Josh and the Magic Vial

by Craig Spence

  “A chance encounter changed all that. It was 1919. Blackstone had established his colony at Ormor on the Sea. He’d recruited many supporters already and had come to Vancouver to recruit some more. He’d taken a room right downtown in the Georgia Hotel and booked appointments for the entire day. Among his prospects was a fellow by the name of Tom Henderson.”

  Puddifant paused. He closed his eyes and smiled as if he were listening to a particularly moving piece of music.

  “Tom had recently returned from the Great War — the War to End All Wars as it was called. Before he’d joined the slaughter in Europe, he’d travelled the world looking for wisdom. He’d studied eastern religion and philosophy; he had a firm grasp of science and logic; he’d learned all he could about the occult and magic. Still, he had not discovered an answer to the question that had tested human intelligence and proved our profound ignorance throughout the ages. ‘Why?’ he asked himself. ‘Why are we born? Why must we die? Why does the vast universe exist at all?’

  “World War I put those questions in an even harsher light. He had seen unspeakable evil — evil on a scale unimaginable before then. Man’s inventions had been turned into weapons of torture and slaughter. Millions upon millions had toiled in the mud. They had lived and breathed the stench of war. Millions died. Millions more were left physically and morally crippled, their faith in humanity shattered, their souls as barren and blasted as no man’s land. How could any thinking person sustain a shred of faith in the human species after that cataclysm?

  “Tom’s answer was love — pure and simple. Not love as an idea. Not love as an equation based on how good a person was or how beautiful or accomplished, but unqualified, unquestioning love.”

  “And that’s the answer I must look for?” Josh frowned.

  Puddifant beamed. “Yes!” he cried. “Yes, yes, yes. Not the notion of love, but the very essence.”

  “I’m still not sure what you mean.”

  “Oh, you’ll know it when you find it my boy. Love in its purest form will set you free and there’s no mistaking that feeling.”

  “But how did Tom Henderson explain all that to you?” Millie asked.

  Puddifant chuckled. “He knew about me from the moment he stepped into that hotel room and I somehow knew that he knew. There was a psychic connection between us — I believe it’s called ‘energy’ in modern circles. He talked to Blackstone about his search for a spiritual community and about his philosophy of universal love, but the whole time he was reaching out directly to me with his mind. I cannot explain this without sounding ridiculous. All I can say is his love still resonates in my soul. After that I began to let go of hatred. I saw it for what it was — a poison that gave Blackstone power over me.

  “Love is the nucleus of the universe,” he sighed. “It holds everything together. There is no power on earth stronger. When you truly believe that, you will be ready to confront Vortigen.”

  The children exchanged glances. It all sounded so strange. Like a sales pitch you might hear on a street corner or religion TV.

  Millie glanced at Josh. He looked so pale and weary. How would he be able to muster the energy he’d need to defeat Vortigen? It seemed to her he could barely keep his eyes open and his chin from sinking onto his chest. He was getting thin, too. “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “A little tired,” he admitted.

  “Then it’s time we retired for the night,” Puddifant said cheerily. “We could all do with a good sleep, eh?”

  Annoyed, Millie stared at the Inspector. What was he hiding? “Is Josh okay?” she wanted to know. “He looks pretty sick to me. How’s he going to fight off Vortigen if he’s too sick to even stand up?”

  “His body’s sick,” Puddifant answered gravely. “Not his soul.

  He’ll be ready for the psychic battle when the time comes. He must be ready.”

  “I’m okay Mil,” Josh said gently. “But thanks for asking.”

  She glanced from one to the other of them. They weren’t telling her the whole truth. Millie knew it in her bones. A shiver of panic — or was it anger — tingled her nerves. She felt as if she were looking for a black cat in a dark room: suspicious, but utterly lost.

  41

  That night, as Josh brushed his teeth, Puddifant sat on the edge of the tub watching.

  Josh had got used to having the inspector around— so comfortable he had to remind himself constantly not to slip up by talking to the spirit in front of his parents. “How do you feel?” Puddifant asked.

