Lazar

by Lawrence Heath

  “Shift, damn you – shift, shift, shift,” he cursed with frustration.

  Jan pretended to be indifferent to his frenzied behaviour, but the silence that followed his expostulation was too intense for her to bear. She wandered over to her cousin as casually as she could.

  “Don’t tell me,” she said calmly, as a prelude to the sarcasm to follow. “Margaret’s ghost has suddenly appeared, popping up out of the ground in the chapel.”

  “Margaret’s ghost – of course!” Hal turned toward his cousin, wide-eyed with excitement and quite oblivious to her cutting wit. “You’ve got it in one – again. That’s twice in ten minutes.

  “Here, look at this,” he said. The screen was displaying a map of Wickwich. Hal was pointing at a small circle – a white annulus with a fine black outline – at the centre of the plan of old St James’ churchyard. “What does that look like to you?”

  “It’s the cursor, isn’t it?” answered Jan.

  “No, this is the cursor.” Hal moved his right hand around, causing a white arrow to fly erratically about the screen. “No, that’s something else. Something that wasn’t there before. What did you say Margaret’s ring looked like?”

  “It had a circle on it. That doesn’t make that her ghost.” Jan attempted a laugh to indicate the absurdity of Hal’s implied suggestion.

  “Let’s check your theory out.”

  “My theory?” Jan protested, but Hal’s excitement was infectious and she watched attentively as he scrolled down the map on the screen. “What are you doing?” she heard herself asking.

  “I’m going to look at the spot where this house is on the map – or, more precisely, this bedroom. Yes, there – look, look!”

  Jan looked, and saw a small white cross at a point on the screen that – she had to accept Hal’s word for it – was his bedroom. She glanced down at her half of Margaret’s double-ring. The cross it bore was identical to that on the screen. Hal entered a couple of commands on his computer and the cross grew as the software zoomed in on the image.

  “Walk about a bit,” Hal instructed without looking at his cousin. Jan was so intrigued that she did not question his request but went over to the door and back again. As she returned she could see that the cross was moving slowly down the screen.

  “That’s incredible,” Hal exclaimed, “it’s actually plotting your movements!”

  Jan was totally perplexed.

  “How is it doing that?” she asked.

  “I don’t know – but either your friend Margaret is real and I caught her entering some new instructions on my computer or my theory’s correct and she’s a virus, a ghost in my machine.”

  “So it’s your theory now, is it?”

  “Yes, since it’s such a good one.” Hal turned to Jan and gave her an enormous smile. “We could test it further tomorrow. You could go down to the chapel, while I stay here and check whether your symbol appears there on the map. I wonder what would happen if the two symbols…”

  “Hold on,” Jan interrupted. “I might not want to go down to the chapel tomorrow.”

  “You’re not frightened, are you?”

  “Frightened,” Jan laughed again, this time in genuine contempt at her cousin’s insinuation. “Ghosts don’t frighten me – and I’m certainly not afraid of virtual people.”

  Jan was standing inside old St James’ church.

  She was certain of that – even though her eyes had not yet grown accustomed to the gloom – and what little she could see was not as she remembered. There was stained glass in the windows, for a start, and the light that entered through it shone on painted walls.

  Jan moved silently to the side to take a closer look. Every inch of every surface was covered by a pattern or a picture. Simple portraits of saints and angels, painted straight on to the stone, were framed by shafts and arches that had been elaborately decorated in the most brilliant of hues. The quality of the painting was not particularly good, Jan noticed, but the colours were so strong and their combinations so vibrant that she felt herself bedazzled. When illuminated by the pools of pure light that filtered through the windows, and viewed through the hazy film of candle smoke that pervaded the old chapel, the whole placed seemed ethereal. Jan had a sense of otherworldliness.

  The vision shimmered. The candles guttered. Jan felt a gentle breeze upon her cheek.

