The Vertical Plane

by Ken Webster

  Lukas didn’t write again until his friend from Stopford arrived. Debbie asked him for the poem again but the first sign of his presence was this rather confused item:

  FGGRRRRPAIJBEPJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJGGGGGGGNZ CCCCCCCCCSSSSSSSSDDDDDDDDDDFFNC

  COMUTER THYS BE HOWE ’T MAKES MYNE LEEMS J O HN E4GZE55RTGR3JHGMNMBNSDFDGDF

  Lukas then curtly introduced his friend, but giving no names. The ‘freend’ offered no names either.

  MYNE FREEND ME SHALT YEVE YOW MYNE SAD SONGE TO MORROW FOR THYS DAYE MYNE FREEND HATH COM TO SPEKE WYTH YOW

  MY GOODLY MAN I HAVE HERD OF THY GRIPPES LEOUNS AND WONDAROUS POSSESSIOUNS AND YT IS TOO FANTASTYK TO REKNE AND THY PEPLE BE UNKIND THOUGH I HAVE NO ABODMENTS THOU ARN A PHANTASIME OF GRETE POWERS ’TIS TO MY THEOREC THAT THOU BE TO COME SO THOU CANST TELLE FOR WHEN THE KYNG DOES END HYS REYNE AND WHOIS TO TAKE THE CROWNE HOW DO THEE PHYSIC THY PEPLE OF THY TYME IS THE COMUTER THYNE PREYE THE FASHYON OF OWRN TYME BE SO THAT I WILL NOT GIVE MYNE NOR LUCAS WEYNMANNS TREWE DEVYSYNG AND NAYME

  I BEGG YE FORGIVE ME FOR MY DELAY FOR I WER UNCOLTED FRO M STOPFORD IN PACE

  A FREEND

  My good man, I have heard of your griffons, lions and wondrous possessions and it is too fantastic to understand and your people are unnatural although I have no dread. You are a phantasm of great powers. It is my theory that you are in the future, so you can tell when the King ends his reign and who is to take the crown. How do you cure the people of your time? Is the computer yours, pray? The fashion of our time is such that I will not give my own name nor Lukas’s true description and name. I beg you forgive me for my delay for I was uncolted [thrown from his horse?] from Stockport in my hurry.

  A friend

  Lukas was not his real name. It was now impossible for us to pursue our historical enquiries. It was not good news. Perhaps they were criminals, or scared that we were devils who would take them if we had their names, but we guessed that Lukas’s friend was called John from the ‘practice’ message (above). This ‘freend’ could evidently see the screen, he could read our message but he could not see us. Lukas, however, appeared to have quite a different access to our time: via the screen, certainly, but he had apparently demonstrated that he could eavesdrop on conversations, and see some items in the kitchen (although not beyond), and it was possible that he could write on the walls. Someone said that ‘John’ could be an invention, another of Lukas’s tests. If indeed this was Lukas’s friend then the puzzle deepened.

  The man from Stopford wanted hard information, some of it political. To me it was schoolboy history but as far as he was concerned this knowledge might allow him to place his loyalties with due and careful regard. Mischievously I did not want to tell him of Elizabeth’s accession after Edward VI and Mary. He might confidently turn Catholic in 1554 only to be hauled up before the courts a mere four years later!

  It flattered me to think we were a ‘phantasime of grete powers’. I thought that the one really useful narrative we could give would be on how to rid England of the plague. How noble I felt as I looked through another schoolboy study. It’s the rats, isn’t it? That is the vague idea most people hold. Until one discovers that it might have been more than black rats, the rats needed a suitable environment in which to thrive. It might even have been a variety of plagues over the centuries. Even the Black Death in 1338–50 had three strands to it. It might … I couldn’t see much progress if all we could say to one man was, ‘Redesign your towns, burn your flea-infested clothes and get the cats to work.’

  13

  Later that week a Mr John Stiles rang me at home. He was, he said, the research liaison officer for the Society for Psychical Research. He had a very academic, very correct manner yet he seemed relaxed and at ease with himself. I was trying hard not to sound silly or a crackpot. It is difficult to talk to strangers. I filled him in on the background and he moved quickly on to three theories. Firstly, the hoax. The usual schedule of culprits emerged, Debbie and myself top of the list. Secondly, he thought that one of us might be causing it unconsciously. This was something which deserved serious consideration, although the apparent authenticity of Lukas’s language militated against it somewhat. However, John Stiles didn’t see much of interest in the language. This irked me but he had only a snippet or two to go on and it can seem quite inauthentic on casual inspection. Thirdly, he introduced the notion of mental ‘interference’ with computers, although this usually resulted in nonsense or merely screen failure or equipment failure. There was, he said, only indirect evidence for it, but he gave no further clues.

