The Waiting Room

by Michael White

  “I am sorry.” I mumbled, a cold shiver running up my back. “What did you say?”

  I felt myself growing warmer, sweat gathering on my forehead. Jakes looked at me as if I had taken leave of my senses.

  “Step in line, man!” he more or less shouted. “Step in line!”

  “Sookra… farley… accra… oakra…” I heard from the chimney above the fireplace.

  My hand began to tremble as I saw the bright flashing colours of the carousel spin before my eyes, then a vision of the nanny with the soot around her mouth seemed to make my head spin. A bead of sweat on my forehead gathered pace and ran in a large rivulet down my nose where it gathered there, almost forming what some refer to as a “dew drop”.

  “Are you quite well, Berkeley?” I heard Muster Hatch say from far away. I was aware of both of the men staring at me but the chant was getting louder.

  “Sookra… farley… accra... oakra…” I said through slack jaws, my head spinning in time with the carousel of brightly painted Dobbie horses spinning before my eyes.

  “How precocious!” said Jakes in irritation. “Get on with it man!”

  I felt the sweat gather on the tip of my nose even more and almost as if time had slowed I felt the drip leave my nose, slip down through the air and with a soundless splash land on the ledger. Glancing down at the paper in front of me I saw that the sweat that had fallen from myself was as black as the colour of soot. A small blot of it now covered the page just where seconds before I was about to write.

  Jakes almost leapt out of his seat.

  “Good lord man!” You have ruined this ledger!” He was already heading for the door, ledger back in briefcase and a look of anger on his face that gave me no doubt at all about the outcome of the interview. “Good day to you both!” he roared, slamming the door shut behind him. Hatch sat there for a few moments staring at me before he too made to leave. As he did so he opened the door and when half way through it turned back to me before he left, giving me a very curious look indeed.

  “Where did the soot come from?” he asked quietly and I simply shook my head.

  “Sookra… farley… accra... oakra…” I said, and with a tut Mister Hatch was gone.

  ***

  I wandered through the streets of London for what may have been hours, not just lost in my thoughts and despondency, but also attempting to clear my head of the sounds and colours of the carousel, yet everywhere I went the colours of the buildings and the sky, the puddles on the pavement all seemed to be garishly painted in bold colours, almost as if I were living in a painting of some kind. At one point I noticed a change in the air, and licking my finger I held it in the air. I was right! The wind had changed direction! There was no doubt about it. The wind was turning to the east! Motivated to rush home I quickened my pace and moving on I continued on my way, but I could not seem to pick up the thread of where my journey home should commence.

  Yet the people I passed on the streets appeared different; darker somehow. Their black soot stained faces followed me wherever I went, dragging themselves through the streets of the city as if observing my every move, stopping to watch me as I went. Shuffling and dragging one leg behind themselves they came towards me, passing by and glancing at me as they did so. The faces of everyone I saw were indistinct, featureless and made of soot. As were their clothes and bodies, as if they were puppets with their strings removed, or dark denizens of earth wandering zombie formed purely of burnt ash, coal dust and soot.

  As I wandered the streets the sense of oppression grew. I realised that I had to return home for surely some form of fever was burning at my brain, sending me delirious. I wandered past St Pauls, but I could see no bird woman or pigeons and so carried on my way.

  Via a circuitous route I eventually made my way home and as I arrived outside my house I was about to enter when I noticed that the front door was open slightly, which was peculiar. I glanced up and down the street as if trying to make sense of the door that was currently ajar, but could see none. I did notice however a large dark patch on the pavement at the front of my house and so I dragged myself towards it and glanced down, my head now spinning furiously like the carousel that still turned relentlessly in my mind.

  The large mark on the pavement looked as if some person had been carrying a bag of soot and had dropped it from a great height. The burnt and blackened contents had burst on the floor in a great explosion of ash and dust which flew out at violent angles from the main pile of dirt on the pavement. As I stood looking at it I noticed something glistening in the late evening sunlight and so I stooped down and carefully rummaged through the pile of soot at my feet. I searched in amongst the dust and then saw a soot stained silver locket lying amidst the dust. Reaching down I picked it up and held it to the sunlight to examine it.

