Timelock

by R. G. Knighton

  The executioners’ fingernails disappeared into the flesh and his fingertips followed, sinking deeper, and curling around her windpipe as the blood sprayed over everything within a radius of six feet, coating George in the warm pink spray. By now the assailant had curled his hand around the back of her oesophagus and the points of his nails punctured back through her skin from the inside. Clamping his fist tight while looking skyward and calling on Amon Ra for strength, he began to pull; the flesh immediately began to stretch, then to tear apart as her windpipe bulged out of the front of her neck. A curious gurgling sound emitted from the back of her throat when blood, bubbling as it mixed with exhaled air, poured out of her gaping mouth. Bile burnt in the back of his throat as George witnessed the woman’s tongue torn from its home and out through the hole in her neck whilst still attached to her windpipe which now protruded through the jagged tear. As the sacrificed woman twitched with her life ebbing away, she was still trying to scream, her jaw flapping and her tongue, now outside of her head, curling back and forth looking like a fat juicy worm on the end of a fishing hook with blood dripping from its tip.

  Coated from head to toe in warm blood soaking into his white tunic turning it crimson, the executioner turned around and slowly removed his pointed hood.

  Gagging from the sudden stench of the victims vacated bowels, George looked down at the excreta coursing down her buckled legs and splattering onto the linoleum floor. Looking back up he stared dumbstruck at the man revealed before him, it could not be, George was staring at an image of himself. Apart from the obvious difference in attire he could be looking into a mirror but this horrific reflection grinned menacingly back.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Icy waves of murky water rose and fell as the pleasure cruiser the ‘Earl of Loxley’ steadily chugged along the Oxten canal heading to the wharf where in a few hours from now groups of tourists will join the hour and a half cruise ‘Scenes of old Huntingdon’. A pleasant trip for the curious traveller, a chance to sit down, take in the sights and listen to the commentary from the resident tourist guide, ‘Captain’ Bill Walker.

  The gentle wave caused by the cruiser, lapped against the hull of ‘Queenie’ a poorly maintained houseboat moored at the canal side. The old girl rocked gently then drifted into the square cut stone edged canal bank ending with a dull thud where the rope fenders should be but had long since worn away and not replaced by the lazy owner Carl Barker. The aged craft soon settled back into place with her mooring rope creaking softly from the strain.

  Inside the barge the only occupant awoke with a jolt. Anyone used to sleeping atop of the water would not have stirred but this landlubber sat bolt upright, heart thumping, looking all around for the cause of the thud. Still bewildered by the strange surroundings her fear quickly changed to nausea from the effect of the previous nights drinking and the motion of the boat. Bile rose up into the back of her throat and half falling out of bed, this naked woman ran from the bedroom into the short corridor, rapidly opening doors in search of the bathroom. Just in time she knelt down beside the toilet bowl, vomiting up the contents of her stomach into the pan. Strings of saliva hung from her open mouth as she ended the session with a dry retch and final spit. Wiping her lips with toilet tissue which she threw into the bowl, she carefully stood up, flushed away the contents, and studied her clammy face in the bathroom mirror.

  “You look like an old witch!”

  She said to her reflection before turning on the cold tap, hooking her hair behind her left ear then bending over the small white enamel sink to swill out her mouth and splash her face. The water tasted cold and rank but it was considerably better than acrid vomit fumes burning her throat. Patting her face dry with a plain white hand towel she stared and wondered what sort of woman she was turning into. Perhaps it was not as bad as she first thought as she gave a self a frank assessment. First glance, not too bad, pretty girl, dark brown shoulder length hair, slim build, twenty years old but feeling eighty. She leaned in and stared more intently. Her pale green complexion, complemented by dark whorls under her eyes of smudged mascara and feint traces of ruby lipstick filling the creases of her dehydrated lips making her a site to behold.

  Five minutes later, back in the bedroom, make up reapplied, hair brushed and just finishing getting dressed she was startled again at the sound of footsteps on the stern deck. Shadows flashed up the wall opposite the open bedroom door as the rear hatch opened and someone stepped carefully into the boat. Frantically looking around for a weapon, her eyes settled on a cricket bat handle jutting out from under the bed; crouching down and carefully sliding the bat out from its hiding place, she stood up and raised it over her head, waiting silently as the footsteps grew closer.

  *************

  Mary Callaghan waited patiently outside George’s door. She narrowed her eyes and tried to peer through the frosted glass panel in the door surround but it was too dark. She finally pressed the doorbell, shaking George from his trance, he looked at the door then back into the flat to find everything had disappeared, the people, the fire, the blood, everything. The only evidence that anything had happened was the remains of his tea puddling on the kitchen floor and beginning to collect around his left foot.

  Mary rang the bell again and this time George responded

  ”I’m coming, hold your horses!”

