Karen shot Andrew an exasperated look as the old man sprang from the bed and headed to the 'kitchen' area. For some time he was tinkering away making tea and making a complete racket in doing so. The wind was howling outside rattling the door and window frames. Andrew shuddered to think what would have happened to them if they were still out in it.
He returned with a dirty tray and three steaming cups of muddy brown liquid. He handed them out, Karen's, he noticed, came with an ornate saucer.
'Does this storm come every night?' Andrew asked.
'Yup, like clockwork. Has every day I can remember. Don't be too concerned though, this hut has withstood years of it and it should be over in a couple of hours.'
'A couple of hours?' Andrew said, 'I thought you said it went on all night.'
'It does. Time just runs a little differently over here that's all.'
He tried the drink. It wasn't tea exactly, but for a desolate hut in the middle of nowhere, it was pretty close. He turned to Karen for her opinion and he went cold; she was wide eyed and white as a sheet. He frowned and she slid a tiny scrap of paper across to him. Presumably Godfrey had delivered this to her hidden by the saucer. It read: YOU ARE NOT SAFE HERE! AT FIRST LIGHT...RUN!
He looked at Godfrey sitting calmly on the bed opposite. He was wearing an endearing smile but his eyes told a different story; they showed pure fear.
3
It was a weird giddy sensation watching Karen and Andrew's ghostly images on the shimmering screen. As soon as they disappeared from view, George asked Thomas to remove his hand and the screen blinked shut. They had moved about like a pair of jittering Ray Harryhausen stop motion models that made him lightheaded with the motion.
'What do we do now,' said Thomas. Clearly still annoyed at having to stay behind.
'We set the timer for every ten minutes and wait.' He reached into the open trunk and handed him two of the leather bound journals. 'In the meantime we can do as Andrew said. Learn what we can about this mirror.'
'Great. My mother has been snatched by some freak and I'm sat here reading. I need to be doing something.'
'I know you do, but let's sit tight and see what they come back with.'
There were five journals in total each bound in the same official looking brown leather. The pages were yellow and brittle with time and they had to be careful not to damage them as they read.
Despite his earlier protests, Thomas was soon nose deep in the two journals he had. 'It's called the Shael Gate,' he said.
'What is?'
Thomas looked up. 'That thing,' he said motioning to the mirror, 'I think these are a kind of instruction manual. There's diagrams and everything.'
George looked at the three journals he had and carefully flicked through the pages. His clearly weren't instruction manuals. Instead they seemed to be a diary of sorts; written in the precise handwriting of Clarence Meadowbank. Putting them in order he could tell the first two were written in the late 1920's detailing the time after his wife Molly had died. It was the third journal that really piqued his interest. This one seemed to be picking things up around the time that George Meadowbanks' wife fell ill in early 1930. He glanced at Thomas who was deeply ensconced in the manuals and nervously chewing his lip.
He then began to read himself, following the last few months of Clarence Meadowbanks' life in steadily increasing horror:
Tuesday April 15th 1930 - It would seem that mothers condition has taken a turn for the worse. Father called late this evening with the terrible news. He has managed to use his influence and call on the renowned Doctor Williard from London, but to no avail. The infection is set deep and she is finding it increasingly hard to take even the simplest of breaths. Father says it could now be a matter of days and not weeks as originally thought. I assured him both Godfrey and I would be leaving on the first train in the morning and shall be with him by weeks-end. He seemed genuinely pleased at this news.
Thursday April 17th 1930 - The journey has been arduous to say the least. The train was hours late from Doncaster which meant we missed the connecting train out of Birmingham. We had to spend a godforsaken night in this grotesque city and caught the first train available in the morning. Such a filthy city, I hope never to return. Godfrey seems somewhat subdued. I wouldn't say we were particularly close with mother or father but on our rare visitations they are very attentive to him; he being their one grandchild. I did think of leaving Godfrey at boarding school for the trip, but he insisted on coming. He was barely six years old when my dearest Molly passed and at ten I feel he is in a position to decide for himself.
