Archie scratched his chin and continued like he hadn’t heard it. “Yer ready for it, hin?”
Claire shrugged and smiled. “Hope so.” Suddenly she felt frightened.
“Young Pete says yer have the cancer?”
She just nodded. Her throat felt tight. She was so used to being described as ill or sick or poorly, it was jarring to hear the C word. Even the doctors used alternatives – tumour or carcinoma or malignant neoplasm. Hearing it spoken out loud made it stark and final. Inevitable. Real.
“She slept a great deal in the car, Archie.” Pete said. “I think she’ll be okay. She’s stronger than she looks.”
“Good.” The old man rubbed his hands together. “It’s a warm neet at least - might not be tae bad.”
“How long should it take?” Pete ran his fingers through his hair. “I think I’ll try to get some shut-eye while you’re up there.”
Archie shrugged. “Couple o’ hours, prolly.”
“Fine.” Pete glanced at Claire. “Why don’t you get cleaned up and we’ll get this show on the road?”
***
The sky was totally dark now. It was after midnight. Seated in the front of Archie’s Land Rover, looking into the formless black void beyond the windscreen, she could almost believe she’d gone blind; only the faint glow from the dashboard told her otherwise. She chewed her nails and struggled with the panic that threatened to overwhelm her.
Earlier, back at the house, she’d freshened herself up in Archie’s tiny bathroom. The cold water had stung her face. She’d been desperate to have a quiet word with Pete; she felt out of control, like things were spiralling away from her. But there’d never been a point when she could get him alone, and the moment had passed.
Now she was in the Land Rover with Archie, heading towards God-knew where. It was late. He’d helped her into the car and loaded a few things into the back. She’d asked where they were going but his terse reply told her nothing. Further attempts at conversation were verbally batted away.
She pressed her temple and rubbed her eyes. It felt like her migraine was returning. Some of the medication left her feeling sicker than the illness did, ravaging her organs in its futile attempt to slow the spread. Her body was on the verge of collapse.
The track threaded out along the valley, rising between the tight incline that bordered the glen. Moths swarmed in the headlights. The car’s engine sounded deafening in the silence of the night. Impenetrable darkness pressed against the side of the car, seemingly stealing the oxygen from within. Claire took deep breaths and tried to relax. She checked her phone several times but the lack of reception made the display as blank as Archie’s face. She was afraid to ask where they were going. It felt like they had been driving for almost half an hour when Archie began to slow the car. She leaned forward in the seat, searching for something visible in the night. He pulled over and killed the engine.
Claire looked at him. “What’re we doing?”
He pointed out the window. “There’s a building over there. Will yer be able tae manage walkin’ tae it?”
She swallowed and nodded. A plea trembled on her lips. “Will I be okay?”
He glanced at her strangely. Now, more than ever, she needed his reassurance, needed him to become more than the surly old man he’d been so far. But he just nodded and said, “Aye, lass.”
He handed her an electric torch. She brandished it like a weapon as they climbed out of the vehicle. The welcome breeze combed through her hair, flapped her clothes. It smelt clear and pure. Safe. She tried to discern the building but its shape was lost among the shadows.
Archie also had a torch, and he’d taken a sports bag from the boot of the car and hoisted it over his shoulder. “This way, hin.” His torch lit their path across the heath.
She followed closely, swishing through the long bracken. Insects chirruped around them. The ground was hard and uneven. She directed the beam ahead, picking out a corrugated hut sheltering on a gravelled plateau. Its walls and roof were streaked with rust. As they drew close she could make out a square window, obscured by cobwebs, reflecting back the light. It resembled a winking face.
Archie dragged the door open with a squeal of hinges. A damp brackish smell greeted them. Claire wrinkled her nose and shone the torch inside.
