by Gafford, Sam
Mrs. Allenby. You mean her spirit is . . .
Carnacki. Dissociated from her body, yes. But still connected. Left to its own devices, it ought simply to reel back in. Remember, though, that all this is still only theory, and Doctor Witton may yet disprove it.
Mrs Allenby. Yes, yes. But if you’re right, then why did Robert not simply—?
Carnacki. If I’m right, the likelihood is that Miss Allenby’s psychic body will not be left to its own devices. The Outer Circle is home to all manner of things that might do harm to a disorientated young interloper. And then there’s the matter of the cry’s origin. It may be some natural phenomenon, but if it is a creature, if it has consciousness, even only that of a beast, then the effects of its cry may be part of some design, and it may not wish that design to be foiled by the reunion of Miss Allenby’s scattered constituents.
Mrs. Allenby. The Lord save us.
Carnacki. Funny you should say that. It actually isn’t unheard of for certain powerful entities to intervene when a human spirit is threatened by the Outer Monstrosities. Not the Lord Himself, you understand, but forces in His employ—who knows? I’ve been wondering why no Allenby was ever spared that way. At least, that’s one avenue I’ve been exploring.
Mrs. Allenby. I shall be praying to a higher power, Mr. Carnacki, as will Florence’s brother and sister, and Tilbury and the household. I was rather hoping that you might have a more specialist solution. Tell me you have more between your ears than theories.
Carnacki. I really can’t say any more until Doctor Witton’s made his diagnosis.
Mrs. Allenby. Go, then, and chivvy him along. The sun’s already sinking.
Carnacki. To Dodgson. This I did. You know Witton, I think.
Dodgson. Yes. Hardly the right man to call up for a case of this sort, I’d have thought.
Carnacki. On the contrary. His was exactly the sort of mind the case demanded.
Dodgson. Hard-headed, I think you called him. Unimaginative.
Carnacki. Unimaginative. Precisely. Witton stands no kind of nonsense, as he sees it. He can be counted on for an absolutely unvarnished medical opinion, which was what both I and Miss Allenby wanted. When he’d finished his examination I enlisted his help in a few more of my own, and he observed that the girl’s eyes reacted unusually when I asked her to focus on the shapes or creatures she saw around her, and especially when I had her inspect her surroundings through my jar of treated spa-water. That was enough to convince me that the things she described were genuine signals being received by her mental eye, and not spectres conjured up by an addled brain. Witton suggested no useful remedy, so I sent him away, and a little before dusk I had the library furniture cleared away and set-to constructing a barrier about Miss Allenby. Begins unpacking the Electric Pentacle.
Evening.
Florence. Starts wandering towards something only she can see.
Carnacki. Miss Allenby!
Florence. Halts. Squints. Carnacki?
Carnacki. I’m here.
Florence. I can’t see you when you stay still.
Carnacki. Takes her hand.
Florence. Flinches.
Carnacki. Here. Hold on to the trunk, like this. That’s solid, isn’t it? That’s real. Begins assembling the electric pentacle.
Florence. Where are you going?
Carnacki. Not more than a few feet away.
Florence. Keep talking, won’t you?
Carnacki. Of course.
Beat.
Florence. Carnacki?
Carnacki. Yes, still here. Sorry. Beat. What, ah, what explanation did Doctor Witton give for your symptoms?
Florence. He didn’t tell you?
Carnacki. He told me you seemed medically sound, but under great stress.
Florence. He told me I was hysterical. Recommended I sleep it off. The nerve! And he called you a snake-oil peddler behind your back.
Carnacki. Did he, now?
Florence. I mean, I’m not saying I agree with you all of a sudden about Unseen Worlds and Outer Monstrosities and such, but at least you don’t think I’m making it all up. Do you?
Carnacki. No, of course not. I’m quite convinced now that what you’re seeing is a genuine image of a genuine place.
Florence. I don’t much like that idea either.
Carnacki. No? I’d have thought it would be comforting.
Florence. Not remotely. Sorry.