  “Fine,” Josh gargled, trying not to let any toothpaste dribble onto his pajamas.

  “Really?”

  Josh stopped brushing and spat into the sink. The truth was he hadn’t been feeling fine at all for days and the nausea he’d been suffering was getting worse. He could barely keep his balance and his eyes always wanted to droop closed. “No,” he admitted, meeting Puddifant’s penetrating stare. “I feel crappy, Inspector.”

  “Is it getting worse?”

  “Yes,” Josh nodded.

  “Then we must prepare. My guess is you will be visited by Vortigen and his minions very soon.”

  “But it’s not the night of the new moon yet,” Josh protested.

  Puddifant shook his head sadly. “The night of the new moon is when the spell takes hold completely. If we have not broken it by then, there will be no way for you to return from Syde. Your sojourn there might begin earlier, however. Some of the candidates take sick about a week before the night of the full moon.

  “That’s . . . ”

  “Tonight, I know,” Puddifant said grimly. “I didn’t warn the others because I didn’t want them to do anything that might jeopardize our chances of getting you out.”

  “Getting me out!” Josh cried. “But that means I have to go there in the first place. You never told me that!” He glared at Puddifant.

  “You weren’t ready, Josh, and perhaps you aren’t ready now.

  But I cannot delay any longer because the onset of your illness might be this very night and you have to brace yourself . . . ”

  “Isn’t there anything you can do?” Josh pleaded.

  Puddifant shook his head glumly. “I will try to stay in contact,” he said. “I can signal you from this dimension, rather like a homing beacon. But even reaching you will be difficult lad. You are going to have to find your own way home I’m afraid.”

  “I thought you said we were going to defeat Vortigen together: you, Millie, Ian and I.We’re a team, remember. We made a pact.”

  “We are a team, Josh. But at this point in the mission you must venture forth on your own, in the same way that the first astronauts ventured out into space on their own even though there was a huge support team here on earth guiding and monitoring their every move.”

  Josh scowled.

  “If it would prevent this, my boy, I would gladly give up my life — such as it is. But there’s nothing I or anyone else can do to stop the progress of Endorathlil’s spell. She can’t take it back, although I’m sure she regrets deeply what she has done. Not even Vortigen can stop it. Only you can alter the course of events.”

  “Me! How?” Josh protested.

  “Vortigen sees in you a kindred spirit. He believes it is only a matter of time until his arguments take hold and you come round. What he does not anticipate is your ability to resist. He considers you his son, Josh. Not by birth, but by nature. Like any father, he accepts the need for rebellion, but in the end he expects you to see things his way. He will offer you riches you cannot even begin to imagine. You will be astounded by his wealth and power. And when you refuse him — if you refuse him — he will bring to bear the full weight of a royal father’s anger. He will try to force you to see reason.”

  “And if he exerts his power, how can I resist?”

  “What he hasn’t accounted for in his calculations — and could not for he has no knowledge of it — is the power that binds you to this world . . . love,” Puddifant said calmly. “He does not know
what it is to have a true friend, or to hear a mother’s voice. Those are your strengths, Josh.”

  “But all I feel is alone and afraid and doomed, just like Charlie Underwood.”

  “Charlie had none of the knowledge you possess when he was cast into Syde. If he had, and if I had known the type of enemy he faced, I’m convinced we could have got him out. The task you face is much greater, however. You are not fighting for yourself only, Josh. You are destined to be a hero . . . or a demon . . . there is no middle ground. Either way, greatness is your lot.”

  “Bullshit!” Josh growled. “I’m just a kid”

  A knock at the door froze them, mid-sentence. “You okay Josh?” Mr. Dempster called through the locked door.

  “Jeez!” Josh winced. “Yeah, Dad.”

  “Who are you talking to in there, son?” his father asked jokingly.

  “Just my ghost, Dad,” Josh forced a laugh. “Locked doors can’t keep him out.”

