deeply into his eyes, “We have to have faith in what we believe, in each other and the greater good. Because in the end, if we don’t stand for something, there will not be anything left for anyone….”

  “What if it becomes too much for us? What if we’re just going too far?”

  “My dear friend, my brother--,” I felt suddenly overwhelmed as though something now guided my words, “Nothing that we have done was achieved simply by us, but through us and by the greater good. I’m afraid, too. But I believe in my heart of hearts that whatever happens, we are never truly alone in the darkness….”

  “Marlowe used to say that--,” His tone became cold and flat as he swallowed hard, the fear reflecting in his eyes, “You told me that yourself. What if he never left—what if he’s still here, communicating to us through dreams.”

  “I won’t deny that it’s possible. But I’m not going to live in constant doubt and fear.” Leaning back against the Thunderbird and rubbing at my eyes, I spoke softly, attempting to comfort my friend, “Granted, we have come a long way together and through some truly terrible and terrifying things. But the facts remain the same, we are still here. Now, whether that was because of the bonds that we share or simply faith, maybe even both, I’m not absolutely sure. But mark my words. I’m not saying that we should all just toss each other to the lions. But, as certain as we are both standing here now, we can’t run or hide from anything in this life.”

  “What if we’re all walking into some elaborate trap? What if that thing back at the Sanitarium was really telling the truth?” There was desperation in his expression, a deepening sense of dread as he spoke, “Michael, have you noticed that these things are becoming more tangible with every investigation? It’s almost like their feeding off our fear and imaginations, becoming more real, more physical each and every time. That thing in Harrison Mills was flesh and bone—it almost got all of us and might even still be out there.”

  “Then what would you suggest?’ I spoke quietly, while calmly looking at my friend, “That we go back out there and find some possible way of destroying it?”

  “We both already know that’s beyond any of us.--,” The terror flashed in his eyes as he licked at dry lips, “The fact that we even walked away from that nightmare was a miracle, unexplained….”

  “I would completely understand if you wanted to retire where the investigations are concerned.” Providing him a polite escape from all previous commitments, I said, “Our lives have changed significantly since this all began. But, please understand, I can’t just stop now….”

  “Michael--,” Words seemed to fail him within explanation, as stuttering, he said, “This isn’t about me quitting. Because, we are both tied to this destiny—I feel that, know it in my heart. What I’m trying to tell you is that I am scared for you—for us. Red was right that night back in Harrison Mills. That thing out on that lake was looking at you. Now, I’m not sure what the hell happened or why it didn’t just kill Ronnie? But there was something else going on out there. It was something far darker and much nastier than anything that we have ever encountered before. I can’t explain it—but I feel like we are being led into something….”

  “If you feel and truly believe that it will all just end if we quit doing the investigations--,” I felt the cool sleek steel of the car against the back of my legs, and steadying myself, said, “Then I’ll pull the plug on everything right now. And try to find some other resources to finish my book.”

  Taking my words into consideration, he had sadly looked down, shaking his head, and peered back up at me, “No—you’re absolutely right. There probably isn’t any way to avoid whatever might be coming down the pipe at this point. I suppose that I’m just letting my paranoia and fear get the better of me.”

  “No matter what we do or where we may wander--,” I had moved toward my friend, resting a reassuring hand upon his shoulder, and said, “If something out there is looking for either of us—it will find us. Whether we’re out there somewhere doing an investigation, or lying in our own beds at home….”

  His gaze wandered into the clouded heavens. Thinking briefly, he turned back to me, “I had a dream--,” He spoke as though mesmerized, “There was a great wall of shadow, swirling shades of blue. The edges around were moldering, blackened and crawling with horrible things. Within that wall I thought to have seen Victorian-styled, floral wallpaper. But as the designs began to move, I became aware of the glaring faces of demons in that darkness. And then, in the center of that blue haze appeared a symbol. It shone and burned inside a circle of a glowing and white light. Everything seemed to slow down, as in the distance I heard the echoing call of a raven. But as it flew from out of that darkness and into the circle of light, I saw that its eyes burned red. And, although it appeared as an enormous black bird, I knew that it was something terrifying, and so much more….”