  I had seen this before I was sure! I opened the locket and there was a name within. “To Lydia” it said. I am reasonably sure to the extent that I am able of course that the name of my cook was Lydia! I am sure I had heard my wife call her by her name on occasion. “Lydia has made your favourite dessert for your birthday, Geoffrey.” and so forth. Dropping the locket back into the pile of dust I raced up the steps and entered my house.

  Complete silence. I crept along the hall and entered the living room where my wife was sitting in her favourite armchair, a book on her lap, her head rolled back as if asleep. My heart beating in my chest I approached her and saw that she was breathing. Thank God she was only asleep! I stroked her face gently, listening for any noise as I did so. Nothing. I went to remove my coat and noticed soot on my fingers. I thought at first it was from when I had been looking for the locket outside, but as I glanced at my wife again I saw dark streaks of black burnt ash on her face; in the corner of her eyes.

  “Geoffrey.” she almost sighed. She was not asleep after all. “The children.” she whispered, and as she did so there was a sudden loud rumbling from the chimney and a great amount of soot fell into the fireplace, covering the carpet and my wife’s feet. I stood back as dust filled the room. Foreboding struck me as I uttered a soundless curse.

  “Sookra... farley… accra… oakra…” I heard from the chimney as the dust seemed to gather itself in the fireplace, and then a small mound of ash moved forward from the chimney and the fallen soot, heading into the room, gathering itself as it did so, formed a figure that grew until the now familiar form of a black ash chimney sweep stood before me.

  Wilhelmina rose from her chair before I could move, the carousel noises and colours spinning about my head, and the sweep grabbed her by her arm.

  “Oh Geoffrey.” she said, turning to face me as her entire form began to fracture, her face cracking apart, falling into soot, even her clothes cracking into dust, cascading onto the floor as she dissolved, no sound coming from her as she fell into ash.

  “Step in line.” laughed the nanny from the door as she approached me and then kneeling on the floor began to breathe in the soot that used to be my wife, the dust sucking as if driven by a wind so fierce into the nanny’s mouth, feeding her with ash, dust, soot and death. The sweep moved for me now, swinging an arm slowly through the air, its movements slow and sluggish. The nanny just continued to feed on the dust as if nothing was happening.

  I saw the kite on the floor and picked it up to use as a shield, for I did not want that thing to touch me, but the sounds of the carousel were loud in my head, the colours flashing and so I ran from the room as the creature shambled along after me. I entered the breakfast room which was cleared of course, though I did fear that dinner was most definitely not going to be served this evening, and as the creature entered the room I held the kite up to protect me and lunged at the only things I could see on the table to throw at it.

  The pepper pot bounced harmlessly off the form of the soot creature and so I flung the salt cellar as well. As I did so however, the lid of the salt pot became detached and salt hit the creature in the face as well as the pot itself. There was a tremendous roar from the sweep that
seemed to make the room shake and then the creature exploded, filling the room with ash and dust. I glanced at the door and saw the nanny staring at me from the doorway before racing up the stairs. The children!

  The salt was all gone now of course, and I had no time to make for the kitchen and so I headed rapidly up the stairs in pursuit of the nanny. Half way up the first flight of stairs another large puddle of soot lay on the floor. The remains of one of the maids no doubt. The nursery I noted was empty as I reached it, all of the nanny’s belongings: the lamp stand, the mirror and the plant seemed to have vanished as mysteriously as they had appeared. Off I raced, heading for the roof, for that was where I knew they would be.

  Mere moments later I stepped gasping for breath out onto the flat roof and saw several of the soot sweeps jutting from the chimney pots of my house. The nanny stood in the centre of the roof, her carpet bag by her side, her umbrella curled across her arm by its handle. Seth kneeled beside her, licking soot from the rooftop as if feeding. Susan stood beside the nanny who held onto her arm tightly, smiling at me as if she had all of the time in the world.

