Through a Glass Darkly

by Bill Hussey

  No.

  He must bury such temptations and hopes. It had been that kind of thinking that had brought them to this. If he had not chanced happiness, if he had not touched her, then his years of training would have bolstered his mind. He might have withstood the Doctor’s probing. If for nothing else, then for the sake of his own sanity, he could not allow Jamie to be taken.

  He reached the border of trees. The mist cordoned the clearing, banking in a wall around its margins. A deep croak sounded from above. The crows had not abandoned the forest as they had in the dreaming. They stood sentinel in the branches, their eyes blinking against the mist.

  Jack switched on the torch he had taken from the glove compartment of the Range Rover. As he stepped into the clearing, the screams stopped dead. He rattled the torch against his palm, but the beam continued to flutter. He glanced up, hoping for a break in the clouds that had blotted out the blood-red moon. There was a frisson in that dark blanket, a simmering of elements, like the prelude to a summer storm. Streaks of purple light bloomed against the belly of the cloud, but there was no clap of thunder.

  The smell of burning charcoal strengthened. His torch died. It did not matter.

  In the low light of the coals, he saw them.

  ‘Mendicant didn’t tell you who he had chosen as his new vessel,’ Brody said.

  ‘Of course he did.’

  Garret raised the scalpel to his mouth and let the flat side play against his tongue.

  ‘But Jamie Howard …’

  ‘I told you, I don’t know who that is.’

  ‘You must. If Mendicant told you …’

  ‘You don’t see at all, do you?’ Garret laughed. ‘Clever Asher Brody, with all his book learning, and still you stumble around in the dark.’

  ‘Then tell me, Christopher: what am I missing?’

  ‘Everything. The Doctor spoke to me moments after he had seen it. He was so excited. Plans had changed.’

  ‘What did he see?’

  ‘Power. A kind that he had never known before. A dark power, chained but rising.’

  ‘Oh, God …’

  The truth fell like a brick into Brody’s consciousness.

  ‘A child,’ Garret whispered. ‘Inside a man’s skin.’

  Brody pushed past the craven priest, sending the scalpel chinking over the cobbles. Garret screamed after him:

  ‘Don’t leave me down here alone. They’re coming again. From the walls, from the earth. They want me to go with them now. Please, Asher, I’m sorry. I don’t want to die.’

  Brody reached the top of the stairs and slammed the door. He fitted the padlock and he shouted through the panels, ‘Remember your Chaucer, Christopher. Each man’s death is written in the stars. Embrace yours.’

  ‘Good evening, Jack. Your timing is impeccable.’

  Jack had stitched together an image of Mendicant’s face from the descriptions in Brody’s diaries. That inconstant patchwork of features had been frightening enough, but the reality was worse still. He could only bear to run his eye over tiny portions of it at a time.

  Jamie knelt at the Doctor’s side, a bundle of clothing cradled in his lap. Mendicant’s desiccated fingers brushed the boy’s hair.

  ‘Let him go.’

  ‘Dear me, Jack. Still not sunk in, I see? You know, I’ve been acquainted with many seers down the years, but few so obtuse. From your first dream to this realisation, you have failed to read the signs. Of course, the boy may go.’

  Jamie started forward, like a pulling dog released from its lead. The bundle fell beside the fire. He ran and buried his head in Jack’s coat.

  ‘The crows ate the wafer…’ he whispered. ‘Grandad …’

  ‘Brave lad,’ said Mendicant. ‘I had to do terrible things to make him scream.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Jack said.

  ‘No. You haven’t understood at all. Poor Jack. Well, it is the night for enlightenment. Tell me, that first remarkable dream you had, what did you see?’

  ‘I saw you. I saw Jamie …’

  ‘No. Think harder. Be more precise. What did you see …?’

  A pulse of light crackled through the clouds and lit up the Doctor’s cavernous eyes.

  ‘A boy, Mr Trent. You saw a boy. Just that. Though you see glimpses of the future through those dreams of yours, they operate in the same manner as any normal dream. They are interpretive. Pray, tell me, when you dream how do you see yourself?’