It was little more than a garden shed. Wooden shelves lined the walls, cluttered with dusty tools and cobwebbed-swathed jars. A chair stood in the centre. Archie took an old paraffin lantern down from the wall and used a match to light the wick. Its glass bulb threw out a softly pulsing glow, accentuating the shadows. Archie motioned to the chair. “Sit down, lassie. Might tek me a wee bit o’ time tae dig, what wi’ the ground being so hard.”
Claire perched nervously on the rickety chair. Questions flooded her mind but she was too weak to give voice to them. Her limbs ached. Archie wandered outside, carrying the bag. She fumbled her phone out of her pocket. The reception was still non-existent but she took comfort in seeing the names and numbers, reminders that she still had a life hundreds of miles south - albeit one that was slipping away far too quickly.
She heard the rattle of Archie’s bag being tossed to the ground. He came back inside and picked up a spade from the corner. “What is this place?” she asked.
He looked around as if seeing it for the first time. “Just ma shed.”
“You leave it unlocked?”
He shrugged. “There’s nae one round here but me.”
She blinked and watched him go outside again. The open doorway framed him in the light that spilled from the lamp. He began to dig.
As soon as he’d turned over several spadefuls of soil, the organic smell hit her. It was earthy and invigorating. She watched him for a long time. It felt wrong somehow, allowing an elderly man to endure such tough physical labour, but her own body was so weak she could contribute nothing but weary interest. She wondered if he was searching for some natural element to rub onto her skin. Would he soon embark on his crazy attempt at faith-healing? She pondered the inextinguishable allure of religion in these days of cutting-edge science. The futility of the situation was absurd.
She must have drifted off at some point because when she looked up she realised Archie had lost the bottom section of his body; he was still busy with the spade but the hole was now sufficient to conceal his legs below the knee. She stood and stretched, enjoying the popping sound in her joints.
He looked up at her. “Good timing. Here we are.”
She frowned and stepped out of the hut. It was cooler outside, more energising. She could almost taste the electricity in the air. Archie stepped backwards out of the hole, shaking the soil from his boots. The pile of earth beyond him looked pale and significant. Even in the moonlight the sheen of sweat was visible on his face. She was scared, gripped with the fear that he’d dug a shallow grave in which to bury her, and she hesitated, staring at him with wide eyes.
He glanced up at her, but his face held no malice. “Ready?”
She could feel her heart pounding. It was so powerful she could almost hear it. She slowly approached the hole and looked down.
It was several feet deep. The smell was even stronger outside. Damp and unpleasant. Just visible below the top layers of soil she could discern a lighter material, stark against the dark earth. She glanced quizzically at Archie.
He nodded slowly. “It’s okay, it’s okay.”
“What is it?”
He turned and looked towards the car parked on the roadside, then back to her. “You’ll have tae dee this on yer own. I’ll wait in the car.”
“What am I supposed to do?” Tension hardened her voice.
He moved back into the grass. “Take it in the shed. Close the door. Don’t open it out here. Shout if yer need me.” With that he was off, striding back to the car. She resisted the urge to chase after him. Instead she looked back into the hole.
It was certainly curious. But the speed with which Archie had departed frightened her. She swallowed audibly a
nd tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Carefully she stepped down into the pit.
Despite the dry weather, her feet sank into the soil. Hesitantly she poked her toe against the half-buried object, examining what Archie had uncovered. She brushed the earth away with the sole of her shoe.
It looked like a hessian sack. She could see narrow lines of soil caught in the coarse weave of the material. It was fastened at the top with a thick plastic cable-tie. She gripped the gathered bunch and pulled. Its considerable load caught her off-guard and she stumbled back, the edge of the pit connecting with the back of her thighs. She tried again, this time managing to drag the sack loose from the earth surrounding it. It dropped back as her strength ebbed. She took a deep breath and yanked it once more, scrabbling around for purchase. This time she managed to haul it against the side of the hole. It was a dead weight. She studied the bumps and protrusions in the sides of the bag.