  “Seth has eaten Paul, daddy.” Susan said dreamily, her eyes rolling. My head was exploding with sounds and flashing colours now, the sweeps about the nanny slowly chanting.

  “Sookra… farley… accra… oakra…” I felt my knees buckle and I screamed in anger, waving the kite at the nanny angrily, advancing towards her.

  “The wind has changed, Mister Berkeley.” she smiled sweetly, “And it is time I left.”

  “I will see you hanged first!” I roared, and raced towards her, but her eyes flashed and I stood rooted to the spot as Seth finished licking up the soot and climbed up onto the chimney, dangling his legs over the side and then winking at me and doffing his cap.

  “Don’t make it so long next time nanny.” he said and with a final grin he disappeared down into the chimney and was gone.

  “Poor Mister Berkeley.” said the nanny as the remaining sweeps began to climb down from the chimneys and onto the roof. She took hold of Susan and grabbed her arm even more tightly. “Poor Susan too.” she smiled as my daughter began to crumble, fracture into dust. First her arms cascaded down into ash, then she tumbled, and was gone. The five remaining sweeps rushed to the pile of ash that was all that was left of my daughter and began to lick greedily at the soot, falling upon her charred remains as if they were wild animals feeding on a slain beast, jostling and pushing each other as they fought to lick the soot from the rooftop.

  Through a veil of tears, I roared at the nanny and her confederates but still I was unable to move! I tried to throw the kite at her in an attempt to harm her that was surely futile, but I could not even move my arm.

  “Pit pat.” she said, picking up her bag and unfurling her umbrella.

  “Sookra… farley… accra… oakra…” I said, unable to control now my body or my thoughts.

  “Why did you come for my children?” I blurted, using all of my reserves of sanity to speak to her. Carousels flew around my head; my eyes were full of colours. To my surprise the nanny merely laughed. I felt my mind and reason deserting me. Almost pleading, I continued. “Why them?”

  “Oh I didn’t come for the children.” she said sweetly, her soot stained teeth gleaming darkly in the evening sun. Across the rooftops and the park, I could see kites flying as if this was just a normal day.

  “I came for you.” she said, and clicking her heels together she began to rise into the air, the umbrella held above her head, the carpet bag in her other hand. I stood transfixed as the sweeps began to rise from the now consumed soot and began to pay me heed again.

  “Sookra… farley… accra… oakra…” they muttered darkly almost as one and began to head towards where I stood unable to move.

  The nanny continued to rise into the air, and then drifted away from the rooftop, no doubt caught in the wind that now blew from the east. Slowly the sweeps ambled towards me, arms outstretched. I swallowed and fought with my state of petrification and as one of the sweeps hands clutched at me I was suddenly able to move again, the nanny now quite some distance above me, flying with the wind. I surged forward, but I was at a dead end on the roof. Almost as if reading my thoughts, the five sweeps fanned out, blocking my exit to the door. I shouted at them, shoving the kite at them, slowly being edged backwards towards the end of the roof and the ground below.

  I turned to look at the beautiful sunny evening that lay at my feet, kites flying across the park, the city busy about its business.

  Kites!

  They say that a drowning man will clutch at a straw, and so it was with the kite! I unfurled the string from the battered toy, feeling the breeze catching and tugging at it as the sweeps drew closer. Clutching the string tightly with my fist I gave a roar of defiance and as the wind caught the kite I ran and flung myself from the rooftop, the sweeps screaming in anger as I plummeted over the rooftop and fell towards the ground. As I fell however the kite caught in the wind and I felt myself rising, the kite pulling me upwards into the air. It was if I was flying!

  High above I saw the nanny heading away across London, and I clutched tightly on the string as I rose higher and higher, the ground far below me, and I roared with laughter as a hysteria took hold of me! As I looked up at the nanny I realised that I was now gaining on her as the kite dragged me along with it. I glanced at the string of the kite and my hand clutched about it and I felt a sick feeling in my stomach as I saw my hand begin to crack, soot falling down my arm!