Friday April 18th 1930 - We arrived late the previous evening exhausted from our trip. The drive from the Yeovil station to the house was long and uncomfortable. The driver father sent was far more keen on conversation than I, and thankfully Godfrey slept for most of the journey. He is growing into a fine young gentleman and the older he gets the more I see of my Molly in him. God I miss her so. I thought the pain would ease in the four years since her passing, but every morning I wake without her by my side is like a fresh dagger to the heart. We arrived just after midnight and mother was sleeping. We didn't think it right to wake her, she looked so peaceful. Father looks very withdrawn and retired to bed not long after our arrival.
Saturday 19th April 1930 - Mother is so frail, I fear it won't be long. Godfrey and I visited her just this morning when the maid said she had awoken. She was sitting up but her breathing was incredibly ragged. I tried to make conversation but I fear very little was heard. She did smile when Godfrey held her hand and the nurse said it was the most lucid she had seen her in weeks. We didn't stay long, Godfrey is still only a boy and a father's need to protect a son from the horrors of the world for just a little longer made us make our excuses and leave.
There is a morbid air in the house despite how wondrous the spring flowers have bloomed. The gardener has outdone himself this year, yet it is a shame we cannot enjoy it as much as we would like. Father and I spoke briefly before lunch and he confirmed my fears with regards to mothers health.
Sunday April 20th 1930 - Alas, mother passed away in her sleep overnight. The maid awoke me at dawn to bring me the news. It is a sad, sad day. To lose the only two women I have ever cared for in the space of four years is a weight that sits heavy on my heart. She looked happy and peaceful when we came to pay our last respects. Her beauty still radiant as she lay there in the most peaceful sleep she shall ever know.
Father is naturally mortified and after spending some time at her side locked himself away in his room for the remainder of the day. The maid knocked late this afternoon and said she could not wake him. Fearing the worst I ran to his room, but he was in an incredibly deep sleep. The worry and exhaustions of these past months having clearly taken their toll. Godfrey and I also retired early to put behind us a day of despair.
Tuesday April 22nd 1930 - Preparations are going ahead for mother's funeral this coming Friday. The funeral directors are old friends of the family and were endearingly sympathetic to our situation. It will be a grand affair with a horse drawn carriage to the church followed by a gathering at the house. Father was surprisingly vivacious throughout the proceedings and seemed a changed man from the forlorn figure I saw on Sunday. He had colour in his cheeks and was in high spirits. Much higher than myself and I worry for him. Has the shock been too much? Godfrey kept himself to himself to allow father and myself to complete our business. I do worry for him as well, he hasn't slept a full night since our return to the house. He wakes from the most terrible night terrors and on waking has no memory of their contents. I am hopeful that when the funeral is behind, us things will settle somewhat.
Friday 25th April 1930 - It was a solemn day and one that brought back some painful memories of my lovely Molly. The ceremony was beautiful and respectful for my mother. She was such a pillar of the community and I was pleased to see quite so many of the villagers turning out to pay their respects. She was a strong woman and I fear that without
her, father will become a recluse. Speaking of father, he has continued his high spirits all week and the funeral in no way dampened them. There were tears and he was solemn during the ceremony, but afterwards he was his usual lively self; effortlessly charming. After the guests had paid their dues and left, my father, Godfrey and I, with a couple of the longstanding members of the household lit some candles in the dining room and the chaplain lead us through a number of prayers. It was a lovely private vigil and the perfect way for those closest to mother to say goodbye. After a long day, we three retired to bed early.
Saturday April 26th 1930 - Godfrey woke in the early hours with the worst night terror yet. I was awoken by a terrible screaming from the adjacent room. Father was already awake tending to him, but Godfrey was inconsolable. It took well over twenty minutes for him to calm down and to wake. In his fit (for that is how it seemed) he kept calling for his mother. Not his grandmother after such a traumatic day, but his mother who has been dead over four years. When he finally came fully awake, he was ice cold and no amount of blankets seemed to warm him. Father and I sat with him for over two hours until he fell back asleep. I hope I never have to hear those screams again.
