The Waiting Room

by Michael White

  “I shall consider it.” I said weakly as I found myself in the corridor once again.

  “Very well.” I heard nanny say from the doorway to her room. “I shall now feed the children before presenting them downstairs later.” She clapped her hands together. “Pit pat!” she said, and the nursery door swung shut violently in my face, forcing me back on my heels. Heart racing, I crept back slowly to my study.

  Later on the children came downstairs to say goodnight followed by the nanny, who stood off to one side as we kissed them and wished them sweet dreams. Wilhelmina was giving Susan a goodnight hug when she noticed a small smudge in the corner of Susan’s eye and so she wet her thumb and wiped it clean. Paul and Susan appeared tired and more than ready for bed, so we did not keep them, and soon then departed upstairs to sleep.

  “The fresh air seems to be doing them good.” said Wilhelmina. “All these visits to the park no doubt.” she smiled.

  “I have been invited along tomorrow.” I sighed.

  “Really?” said my wife uncertainly. “How delightful. You really should make an effort to attend.”

  “I shall see.” I sighed, eager now for dinner. It had been a long day and I would be the first person to admit that I was not currently very good company at all, though I did decide to share my news about work with my wife. “I have a meeting on Friday with a potential promotion in sight.”

  “Very good.” she said, though it was obvious even to I that she didn’t think that it was very good at all. From time to time she would remind me that I worked too hard, though I did nothing to heed her.

  “It would be good for the children too.” she said, returning to the subject of my accompanying the nanny and the children to the park apparently. “You hardly see them at all as it is.”

  “I said I will consider it.” I said in exasperation, for I was tired and had had enough of being hectored.

  So we sat in an uncomfortable silence awaiting the dinner gong. I looked at the fire and then down to my wife’s hand where she had wiped Susan's eye. To my disdain I saw her thumb was covered in a black dust that looked like the remnants of black burned coal. Shaking somewhat I poured myself another sherry.

  ***

  At breakfast Wilhelmina continued to glance at me as I attempted to hide behind my newspaper, the silence quite spoiling my boiled egg. I was of course hoping in vain that she would not have remembered the trip to the park with the nanny, for I could almost feel her eyes boring holes in my newspaper as I attempted to keep it between myself and my wife whilst simultaneously drinking a cup of tea. Finally, after several minutes of total silence apart from the increasingly desperate rustling of my newspaper I conceded and slammed the Times onto the dining table loudly, making my tea spill over my tea cup, and my wife to drop a piece of toast she was silently toying with.

  “Alright, Wilhelmina!” I shouted. “I shall accompany the nanny to the park with the children. There is absolutely no need to wage a campaign of silence against me whatsoever!”

  “A campaign of silence against you darling?” she said, picking the toast back up off the plate. I had noticed that she seemed to have a lack of appetite for the last few days, though thought little of it. She ate like a bird anyway! “I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about.”

  I snorted loudly at this and returned to my newspaper. A little later on I could hear sounds from the nursery upstairs, no doubt the children getting ready for their apparently daily trip to the park, though why they could not do so quietly I have absolutely no idea at all.

  Soon after I heard the children and the nanny descending the stairs and reluctantly made my way into the hall for my coat and hat. I had already checked the weather outside of course, noting by observation of the weather vane opposite that the wind still had not changed. It was sunny at the moment but clouds threatened from across the city, and so as I fastened my coat I was also careful to take my umbrella with me too.

  The nanny gave me a smile as she led the children out onto the doorstep, and as I glumly followed them onto the street she strode ahead.

  “Pit pat!” she shouted, and the children stepped into line, though I realised with disdain that the command was also given to myself. Picking up my speed I followed the nanny along the road in the direction of the park.

  At first I struggled to keep up with her, though the children also seemed to be not able to set the same pace, which was unusual. Normally I would have imagined them to be running on ahead, squealing in excitement, but today they appeared sluggish, almost lethargic. Paul seemed to be dragging his feet. No doubt some childish mood or perceived slight slowing him down. I barked at him to pick his feet up and walk properly, the nanny looking over her shoulder as she heard my admonitions but she simply turned her head again and continued on her way as if nothing had happened.

