Timelock

by R. G. Knighton

  “Henry the toolkit, get the toolkit.”

  He hissed, already feeling faint from the pain in his legs. George leaned back; placing his hands on the floor directly beneath his shoulders in a crude balancing act as Henry carefully released the back of the chair. Luckily George and the chair stayed put so he quickly ran over to the tool kit, snatched it up, turned to run back, and then slipped on some loose papers that lay strewn across the floor. The tool kit hit the ground and burst open, scattering its contents. Henry, arms flailing, lurched forwards hitting his left shoulder on the corner of the table twisting his body sideways, and he landed heavily on his back stunned and winded. George watched helplessly when a second cable emerged from the portal, wrapped its self tightly around one of Henrys’ ankles, and proceeded to drag his terrified friend towards the void.

  “Henry, for God’s sake wake up!”

  George yelled as he frantically scanned the tool-strewn floor, trying to find something to sever the wires when he spotted a pair of pliers lying hopefully within reach. His mind raced trying to think of how he could get to them when the cables suddenly pulled tighter altering his balance and his chair front legs smashed back down to the floor allowing the rear pair to jump over the cable protector and now he too resumed on his way. In a blind panic to reach the pliers, George threw all his weight to his right, his chair tilted violently and he crashed to the floor hitting his head hit on the corner of the half-empty toolbox and he blacked out instantly. With his legs still firmly attached to the chair, his progress resumed, and leaving a trail of blood from the gash to his temple he inched awkwardly towards his fate. As Georges’ feet crossed the bloody perimeter of the pentagram, white translucent hands appeared from within the glowing portal, blindly grabbing the air trying to find George’s feet. Luckily, he lay just beyond reach but Henry was less fortunate and as George lay helpless, the hands grasped Henry instead. Suddenly wide-awake, Henry screamed, splitting several fingernails as he clawed at the floor trying to stop his progress. George groggily opened his eyes to see his friend suddenly pick up speed and slip quickly away into the void leaving a trail of white scratches from the nails of his torn fingers. In a flash the mayhem ceased and the vortex vanished. Apparently satisfied with one incarceration, the cables around George’s legs fell limp and he lay semi-comatose on the cold stone floor.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  ‘Romeos’ Pizzeria is a small family run business, owned and staffed by the Fabrisie family. They emigrated from Palermo Sicily in southern Italy back in 1973 and with the aid of family money they set up this pizza restaurant in the centre of the town and from its outset they never looked back. The rising popularity of Italian cuisine, especially with the under thirties during the last two decades, has secured the entire family with a sound future. Also many a student frequented this establishment prior to visiting a nightclub or for a social event.

  Tonight most of the usual club scene was there, including Mary, Carl, Chelsea, and Tyler, sitting together; Jim, Henrys’ roommate, sat alone at a nearby table waiting for Henry to introduce him to his friends as he was too shy to do it himself. Tyler recognised him and loudly offered Jim to come and join them, completely forgetting the private nature of the subject that they were about to discuss. Luckily Jim refused, embarrassed at his lack of funds and growing concern for Henry's tardiness. He sat cursing to himself, counting the change in his pocket hoping he had enough so as not to humiliate himself in front of Mary and leave without ordering. He chomped on a free breadstick trying to ignore his hunger pangs while his belly growled from the aroma of garlic bread and olives that were placed in front of a couple at the next table. Jim looked at his watch, cursing loudly,

  “Shit it’s a quarter to nine, where is that son of a bitch?”

  Mary overheard and angrily spun her head around and glared at Jim, then snapped,

  “Stop moaning it’s only been fifteen minutes, George isn’t here either, they probably missed the bus or something, OK!”

  Jim hated being told what to do and in most cases would have started an argument but not with a woman, especially one with a pretty face and this one belonged to Mary Callaghan, his fantasy figure and fancy of most males and probably a few females at the university. Suitably chastised he sat quietly staring out of the window and praying Henry would soon turn up.

  At nine o’clock both George and Henry still had not arrived and fuming, Jim had left. He was woefully short of money and too proud to borrow from anyone else so he got up and made his way to the toilet but as soon as he was out of sight of the others he walked straight out of the exit.