  The realisation shivered in Jack’s brain. Or was it realisation? Didn’t he know all this? Hadn’t he seen it before? Mendicant was speaking:

  ‘You see the boy you were when your mother died. If you hadn’t woken yourself so dramatically from that first dream, it would have been your own face coming at you from out of the shadows.’

  ‘No … that’s impossible,’ Jack murmured. ‘The rite can only be performed on a child.’

  ‘You really must read more carefully, Jack. The Transmigration of Souls states that only a child spirit may be subsumed by the possessor. A child on the cusp of adulthood. The self-image in your dreams is very telling. You see yourself just as your spirit is shaped. You are still a child. A being trapped in time. Your spirit has not aged a day since the night your mother died. Why?’

  Jack drew Jamie closer. He could feel the hammering of the boy’s heart against his own. Truths, hard won, slotted into place.

  ‘Because I can’t touch.’

  ‘You come to it at last. What marks the difference between a boy and a man? Not years: there is no arbitrary point at which we can say: this is a child and this is an adult. It is how he begins to experience the world, not through his eyes or ears, but through the different ways that he begins to touch. It is tactile experience which bridges the gap. For some reason I cannot fathom, you have never touched as a man.’

  ‘Then why this charade? If you wanted me, why take Jamie?’

  ‘Details, Mr Trent. Again you have failed to read the signs. What does the Transmigration tell us about special cases of metempsychosis? Cases in which the possessor wants to tap the potential powers of a vessel? Like those of a witch, for example.’

  Jack plucked the text from his memory: the last few words of the original document.

  ‘The powers must be accessed.’

  ‘Fully realised, Mr Trent. Fully realised at the point of possession. On that day we met in the cabin, I saw the potential within you. And I saw that you had spent years grinding down that potential. I knew that if I wanted to take advantage of your gifts, I would need to draw them out. But how? The solution was very prominent in your conscious mind. You are a would-be hero. You harbour great guilt for the death of your mother. You live out fantasies in your head in which you save her. In which you save everybody. Also present in your conscious mind are two special people: Miss Howard and her son. If I could make you believe that the boy was in danger, you might access your abilities. Reinvigorate them. Then I could take you with all the fringe benefits thrown in. The priest was a nuisance, of course, but in the end he played his part rather well, convincing you of the danger. Pushing you to the fore.’

  ‘So you took my face out of the dreaming and transplanted Jamie’s.’

  ‘It wasn’t difficult. I just laid a suggestion here and there in your subconscious. Heroes never dream of their own demise, Jack.’

  ‘But why the wait? Why not push me into accessing the dreams sooner?’

  ‘Subtlety, my boy. Though appearances are against me, I am a very subtle man. Time was on my side. I had a week to play with you, to force you into accepting your gifts. And now you are ready. Tonight, through our metempsychosis, the cloak you have wrapped about yourself will be thrown off. You shall be radiant. You shall be transfigured. Yes, there is a similarity, is there not? Remember what the good book tells us: that Jesus revealed his identity to the disciples and, six days later, he took them into the mountain and was transfigured. Six days ago, in that little cabin, I revealed myself to you. The road to the mountain has be
en long, has it not? You know, Jack, I’ve performed this rite countless times; have occupied countless vessels. But tonight we shall achieve something very special. You are the thing I have craved for centuries: a new challenge, the next step in my evolution. I shall not just be immortal, but truly set apart from humanity. It is your gift to me, and I thank you for it.’

  ‘You’ve no idea what you’re doing.’

  ‘I admit, I only glimpsed your abilities when I laid the suggestion of Jamie’s fate in your dreams. You’ve buried so much so deep. But I have a few gifts of my own. I will draw out your secrets.’

  ‘How? What are you?’

  ‘Fear. Living fear. To Peter Malahyde I was the spectre of advancing age and decrepitude. To Christopher Garret, I was his coming judgement. To Asher Brody I was the confirmation of those doubts he harboured about his faith; a demon who fired his intellect. I am all of my guises and none of them. But to you, Jack, I am redemption. A monster to be vanquished. A final labour to be completed before, like Hercules, you can be forgiven by the family you allowed to die. But I am not so black and white. Strip away all my faces and I am the primal urge in everyman. I am the will to survive, at all costs, which lives even in you. Can you condemn something so primal? Something so pure …?’

