Restoration

by Guy Adams

  After a few minutes there was no more to be wrung from it but a burned filter and he conceded it to the ground. He walked across the street, pushed open the lobby door – when will they ever fix that goddamned lock? – and began to climb the stairs. One floor, two, three then he was there on the fourth, out of breath and with a pulsing in his temples.

  "Really should look after myself," he chuckled, "this is killing me."

  He walked up to 405, pulled a set of keys from his pocket, opened the door and stepped inside.

  He walked quickly, knowing that he would lose his courage unless he got this over with quick. Stepped into the bedroom, the man in the bed fast asleep and never likely to wake up. "Look at the useless mother fucker," Tom muttered, "would you just fucking look at him?" Tom pulled the gun out of his pocket and aimed it at his own stupid, snoring head.

  3.

  Alan had thought he'd never sleep. The idea of spending one more night amongst the noises of the attic had disgusted him so much that he had just lain there beneath that perfect black sky, eyes wide open and mind fixed on anything but the thought of what the creatures had shown him the night before. Nobody had liked the idea much, but all agreed that it beat camping down in the middle of a new room, a penny arcade no less, with whatever surprises the House had to offer in that particular setting once night had fallen. Better the devil you know, they had agreed. But Alan had slept, albeit briefly, waking to that lazy sun and Ryan shaking his arm.

  "Time for breakfast," the kid said, "then some fun on the slots."

  "Can't wait," Alan replied, sitting up and eyeing the caesar chicken wrap he had been left with frank disgust. He pulled off the cellophane and sniffed it. Nothing. It was just a selection of slick textures in a tortilla. He couldn't bring himself to eat it.

  "Do you think the painting lied?" Hawkins asked, sitting down next to him and rubbing gingerly at his broken wrist.

  "Who knows?" said Alan. "I guess it didn't say that the library was directly on the other side of the third hatch, we just assumed it would be."

  "It might still be the right direction then," agreed Maggie, "no point in not trying."

  "I love the slots anyway," said Ryan, "it was the one place I could enjoy myself when I was a kid."

  "Says a lot about your childhood," said Alan.

  "Yeah well, took me laughs where I could find 'em."

  They gathered their stuff together and grouped around the hatch. Barnabas tied a rope around the hinges so that it would hold without yanking the hatch shut behind them.

  "It's not too far," he said. "Should be fine, just try and climb steady and not pull the rope too much."

  "Maybe you ought to hold the rope steady when its my turn," said Hawkins, "I don't do graceful climbing one-handed."

  Alan went first, dropping down onto a wooden floor peppered with sawdust surrounded by the enthusiastic burbling of the machines. They were years before his time (at least the time he could remember), heavy pine and glass, electric valves and gleaming steel tracks, these were antique machines, early bagatelles and peep shows, machines that brought ancient midways to mind. Thick red drapes hung everywhere and the air had the sweet smell of candy floss and ozone.

  "Roll up, roll up," he said, as he heard the others drop down one by one beyond him.

  "What's this lot?" asked Ryan. "Not a single shoot-emup in sight."

  "It's a bit before your time," said Maggie, steering him away from a What the Butler Saw machine before he took a curious glance through its viewer. Barnabas stepped over instead, rummaging in his pocket and fishing out a penny

  He stared through the viewer and began to watch as a young lady in a bob haircut (not unlike Penelope he thought with enthusiasm) flickered into view and began to peel off her stockings.

  "Push over," said Jonah who had moved next to him. "My turn."

  "I'm not wasting my penny on you," Barnabas said, gripping the metal viewer tightly as the woman flung away her stockings and proceeded to unhook the fastenings of her corset. Bloody hell, thought Barnabas, this looked like it might be a feast for the eyes.

  "'Ere," said Jonah, tugging on Barnabas' sleeve, "you could at least describe it you know."

  "Look, Jonah," said Barnabas, standing up in irritation, "you're putting me off here, you know?"

  As he stepped back from the machine a pair of metal spikes shot from the viewer, piercing the air where his eyes would have been.

  "Bloody hell," he whispered.

  Jonah reached out and felt the tip of one of the spikes. "My old mum was right," he said, "stuff like this sends you blind."

  "No playing the games," shouted Barnabas, "they're as lethal as everything else in this place."

  "No surprise there," said Alan, looking through the glass at Madame Arcana, the Mystic Beauty of the East.

  4.

  Someone was banging on the door of Miles' room. He thought about the noise for a few dreamy seconds, before it came again and he snapped fully awake. Who was it? The police? The hotel management?