  To interest SPR we would need to eliminate the first two possibilities. John Stiles suggested putting locks on all the relevant doors and windows and depositing the keys with a bank while the computer was left on and waiting. I didn’t take up this suggestion; I’m afraid I simply could not afford to be without access to the kitchen during building work, nor did I want to risk not being able to respond to Lukas during this sealed period; he might think us gone and stop his communication. Far better, I thought to keep it all going and accumulate material. If there was a hoax it would show eventually.

  However, there was much we could do to remove suspicion from ourselves. SPR was rather underfunded but John Stiles promised to put us in touch with a suitable investigator as soon as we had made some progress towards eliminating the obvious.

  Debbie finally got round to inviting her mother and brother down which, although hardly scientific, would be a useful start. The conditions were to be as close to the usual successful pattern as possible. The computer sat on the table by the refrigerator in the kitchen. A short greeting or message from us would be put on the screen. Normally this was all there would be on the particular file we were using; the computer would be left alone. The door to the kitchen would be closed. If Deb was staying in the cottage she would sit in front of the fire very quietly. Perhaps she would fall asleep. Anything from half an hour to a couple of hours later she would open the door and check beneath the message by scrolling the screen with the cursor keys. If the computer then made an infuriating ‘beep’, the file was not open beyond the particular page and line indicated.

  The next stage was to look for any new file names which might indicate a new communication. Lastly the existing files would have to be checked for additions. Lukas had been known to use existing files and tag something on further down or indeed wherever. On this particular occasion I left a message asking Lukas for some information on Thomas More then I went to Dave Lovell’s house for the evening, deliberately keeping away. As I have said, the conditions weren’t scientific but I should like to quote from some notes made by Debbie’s mother.

  ‘My son and I arrived at Meadow Cottage at approximately 7.45 P.M. on 15 April 1985. A few minutes later a friend of Mr Webster’s called at the front door for something. After a few words were exchanged between my daughter and the caller he left and we three – my daughter Debbie, my son and myself – went into the kitchen.

  ‘We checked the windows and doors in the kitchen and bathroom. The back door was locked with a chain on the inside. The windows were closed, including the sky lights though we did not have time to check if they were locked. We then gave our attention to the computer. All previous entries on the disc were inspected; Debbie typed a few lines on to the screen and as far as we knew there was nothing entered after that.

  ‘At 8.03 P.M. we went into the living room, closing the door to the kitchen behind us. I noted that the light had been left on inside the kitchen. We settled down, quietly reading or writing, occasionally speaking. I was not listening intently for noises, this was unnecessary as we were very quiet ourselves, but I did hear one or two noises which appeared to come from the kitchen: the sort of noise a mouse might make.

  ‘I felt cold at times and at one stage was shivering, we all kept our coats on as there was no fire in the hearth …

  ‘We went into the kitchen again at 9.00 P.M. Debbie left a weight on one of the keys [to scroll the screen] because she neede
d to go to the bathroom and there did not appear to be anything entered [in the file] since we left it last. After a minute we were startled by a high-pitched noise coming from the computer. This indicated to Debbie, I believe, that something had been entered [Note: it indicates that the cursor has reached the bottom of the file]. She swiftly came to the computer (or rather the monitor) and we all saw a new entry displayed, starting with a poem. We were short of time and I was unable to understand all that was entered at the time, but did manage to read and understand one or two lines. We then left the cottage.’

  Here is the text of the message received that evening: it contains the poem lost on 14 April.