  Mr. Dempster sighed wearily, climbing into bed next to his wife. For a while they both lay there awake, staring at the ceiling. A network of shadows webbed the stucco, projected there by lamps from the street outside their window. They had to talk, but didn’t want to broach the things that needed saying. For a while they had thought Josh might be getting back to his old self, but now they were not so sure. Talking to “his ghost” in the bathroom was not a good sign. Not good at all.

  “Kids do that,” Mrs. Dempster suggested.

  “I know, honey. But this wasn’t normal. It was as if he really believed there was someone in there with him. You know what it’s like, listening to someone talk on the phone and not being able to hear the person on the other end of the line: that’s what it was like listening to Josh. He really thought he was talking to someone. He didn’t dare say it, but Mr. Dempster couldn’t help thinking “schizophrenia” . That’s what happened wasn’t it? You started hearing voices, having conversations in your mind. You ended up believing in your imaginary world more than the real one.

  “Are you afraid?” Mrs. Dempster asked.

  “Scared to death,” he confessed.

  He reached across the blanket and took her hand. She squeezed back. “What are we going to do?” Mrs. Dempster quavered. “I feel so helpless, Frank. He’s our son, but we can’t seem to reach him. What’s happening?”

  “He has us honey. No matter what, he’ll always have us by his side. We’ll support him through anything and in the end that love will see him through.” Mr. Dempster wanted to believe that, had to believe it. But it felt to him like he was whispering the truth into a long, dark tunnel. Josh was not well and nothing they had done seemed to make him better. Just how sick their son would get, the Dempsters couldn’t guess. They’d taken him to see the doctor, now they were thinking of going to a psychologist. But so far there was no explaining Josh’s strange behaviour.

  42

  Chattering sounds — like a flight of starlings a long way off but getting closer. Definitely getting closer . . . Josh sat up. Except for the glowing numerals of his digital clock and a feeble light that seeped in from the street lamp outside, the room was dark. He could just make out the grey forms of his dresser, his desk and the door. It was three o’clock. He was alone and feverish. No sign of Puddifant or his parents.

  When he woke the sounds vanished. But they had been real. He knew that. They would return too. Swinging his feet over the edge of the bed, he padded to the balcony door and stepped outside. Not a soul moved along Tenth Avenue. Off to the west, just over the roofline, the crescent moon sank toward the jagged horizon. The city slept.

  Yawning, Josh stumbled back to his bed where he lay sweating and awake. For a minute or two, things seemed normal. It was a false normality, however. Endorathlil’s spell had taken hold. Vortigen’s scouts had found him.

  “These beings reach us through the medium of dreams and visions,” Puddifant had explained during their sessions in the tree fort. “You will most likely encounter them first in your sleep. Once they begin to swarm, it won’t be long before the dream becomes real. Vortigen will soon follow.”

  Josh closed his eyes. He couldn’t sleep but at least he could rest . . .

  There! Again! Louder this time and more distinct. Peeping, cawing, chattering, trilling. The flock approached. “Here!” a voice squawked. “No, this way,” urged another. Something rattled the balcony door. Something else tapped at the window.

  Josh opened his eyes but did not sit up. He was afraid to move. If he hadn’t been prepared for this moment by Puddifant, he would have screamed. But Puddifant had warned him. “Showing fear will only excite them,” he’d said. “They feed upon fear the same way sharks are attracted to blood.”

  Dozens of them pressed against the windows now. The door rattled, the knob turned, and suddenly the mob of shadows streamed into his room flapping and screeching manically.

  “Lay still,” Puddifant had advised. “Do not incite them.”

  Josh did his best to follow this advice but it took every ounce of will to keep from leaping out of bed and yelling, “Get out!” He wanted to shriek; instead he watched without raising his head from his pillow, his eyes swiveling around in their sockets.

  “He sleeps,” one of the shadows rasped.

  “Aye,” another mocked. “And I sleep with my eyes wide open too, fool. He’s watching.”

  “Then why does he not greet us as we are accustomed? Why does he lie so still?”

  “Because he’s different from the others. Vortigen said so.”