  We proceeded along the road and quickly turned the corner, heading towards the park. I noticed as I looked into the sky several dark clouds gathering a little way off in the distance, kites flying in the slight breeze above the fields of the recreation area. Silently congratulating myself for bringing my umbrella we carried onwards towards the park entrance, the nanny leading the way.

  “Pit pat!” she shouted once again, followed by, “Step in line!” and the children and I obliged, snaking along the road after her. As we approached the park entrance I looked forward to seeing the kite fliers in the fields beyond, but I was surprised to see several people gathered about a small black figure that seemed to be drawing on the ruddy pavement. The nanny of course made a beeline for the figure, who upon seeing her stood up from where he was crouched, and flung his arms open wide to greet her.

  If I was not mistaken it was Seth again, though this time he was not a musician but some sort of artist drawing on the pavement. As he stood large clouds of what may have been black chalk fell about him and several of the chalk paintings that were covering the pavement of the park entrance.

  “Seth! Good morning!” said the nanny, embracing him as my children joined the small crowds examining the chalk drawings on the ground, chasing each other around as they glanced at each one.

  “An ‘appy and good morning to you too, my dear nanny.” winked the artist / musician / chimney sweep I only knew as Seth. I glanced over him once again. His clothes were rough and ill cut, the cloth covered in what appeared to be patches of dark coloured chalk. Even the man’s features were covered in black dust, a small flat cap crushed by age and grime balancing on his head. He certainly had the look of a sweep about him. He was most definitely dirty and scruffy enough!

  “Come to see old Seth’s paintings, have ya then?” he smiled in that indefinite accent of his. The nanny seemed to understand him perfectly though as she was smiling at him as he led her to the first of four chalk drawings that covered the pavements.

  His speech really was as bad as I remembered it. Even a malformed mouth or throat would fail to mangle the Queen’s English as efficiently as he did. Mayhap being up chimneys all the time had addled his brain or his speech? Who knows? I watched as the nanny and Seth seemed to be staring at me.

  “Mister Berkeley.” said the nanny, and her broad smile seemed to consist of a thin set of teeth almost like pins grinning at me. “Come and see Seth’s paintings.” She said, pointing at the four pictures on the ground. I shuffled forward, noting the garish colours of the drawings. They looked to me as if they had been drawn by a child, so broad were the strokes! The sweep had the audacity to take the cap from his head, revealing long strands of dark hair and place it at my feet no doubt for me to register my approval with a penny or two.

  Ignoring the cap at my feet I examined the four drawings.

  They were all laid out in a line, and I moved along them as I examined them. The first seemed to contain a picture of a rolling landscape, a small fox sitting in the middle of a field. The next seemed to be some form of party, garishly dressed ladies and gentlemen seated around a picnic blanket, the third seemed to be an old lady feeding bird
s on the steps of what appeared to be a large ornate church or cathedral that may or may not have been St Paul’s, and the last seemed to be a carousel of Dobbie horses spinning around in a circle, children clutching at the necks of wooden horses as they spun around and round.

  With alarm I noted that the pictures were in some strange way mesmerising! With great effort I forced my attention away from the last picture and returned my attention to the end of the line to where the nanny and the sweep seemed to be watching me intently.

  “Very good.” I said to neither of them in particular and threw a penny into the cap at the sweep’s feet. “Very impressive.” I finished, though I must admit not with a great deal of sincerity.

  “Oi thank ee koindly and so I do!” said the incomprehensible sweep, seemingly in appreciation.

  “Shall we get on, nanny?” I said impatiently, noticing my two children staring intently at the drawing of the bird woman. “It will be lunch time by this rate!”