  Jack levelled his eyes with Mendicant.

  ‘Let me tell you what you are,’ he said. ‘You’re not some grand corrupter. You’d like to be an affront to God, but I doubt you register on his radar. You’re a petty sadist. I once knew someone like you. Greylampton was his name. He was a pathetic, bland little man, desperate to be seen as important. He killed children because it was the only way he knew that he existed. I found him and I ended him. I will end you.’

  ‘Feel better for that?’ Mendicant smiled. ‘Now, listen. If I can’t have you, then I will take the boy. You won’t be able to stop me. Brody tried and failed, and at least he had some belief inside him. All you have is your misery. But if you allow me in, you have my word I will not harm the boy or his mother.’

  ‘Don’t, Jack. He’s a fucking liar!’ Jamie screamed.

  ‘You won’t hurt them?’ Jack whispered.

  ‘What a spirited child. In other circumstances … But yes, you have my word.’

  ‘Jack, no.’

  The voice came from the forest. Dawn, her face ashen but determined, was making her way towards them. She grimaced as she put weight on her torn ankle.

  ‘Dawn, stay there,’ Jack shouted, holding his hand out towards her. ‘Trust me, please.’

  She stopped twenty or so feet away from the fire. She met Mendicant’s gaze and it was with pride that Jack saw there was no fear in her eyes. There was anger, there was concern, but she was not afraid.

  ‘Dawn, I want you to take Jamie. Find Brody and leave the village. Tell him I tried.’

  ‘No, Jack, I won’t leave you with him,’ Jamie said, choking on the words.

  ‘You’ll do as I tell you,’ Jack shouted, pushing the boy towards his mother.

  Jamie stumbled backwards, wiping tears from his face.

  Jack’s voice faltered and broke: ‘Go … Both of you …’

  ‘Jack …’

  He shook his head and turned away from her.

  A low rumble rolled through the sky. The fire sizzled and Jack felt the rain touch his face. There was a break in the cloud and the red moon bathed Mendicant’s marble-white skin. For a moment, the Doctor said nothing. He was looking over Jack’s shoulder, watching Jamie and Dawn …

  They were leaving. Reluctantly, he knew that. But Jack was glad that they would soon be gone. He had been lonely all his life. Lonely and afraid. Wasn’t it fitting that he should end it that way?

  Fifty-seven

  ‘Throw the baptism dresses into the fire.’

  Motes billowed from Mendicant’s exposed throat and glistened, like the rain in the firelight. The smile was gone and the Doctor’s face was impassive. Even so, Jack could sense a malign satisfaction, sapping the last of his resistance. He snatched up the bundle that Jamie had guarded and unwound the tiny garments.

  ‘Did you murder these babies, too?’ Jack mumbled.

  ‘Natural causes, I assure you,’ Mendicant said. ‘Perhaps you’ll soon be able to turn that righteous anger against God; ask him why he took them. Now, throw the clothes into the fire.’

  ‘And if I don’t? You’re fading by the minute. What if I just left you here, as Brody did, hoping against hope that another Peter Malahyde will come along?’

  ‘So predictable, Jack. Look behind you.’

  And there they were. The wind billowed their jackets, rain streamed down their faces. Dawn and Jamie, clutching at each other, mouths slightly agape, stood not ten feet from the fire.

  ‘We could see the gate; we could see the road …’ said Dawn, her voice tremulous. ‘Jack, what’s happening?’

  ‘Just a game, Miss Howard,’ Mendicant answered. ‘One that Jack here insisted we play. I brought you back to take your part. Now, tell me … what do you fear?’

  The Doctor stretched out his hands to Dawn. She flinched, but held her ground.

  ‘What haunts you in the small hours? What secret dread will you admit only to the dark?’

  ‘Dawn, don’t listen to him,’ Jack bellowed.

  ‘Let me draw it out of you,’ Mendicant said. ‘Let me make it real.’

  ‘Dawn, go NOW.’

  ‘I … I can’t. Jack, I can’t move.’

  As she spoke, Jack found that his own body had become immobile. He strained every muscle until veins roped his neck. It was no good. He watched the Doctor pass through the flames of the dying fire, approach Dawn and put his thin arm around her shoulder. Beside her, Jamie was also unmoving, but whereas Jack and Dawn strove against the force binding them, Jamie was silent and expressionless. Dawn’s face contorted as she tried to turn her head away from the rotting lips.