Father has spent the rest of the day alone in his room. I checked on him twice, but on each occasion he was in a deep sleep. I am concerned he is taking some form of sleeping pill as his sleeps are so deep, I would not be able to wake him if the need arose. Godfrey seems much better in the day time with no recollection of the night's events. Father woke in the afternoon and the three of us took a pleasant walk around the grounds before dinner. It was refreshing to see both of them up and about and behaving much how I would expect them to.
Monday April 27th 1930 - Another terrible night terror woke Godfrey in the early hours. I'm not sure how it can be so, but it seemed worse than the one he had the previous night. It took such a time for him to calm and eventually wake, that at times I feared he never would. He was again crying for his mother and I am at my wits end at what to do.
When father and I had him finally settled, the sun was already rising. Father was again in high spirits and said the boys behaviour is only to be expected after such a shock. I reluctantly agreed to his diagnosis, but cannot shake the feeling that something much more deeply psychological is occurring. We both took the opportunity to sleep and I did not awake until well after lunch. Father slept for much longer.
Tuesday April 28th 1930 - Thankfully there were no awakenings from Godfrey in the night, but it is father I am now becoming concerned about. After breakfast, Godfrey spent time playing in the gardens. There is a family of squirrels living in an oak tree that he has grown especially fond of and under the supervision of our erstwhile gardener, Sanders, he spent a good few hours in the spring sunshine.
For the first time since the funeral it afforded my father and I the opportunity to have an adult conversation without prying ears. I attempted to ask him how he was feeling since mother passed and in a roundabout way, ask him about his seemingly high spirits. However, the opportunity to ask this did not arise, instead - still in his very animated state - he told me something that has me fearing for his sanity. He told me in no uncertain terms that mother was still alive and that he knew a way for her to make a return. I was undoubtedly dumbfounded by this revelation and attempted to remind him that we had just buried his dear wife - with an open casket no doubt. I suggested that maybe the shock of mothers passing had lead him to these irrational thoughts. Father would have none of it, but rather than any anger at my protestations, he good humouredly stated that mine was exactly the response he expected and to top it off, he swore to prove my mother's continued existence (and therefore his sanity) by the next morning.
Wednesday April 29th 1930 - Thankfully it was another peaceful night with regards to Godfrey and thankfully there was no more talk of my mother's resurrection from father. In fact he wasn't to be seen all day. The maids had taken him both breakfast and lunch, but on each occasion had returned with the food untouched. They said he was sleeping on the occasions they saw to him.
Godfrey and I took a stroll into the village. It was delightful to spend time together away from the oppressive house and the memories it conjures. He seems much brighter today, refreshed no doubt by the uninterrupted sleep he has had these past two nights. We returned in time for supper, but again father didn't join us. I looked in on him just before turning in myself, and he still slept that frightfully deep sleep of his.
Thursday April 30th 1930 - I fear it is actually my sanity that is slipping away. Even now, in the cold light of day I am struggling to make sense of the events of the past night. Godfrey woke at 2am screaming for his mother. I ran to him, but the fit had hold of him and didn't break for over an hour. When he finally came to, he was full of such sorrow that neither father nor I could comfort him. He did eventually settle and through deep sobs told us of his nightmare. Inexplicably he could remember every last detail of his dream; a dream that seemed to have shocked him to the very soul. He had allegedly seen both his mother and grandmother in desperate pain and crying out for help, but he was powerless to help them. The last thing he said before falling to sleep in my arms sent a cold shiver down my spine. He said both Molly and my mother had been trapped in another world. A world that only his grandfather could travel too.