  GOOD NYGHT GOOD RESTE WO NIETHER BE MYNE SHARE

  SHE BAYDE GOOD NYTE THAT KEPT MYNE RESTE AWAYE

  AND DAFFED ME TO A CABYN HONGE WYTH CARE

  TO DESCANT ON THY DOUTES OF MYNE DECAYE

  FARWEL SHE QUOD AN COM AGAYNE TO MORROW

  FARE WEL ME COLDST NAT FOR ME DIDST SUPPE WYTH SORROW

  YET ATTE PARTYNG SHE DID SWETELY SMYLE

  IN SCORNE O FREENSHYPP NIL ME CONSTREWE WHETHER

  ’T MAYE BE SHE DELYTE TO JESTE AT MYNE EXYLE

  ’T MAYE BE AGAYNE TO MAKES ME WANDER THITHER

  WANDER A WORDE FOR SHADOWS LYK MYNESELVE

  AS TAKES THY PEYNE BUT CAN NAT PLUCK THY PELF

  TOMAS MOORE WAS NAT UNLYK ERASMUS FOR HE WERT A MAN O WYSDOME AND DIDST HATH BENEOLENENCE FOR ANY CREETURE HE DIDST SHOWE MUCHE WORRY FOR MYNE CHIRCHE AND DIDST NAT KEEPE HYS THINKYNGS TO HEMSELVE AND FOR THAT REASONE WAS HONGE BY MYNE CROWNE FOR BEYNG A TRAITOR AND NAT BIKNOWYNG THAT THY KYNG BE SUPREAME BIFORE THY CHIRCHE HE WAS AN OXENFORDE MAN WHO DIDST TAKE GREKE AND LATYN AND WAS CLOSE FREENDS WYTH MYNE ERASMUS AND TOGIDER THEM DIDST LEARN WYTH MUCHE HASTE MANYE THINGS FOR WHICHE I CAN NAT SPEKE OF ’T BE BESTE FOR YOWR REKONYNG THAT YOW REDE HYS UTOPIA OR ERASMUSES PRAISE O FOLIE FOR WHICHE MOORE DIDST HELPE HYM WRYTE WHYLE DWELLYNG IN MOORS HOUSE WEN MOORE DIDST DYE ERASMUS DID WEEP FOR HE KNEWE NO MAN AS TREWE

  LUKAS

  Good night. Good rest. Woe neither is my share.

  She bade good night that kept my rest away

  And sent me to a cabin hung with care

  To descant on the doubts of my decay.

  ‘Farewell,’ she said, ‘and come again tomorrow’

  Fare well I could not for I did sup with sorrow.

  Yet at parting she did sweetly smile

  In scorn of friendship, will not tell me whether

  It may be she delights to jest at my exile

  It may be again to make me wander thither,

  Wander the world for shadows like myself

  Who take the pain but cannot pluck the pelf.

  Thomas More was not unlike Erasmus for he was a man of wisdom and had benevolence for any creature. He showed much concern for the Church and did not keep his thoughts to himself, and for that reason was hanged [executed?] by the Crown for being a traitor and not acknowledging that the King is supreme over the Church. He was an Oxford man who taught Greek and Latin and was close friends with Erasmus, and together they learnt with much haste [enthusiasm?] many things which I cannot speak of. It would be best for your understanding that you read his Utopia or Erasmus’s Praise of Folly which More helped him write while living in More’s house. When More died Erasmus wept for he knew no man as true.

  Lukas

  ‘Debbie?’ I said, after I came back to the cottage, ‘it looks like Lukas is upset over some woman …’

  ‘Nothing to do with me.’

  ‘You mentioned a few days ago when the power went off that you had had a dream about Lukas.’

  ‘It was nothing, just fantasy.’

  ‘His words keep echoing your dreams, Deb. Won’t you tell me?’

  ‘No, it’s soft.’

  It was a long time before she told me:

  ‘Katherine was working on the small kneeling stool, she was oblivious to my presence entirely. Lukas strode into the room speaking words I could not understand, they were for Katherine’s benefit. He stopped and saw me and greeted me. Katherine stood up, she looked very worried. Lukas turned to her and told her not to be afraid and that I was harmless. But she just looked blankly at him. Then Lukas stiffened and his mood changed. I saw he was angry. He shouted something at Katherine and she ran to him, she seemed to be very frightened of him. I asked Lukas what he was saying but he cut me short. He pushed me into the centre of the room and asked me to pick up a knife from the table. To Lukas’s and my own astonishment my hand went straight through the whole table; other than a prickly feeling in my right arm I felt nothing!

  ‘Lukas seemed to think it was a conspiracy and started losing his temper some more. He pushed Katherine into the centre of the room to face me, she was very upset and confused. He seemed to be repeatedly shouting at her to look at me. She started to cry, she was very young.

  ‘“Lukas, what are you trying to do? Please do not shout at Katherine,” I pleaded. There is nothing more uncomfortable than seeing someone cry.

  ‘“Be still, why do you not show?” Lukas asked me crossly.

  ‘By this time I was getting upset.

  ‘Lukas shouted at Katherine once more and she ran out. I think I felt nothing but hatred – this ruined my image of Lukas as a kind and gentle man. He was a real bully.

  ‘In my upset and temper I said something but I can’t remember what, perhaps I was too upset to hear myself. But it really upset Lukas. He turned away to face the shelves, his arms were crossed, he gave out a little whine and just closed his eyes; I could not tell whether he was crying. I went to move closer but without looking at me he pointed to the chimney – he wanted me to go. I was so mixed up and so confused but I still hated him. I walked to the chimney and found myself once again back half asleep near the cottage fire, waiting for messages or a distant sound of thunder.’

