The Levitating Village
Chapter Thirteen - The Oneironauts
This time I was outside the doors to the castle. They were still weather worn and solid, but they had lost some of their intimidatory strength. The weather had not changed, if anything it had become a little darker. I thought I could feel the wet thud of a heavy drop of rain. There were a few more, which bounced off the strutting rocks with an almost audible clinking sound, of distant and terrifying chains holding back a creature of fear. I had been prepared for this. The machine was obviously inducing some kind of panic state in me, maybe as a warning or a threat. I gritted my teeth and pushed the wooden doors again, this time focusing on the belief they would open.
The wood creaked a little from underuse. Beyond was a large hall with a wide and ornate staircase twisting upward. The floor was of a chequered black and white pattern, where some of the tiles had cracked and broken, covered in dust and dirt, dead leaves whirled in centrifugal patterns from the sudden gust of air that had been lacking in this building for many years. The place clicked and banged here and there as the wood and stone settled in the change of atmosphere, a ghostly sound that prevailed in a place like this. There were several double doored rooms on this floor, but I was drawn to the stairs and the next floor. Taking the Professor’s suggestion to heart, I relied on my instinct to guide me through this maze of a castle -cum-manor house. As I made for the stairs, I heard a scuffle to my left. I turned to look, but there was nothing there. I heard it again, but this time it was followed by the giggling of a small child. I thought I caught a glimpse of a running figure in my periphery. I looked around myself, turning with the scurrying sound just out of vision. I turned back to the front, to be confronted by the child. He was dressed as a boy of six perhaps, but his face was that of an old man. The lines there deepened. His face turned into a grimace I only saw in my nightmares.
“You are nobody. You are inconsequential. You have no purpose.” it said.
It was followed by a guttural growl. Then it occurred to me. This was a nightmare. That was the point. It was designed to scare. The child disappeared into a cloud of smoke, the echoing giggle leaving me with just a twinge and shudder of fear. I had to keep in the front of my mind that this was a construct of my own mind, with my own fears and worries. But that was all it was. It was me. Me trying to scare myself.
“Why would you do this? Why would you betray us and give this man our secret?” it said.
It was actually me. Well, at least a copy of me. It was me undermining myself. I reminded myself that time was of the essence. He wore tattered and torn clothes, with big black pustules all over his face and body. His hands were bloody and cut, “You are useless. You have nobody. You never will. You will die alone and no one will care.” it said. Well, that doppelgänger of me certainly was persistent. I reached the top of the staircase. The rest of the floor was blocked by a thick velvet red curtain. I tugged it aside and stepped through. I was outside.
I saw a man with a shovel digging a hole. He looked like me. Time shifted and this other version of me was pulling a very heavy box into the hole. Time shifted again, and the hole was full. Of bodies. I recognised certain features on the faces that were sunken with mouths gaped open. They were covered in black spots. Time shifted again, this time the hole was ablaze. The bodies had been burned. Somebody grabbed me by the elbow, which made me almost scream out in terror. I looked at the person who held me. He looked like Bob Quinn. No, in fact not like Bob Quinn. He was the spitting image of the man, like it was him.
“Douglas. You must lie to him. You must not reveal its location. It will cost many lives to do so.” said the Quinn Doppelgänger.
I found I had a voice, “Are you really Bob Quinn?” No, of course not. This is my mind. I can project any face onto any body in here. The ghostly version of Bob Quinn vanished.
Ahead was another set of stairs that led up the interior of a tower. It spiralled clockwise into the darkness beyond. I walked to it and up it. The higher I got, the thinner it became, until I could barely move my shoulders. I looked back, but a wall had appeared where I had come from. Either I went ahead, or I stayed here to die. The roof slanted down, causing me to crawl on my hands and knees. The further I moved on, the darker it got and the lower the ceiling became. It was becoming too intense.
At my feet I could feel something tugging. I looked back. It was a man, mostly skeleton, with black spots. He was clawing at my leg. I could just see his outline, but I could sense his urgency. He was pulling me out. Or he was trying to climb over me. But there wasn’t the room. I got that sharp claustrophobic feeling again. I looked ahead into the darkness with seemingly no respite. I had to move on. The man was whispering incomprehensible words at me, mostly in frustration and anger. It seemed like I was in this place forever.
I saw the merest glint of light ahead. It made me redouble my movement. The closing in and the oppressive feeling of the tunnel was sending me mad. I was reduced to shuffling forward on my elbows and any grip my toes could get on the smooth stone. The light was still there, but it seemed to be getting no closer. But I kept on. I could swear the walls were moving inwards, as though to crush me moments before my exit. Then I saw a face, mocking and laughing at the end of the tunnel, eating up the little light I had begun to rely on. And yet I had to go on. I came nose to nose with the maniacally laughing mocking dead face. Closing my eyes, I pushed on and out of the tunnel.
The floor was damp from goodness knows what. The stones were smooth and cobbled, rising to a grid of bars well above me. I was in an oubliette. There was no way out. Dripping water fell down my back. I looked to the tunnel I had come from. It had vanished. I began scrabbling to gain purchase up the slick damp walls, green with mould. I kept slipping. I was really beginning to panic. I looked around feverishly.
The Quinn Doppelgänger spoke, “He must not know. I have seen what will happen and it spells disaster. Fire and murder is just the start. Lives will be devastated. Don’t live with that on your conscience.”
“Right. Well, okay.” I was slightly sarcastic. I think I had a right to be.
I heard the soft voice of my Mom. Tears grew on my cheeks. It’s only a dream, “You were such a disappointment to us. You were a burden on us and I wished I had never had you.” she said.