  “Well I’m starving, let’s eat!”

  Announced Tyler, breaking the bored silence and he beckoned an eager waiter to the table. Everyone relented, giving their orders in turn then the waiter hurried away to the kitchen.

  Midway through their meal the depleted gathering was joined by an extra secretly invited guest.

  “Professor Appleyard!”

  Exclaimed Tyler loudly, the self-appointed bon vivant of the evening, much to Carls annoyance.

  “Found you at last.”

  Gasped the old man, he looked flushed and breathless from his extensive search of half the eateries in Huntingdon. George had asked him to join them tonight after the professors’ offer of help following their meeting this morning. He had written down the time and the address of the restaurant on a piece of sticky backed note paper but the professor had absent-mindedly left it on his study desk, so instead of going back for it, he stubbornly decided to track them down by the powers of elimination; calling at seven other places in the area before finding the right one.

  ‘May I sit down?”

  He asked politely before promptly seating himself in a vacant chair without waiting for an answer.

  “If it’s about my thesis, it’s nearly complete and I’ll have it on your desk inside two days.”

  Tyler exclaimed, looking worried. He was convinced that the professor had tracked him down over his lack of written work.

  Everyone stared as the panting professor shook his head and proceed to remove a small white nitroglycerine pill from a small tin in his hand and place it under his tongue, he closed his eyes and sat back waiting for the pill to take effect. The table remained silent, waiting for a positive reaction while the professor mopped his brow with a dark blue cotton handkerchief. Within a minute he straightened up, eyes open as he began to breathe easier, much to everyone’s relief. Replacing his handkerchief into his breast pocket, the professor cleared his throat and began.

  “Can I assume that George has informed all of you as to why I am here tonight and the presence of this young lady means she is fully cognisant of the current subject and situation?”

  Everyone looked at each other, totally confused at the statement, the professor assumed George was in the toilets and had informed all of them prior to his arrival. Mary finally broke the silence.

  “I’m sorry Professor Appleyard but we don’t have a clue why you’re here tonight and how come you know so much about this?”

  Slightly taken aback at Marys’ tone of voice, it was now apparent to the professor that a full explanation was in order.

  “It’s obvious Miss Callaghan that George hasn’t told you anything so I’ll explain. The experiment you all took part in last night in the book repository of the university was an updated version of one that I myself conducted unsuccessfully some twenty-five years ago, it is based on my own studies.”

  Gasps and shocked faces surrounded the table as the professor continued.

  “I believe that with the modern technology that you now have at your disposal you may have succeeded in temporarily opening a rift into purgatory itself. Unfortunately, this rift may be a two way street causing the release of some of the most troubled souls back into this realm.”

  “That’s it!”

  Shrieked Chelsea, bringing silence to the restaurant as diners at other tables stopped eating and looked round. Sheepishly she waite
d for the curious to resume with their meals and with a much lower voice continued.

  “The hooded man that attacked me this morning, I knew it wasn’t a bad trip, you’ve given me a ghost!”

  Chelsea jabbed her finger into Carls’ ribs as she spoke, making him jump in his chair and glare back. The professor waited for calm and then continued.

  “Not quite my dear, you only witnessed the vision of probably the last memories of an unfortunate soul’s life. This was most likely triggered by Mr Barker looking at a reflection, maybe in water or a windowpane. This view into the mirror of the soul, somehow releases a temporary re-enactment of what happened during their last mortal moments. My guess is that the more tragic or violent the death, the stronger the candidate will be to pass through the rift to our side.”

  Everyone silently pondered the information, while the professor poured himself to a glass of water from a jug sited in the centre of the table, took a few sips and then continued.

  “Almost certainly, everyone present last night will be corrupted, some may not witness anything but act as carriers, keeping the host but passing on the images of tragic events to another vulnerable person with whom they come into direct contact. My analysis suggests that exposure to this volume of entities may endanger the life of Mr Barker and the rest of you who witnessed last night’s event. The only course of action would be to repeat the experiment and reverse the polarity of the chronos field. This hopefully will return the tortured souls back to purgatory where they belong. Nevertheless, be warned, if the separation is not completed soon, the bond will grow and you may saddled with your unwanted guests for the rest of your life."