She stepped up onto the level ground and bent to grasp it again. Her arms and shoulders were in agony. This time she straightened her back and lugged the thing clumsily out of the hole, dragging it against the edge and over. For an agonising second it teetered momentarily before dropping flat onto the grass. She exhaled loudly and looked up towards the car. Archie wasn’t visible in the darkness.
For a few moments she regarded the sack. It looked faintly sinister in the moonlight. Instinctively she felt she shouldn’t open it. But what frightened her more was the knowledge that she’d be unable to resist doing just that. Her stomach lurched and her pulse quickened when she realised she might never see Pete again. She searched the moonlit heath as if he might materialise suddenly.
Swallowing, she grasped the neck of the bag and tested its weight. The coarse material implied strength and robustness. She dragged it towards the hut. The cumbersome thing flattened a wide trail of grass in its wake. She was breathless by the time she’d pulled it over the threshold. It slid marginally better on the dusty wooden boards. She kicked the chair aside to make room. She closed the door and regarded the sack while she caught her breath.
The dimness of the hut rendered the thing even more sinister. Claire noticed a second paraffin lantern hanging on the hook, and she moved to lift it down. And it was then, as she was caught in the act of reaching across the dusty bench to take it down, that something inside the sack wriggled.
She yelped in surprise and recoiled. The movement had been swift and unnerving. Like a jerk or a slither. She held her breath and stared at the sack, daring it to move again, half-telling herself that she’d imagined it.
Nothing. Everything was silent and still.
She lit the paraffin lamp and allowed its flame to settle, banishing the lurking shadows. Then slowly she approached the sack and began to tug the plastic cable-tie off the bunched top. Something shifted again inside, this time more subtly. Her hands trembled and the cable-tie almost slipped through her fingers but she managed it somehow. Her heart was thundering. She allowed the top to fall back, revealing its contents.
It felt almost as if she were undergoing an out-of-the-body experience. She cocked her head and stared at the naked woman emerging from the sack, unable to comprehend what she was seeing. The woman shook off the cover, and the lamp illuminated her perfectly.
Claire stared in awe at the perfect image of herself. The woman in the sack was identical in appearance. A carbon copy. She gazed back serenely, unblinking, almost expectant. Claire pressed a hand to her own mouth, rocked back on her haunches. It was uncanny. The woman even shared the same thin scar on her chin; a souvenir from when Claire was 11 years old and her brother’s cricket bat had accidentally struck her.
It was difficult to take in. The woman certainly looked real, but that couldn’t be possible. There was something about her appearance – some barely perceptible element – that indicated things were not quite right. Claire studied the woman, marvelling at the physical detail that matched her own. However, it occurred to her that this strange figure looked perfectly healthy – how she might have looked without the cancer. She had the uncanny sensation that she was seeing a version of herself that had never cheated on Pete all those years ago, but had instead remained faithful and constant and happy. Uneasiness prickled her scalp. She brushed the thought away. Claire’s eyes traced the familiar contours of flesh, and it was only then that it dawned on her that the woman’s chest was not moving. She was not breathing.
Yet this did not disturb Claire. It just added to her sense of dislocation. She felt as if she was staring into a strange mirror. In fact it seemed almost as she could see herself - the present cancer-ridden version - through the eyes of the other her, like a mirror reflecting another mirror until the image became lost to infinity
The naked woman’s eyes sparkled in the lamplight. My eyes, Claire insisted, blinking the grittiness away. My eyes are sparkling.
Claire reached out a trembling hand. Her arm was a lead weight. She hesitated for a split-second before making the final tentative movement to brush her fingers against the woman’s cheek. It was cold. Unnaturally so. She shivered and fought the urge to withdraw.
The other woman lifted her arms and they embraced. Tears filled Claire’s eyes, feeling hot and fierce. She allowed herself to be cradled. It was comforting, despite the coldness of the woman’s skin. Her chest heaved. She drew in several lungfuls, feeling stronger with each breath. A sensation of vigour flowed through her body, gathering momentum as it swept into her limbs. She flexed her fingers. It was reassuring here in the woman’s arms, but Claire finally looked up and nodded once. A tear spilled down her cheek.