Carnacki. It means you’re not poisoned, diseased, mad, or a fantasist.
Florence. But it means this horrible, dark place exists. And these horrible, twisted things exist.
Carnacki. We share the cosmos with plenty of unpleasant creatures. At least these ones are a long way away.
Florence. Not from me.
Carnacki. We’ll have you out of there before long.
Florence. They’ll still be there. I’ll still know.
Carnacki. Yes, you’re privy to something few mortals ever get to glimpse. It’s quite a privilege.
Florence. I’d rather never have seen it.
Carnacki. Now you are beginning to sound hysterical.
Florence. For goodness’ sake, that’s just a word men use for behaviour they don’t understand.
Carnacki. Wishing ignorance upon oneself? No, you’re quite right. I can’t understand that.
Florence. You would if you could see.
Carnacki. Can you still see the physical plane at all? Can you see me?
Florence. You’re like a ghost. I think if I woke up now, newborn, seeing this, I’d think you and the library were the figments. It’s all happening too quickly.
Carnacki. It’s because the sun’s going down. You’re seeing more clearly with your mental eye now.
Florence. Does that mean it’s going to get worse?
Carnacki. I’m afraid so.
Florence. You’ve been in these sorts of situations before, haven’t you?
Carnacki. Many a time.
Florence. Does it make you feel safer, knowing?
Carnacki. Knowing what?
Florence. I don’t know. Everything. All those theories and explanations.
Carnacki. Well, knowing the cause of a thing is the first step towards being able to combat it, so yes, I suppose it does make me safer.
Florence. And what if there is no way of combating it?
Carnacki. I think I’d still rather know what manner of thing did me in.
Florence. I’m not sure I would.
Carnacki. Well, in any case, you won’t need to worry yourself about any of that tonight. This bit of apparatus has saved my neck more times than I can recount. In a few moments you’ll be perfectly safe. That is—you are still wearing the charm, are you?
Florence. Shows Carnacki the charm.
Carnacki. Not feeling like taking it off?
Florence. Indicates no.
Carnacki. Good. Connects up the electric pentacle to the battery and activates it.
The electric pentacle lights up with a weak blue glow.
Florence. Ah. What is that? It’s bright.
Carnacki. Is it? How queer. To me it seems quite dim. I’ve spent a good few long nights alone in haunted rooms wishing it were brighter, I can tell you. Nothing like a monster you can only half see to give you a bad case of the creep.
Florence. That isn’t very reassuring.
Carnacki. I’m still alive, am I not? And in the morning so will you be.
Florence. But what is it?
Carnacki. This, my dear, is my electric pentacle.
Florence. And what is it supposed to do?
Carnacki. Well, usually I use it as a defensive barrier against certain manifestations—what you might term hauntings or ghostly apparitions. Tonight, however, we’re making use of its spirit-insulating properties. Did you know that when a medium or psychic is surrounded with a current, of a certain number of vibrations, in a vacuum, he loses his power to interact with spirits? It seems the current cuts off the medium’s connection to the Immater
ial. Insulates him, as it were, from any potential spiritual threat. Do you understand just what I mean?
Florence. You’re saying it’s keeping me hidden.
Carnacki. Not only hidden. I first came across the spirit-insulating effect in a paper by one Professor Garder, entitled ‘Experiments with a Medium.’ It seems Garder used a circular conductor, but after a few experiments of my own I chose this defensive star or pentacle shape instead, because I have, personally, no doubt at all that there is some extraordinary virtue in this old, supposedly magic figure. Curious thing for a twentieth-century man to believe, don’t you agree? But I’ve proved the power of the thing time and again. The current insulates, and the pentacle protects. So as long as you stay within the barrier, you’ve nothing to fear from the creatures of the chasm. Even the one you saw hovering up above. It is still there, I take it?
Florence. I daren’t look.
Carnacki. It can neither see nor harm you.
Florence. You’re sure?
Carnacki. This morning you weren’t even convinced it was real.