  She turned. The north door stood ajar. Had someone left – or entered? She did not move. She dared not move in case someone should hear her. But no, the church was empty. The only sound was total silence; the only sight was the open door. It seemed to fill her field of vision. It certainly monopolised her thoughts. What lay beyond it, waiting for her? Who was on the other side?

  The compulsion to pass through it overwhelmed her. Jan moved forward like a moth toward a flame. The slice of daylight opened wider, wider, then engulfed her.

  Once again, her eyes had to become accustomed to the light – this time to its brilliance. Then, out of the blinding whiteness, her surroundings began to materialise as though emerging from a dazzling mist. First the edges and then the surfaces came into focus and resolved themselves into a graveyard, a low stone wall and a distant row of cottages.

  It was not quite the scene Jan was anticipating, but part of her was not surprised. The 19th-century parish church was missing, and the cottages might better be described as thatched sheds with thin walls daubed with mud. But the horizon, looking north, was every bit as flat and featureless as she had expected. Below it, all was marshland. Above it, all was sky.

  There was a wind blowing in from the sea – Jan could taste the salt and the smell of rotting fish. The wind also carried seagulls, and the sound of them. Their guttural squealing scratched the silence like thin white fingernails being scraped across the storm-grey sky.

  Then, above the seagulls’ screeching, Jan heard a sudden, heavy slam. She turned. The door had closed behind her. Once again, she did not feel surprise. She just stood and took in all the detail of old St James’ Chapel – except that it was not old. It looked as if it were newly built. Every wall was true, every line was straight, every curve was carved precisely. It was immaculate.

  What was that?

  Jan span round. Someone was calling out to her. Or had it been a seagull’s cry? Had her ears deceived her? No – there it was again. It was coming from somewhere along the track that lead down to the sea.

  She found herself outside the graveyard, staring hard toward the coast. There was no one to be seen. The lane was empty. On one side lay the marshes. On the other, the land rose slightly to form modest hills that gave some shape to the horizon. But the hills were bare. There was nowhere for anyone to hide. Yet, still, Jan could make out her name amongst the seagulls’ cries.

  She moved forward down the road. There was a small hill to her right, little bigger than a mound, upon which stood a windmill of sun-bleached wood and weathered canvas. She continued onward, unconcerned that it had not been there the last time she had looked. But she was not looking – not in the active sense. She was simply the passive observer of a succession of surreal images.

  It’s a dream. I’m only dreaming.

  But it was a dream from which Jan did not wish to be awakened, not just yet. It was a dream so intriguing that she wanted, more than anything, to see it through to the end. She went on watching.

  The field beyond the windmill, which had previously been empty, now contained a monastery. It took shape before her inner eye and looked exactly as she had known … as she had known it would. How had she known? Had she been there before? She had a sudden sense of déjà vu – she knew what she would see next.

  Yes! There, on the horizon, stood the city walls of Wickwich.

  There it is again.

  It was not a seagull’s cry. It was someone screaming – screaming out to her.

  But who?

  But where?

  There – just there, along the road, hurtling toward her.

  She could not see it, but she co
uld feel it.

  It was a ball of naked energy.

  And that energy was fear.

  Wake up! Wake up! I must wake up.

  The impact was enormous. Like a tidal wave of terror it crashed over her, scouring out her emotions with its violent undertow of dread. She struggled desperately to hold on to those thoughts that were her own; to save herself from drowning in the maelstrom.

  I must wake up! I must wake up!

  But she could not. She had no control over anything – her senses, thoughts or feelings. She could not even shut her eyes. She tried, but there are no eyes to shut inside a dream. She could only stand and stare. And feel. She felt another force upon the road. This time it was wickedness.

  It was hatred.

  It was evil.

  St James’ church. A sudden thought came into her head. If she could reach St James’ church…

  She turned and fled. Yes. This time she was turning. This time she was fleeing down the lane. She saw the marshland rushing past her. She saw the chapel just ahead. She also felt the hatred in pursuit.

  If she could make it to the chapel they would never harm her there.

  Who? Who wouldn’t harm her?