  He shouted and shuffled down the hall dragging his wet heel, trying to dry it on the carpet on the way. He unlocked the door on the safety chain and quickly felt the cold hallway air tighten his scrotum as it blew up the inside of his dressing gown. The rosy smile facing him looked far too cheerful for this time in the morning.

  “Oh it’s you”

  He grumbled,

  “What you want?”

  “Do you know what bloody time it is?”

  He fired off all three questions, one after the other,

  “Yes it’s me, to see you and its seven thirty. “

  Mary replied. She had come round to see George in relation to the excitement of the previous nights ‘gathering’ that had taken place with three other of their student friends.

  The door slammed shut and Mary listened to George sliding the safety chain out of its holder and then reopen the door. Turning away he shuffled back towards the kitchen without properly inviting Mary in so she entered the flat closing the door silently behind her.

  “Someone’s testy this morning. “

  She mumbled to herself as she turned and walked into the kitchen to find George on his hands and knees mopping up his spilled drink with a blue and white checked tea towel.

  “Did you shut the door its bloody freezing?”

  He snapped without looking up. Mary ignored the question and waited until he had finished and stood up.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “Oh nothing.”

  Replied George,

  “Just spilled my tea, no panic.”

  His mood had suddenly evaporated.

  Mary waited patiently while George finished the job, washing out the dirty cloth in the sink.

  “You ok George?”

  She asked, worried at his fluctuating mood.

  “Fine, why do you ask?”

  “It’s just that after last night I thought you may be a little freaked out, I know I was but I gave it some thought on the way over and I’m sure it will work better next time. With a little tweaking here and there it’s going to work, I know it will.”

  George paused, studying Mary as if for the first time and noticing how beautiful she looked.

  Standing at five feet nine with trim athletic build, quite a personal achievement as she was grossly overweight in her early teens. Ignored by all the boys at her school including George who she loved from afar, this goaded her into action, strict diet and exercise resulted in the figure most women would die for. Aquiline features, piercing green eyes and full lips. Quite a beautiful woman, the only flaw in her face was a small crescent shaped scar on her chin received when wrestling over a s
tolen toy with her kid brother and she fell on the corner of the stone fireplace in their childhood home. Two butterfly stitches and a tetanus injection later she was soon as good as new. Her features so closely resembled the poor woman from the vision, who five minutes ago stood before him having her throat ripped out. If it was not for Marys long black hair she also could have passed for her twin.

  “George, are you listening to me?”

  “Sorry tuned out for the moment, what did you say?”

  “I said I’m sure the experiment will work better next time, don’t you think?”

  “Didn’t work at all if you ask me, complete waste of time.”

  Replied George, still shaken up from the recent events but trying not to show.

  “Are you kidding me George?”

  Mary did not wait for an answer, she just carried on, agitated,

  “Are you telling me the things that happened last night were a waste of time? The sounds, the smells, the faces we saw in the rift just before it collapsed. I wouldn’t call that not working, if we can just raise the harmonics and stabilise the chronos field we’re sure succeed this time, it’s that close.”

  Mary paused, waiting for a reply but George just sat silent, unable to offer a salient response.

  Perplexed, Mary studied his face, wondering why George had suddenly become disinterested in the experiment. His enthusiasm to the cause had persuaded the cynicism of the others to join him to investigate what seemed farcical at the time and now as they stood on the brink of success his apathy was unbelievable.

  “What’s a matter George?”

  She said as caringly as she could. George stared coldly back as he answered.

  “Nothing, nothing at all.”

  Mary was unconvinced.

  “What’s happened George?”

  She said her voice now slightly raised.

  “Come on, what’s caused this sudden turn around? Last night you were all for the next level and now you don’t want to know, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  George looked Mary in the eye then back to the tabletop, which he seemed to find very interesting.

  “That’s it, what have you seen? I knew I smelled wood smoke coming from your flat. C’mon George tell me.”

  She leaned into him and placed the palms of her hands on the table, George slowly looked up and whispered one word,

  “Death!”

  Mary’s eyes opened wide as she drew a deep breath and George braced his own self for her reply; it was not what he expected.

  “I think I’ll put the kettle on!”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Huntingdon University is one of the oldest seats of learning in the country. Purpose built in 1299 to further educate the brightest minds of the age. It never received the kudos of Oxford or Cambridge which it truly deserved as many famous scholars have passed through its doors. Former graduates, who now sit in positions of power, always look for the Huntingdon name on job applications, or question prospective clients as it is an unwritten rule to always favour fellow alumni and preserve the university fellowship.

  Cutting across the northeast corner of the university campus is the Oxten canal. A Victorian construction, the motorway of its day designed to take mainly commercial barges with their wares, linking the Midlands to the southwest and onto the docks where goods are imported and exported to and from all over the world. The canal today is used mainly for pleasure cruisers and houseboats including ‘Queenie’ a fifty-five foot converted narrow boat owned by Carl Barker, the third member of the ‘gathering’ and a former student who still works at the university.