  Carl listened quietly then sitting up straight, pointed a finger at Professor Appleyard and let rip.

  “Now just a minute, how come you know all about this shit and apart from me nobody has seen anything have they?”

  Unruffled, the professor remained calm, still reminded of the stinging sensation from the pill he had placed under his tongue so he drew a deep breath to relax before his reply.

  “In reply to your first question Mr Barker, I know all this excrement as you call it, from years of dedicated research and hard work. A notion I remember alien to yourself, when you were a student at the university not that long ago. Secondly, entities manifest themselves in many forms, not always apparent to the host but with a little investigation sometimes even the most inconsequential happening today could hold an alternate meaning.”

  Chelsea grabbed Carl’s arm under the table to stop him gesturing any further and in the pause that followed the professor’s answer, Mary spoke quietly but clearly,

  “I saw something this morning as I walked along the high road. I had stopped to look at a dress in a department store window when in the reflection I saw a young man knocked down by a bus but when I turned around in horror there was nothing to be seen, the traffic appeared normal and there wasn’t a bus anywhere!. I think that proves the professors point precisely.”

  The statement was a complete lie, but no one could prove otherwise. Mary’s reasoning was to encourage the rest of the team to repeat the experiment and satisfy her sudden total fascination for the subject.

  “Are we in any danger?”

  Asked Tyler, unaware of his own event in the shower and terrified of what might yet happen.

  “I can’t answer that dear boy but I am sure the sooner everything is returned to its natural order of things the safer it will be for everyone. Anyway, where are Mr Harding and Mr Jackson? Everyone must attend if this is to be successful. I hope they will be here soon and we can put an end to this post haste. Now if you will excuse me I must go to procure the equipment, enjoy your meal.”

  On that closing statement the professor stood up and left the restaurant without a backwards glance.

  Digesting all the information given left everyone void of appetite, that is everyone except Mary who relished the idea and could not wait and tucked into her spaghetti carbonara with gusto.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Golden yellow flames danced around the heads of tallow torches creating auras of flickering light in the dark, chilly autumnal air. Somewhere in the distance you could hear the muffled sound of men grunting in an unintelligible tongue and then yelling at one another, followed the thud of a club hitting the earth as someone forcibly made their views known.

  Henry was being held prisoner in a mud walled thatched hut approximately twenty feet across and of a circular construction. The shoulder high walls were made from mud, dung and dried grass while the cone shaped roof consisted of layers of thin tree branches interwoven with reeds and long grasses, all held up by a rough central pole to which Henry hands’ were currently tied. His feet were also bound together and he sat terrified on the filthy, damp floor. The last thing he remembered was a blinding white light as he was dragged into the rift by cold bony white hands and then dropped onto the ground in the middle of a pentagram of similar size and design to the one he had just left back in the book vault. This one was located in the middle of a clearing of trees and was marked out with bleached white bones. Facing inwards on each of the pentagram’s five points sat a human skull; each one appeared to have a jagged hole in the top probably the cause of death from a pointed heavy weapon like a pickaxe.

  When the portal collapsed, Henry looked around him to see three hooded figures dressed in white floor length robes, tied around the middle with thin leather braided belts from which hung a small sickle. Forcing him to his feet, they stared, unmoving and silent through the eyeholes in their hoods, which terrified Henry even more as they resembled members of the Ku Klux Klan American white supremacist movement. One of them stepped forwards; drawing his fingertips across Henry’s forehead and down his left cheek then examined the results on his own fingers with interest. Another figure lifted his hood to spit in Henry’s face then rubbed the discharge hard with a cloth, but still with the same result. Finally the last one scraped his sharp fingernail along the back of Henry’s hand drawing blood but all three were still in wonder at the black hue of Henry’s skin. They seemed to be a heated debate on what to do next so they tied his hands and feet and carried him into the small hut, where for now he was imprisoned.