  "Morning old chap," came Carruthers' voice and Miles dashed towards the door in relief. He pulled it open and for a second he nearly slammed it again, quite convinced he'd been tricked. The man on the other side of the door was clean-shaven, dressed in a smart grey suit. "Don't look so confused," said Carruthers, handing him a suit bag and stepping inside. "You seem to forget you are talking to England's premier hunter and explorer, I lose track of the hostile environments I have slipped through unnoticed, the jungles and deserts I have faded into as surely as a chameleon on his leaf. If we are to return to yesterday's hunting ground I thought it best that we should do so unrecognised."

  "You brush up well."

  "I brush up wonderfully."

  Miles unzipped the suit bag to find a fawn three-piece with a large collared brown shirt. "Funky," he said, "but where the hell did you get them from?"

  "I have yet to sleep," Carruthers admitted. "Since leaving the restaurant I thought I'd explore one last landscape. During my foray into downtown Orlando I stumbled on young Leroy Jackson, tailor of this parish. What with the money we had left and a few precious stones and trinkets I keep hidden in my pack for bartering I was able to conduct a considerable amount of business."

  "In the middle of the night?"

  "Nothing makes people desire their sleep less than financial reward. By the time I'd finished with Leroy he was crying. I have a feeling I may have overpaid him but, well, beyond the small amount of cash I have held back for a taxi fare, something tells me we will have little use for money in a few hours time"

  Miles threw the suit back down on the bed. "Thanks for reminding me."

  Carruthers put his hand on Miles' shoulder. "Who knows what will happen today? The only thing I can swear to is that myself and my dear friend will face it with honour, courage and a fine set of clothes."

  Miles smiled. "And a decent breakfast inside them?"

  "Anything less would be an insult to the Queen."

  "And we wouldn't want that. Go down, I'll get showered and changed and I'll be right with you."

  5.

  Mario had walked up and down the station concourse for nearly ten minutes, still utterly at a loss as to what to do. He had tried to talk to the people around him but it was obvious that he was as insubstantial to them as they were to him.

  He had made his way towards the exit, following the signs above his head only to stand there on the threshold staring out into the impenetrable darkness knowing that he would be taking his life in his hands should he step into it. There was darkness and then there was this unnatural void, he was damned if he was running into that without exhausting every other option first.

  He walked back into the station, made his way upstairs and towards the trains, maybe that was the way out of here?

  When he looked up at the impossible stack of trains in the Barlow Shed he decided that he might just sit down for a minute first. Maybe everything would even have the decency to vanish so that he could wa
ke up and get on with the inevitable hangover.

  He was sat on a metal bench, staring at the crowds of ghostly figures, trying to figure out what was happening to him – currently preferred option being an acid flashback – when he saw a man walk along the concourse and straight over to the trains. The man was real. It was immediately obvious when compared to the faded people around him. Mario was so surprised that he had just stared, watching as the man crossed in front of that crazy stack of trains and then vanished from sight towards one of the platforms. Then, as the likelihood that he would lose him all together finally shook him out of his shock he jumped to his feet.

  "Aspetta!" he called, but just as he made to follow one of the electronic information posts fizzed to life and a crackling, sparking hand reached out of the screen and grabbed Mario's arm.

  "Aspetta yourself," the Grumpy Controller said, "if you want to get out of here alive then shut up and listen. I need you to do something for me, something that's very important but rather unpleasant."

  Mario stared at the screen, unable to think of a word to say, this must be the drugs, he thought, must be…

  Another hand emerged from the screen and held something out to him. The Grumpy Controller smiled and there was a pop as an arc of electricity shot from the screen and earthed against the stone floor. "You're going to need this," it said, putting the gun in Mario's hand.

  6.

  "If you want to pass unnoticed in a jungle you dress like vegetation," Carruthers explained, as they got out of the taxi a quarter of a mile or so away from the construction site. "If you want to hide in civilisation you dress like authority."

  Miles handed the taxi driver what was left of their money and waited for him to drive off before replying. "We're talking about the police," he said, "they're about as 'authority' as you get."

  "Doesn't matter," Carruthers insisted, "if you dress to belong then you blend in. Trust me."

  Miles shrugged, already sweating now they were out of the air-conditioned cab. "Wish we'd just let the cab take us straight there," he moaned as they walked along the highway towards the site.

  "That might have been pushing our luck too far," Carruthers said, "though I agree it somewhat spoils the respectable image when you turn up looking as wet as a sponge."

  A police car blazed past, siren blaring, and for a few seconds they were both convinced it would stop. The car passed them without so much as a pause, heading off to an emergency elsewhere.

  "See," said Carruthers "the camouflage is working!"

  "Whatever," Miles replied, his heart still pounding.

  They kept on walking and soon the construction site was in view. You couldn't miss it, the line of police cars and news vans gave it away.

  "What are those large vehicles with the dish-like constructions on them?" Carruthers asked.