  Carl is the original ‘bad boy’; six feet tall broad shoulders and slim hips, dyed black hair highlighted his baby blue eyes and handsome features that have helped him bed more than fifty women before the age of twenty-five a pleasure which turned into an addiction but that was not his crime. He was expelled from the university for drug dealing three years ago but he was never arrested, the man who caught him red handed was Professor Tobias Q Sutherland, dean of the university. A man with his own private agenda, who did not want the local constabulary sniffing around the campus, interfering with his own illegal trade.

  Using the excuse of bad publicity for the university involving drugs, the dean struck a deal with Carl, minimal mooring fees for his houseboat and being allowed to keep his job as part-time university laboratory assistant in return for his total silence. Even though the dean disliked Carl being so close to the students he thought it was best to keep him within sight. As the saying goes, keep your friends close and your enemies closer.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  When George had finished informing Mary, he sat back let her do all the talking. The only thing he left out was the likeness of Mary and his own self to the lead characters. That was just too weird to contemplate and he was still feeling the after effects of the vision, which repeated, over and over in his head. He could come to terms with the whole thing being a hallucination but what he could not get out of his mind was the poor woman, he touched her, he felt the tiny hairs on her cold flesh as he attempted to free her from her bonds. Everything else he thought was a projection from another time but that was definitely real.

  “George, are you listening to me.”

  Mary had been talking nonstop since he finished but he hardly heard any of the last five minutes.

  “Sorry Mary I was away with the fairies, what did you say?”

  “I said that we all need to discuss what the next step of the experiment should be so we will all meet as planned at ‘Romeo’s’ tonight and talk, ok?”

  George stared blankly at Mary, her mouth moved but it was if the sound had been turned down. He just nodded at what he thought was the appropriate moment and she seemed happy at this. Her image began to blend with the face of the woman and her hair faded away leaving the roughly hacked stubble. This time it was Mary’s throat ripped out and her tongue bobbed about on the end of her windpipe along to the sound of Mary’s voice, which he could suddenly hear. George could not help himself, he suddenly found this very funny and began to chuckle, Mary grew angry at the reaction and talked louder and with more animation. This made the tongue dance even faster and George’s chuckle turned into laughter and finally hysterics from the bizarre sight.

  Mary was furious, she stopped and stared but George was unable to stop. She yelled again but that made matters worse. Looking around, she spied the teaspoon that George had placed into the spout of his aluminium teapot, a habit of his when he carried two cups and teapot together. She took it and placed the hot ladle end onto the back of Georges’ hand. He stopped at once, the mild burn bringing him back into reality.

  “What the hell did you do that for?”

  Snapped George, as he nursed his burning hand. Mary replaced the spoon and continued with her speech.

  “Just to get your attention George, now for the last time 8:30 ‘Romeo’s’ tonight, be there ok.”

  “I’ll go Mary if it will shut you up.”

  George snapped, harsher than he really meant to but he was furious at being chastised like a child. Mary silently turned away and stormed from the flat. As she opened the door to leave she looked back over her shoulder and said;

  “I’m not going to ask again George, it’s up to you, and by the way there is nothing you can do to shut me up.”

  Still courteous for the other residents she quietly closed the door. He smiled wryly then spoke softly to an empty room,

  “I’m sure I could think of something.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  She held her breath trying to keep as silent as possible as the footsteps came closer; the angle of the boat tilting ever so slightly from the weight of the extra passenger, the shadow crept silently up the wall forming into the shape of a man who appeared to be carrying a long dagger. As the shadow grew larger she inched forwards and tensed her muscles ready to strike. The footsteps stopped and the terrified woman had to stifle a scream when a grubby hand came into view, its finge
rs curled slowly around the doorframe, gripping it tight. Raising the bat a little higher, her mind screaming in terror, holding back the urge to hit out at the hand and wait for a better shot when a head suddenly shot into view and said,

  “Boo!”

  Without pausing for breath she struck, the bat whistled through the air in a downward motion heading straight at the man’s head, only lightning reflexes saved him from a cracked skull as he ducked and his shoulder took the main force of the blow as he dived out of the way.

  “What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?” said Carl, as he sat on the floor, nursing his sore shoulder and glaring up at his attacker.

  “Oh Jesus I’m so sorry, I didn’t know it was you, are you all right?”

  “Fine thanks, I like nothing better than a whack with a cricket bat first thing in the morning, it really sets me up for the rest of the day.”

  “It’s your own fault, creeping up on people like that, I nearly had a heart attack, after what happened last night, you should think first, I could have killed you! I think we should talk to the police.”

  Carl sat silently; He did not like being bossed, especially from someone he hardly knew and a woman as well. His reply was curt,

  “It would take more than a girl with a cricket bat to kill me and what do you mean ‘after last night’?”