Florence. A thing doesn’t have to be real to be frightening.
Carnacki. Do you see it?
Florence. It’s so much bigger than before.
Carnacki. Bigger? Or closer?
Florence. Closer. But still so big.
Carnacki. As I hoped. You’re rising toward the mouth of the abyss. Your body is calling your spirit home. Without the pentacle, you see, that creature might have impeded or intercepted it.
Florence. Is that what you think happened to the others?
Carnacki. I’m afraid it’s likely.
Florence. So it’s that thing that makes the cry.
Carnacki. Not necessarily, though I agree it’s the most likely conclusion. A creature whose cry can jolt the spirit free of the body, and which then lies in wait to snare the spirit as it journeys home. It’s quite monstrous.
Florence. That’s just awful.
Carnacki. Yes. But that won’t happen to you. You’ll slip right past it. Trust me.
Night falls.
The sound of wingbeats close overhead.
Florence. What’s happening?
Carnacki. I . . .
Florence. Carnacki?
Carnacki. I don’t know.
The candles around the circle begin to go out, one by one.
Carnacki. Something’s attacking the barrier.
Florence. This is real, isn’t it?
Carnacki. Yes, that is, something’s, I mean, the phenomenon is starting to affect the physical realm, which shouldn’t be—
Florence. It’s that thing. The bird. It’s after me.
Carnacki. But it shouldn’t be able to sense you.
Florence. Then it’s angry that it’s lost me all of a sudden.
The electric pentacle begins to flicker in time with the wingbeats.
Carnacki. Miss Allenby. Listen to me. Florence. Listen. If the barrier breaks, you must concentrate all your willpower—
Florence. If it breaks? You said it was safe. You said it always saved your neck.
Carnacki. I never said always. There’s no certainty in any defence and it looks like we’re about to discover the limits of this one. If that happens you must not remove the charm, do you understand?
Florence. Yes.
Carnacki. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to leave you solely responsible for saving yourself. There might be something else I can . . . I’ll try to do something, but you must act as if it’s all up to you, do you understand?
Florence. It’s diving. It’s diving! Hide me! Hide me!
Carnacki. I don’t know how.
Florence. Do something!
Silence. The electric pentacle keeps flickering.
Carnacki. Just let me think. The body inside the barrier. The spirit outside. The connection between them. A passageway into the defence. Draws his revolver.
Florence. I can’t see. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. God save me. I can’t breathe!
Carnacki. Tell me what’s happening.
Florence. It’s got me.
Carnacki. But you’re still cogent. That’s good. That’s good.
Florence. I’m wrapped in its wings. It’s too dark. Too huge. The feathers. I can’t breathe.
Carnacki. It’s all right. You’ll be all right. The defence is holding. You can still escape.
Florence. It’s searching. The beak. The claws. Carnacki, where are you? What does it want? What do I do? Carnacki!
Carnacki. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know.
Florence. Then what good are you? Flees the pentacle.
Carnacki. Stop! Don’t! Pursues Florence, but stops short at the edge of the circle.
Total darkness. The sound of frantic wingbeats.
Florence. It sees me! It sees me!
Carnacki. The charm! Hold fast! Just don’t take off the charm! That’s— That’s—
The wingbeats withdraw. Silence.
Carnacki. Miss Allenby? Florence?
The electric pentacle flickers back to life.
Florence. Is revealed lying crumpled just outside the circle. The charm lies a little way from her.
The cry of a monstrous carrion bird.
Carnacki. Reacts to the sound.
End of Act One.
Act Two.
Morning. The candles are relit and the electric pentacle is glowing.