  “Nonsense!” she said, rattling her strange bird headed umbrella as the children continued to stare at the picture of the woman feeding the birds. “The wind has not changed yet.” Why she said this I have absolutely no idea, but I did know that she was correct, annoyingly.

  “Look, Father!” said Susan, drawing her attention away from the drawing for a moment. “The lady is feeding the birds!” I walked across to her, but not before sniffing loudly at the nanny. I looked down at the drawing and felt my heart start to race as I noticed in the drawing the woman lean forward and throw some dark morsels or crumbs for the pigeons which now moved and fluttered about her, no doubt eager for the food. The drawing appeared to be moving!

  “We fed the birds yesterday.” said Paul who had crept up beside me, startling me somewhat.

  “Of course you did, Paul.” I muttered, staring back at the picture. “Of course you did.” As I looked the old woman took a small bag and cast what must have been crumbs out for the pigeons, who fluttered and flew about her as she did so.

  The chalk drawing was crude though, and the crumbs looked dark, dusty and black. As the pigeons in the drawing clawed at them they flew up into the air and then they seemed to almost slow in flight, squawking loudly before suddenly dissolving into shards of dust that blew on an apparent breeze and showered to the ground in the painting like soot falling from a chimney.

  I watched in horror as another bird swallowed the crumbs before flying away and then suddenly dissolving into dust also. I dragged my eyes away and looked at my two children staring into the drawing, completely transfixed by the slaughter of the pigeons that seemed to be happening in there.

  I stumbled forward, a chant rising in my mind, catching sight of the nanny staring at me, the sweep now leaning forward as if in some strange kind of rapture by her side. “Sookra…farley… accra…. oakra…” I heard as if from far away, for I could not place it but I knew I had heard this sound; a chant almost, somewhere before. I staggered slightly, attempting to make my way around the chalk drawings and drag my children away from this abomination, for now they seemed totally transfixed by the lurid events unfolding in the picture. I would of course have been much more expedient had I stepped across the drawing itself, but I did not want to touch that thing at all, such was the power of the monstrosity that seemed to dwell within it. I felt that if I crossed over that picture then I may very well fall in, and never rise again!

  I took one last glance at the evil woman sitting on the steps feeding the pigeons and turning them into soot, and as I did so she gave a lurid smile at me from within the drawing, and now I saw that soot was gathered about her mouth, forming a dark stain around her now blackened lips. I gave a small cry of horror and made to shuffle past the last picture of the carousel, but as I did so the chanting became louder and my attention was forced towards the now spinning Dobbie horses.

  I pitched forward, now mesmerised by the spinning wooden beasts moving around the device in ever increasing circuits. Yet this was not a carousel the like of which I had seen before! The devices of my childhood were as brightly coloured as this, but were moved by a man working a handle to move the device either by hand or pedal. Not this device though! Nearly out of sight behind the main carousel itself sat a small steam engine, hot bursts of vapour erupting from it, sending clouds of heated water high into the air. I moved around the carousel, not concerned at all that I now appeared to be inside the picture itself, moving in the opposite direction to that of the spinning wooden horses, all of which were empty.

  I looked at the engine as I approached and now I could see that there was a man there with his back to me, piling coal with a long thin shovel into the firebox of the engine. As I approached he turned, and grinning at me I saw that it was Seth staring at me, a wide lunatic grin spreading over his coal dust covered features. As he saw me stop in my tracks he grinned even wider and spoke, his voice now dark and empty, like the sound of rocks grinding together.

  “Step in line.” he said, grinning and I reeled back, noticing now that there seemed now to be three shapes on the far side of the carousel sitting astride three of the garishly painted horses. I waited as the carousel spun in my direction, my gorge rising as I saw that the nanny was siding side saddle on one of them, grinning at me as if this was all perfectly normal. “Step in line!” she shouted as she rode past me, and I noticed dark lines of soot around her mouth as she did so. I cried out in shock but could no longer move as my children, Paul and Susan appeared on a horse each, their mouths also covered in a small amount of dark substance that I now knew to be soot.