Now the naked woman looked gaunt. Shadows pooled beneath dull eyes. Her hair had lost its shine. Sharp collarbones protruded through her sallow skin, making her resemble just a slender frame covered by a length of taut hide. She looked depleted. Unreal.
Claire stood and backed away. She felt the door behind her. The woman lay down on the sack, continuing to stare ahead, unblinking. Claire turned away, unable to look at the woman any longer. She opened the door and slipped outside.
The hole had been filled in. Now the loose soil resembled a freshly-dug grave. Someone – presumably Archie – had stacked a low pile of wood nearby, its gaps stuffed with kindling and rolled-up balls of newspaper. It looked like a funeral pyre. She was dizzy with uncertainty.
Archie approached across the grass, carrying a heavy axe. He drew close and studied her. “Aye.” There was an air of satisfaction in his tone.
“What are you going to do?” she said.
He nodded. “Pete’s waiting up there. I’ll take care o’ the rest.” He lifted the axe, pushed past her and went into the hut, closing the door behind him.
She glanced up to the right, feeling confused. Everything now seemed visible. The darkness had lessened. In the moonlight she could make out Pete’s Focus parked on the highest ridge of the hill. It looked distant and small, yet its presence exerted a powerful force on her. A beacon of light in a vast desert of blackness. Her eyes traced the path that led upwards to the car. It would take her a long time, but she felt strong enough to make it.
***
She made her way up. Pete awoke with a jolt as she opened the door, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He blinked rapidly, staring at her in the meagre light. Scrutinising her.
“It’s worked, hasn’t it?” He licked his lips. “I can tell. You look different already.”
She took a deep breath and watched Pete’s cheeks bloom in excitement. He studied her closely. Her chest did seem strangely unhindered; clearer than it had felt in a long time. She turned and examined herself in the rear-view mirror. Her eyes were bright; the skin of her face looked healthier. The dry gauntness had been replaced by a warmer tone. Energy tingled her fingers. The aches had gone from her bones, replaced by strength and energy.
Life.
Pete took her hand. “Come on, let’s get you home.”
She thought I am home, but she didn’t say anything. Instead she leaned across so that he
r head was resting on Pete’s chest. She could feel the warmth of his body, listening to the steady thrum of his heart. The position felt natural and welcoming. She reached out and switched on the cassette player.
And they sat together like that for a very long time, enjoying The Smiths, watching the first rays of sun creep over the distant horizon, burning through the morning dew that glistened the fields and jewelled the heather. It was going to be another beautiful day.
Afterword
I always try to write stories that mean things to me in a personal sense. It’s not always good to get drawn into aiming for a particular market because you can allow yourself to compromise what you originally wanted to say. Which is a very convoluted way to explain that, although the anthology in which this story appears is horror, my own story isn’t quite a horror story in the traditional sense.
I’m assuming you’ve already read the tale – if you haven’t, you must be pretty weird to read the notes prior to reading the actual story, and risk coming across major spoilers – so I won’t try to pretend there aren’t elements of horror in it. Double Helix features one character dealing with terminal cancer, a mysterious trip up to an isolated Scottish cabin, and something unnerving buried in the ground. But I hope the darkness is also balanced by regret, wonder, redemption and hope. I think this story is one of the most optimistic I’ve ever written, even though it’s pure fantasy.
Doubles and doppelgangers have long been a fascination of mine. The idea of digging in the soil and uncovering a physical copy of oneself seemed frightening to me, so this was the starting point for the tale. Originally it was going to be set in the cellar of a house, the childhood home of the Pete character. A new family were now living there, unaware of the magical properties of the cellar. But the logistical difficulty in dealing with the way the two central characters managed to gain access to the cellar led me to alter the story. This finished version allows the emotions to remain centre-stage rather than the elaborate plot contrivances. Trust me, the original was much longer.
ill at ease 2 Page 2