  Jan’s own thoughts broke through to the surface, but only for an instant. They were sucked back down immediately by the fearful undercurrent. Blind panic overtook her. Sheer terror drove her on. Pure wickedness was hard upon her heels.

  At last she reached the graveyard. She was running up the path. She could feel the hatred snatching at her back. She crashed into the chapel door. The evil pinned her to it. Her hand reached out. The handle turned.

  The door stood fast.

  It would not move.

  Open, damn you, open.

  It opened last time.

  Last time?

  The door swung back.

  The sight inside made her cry out in revulsion.

  She shut her eyes. She opened them. She shut and opened them again. She could shut and open her own eyes. She looked around. She was sitting up in bed.

  There, I knew it. I was dreaming. She laughed in silence at herself. How could she have been so stupid to be frightened by a dream? Oh no, she thought. Please don’t tell me I screamed out in my sleep.

  That would be just too embarrassing.

  “Where’s Hal?”

  Uncle Bill looked up from his newspaper.

  “Ah! Good morning, Jan. I’m glad you felt able to join us for breakfast.” He smiled, then looked concerned. His intended joke had missed its mark.

  “Are you all right? You look as though you’ve seen a ghost. Sorry, no joke intended.”

  “Yes, I’m OK, thanks,” Jan returned her uncle’s smile. His concern appeared to be genuine, in contrast to his sceptical reception the night before when she and Hal had told his parents about Margaret. “I didn’t sleep very well last night, that’s all. Where’s Hal?”

  “Where do you think? In his bedroom playing with his computer, of course. He’s only just gone up. Now,” Uncle Bill put down his paper and picked up a jug of orange juice, “drink this. It might help to wake you up.” He handed Jan a glass.

  Just then Hal’s voice and footsteps thundered down the stairs.

  “Jan! Jan!” He burst into the dining room. “Jan – come and look at this.”

  “Look at what?”

  “Something on your computer, I suppose,” said Uncle Bill.

  “Yes! Yes…” Hal looked narrowly at his father. “How did you know? It wasn’t you, was it? You haven’t been messing about with my CAD software have you?”

  Hal’s father laughed out loud. “Good heavens, I gave up hacking years ago. What’s happened to your software, then?”

  “It’s my 3D model of St James’ church – it’s been coloured in. The walls are covered in pictures.”

  There was a tremendous clash and clatter as Jan dropped her glass of orange juice into her cereal bowl. Hal stared at her.

  “Are you alright?”

  “You didn’t sleep too well last night, did you, Jan?” explained her uncle. “Go on, go upstairs and see whatever it is that’s got your cousin so excited. I’ll clear up the mess.”

  Jan did not move immediately. Hal frowned. She seemed reluctant to come with him.

  “What’s up?” he asked, then paused. “Hey, you’re not worried about the virus, are you?”

  “What virus is that?” enquired Hal’s father.

  “Take no notice,” snapped Jan, more brusquely than she intended, as she suddenly stood up. “It’s just some silly nonsense Hal’s got into his head about a computer virus.”

  “Into both our heads, you mean,” quipped Hal.

  “That’s not funny.” Jan stormed past her cousin and marched determinedly upstairs. Hal exchanged a glance with his father, which included raised eyebrows and shrugged shoulders, then followed Jan up to his bedroom. When he got there he stopped dead in his tracks. The sight of Jan in front of his computer, staring at the screen, brought back the image of Margaret that he had been trying hard to erase from his memory. He frowned again – this time with suspicion.

  “It was you, wasn’t it – yesterday? You’ve been winding me up all along. That’s why you’re tired. You’ve been up all night…” Hal broke off. He had been walking across the room as he had been speaking, and had just caught sight of his cousin’s face. It was as white as a winding sheet.

  “You look as though you’ve seen a ghost,” he said, instinctively.