  The following morning in Peter’s ill-lit study in the school house I handed him a print-out of Lukas’s message about Thomas More and gave him the news that we had succeeded in obtaining Lukas’s cooperation with a third party present. It was naïve of me but I was grinning with pride and pleasure. This would surely go some way towards interesting SPR in an investigation! Peter shared my enthusiasm but his joy at seeing the message was probably greater. Once more I said nothing of Debbie’s dreams.

  14

  The computer was returned to school. I was full of confidence so it was a happy, easy week. I turned my attentions to the Jaguar and prepared for the annual Jaguar Drivers Club meeting at Oulton Park, Cheshire.

  Frank Davies was the motor mechanic teacher in Hawarden. He’d worked on Jags, and through this and his interest in tales from Lukas we became friendly enough for me to suggest that he come down to the cottage in order to repeat the ‘tests’ we had undertaken earlier in the week. I suggested 22 April at approximately 7.30 P.M., thus keeping to the same day of the week and to the same time. Although, I could see no reason for such replication, it felt more ‘scientific’. Frank readily agreed.

  On Friday 19 April the ritual of collecting a computer (rarely the same one) took place once more. I was very keen to hear how the world looked to Lukas and his ‘freend’, so Debbie and I typed in a greeting on the screen, locked up the house and entered the maelstrom that appears to envelop Tesco on a Friday tea-time.

  THOU BE A FOND RAG WHOE HAVE BROGHTE NON LESSE THN BLACK UPON MY WRETCH I HOPE HE COMYS NOT TO SCATHE FOR I WAR RANT THY DEETHE BY MY OWEN HANDE SOM WAYES TWAS UNAVOIDED WYTH YOR CHARM OF LEEMS AND NOWE HE SITTE IN THE PITT OF SHAYME YT BEE THY RUINE YF BUTT YOUE HELPE LUCAS HE SHALL NOT DIE YF YE SHEW THY SELVEN AND THE CROWNE FOR WHAT YE BEE AND DISPLEY THY POWERS OF CACODEMON THEYN HYS LYFE BEE SPARED LAYE OPENN THAT WICHE YS TROUE AND GIVE NO FALSE BODYNG AND WHAT NEED BE COMUTER

  FRYENDE

  You are a foolish scoundrel who has brought nothing less than evil upon the wretch. I hope he comes to no harm for I guarantee your death by my own hand some way. It was not to be avoided with your charm of lights,
and now he sits in the shameful dungeon. It will be your own ruin, unless you help Lukas he will die. If you reveal yourselves to the Crown for what you are and display your devilish powers, then his life is saved. Reveal the truth and give no false threats and explain what is necessary, computer.

  Friend.

  I guessed that ‘scathe’ means ‘harm’. It sounded more like the action of a scythe. Cut down. Finished. What had happened? How on earth could we possibly show ourselves to the Crown and display our powers? What powers? I still held the shopping heaped up in Tesco’s plastic carrier bags. Deb and I exchanged puzzled glances. We hadn’t expected any problems. It was absurd: ‘Man with shopping bag meets death threat from the past’ …

  I replied immediately, and took it at face value.

  DEAR FREEND

  IF YOWR TYME BE TO COM THEN THAT WICH I HATH SPOKEN BE TREW. LET LUKAS WRYTE TO ME NOW SOE THAT I MIGHT KNOW WY HE DOST SUFFER YF I AM TO HELPE I MUSTE KNOWE HIS TREW CALLE

  KEN

  If we had his real name at least we could trace him and check whether he did fall foul of the authorities.

  No reply to this. I drove around the lanes. Deb sat in the cottage, willing him to write but it was hopeless. We tried again:

  YOW HAVE NOT WRITTEN. WY BEE THYS? I WOLD SPEKE WYTH THE CROWNE IF LUCAS BEE SPARED. WILL YOW BRING TOM FOWLEHURST I CANNOT SHEW MYNESELVE BUT CAN WRYTE AS TO WHAT YOU WOLD KNOWE. WHERE BE THIS PITT OF SHAYME IN WICH POOR LUCAS DOES STAY WHOIS WORDES SENT HIM THER YOW HAVE NOT TOLD ME LUCAS TREW CALLE I CAN HELP LITTLE IF I DO NAT KNOWE I AM NO CACODEMON I AM A MAN AS MORTAL AS THE NEXT BUT I AM IN TYME TO COM I CAN TELLE YOW MANYE THYNGS … I CAN TELLE HOW THE PESTILENCE COMES AND HOW IT CAN BE SOMTYMES AVOIDED BUT NONE OF THYS IF LUCAS BEE NOT SPARED. I HAVE ALL THE CALLES OF YOUNG MEN AT BRASENOSE SOE I SHALL SEE THAT WICH IS UNTREW. TELLE ME HYS TREW CALLE