  “What shall we do?”

  Something landed on the foot of Josh’s bed. It scrambled onto the hump of his legs then made its way up to his stomach and onto his chest where it settled on its haunches just below his chin. “We are emissaries from Syde,” the thing gargled. “We are here to snatch your soul.”

  Josh’s whole being convulsed. Despite his vow to remain calm he lashed out, clobbering the leering reptile with a savage right. With a squawk and clatter the creature tumbled to the floor where it lay stunned. A derisive hoot went up from its companions. “Ha-ha Druithlede. Now that was a fine proclamation if ever I saw one.”

  “Shut up!” the injured minion scowled sitting up.

  “No! You shut up, you pompous lump!”

  Shouts multiplied from all quarters as the gathered horde split into camps. Soon enough, words gave way to threats, and threats to blows as the opposing factions joined battle, punching, biting, kicking, and scratching at each other with unrestrained hatred. The minions had all but forgotten Josh in their heated battle.

  Mr. Dempster listened intently. He thought he’d heard sounds upstairs, but now all was silent. The house slumbered. “Stop being foolish!” he scolded. Still, he couldn’t help thinking about Josh and his mysterious conversations or the birdman. Could there be something real behind these fantasies? Preposterous! Ghosts and goblins were simply not acceptable explanations for whatever Josh was going through.

  Padding into the kitchen, Mr. Dempster opened the fridge and, after a moment’s contemplation, poured himself a glass of juice. No point in going back to bed, he thought. He’d only roll about and wake Mrs. Dempster. She needed sleep. The strain was beginning to show in her grey pallor and the dark circles under her eyes. What could parents do in a circumstance like this? he wondered. About the only thing you could do was worry . . . and understand. He shuffled out of the kitchen into the living room, where he flopped into his favourite armchair. Perhaps he would fall asleep sitting there. He needed sleep too.

  Sounds punctuated the gathered silence: the seconds ticking by on the mantle clock, the hum of the fridge, a car whooshing by on Tenth Avenue, a breeze rustling the curtains in Josh’s room . . .

  Frank’s eyes popped open, and he shot forward in his chair. Curtains? How could he have heard the sound of curtains rustling in Josh’s room. Josh didn’t have any curtains — he had blinds. Besides, you couldn’t hear curtains rustling from downstairs even if there had been any to hear! What was t
hat sound, then — a sound like fabric shushing in a breeze? Or . . .

  Come on, now! We can’t all be crazy at the same time!

  He immediately blushed for having allowed such a thought. He tried to ignore the sound, but it rasped in his thoughts and the longer he listened the more convinced he became that it could only be made by wings. There was something flying around in Josh’s room. Not a lone creature, it seemed to him, but a flock. Mr. Dempster launched himself out of his chair. His gut told him something was terribly wrong. Still, he warded off panic until, as he climbed the stairs, he heard other sounds. Piping noises — a bird, perhaps? Bats? His heart thumping, he inched closer to Josh’s door.

  Maybe he left his computer on. Maybe he had forgotten it on with some kind of game still open. Or perhaps the sounds were coming from one of the animation sites Josh liked to visit. Frank put his ear to the door. His eyes widened at what he heard: growling, jabbering, the swish of wings, clunks, bangs . . . and in the midst of it all, Josh moaning. Alarmed, Frank twisted the knob and barged into the room.

  Nothing!

  The sounds evaporated. He peered into the gloom, able to make out familiar shapes: lights blinking on the computer, the bed, Josh. Mr. Dempster concentrated. Everything seemed normal, but . . . Off kilter, as if he were in one of those tilted rooms at the fun fair. His spine tingled and his hair stood on end. “What is it?” he breathed. “What’s wrong?” Then it struck him. Too fast! Josh’s breathing was way too fast and uneven. His son panted, sucking in the air with quick, shallow gasps.

  “Josh?” Frank whispered.

  Josh murmured, then slashed at the air with his right arm, as if he were batting something off his chest. “Get out!” he yelled.