Carnacki. She was within my reach, yes. Physically. But I couldn’t know what might still be abroad in that room. She’d been taken so swiftly. I crouched there at the edge of the circle, with a perfectly horrible tringling sensation racing up and down my arms and across my scalp, trying desperately to screw up some courage to move forward, to brave the danger and go to her aid. But I was stiff, simply rigid with terror. I couldn’t coax myself to venture even one small finger outside the defence. I wonder, have you ever felt anything like it? Could you even imagine the feeling? A dread that manacles your very bones, your very thoughts. And the longer it holds you, the stronger its hold becomes. I saw that she was breathing, and the need for action seemed immediately less urgent, and as it were, the shackles cinched tighter still. I couldn’t reach the bell and I reasoned that to shout for help would be to expose others to the same horror, perhaps to seal another’s fate as I seem to have sealed hers. And so I simply watched over her till daylight, fooling myself that I was doing a worthy duty.
Pause.
Mrs. Allenby. She turned every head when she made her début, you know. Her independence. And now Tilbury is sitting by her bedside sponging drool off her chin. My daughter, Carnacki. My Florence. When I left the room she was giggling to herself. Giggling, Carnacki. Like a madwoman in some novel.
Carnacki. It was my fault.
Mrs. Allenby. I know.
Carnacki. It all went so wrong so fast. I could hardly think. It never even occurred to me that she might leave the circle.
Mrs. Allenby. Robert’s father bound him to a chair to stop him removing the charm. He broke four of his fingers freeing himself. Robert’s aunt Elspeth, the first born of her generation, eluded her parents, her grandfather the colonel, and her nanny the night she succumbed. They didn’t find her till morning, slumped in a cellar they hadn’t even known they had. I told you Florence would be tempted and I told you she couldn’t resist it herself. You told me your rituals and silly contraptions were the solution we’d been missing. I put my faith in you.
Carnacki. I said I couldn’t guarantee success.
Mrs. Allenby. You didn’t say you would hasten failure. You did a good job sounding like you knew what you were doing, Mr. Carnacki, but I see now that was nothing but hot air.
Carnacki. Actually . . .
Mrs. Allenby. What is it?
Carnacki. I don’t think history’s quite repeating itself line for line this time. My involvement does seem to have changed one thing.
Mrs. Allenby. My daughter has lost her mind, Mr. Carnacki. Whatever you think you’ve achieved
is immaterial.
Carnacki. I’ve heard the cry.
Mrs. Allenby. You can’t have.
Carnacki. So there’s no precedent for an outsider—
Mrs. Allenby. None. The herald’s cry is a family curse. You are not family.
Carnacki. Nevertheless.
Mrs. Allenby. Nevertheless what? If you’re looking for sympathy, you’ve got some nerve.
Carnacki. No, it’s not that, of course. No, I don’t know yet what it means. But it must mean something. If this has changed, then . . . Maybe not Miss Allenby’s, but I don’t know, perhaps the next victim’s fate might be changed as well.
Mrs. Allenby. If you really have heard the cry, the next victim will be you.
Carnacki. That had occurred to me. I wonder if I might borrow the charm, just until tomorrow morning?
Mrs. Allenby. Do as you like with it. You’ve made sure my Florence no longer needs it. Though I can’t imagine it’ll do you much good. You’ve less faith even than she had.
Carnacki. I believe in powers beyond the physical realm. I believe in ab-natural dangers and protections.
Mrs. Allenby. You believe nothing. With you everything must be proven or disproven. You do not allow for things to simply be so. I hope your philosophy brings you solace when your mind flees your body. I shall be with what’s left of my daughter. Good day to you, Mr. Carnacki.
Night. The sound of patient wingbeats in the background, innocuous as a heartbeat.
Carnacki. To Dodgson. And so here we are.
Dodgson. What do you mean?
Carnacki. That’s the whole tale up till now.
Dodgson. But you left the Allenbys’ first thing this morning. You must have done something since.
Carnacki. Nothing of consequence. Indicates the charm. I ran a few experiments on this, but only really so I wouldn’t have to sit still and think about what happened.
Dodgson. What sort of experiments? Did you discover anything?
Carnacki. Oh, everything I could think of that wouldn’t destroy it. I made a spiritual focus about it with my spectrum circles, I subjected it to various sonic and electromagnetic vibrations, I put it under the microscope, X-rayed it, heated it, cooled it.