  My other arm began to dissolve then, a cascade of soot falling down to the ground, and then my arm that was clutching the string dissolved completely and as I fell I saw the kite flying away, the sun now low in the sky and the nanny flying away; far, far away, and as I fell I dissolved, soot falling in clouds down below, finally falling, falling down into soot and dark and ash.

  ***

  If you want to find number eighteen Cherry Hill Lane all you have to do is to ask a policeman when you spot one. He will push his helmet to one side, scratch his head as if considering your request carefully and then he will point his white gloved hand and say, “First to your left, take a second right, sharp right again and you are there. Good morning.” If you press him further however then no doubt he would be more inclined to inform you of the recent terrible deeds that have taken place there. He may even remember to whisper details of the terrible black soot marks on the pavements outside of the house, and the fact that even the heaviest of rain showers (and London has lots of those; thunderstorms too) completely fails to wash the soot marks away.

  Pressed even further (for all policeman like gossip even if they are reluctant to admit that that is the case) he may entertain you with the strange story of number eighteen and how it was found abandoned except for marks obviously left by a chimney sweep, and how, if you pass the house late at night and there is a full moon you can almost hear voices on the wind.

  Nobody is quite sure what the voices say of course, because that would make the gossip much less interesting, but many people have heard it, and to lots of those people who have it appears to be a nonsense word making no sense at all. To those who have heard it however it sounds a little like this:

  “Sookra… farley… accra… oakra…”

  Interlude Five

  ~ In which children are scrutinised ~

  Silence fell about the room as Mister Berkeley took his seat once more. I was astounded at the tale as were most of the gentlemen remaining at the table. I was also still in shock as to Moon’s impertinent manner and his question to me as to whether I believed that these were mere stories or not. Nevertheless, I had listened to Mister Berkeley’s story with interest and had concentrated on that instead to remove from my mind the displeasure I felt towards my manservant.

  What a story it was! Those poor children! I have expressed already an affinity I have with dogs when I allow it and I feel children are the same, especially my own two sons of course. I simply cannot understand how any adult
can hurt a child, or endanger them, or worse; and here was just such an example. Though it must be said that the father got all that he deserved as he continually ignored his brood (to use his own words) to his eventual detriment of all.

  “Quite appalling! Said Jeptha Farrager from the top of the table to the right of Apollyon who sat watching us all again, boots up on the table as usual. “Any corruption of a child must be dealt with forcefully and swiftly, for they are unable to defend themselves”.

  “I completely agree.” Said Cornelius Radley, the engineer who sat on the other side of Mister Berkeley off to my right. Berkeley sat now as if he were a man broken, his head in his hands, oblivious to all. I regarded him with pity but as I looked at him I saw close to where his elbows rested on the table a small black fleck of something on the tablecloth. Peering closer I was sure that it was soot!

  I gasped out loud as Dickinson Evans to my immediate left, not noticing my discovery at all, agreed with the speakers so far.

  “Such a terrible tale.” He lamented. “The poor children.” Byron Rothering to the side of Mister Farrager nodded his head vigorously and yet said nothing, while of course Gabriel Moon sat staring ahead of himself once again as if nothing in the world mattered to him in the slightest. Apollyon simply continued to stare at us all, following the conversation as it moved about the table. Finally, he spoke.

  “Children have such an aptitude for evil do you not think gentlemen?” he suddenly sneered, which provoked an outcry around the table.

  “Of course not!” yelled Radley.

  “Only if they have not been taught right from wrong!” protested Evans, and I was forced to agree with them. Apollyon however did not seem to be convinced.

  “They constantly push at the boundaries of what is right and wrong as if testing what they can evade blame or discovery for I feel.” Smiled the Earl, before concluding, “It is one of their more endearing qualities I find.”

  “In what respect, your Lordship?” enquired Rothering. “I find your reasoning at best confused. I have found in my life that no child is born evil or full of hate. They must learn it.” The Earl screwed up his face in disgust at this and removed himself from his chair, pacing around the table again like a caged creature, as dangerous as a wounded animal.