  "Reporters," Miles replied, "which makes our job much easier. If the place has turned into a circus then two more blokes wandering around are far less likely to draw suspicion."

  "Reporters, eh?" Carruthers said. "I was a regular contributor to the press in my day, you just leave it to me."

  7.

  "Welcome to the House," the woman had said, the look on her face making it perfectly clear that it wasn't meant to be a pleasure.

  "What house?" asked Leo.

  "The last one you'll ever see!" called one of the raggedlooking people at the back.

  The woman, Lauren, had smiled at that, pulling a home-made knife from her belt. "I'm afraid he's right," she said, "you see we haven't had a square meal now in… well, a good few days."

  "How terrible for you," said Helen punching Lauren on the nose. She turned and ran back into the foliage, Leo following right after.

  Lauren coughed, flicking a gobbet of snot-thickened blood from her face and roaring at the very top of her voice. You didn't get to be leader of a bunch of vicious bastards like this without forgetting some of the social niceties. "Come on," she shouted, "let's gut those shit-heads!"

  Leo overtook Helen when he heard that, swearing under his breath. If this were the movies, he thought, they would escape up a tree or maybe come into contact with a friendly group of savages who would save them before letting them join their tribe.

  Something caught his foot and he flew forward, snapping two fingers back as he put his hands up to stop him smacking his face into the ground. He screamed in pain at the broken fingers but struggled to his feet as he could still hear their pursuers behind him. OK, so this wasn't a fucking movie.

  "Over here!" Helen shouted and he looked over to see her stood in front of another door, just like the one he had seen in Glendale.

  "Go through!" he shouted. "Go through!"

  She didn't need his encouragement and had stepped over the threshold before he'd even finished speaking.

  Lauren and the rest of her tribe were right at his heels as he reached the door. He actually began to giggle as he jumped through the doorway, his nerves so shot to hell. "So long!" he shouted and waved goodbye with his good hand.

  8.

  Madame Arcana twitched in her glass case. What was left of her last visitor was still seeping through her carved, wooden limbs like bloody sap. Her painted eyeballs took in the crowd gathering around her. Behind her veil, wooden lips smiled with the creak of an old door, rarely had she eaten so well.

  "No surprise there," said the fat man in front of her. We'll see about that, she thought, I have a few surprises in here for big men.

  He turned slightly and she saw that he had a child strapped to his back, She would be bloated for sure with this meal. Pine fingers stretched out, ready to grab him through the glass, smooth, varnished thighs parting as her hungry mouth parted its lips.

  "What's this?" the fat man said and, just as both her hands punched through the glass to grab at him, he stepped away and bent down. The glass shattered and her hands snatched at empty space.

  Madame Arcana roared and it was the sound of felled trees, splitting trunks and the crack of splintering wood. She stretched out her arms and legs but none of them were in reach. She reached behind her, desperate to tear herself loose from her fixings. The brackets held and she screamed once more, a spray of card fortunes gushing from her mouth.

  "She can't move," said Hawkins, grabbing one of the cards as it struck his chest. He flipped it over and read it "Madame Arcana Predicts: That she will engorge herself on your stupid, flabby meats." He tossed the card away. "Not if you can't get at me love," he said, rummaging in his satchel and pulling out a stoppered bottle. He pulled the cork out with his teeth. "Keep back," he told the others, and splashed Madame Arcana with the bottle's contents. He sighed as he fished out his matches. "That was the last of my brandy," he said, "and potent stuff it is my lovely," he struck a match, "so, cheers." He tossed the match into the case and Madame Arcana plumed with blue flame. She screamed one last time as her smooth skin crackled and burned.

  Alan stepped over to Hawkins and held up what had distracted him away from Madame Arcana's grip, it was a coin.

  "Find a penny, pick it up," said Ryan with a grin, "and all the day you'll have good luck."

  "I find that hard to believe in this place," said Penelope.

  Madame Arcana, the fire having sunk its teeth into her limbs with a preternatural speed, gave an almighty crack as she distorted with the heat. The bracket that held her in place snapped and she fell forward, tumbling from the case and slowly contorting on the floor as she continued to blacken. The back of her case was open, a door that led through to another room.

  "Well now," said Barnabas, stepping forward, "what's through here?"

  "Careful," said Penelope.

  Barnabas smiled, only too happy to look the brave sailor in front of Penelope. "You don't put something like that," he pointed at Madame Arcana "in front of something dangerous, you put it in front of something you want to keep hidden."

  He stepped into the vacated cabinet and through the exposed door.

  Jonah stepped forward, "I t
hink I liked him better when he was a grumpy coward," he said. "Anything killed him yet?"

  "No it hasn't," said Barnabas, poking his head back through, "but you might want to follow me through."

  One by one they filed through the small doorway, stepping out onto a wooden, plateau.