  Trembling in terror when periodically the animal skin that hung over the entrance to the hut flew to one side and filthy smelly tribal members of all description came inside to jab him with sticks or to gape at Henry’s face. The stench of the unwashed bodies, foul breath and animal dung that lay on the floor of this apparent animal shelter became too much for Henry and he gagged loudly, much to the surprise of his visitors who jumped back; then ran for safety in the open air. Luckily the last one out left the doorway flap open and Henry enjoyed a fresh breath of clean if somewhat smoky air. He could also see out a little way down a heavily trodden footpath through thick forest vegetation. At the far end of the trail, outlines of mud huts and campfires wavered in the moonlight. It was obvious that he had travelled back through time to maybe the Iron or Bronze Age, he really could not be any more accurate than that, the only thing his tired brain could recall was an educational video he once watched about a purpose built working Iron Age settlement, complete with resident actors dressed in appropriate costumes.

  As the night wore on the dull ache in Henry’s, shoulder worsened from the immobility of his arms and his blood caked finger ends throbbed where his nails had broken. A chilled wind now blew in through the open door flap adding to his misery. He must have passed out at some point from exhaustion because he woke with a jolt to the sound of a rhythmic drumbeat and chanting coming from the village. The dream he just had was of being back at home with his family and all this was just a nightmare but as he awoke the nightmare became real.

  The rhythm grew louder as the three hooded figures returned, untied Henry and pulled him to his feet then pushed him out into the moonlight. Henry’s legs crumpled and he fell to the ground, as the blood had not yet fully returned to his aching muscles. Two of the Druids, (as Henry now real
ised what they were) hooked their own arms under Henrys’, lifted him back onto his feet and proceeded to half drag him down the footpath and into the village. The third Druid walked ahead of the group, keeping the way clear of curious bystanders.

  As the odd group approached the village and the muffled shapes of the huts came into clearer view, naked children ran in front of the procession whooping and jumping into the air from the excitement. Henry shook, terrified as to his fate as he was force-marched through the curious crowd. Residents ran to his side, gabbling in his face before being forcibly removed by guards that now accompanied this sorry band. They finally arrived at a cleared area in the village centre where a several cooking fires added delicious aromas of roasting meat. At the far end an impressive shelter, probably five times bigger than all the other huts was the main focus of attention. Outside its main entrance stood a group of the most important members of the village, they appeared to be anxious and chattered constantly.

  Suddenly the drumming ceased and the crowd fell silent. The only sound came from the crackling of the cooking fires and the wind whispering through the treetops. The animal skins hanging across the hut's main door parted and a huge figure emerged into the firelight, holding up a long, heavy wooden club in salute to the masses who erupted into deafening cheers and yelps of adulation. When the noise subsided, he turned to face the Druids, signalling for the group to approach. Henry failed to move, so a sharp blow between the shoulder blades catapulted him forwards, and he fell sprawling at the feet of the chief much to the amusement of the watching crowd. Henry was once again hoisted to his feet enabling both men to study each other. The chief cut a massive figure; probably six and a half feet high, with a large clump of unkempt curly black hair sprouting from the top of his head, cascading over his shoulders making him look closer to seven feet tall. He was very heavy set with a huge chest and bulging belly. His legs were as thick as tree trunks, which were necessary to support his bulk that Henry guessed at over twenty-five stones. Most of his face was hidden by a substantial beard that mingled with the hair from his head to cover his neck and the top of his chest. He had only one good eye, the right one had been recently battle damaged and looked an opaque sickly yellow. A recently healed gash, standing out milky white against his filthy skin, traced down his forehead across the damaged eye socket and down his cheek before disappearing into his beard, making it obvious how the loss of his eye occurred. His dress consisted of one large hairy animal hide with a hole cut in the middle for his head, allowing it to be worn draped over his broad shoulders. The sides were held together with leather stitches and any excess had been trimmed away to expose his muscular arms. Fastened to the leather that covered his shoulders was a floor length cape made from wild boar, complete with the skin from its head that dragged along the ground as he walked.