Shaking my head, I refocused myself. There was a loose cobble in front of me. Relying on digging my way impossibly out of this hole, I grasped the cobble with both hands, fingertips only. I slipped a few times; breaking a nail off and drawing blood, but the cobble came out. Half in the soil and half exposed to the elements was a scrap of paper. I took it, shaking. It said, ’The secret is in the Convent. The Sisters protect it. Let it never be revealed’.
Then the world went black.
#
I woke to find I was in a small cell, where I could smell a mix of perfume and dampness. The place I lay, I felt the roughness and stiffness of concrete. I opened my eyes and found very little light, save for a low level wall light.
“I see you didn’t die then.” said Dick Felsch, “Not sure how to feel about that exactly. But I do have to thank you for doing this for us.”
I eyed him calmly, “Are your parents cousins by the way? Or Brother and Sister?”
I could see Dick’s ire rising, “You’re only alive because my Father wants to make sure you told the truth. That you weren’t lying about the location. Hey, you never know, he might leave you in that world, or maybe he will leave you to me? Well, it doesn’t really matter. After that you’re of no use.”
I looked him up and down, “Did your Dad play Hitler’s speeches to you in the womb? Or poke you with a stick?”
Dick looked to a cell next to mine, “And you, my dear. I have plans for you.”
“And I have plans for you too. I’m sure my plans are less attractive than yours.” It was Lana. She was alive!
“You never know,” said Dick amused, “Father may put you in the machine again. Or one of the others we haven’t tried yet. Then you will have no choice because you will have no control.”
“Then it won’t matter.” muttered Lana.
I felt I had to speak up, “I won’t let him do it to you Lana.”
Lana sighed, “I’m not sure you have much say in it, Doug.”
Dick seemed aggravated. Only a round of ego-tripping seemed to help, “You know how I came to find out about all this? When the Village first lifted, there was a golden opportunity for treasure hunting. I studied Archaeology at University. I joined a group that was to come to the Village. I didn’t know of my Father at that time, but after a while and a few chance meetings, I discovered the secret. I found out from my Father that this treasure of his and my family was buried somewhere in the Village. Alongside the Archaeologists, I took on this little task, of finding what was owed our family. They began to get suspicious when I would wander off alone, or act oddly at dig sights. So I killed them. See, they grew suspicious of my motives, so they had to go. You two, on the other hand, I have no compunction with killing. Because I don’t know you. So I would watch what you say from now on. I can be cruel or kind, friendly or tortuous. Choose carefully your future actions, or the options will grow smaller and smaller.”
There was a pregnant pause, so long the child had been born and already been schooled, “Wow. Does he have a flea up his bum or what?” I said.
“I think it may be an entire flea circus.” joined in Lana.
I think we annoyed Dick, because he stormed out. His ego had been smacked. After he left, myself and Lana broke out of our cells. It was quite easy. The idiot had forgotten to lock them. We made our escape. I checked out the door to make sure the coast was clear, “So what now?” I asked Lana.
“I don’t know.” she said, “Hey, why do I have to come up with all the good ideas?”
I shrugged, “Well, the last idea I had landed me in this cell. I’m just saying, my ability to formulate plans may be a little too improvised in nature. And dangerous. And hasty. One advantage we have is there’s only those two; Marshall and Dickie boy. Plus we have to get your Granddad out too. Providing there’s no traps, we shouldn’t have much problem.”
Yet it occurred some time later that -
“Ok, so there’s traps. Any other ideas?” I asked.
“Do you even know where we are in conjunction to other areas in this bunker?” Lana countered, “I mean, we could walk past a door we need without even knowing it.”
I dusted myself down, creating a cloud of dark brown dust, “I know some of the doors contain a lot of soil.”
Lana stared at me indignantly, “How was I to know the walls in that room had collapsed?”
“It might have helped if you had warned me you were doing it.” I said, looking hurt.
After a bit further investigation, we entered a room full of antiquities. Lana walked in, picking up objects and examining them, “Wow. I always wondered. I mean, it’s obvious when you think about it? Otherwise what was the point?” she said, after a while.
“What are you talking about?” I asked.
“This stuff.” Lana said, pointing to some of that stuff, “I know where it came from. It came from the Museum.”
“The place the Villagers don’t like to talk about? The place that burned down? You know what this means? Insurance job. The place was burned down for the money.”
“Like Irvine Seabrook told us.” she nodded in realisation.
“I wonder why he keeps it all in this room? I mean, rather than display it? Who knows what’s truly on that man’s mind. If he’s still got one. I get the impression he’s lost it somewhere.”
Lana picked up a tattered ledger, “I think I know why. Look, ‘Donated By Lord Marshall, Donated by Lord Marshall, Donated by Lord Marshall’. All these objects were donated by the same person within the same year - 1796. Lord Marshall? An ancestor of our William Marshall do you think?”
“So -” I began, really hoping she was going to fill in the silent gap.
“So, he was taking back what hereditarily belonged to him. This has somehow bled through his distorted mind to collecting everything he is entitled to, or thinks he’s entitled to.”
I nodded, “Just what I was going to say.” I wasn’t. I hadn’t a clue until she said it.
“Right!” she said excitedly, “So that’s all it's been about! The Villagers mean nothing to him. They are surplus to his ambitions.”
“Okay?” I pretended I knew what she was talking about.
“The murders?” she said to some invisible listener in the ceiling, “They’re nothing to do with Marshall. Don’t you see? They are inconsequential to Marshall’s plans!”
There was a pause before I answered, “You got all that from a ledger?”
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