I was naturally furious at this revelation. On leaving the boys room I confronted my father and expressed in no uncertain terms my disappointment in how he had filled the boy's head with such thoughts. He assured me that he had done no such thing. He equally reassured me that the conversation we had had the previous day was just between the two of us. I was far from convinced and even less so when he announced quite matter of factly that what Godfrey had said was true; Molly and mother were alive, but may not be for long if we do not act quickly. On reflection I am deeply ashamed of my reaction to hearing this. I laughed in his face and said a number of things I had no right to say which shall not be repeated on these pages. I left him there outside Godfrey's room before he could canvass a response. In truth, I left before I said something I would not be able to un-say.
The house was deathly quiet for the remainder of the day. Both father and Godfrey slept, but I was too troubled by the night time events to have more than an hour. What staff there were, I sent home and if my father continues to show such irrational behaviour, I can see a time when we shall reduce the household staff to skeleton numbers to eliminate the rumours and more pertinently, my embarrassment. We had a light supper in which no one had much to say beyond polite pleasantries, and all retired early. As I sit here writing this, I pray for a quiet night.
Friday May 1st 1930 - Thankfully my prayers were answered as Godfrey had an uninterrupted sleep. The day was bright and sunny and after a light breakfast we took a walk to the nearby woods. The peace and birdsong were indelibly refreshing and a marked contrast to the atmosphere within the walls of the house.
In the afternoon, Godfrey took a well deserved nap and I spoke with father in the drawing room.
'I am well aware of your concerns for me and my sanity,' he told me, 'But you need to understand I speak the truth.'
I could feel myself getting angry again, but for the sake of our future relations I held it in check. 'You must understand how fantastical this all sounds,' I say, 'We were both there at Molly's and mothers funerals. How can they still be alive?'
He leans forward in his chair and takes my hand. 'I know son,' he says, 'And the last thing I want is to put you through anymore pain. But, Clarence, I do speak the truth.'
I shake my head at this, the fury now overflowing. 'Please, I implore you,' I say, 'You must stop with this foolishness. If not for you, then for the sake of Godfrey. Father, mother has gone. Molly has gone. These are terrible things to happen but they have happened.'
For the first time I see his frustration. But rather than words he decides to prove himself with actions. 'If you don't believe me,' he says, 'Then watch this.' Without further explanation he sits back in
his chair with his palms open on the arm rests. Within seconds he has fallen into one of his fearfully deep sleeps. I sit there, unsure what it all means and then mere moments later his body begins to twitch. He opens his eyes, but it is not his eyes that have transfixed me. In his palms, where, only seconds before was nothing, sits two piercing blue crystals; each the size of an apple.
'How did you do that?' I say. Believing it must be some conjurers trick.
Realizing he now has my attention, father smiles. 'Ever since I was a young boy,' he says. 'I have had the ability to travel between two worlds. This one and a far more spectacular one called Shael. This other world has powers far beyond my comprehension, but it is my belief that after your Molly and your mother passed away, they somehow ended up there.'
By this point I am naturally perplexed by the whole notion. My mind is telling me that this is the ravings of a madman, but my eyes keep drawing me back to those crystals. In all my years I have yet to see something so beautiful and yet so alien. 'But why are they there?' I say, 'Why have they been taken to this world?'
Fathers face then darkens. 'Alas,' he says, 'I believe that may be of my doing. Not intentional, you must know, but I believe my abilities may have diverted their passage.'
I start to protest the absurdity of the whole situation by my words catch in my throat as the crystals begin to glow in a most spectacular way.
'Undoubtedly you will have a thousand questions,' he continued, 'And over time my hope is that we learn of these answers together. As I say, I have the ability to travel between these worlds. An ability a number of my female ancestors also had, but I am no expert in the ways of Shael and I have only scratched the surface of its unimaginable powers. How and why your Molly and your mother have wound up there, I know not. Exactly where they are is also a mystery.'
'Then what are we to do?' I say, 'What good is this knowledge and power if we have no way of finding them.'
Meadowbank: A dark fantasy thriller (The Shael Chronicles Book 2) Page 9