  I had envisioned the scene as he spoke, retrieving my notepad from a coat pocket and scribbling down the details.

  “I don’t have any idea of what the symbol was, or whether it even exists. But I took out my paints and put it onto canvas before the images faded from my mind.”

  “Can I see it?”

  He had taken me into the house and to the second floor where we entered his studio. It was a large room, which occupying what appeared as a tower from outside, had many windows and was well lit. As we walked across the room and to where the painting rested upon an easel, I felt my heart thunder. With oils still glistening and wet, I stood silently before the dark image, the symbol burning bright and into my very soul. For I knew that sign, knew it very well. It was an ancient seal of protection against demons, and one that I had seen in the book of Faust. The raven’s book…. All forms, designs and symbolism that Rich had never seen before….

  “I’m going to toss it away when we get back--,” He explained, “It still bothers, even frightens me for some reason.”

  “No, don’t do that.” I turned, looked to my friend, and in a second thought, asked, “Would you mind, if I took this?”

  “What in the world for?”

  “I would like to use this as the cover to my fourth book.” I turned to look back at the painting, and speaking more to myself than anyone else, said, “I know that symbol, Rich. It’s an ancient seal of protection against demons. It’s safety in the darkness, sanctuary from the evils of the night.”

  “Sanctum Arcanum--,” He spoke the archaic Latin words that sent chills through my body as whispering, stood beside me, “It’s yours—I’ll deliver it just as soon as the paint has dried….”

  “There is definitely some significance to this—and I don’t doubt your reasons for concern. But we have to stay strong.”

  “To be honest--,” He swallowed hard, peering down at the painting, and muttered, “If something is really coming for us—I would rather run into it out there somewhere than risk Maya in our own home….”

  “Don’t lose heart—nothing is ever written in stone.”

  “Well, except for epitaphs on headstones and symbols on statues and pyramids.” It was a shallow attempt at humor, but suitable for the moment. He appeared utterly lost, but still attempted a smile, “Are you really sure about using that thing for a book cover?”

  “I certainly am—it seems suitable, don’t you thi
nk? Nightrealm IV, Sanctum Arcanum--,” I looked to him, nodding, and turned to the window and the sound of a blaring car horn, “The adventure continues….”

  Chapter Nine

  Detective Emerson had promptly arrived as agreed. While climbing into the car, I felt increasingly uncomfortable in the back seat. It was not the first time that I had endured a journey in the back seat of a police vehicle, but I was hoping that it would be the last.

  “Alright, Detective--,” Rich informed our new friend, “Dr. Langford has agreed to allow us to visit patient 1366 one last time. But it’s of the utmost importance that he doesn’t find out that you’re a cop.”

  Appearing somewhat insulted, Detective Emerson had simply nodded. It was obvious that he was very uncomfortable with the deceit, but realized that there was simply no other way.

  “Just call me Raymond--,” He sighed, “It’ll make things a lot easier.”

  “There are three reasons for this visit--,” I explained, “First of all, to acquaint Raymond with patient 1366 and justify our concerns. The second is to establish the identity of patient 1366, and hopefully, disorient him with a bluff and anger him enough to speak. And third--,” I drew an amulet from a coat pocket, looking to the talisman and saying, “As we were informed the other night, we can’t destroy or kill him. But we might be able to imprison or cast him out.”

  “What is that thing?” Raymond peered suspiciously from out of the rear-view mirror.

  Holding the object so that all could clearly see it, I said, “It’s a replica of the seal of Solomon, which made of brass and iron, was believed to have given one power over demons. In theory it should form a barrier once placed upon the door to that room.”

  “It looks like the star of David” Rich stared upon the object.

  “Hebrew lore states that the signet ring was engraved by God. So this symbol exists throughout their belief system.”