  “Step in line! Step in line!” they both squealed in apparent delight as they shot past, the speed of the carousel now seeming to become faster and faster. Around they came again, then again, the space between each circuit becoming less with every turn. “Step in line! Step in line!” the three screamed gleefully as they shot past me, and the awful sound of the merry go round music and the chanting seemed to increase, making my head spin even more.

  “Sookra…. farley… accra…. oakra…” continued the chant as the colours of the carousel melted all into one, the sound deafening, the large dead wooden eyes of the Dobbie horses staring at me relentlessly as they moved past in an unending procession. I felt myself become dizzier and dizzier as the bright colours melted into my mind, faster and faster, the chanting increasing in line with the carousel music. I felt myself floating away. “Sookra…. farley… accra…. oakra…” it said, and my chin fell down to my chest as I noticed small bands of soot creeping across the ground like fracture lines, seeking, I knew, my presence. Slowly they came, circling now about me as if relishing their advancement towards me.

  Then without any warning at all the chanting stopped.

  The carousel and the music ceased too. The nanny and my children and Seth were all gone, and I watched in horror as the colours of the carousel began to melt, pouring down like a rain of melting chalk about me, the soot now washed clean from around my feet. I staggered and saw that I was outside of the chalk drawing once again, and that a steady rain shower was falling around me, melting the chalk paintings in the heavy downpour. I staggered to my left just in time to see the bird woman in the chalk painting there snarling as the rain melted her away, a low deep growl rising from somewhere around me.

  I looked around in confusion, tottering towards the park railings for support as I did so. I seemed to be quite alone. I noticed through the railings that even the kite fliers on the greens beyond seemed to have disappeared. Heart racing and my head spinning I grabbed the railings for support, dropping my umbrella as I did so. Leaning forward I felt the colours from the carousel spin in my mind, and I could not seem to forget the chant, “Sookra… farley… accra…. oakra…”. I felt my body spasm and leaning forward I vomited copiously onto the pavement, falling to my knees as I saw that my vomit was black and seemed to be the same colour of soot! I dragged myself to my feet, my legs hardly supporting me and held as firmly as I could onto the railings for support.

  By n
ow the paintings had all but dissolved, and I tilted my head backwards, letting the cool sweet rain run over my features as I attempted to gain my composure. Several people were by now leaving the park in a hurry, no doubt caught out by the downpour, but I paid them no heed, though I did hear tuts and utterings of “Disgraceful!” and “Drunk at this time of day!” spat in my general direction by several of the evacuees.

  I ignored them of course, for I could not do otherwise; at that precise moment in time I was struggling to remain on my feet at all, and so continued to grasp at the park railings as if they were a mast on a sinking ship. “Sookra… farley… accra… oakra…” I mumbled softly to myself unbidden, and felt the bright colours of the carousel rushing through my mind as I did so, nausea rising in my throat once again. Yet I managed to hold it down as I attempted to re-gather my wits.

  Now the wind began to rise as I stood there trembling, grasping the iron fence, the rain now soaking through my clothes. As I stood there I saw a largish triangular kite scutter and somersault through the park gates and almost by instinct I made a grab for it, and having caught hold of it, held it to my chest, awaiting the child who had obviously lost it to arrive. Yet after a spell of what must have been some ten minutes nobody did. I examined the kite carefully. The wind had damaged it of course, but it still looked as if it would fly and so I made the decision to keep hold of it, for no reason that I could discern at all.

  I tentatively attempted a step, still holding onto the railings, and found that I could support myself capably well, and so releasing the fence, kite in hand I attempted a few more tentative steps, my confidence in my balance and my ability to support myself growing with every step. I noticed my umbrella lying on the ground, but there seemed little point in retrieving it now as I was already soaked to the bone, and so I kept hold of the kite itself, chuckling to myself as I imagined it blowing me home. I pulled myself into check at the thought. I must already have contracted a fever of some kind and so I began to stagger back towards my house.