  ‘Don’t touch her,’ screamed Jack. ‘Don’t you lay a fucking finger on her.’

  ‘Look at your son,’ Mendicant whispered, ignoring Jack’s commands. ‘What are your fears for him?’

  Dawn screwed her eyes tight shut.

  ‘Come now, tell the Doctor, he’ll make it all better.’

  ‘I’m … afraid …’

  She hissed the words through clenched teeth, as if the confession were being wrung out of her.

  ‘Yes, go on.’

  ‘… he’ll … one day … be … abandoned. He’ll … one day … be … alone. Frightened. Lost. Unloved.’

  ‘I know a place where your fears can be realised,’ Mendicant said. ‘Where Jamie can wander blind forever. A place where he will never see another human face again. And I can make him believe that it was you who sent him there. That his mother has abandoned him. Look at your son. Do you want that?’

  A milky-blue gauze crept from the corners of Jamie’s eyes. The whites marbled and Dawn cried out as the pupils filmed over with thick cataracts. These, in turn, smoothed out into layers of skin, meeting and fusing the eyelids together. This process then moved on to the boy’s ears, nose and mouth. Soon all physical traits were gone. Jamie’s head writhed, smooth and egg-like, with only hints of features shifting below the surface. Suddenly able to move, the boy held his hands before his face. Beneath the canvas of skin, his mouth split into a silent scream.

  ‘Please, no,’ Dawn cried, as her son staggered forward, snatching at the air. ‘Give him back his face.’

  ‘Well, that’s up to our friend Jack,’ Mendicant said. ‘I wonder, does he love Jamie enough to save him?’

  ‘It’s an illusion, Dawn. It’s not real.’ Was he sure of that?

  Jamie tore at the sheathing, but to no avail. Tremors seized his Adam’s apple. He caught at his throat and fell to his knees.

  ‘He can’t breathe,’ Dawn cried. ‘Please, he’s choking.’

  ‘What say you, Jack? Will you save the boy?’

  ‘It’s not real,’ Jack repeated.

  ‘Very well. Now, my child …’
r />   His panic forgotten, Jamie’s hands fell to his sides. His creaseless head twisted towards Mendicant.

  ‘… you will show me what you fear.’

  For a moment, nothing happened. Jamie remained kneeling, while Mendicant intoned soundless words. The boy was so still he resembled a shop dummy with the features sanded away. A pulse throbbed beneath the skin and the likeness was lost. Jack watched the bulge press against the fleshy lid that covered the kid’s mouth. At first, he thought it was Jamie’s tongue trying to poke through. And then two black pincers split the skin. The tear rounded out into a tiny, surprised ‘O’. The new mouth grew wide, and the thing that had made it scuttled down the chin, mandibles snatching and feelers tasting the air. In its wake, a repellent host poured forth: centipedes and scorpions, millipedes and spiders, bowing locusts and clicking beetles. With them came the crack of hatching cocoons and the slow, wet passage of larval sacs. Jamie did not move, did not even seem conscious of the grotesque life that he evacuated.

  ‘No!’ Dawn screamed. ‘Please, Jack!’

  ‘Not real. Not real.’

  Jamie’s throat pulsated with the stream of insects moving up from his stomach. The single route of escape was becoming blocked. His mouth stretched wider, but the flood was dammed with convulsing bodies. New avenues had to be opened up. The nostrils broke first. Earthworms wriggled free and roaches skittered out, making their way into the boy’s hair. The ears were breached and then the eyes. Strange inverted legs and the alien head of a mantis rose up into a vacant eye socket.

  Jack’s will broke.

  ‘Stop it! Please, stop it. I promise, I’ll do whatever you want.’

  ‘Very well.’

  The insects melted away. Jamie’s eye rolled back into position. His features pushed through the mask of skin. Disorientated, the boy screamed and ran fingers across his face. He buckled over, sobbing and shivering. Dawn, now able to move, held her son close.

  ‘But they stay until it is finished,’ Mendicant smiled. ‘Now, burn the clothes and allow me in.’