  “I have – and so have you.” Jan turned and looked straight into her cousin’s eyes. “The ghost in the machine. I had a nightmare, last night,” she continued, pointing at the screen. “It started in the chapel and it looked exactly like this. You thought something amazing had happened to your computer. Well, it has – but it’s happened to me as well.”

  “Yes.” Hal looked thoughtful. “Yes – that would fit in with my theory…”

  “Your theory?” Jan was almost shouting. “Is that all my nightmare was to you – just another bit of evidence for your theory?

  “Look, Hal,” Jan continued to hold her stare, “I was really frightened last night, I mean really frightened. It was as though something, someone, was trying to take me over.”

  “Exactly,” Hal leapt in again. “That’s what I’m saying. It’s obviously a symptom of the ‘Margaret’ virus that whoever, or whatever, catches it is taken over and experiences images from the past. In your case the images disappeared when you woke up, but in the case of my computer it’s all still there on the hard drive.” He took hold of the back of the chair upon which Jan was sitting, indicating that he wanted to sit there. “Come on, let’s see what else is on there – what else you dreamt about.”

  “It was not a dream, it was a nightmare, a really frightening nightmare,” Jan protested. “Are you actually listening to what I’m saying? Your computer may have recorded it, but I experienced it. I felt it.” There was something in the tone of Jan’s voice that made Hal let go of the back of the chair.

  “But doesn’t that make all this even more amazing?” Hal looked genuinely confused. “I mean, we all have nightmares, but yours has actually been recorded. We can play it back and look at in detail again and again.”

  “But I don’t want my nightmare to have been recorded,” Jan cried out in exasperation. “I don’t want to be able to relive it over and over again. In fact, unlike my brain your computer’s memories can be erased. I’m stuck with mine – they haven’t ‘disappeared’.”

  “OK, OK – I’ve got you. But if you’re still scared you’d better look away. There’s no way I’m going to erase this stuff.” Hal picked up the virtual reality helmet. “Move over.”

  This time Jan did not react to Hal’s insensitivity. She simply got up from the chair and walked over to the window as disdainfully as she could. She looked out at the scenery and began trying to identify the landmarks from her dream, but too many trees were in the way. In spite of herself she began listening to Hal’s commentary on wh
at he was experiencing in his virtual reality.

  “Wow! Look at those windows … so that’s what the door looked like … hey, the new church isn’t there … look at those cottages, more like hovels.”

  Jan heard a click and turned to see her cousin switching on the speakers attached to his computer. The room filled with the sound of seagulls. As if summoned by the guttural birdcall she wandered over, staring at the image on the screen. It was divided by a horizontal line across the centre. Below it, all was marshland. Above it, all was sky.

  Hal’s commentary continued.

  “Hey, a windmill – and a monastery …. Wow! Will you look at that – it’s Wickwich. It really is old Wickwich – that’s amazing! Hey … What the hell?” Hal leapt up from his chair and pulled the helmet off his head.

  Jan stepped back in surprise, then something on the screen grabbed her attention. It was a skeleton, rising from out of the ground. And then another, and another … dozens of them. She laughed out loud. Very loud. It was as if the fear from last night’s nightmare had been exorcised.

  Hal looked at her, then at the screen, then laughed out loud himself.

  “Caught in my own trap, eh?” he smiled broadly when the laughter had finally subsided. “I’d forgotten that I’d put the ‘skeleton’ VR software into the helmet’s driver program.”

  “Really?” Jan feigned wonderment at her cousin’s jargon-laden explanation. For once Hal actually picked up on the tone of what Jan said.

  “OK, OK. Basically, the program that makes the skeletons appear – I set it up with a time delay so they don’t pop up until the helmet’s been switched on for a couple of minutes. If I switch it off,” he clicked a button at the back of the apparatus, “they disappear.”

  The screen went blank, except for a distant hilltop and a dull, foreboding sky.

  “Right,” Hal turned back toward the screen, “where was I before I was so rudely interrupted?” He grabbed the mouse and began to move it forward in a vain attempt to resume his progress down the image of the lane.