Daedalian Muse Read online

When I had the time the following morning to return to my film I found that they did not develop properly. Whether it was a disturbance that affected the film, a spiritual presence that was imprinted, or my own error based on the fact that my father was the one who always developed the film I was not sure. Nonetheless I had no tangible evidence except for the word ‘Suladead’ scribbled on my blotter. I was quite disappointed, and was trying to work up the courage to make another attempt inside the Mews, in part to take new photos and in part to see if I dare dive further into the unknown. I was faltering in my resolve, admittedly fearing that which was unknown to me, and was thankfully saved by two interventions. One was the memory of my father, who feared nothing, and the other was a visitation by Jill.

  She knocked at my door and entered, bewildered by the trays of developing fluid, the sheets that were stripped from the bed and hung over the curtains, and the lines of string that stretched across the room, hanging spoiled images.

  “Good morning,” she said, dressed in what I would refer to as her ‘work clothes’.

  “Ah, Jill, what a welcome sight.”

  “I don’t get that too often,” she said. “I’d have been up sooner, but your landlady forced me to eat a second breakfast.”

  “She is a dear. Tell me, did Nicolette take any offence to another young lady visiting my quarters?”

  She seemed confused by the question. “No...she didn’t say anything. She looked tired and hung over, tell you the truth.”

  I shook my head and made a mental note that I should have to help her deal with her addictions, as I wanted our union to have a good clean start. Nonetheless...

  “I am thinking of returning to the site.”

  “Good. You just saved me the trouble of trying to convince you. I borrowed this,” she said, handing me a small device unlike anything I had ever seen. It looked vaguely like a camera, but...

  “What is this?”

  “A digital camera. Tell me you haven’t seen one before.”

  “I haven’t,” I admitted.

  “I’ll teach you along the way. Get your vest on, mate. Let’s go.”

  We followed our usual path, stopping along the way so that Jill could pick up her air rifle and stash away her dress. She insisted that the rifle was 'just in case', and I must say I did not attempt to dissuade her. She had worn a black t-shirt and shorts under her dress, and with her hair tied back in a pony tail and her hiking boots on she looked more as though she were ready for a jungle expedition. She was obviously enjoying the sense of adventure more than she was focusing on the sense of danger, which made me question her inclusion, but to be honest I wanted another person with me. Not out of fear, otherwise I’d attempt to find someone bigger or stronger, but rather because she seemed to have a rational mind and, despite her superstitions, I would trust her eyewitness account, or at least more than I would trust that of anyone in this village.

  Over the stream, through the rubble, and into the wreckage, we found ourselves standing once again before the door that led to the basement. Jill holding her ‘digital camera’ and myself holding her air rifle, we each took a deep resolving breath and, with a nod to each other for good luck, I reached out and opened the door.

  I dare say we were a little disappointed.

  While the area was not devoid of anomalies, it nonetheless did not bare any of the unexplained mystery. Gone was the warm orange glow. Gone was the hum of a hundred hushed voices. There even seemed to be a chill, rather than a warmth, radiating from below.

  “Perhaps...perhaps it was all in our minds...” I theorized.

  She shook her head. “No. No we saw something.”

  I picked up the discarded flashlight, for though it was dimly lit I had no idea how many darkened corners I’d have to beware of. I took a few steps down and stopped, pointing at the landing.

  “Get a picture of that,” I said, directing her to the wall where the word ‘Suladead’ was once displayed. It seemed to be gone, or at the very least obscured by the lack of illumination.

  “I’ve got enough room for about two hundred pictures,” her voice said shakily behind me. “I’m taking pictures of everything!”

  I swallowed my fears and quickly descended to the bottom. I heard Jill gasp, possibly thinking that I had tripped, but in truth I felt as thought I had to force myself down to the bottom before that inherent superstitious streak managed to make it’s voice heard. Facing a blank wall I immediately pointed the gun left, then right. There was nothing but darkened corners of an old musky basement.

  “It appears safe,” I whispered. As she slowly descended behind me I examined the wall. The letters were gone, but I could see vague markings on the wall. “It's been washed clean,” I commented quietly. She snapped a few pictures. I moved on.

  As I came around the right side of the staircase I found the basement to look no different than most others. There was old furniture and storage boxes, some damaged by the fire and some only damaged by time. Cobwebs and mould dominated over all. Little daylight made it this far, so I turned on the small flashlight. Though it helped very little, the occasional flash of the camera managed to illuminate corners of the layout for a split-second in time. We were also able to look at the illuminated photograph on the small screen of her ‘digital camera’, which proved to be most valuable. She snapped an image of the southern end, and the display showed only an old bed-spring propped up against the wall. We scuttled along further, and she took a picture of the eastern end. The display showed a wine rack, which might have still been of value if the bottles were all intact. The small beam of the flashlight was growing weak, and by this point very little daylight aided us. For our own safety I considered turning back and returning better prepared, but as the flash of Jill’s ‘digital camera’ burst I caught a quick glance of an entryway into another area. We looked down at the image displayed.

  A figure, stood in that entryway, stared back at us.

  As Jill screamed in fright, dropping the camera, I immediately reacted, albeit a bit rashly. I pointed the rifle and fired. I heard the pellets ‘ping’ against the far wall, beyond the entry. I had fired four shots in quick succession whilst Jill scampered about to retrieve her camera. Once she had recovered it her hands clutched onto my arm. She gasped the words ‘oh my god’ over and over again. My heart beat well beyond it’s normal rate. Every hair upon my body stood on end. I had to remind myself that it was in this hyper-sensitive state that simple things are often and erroneously attributed to the supernatural.

  “Take more pictures,” I said in more of a gasp than a request. I saw steam arise from my breath. Perhaps the chill was not just down to the fear after all. In as quick as a succession as her device would allow Jill snapped pictures, panning a complete revolution and illuminating every corner. There was nothing.

  “Go back to that picture,” I whispered.

  “Sod that, let’s get out of here!”

  “It looked like a centurion. Roman. It doesn’t make sense.”

  “Ghosts don’t make sense, Tempus, and neither does our staying here.”

  “There’s a door over there.”

  “Oh God Tempus, you’re a slasher’s wish come true.”

  “Stay close to me.”

  “Like I’m going anywhere else.”

  “Take a picture over there.”

  “I’m too afraid to look.”

  “Right there.”

  “Here, you look.”

  I looked at the camera display. The door was only a few feet away, and we were approaching at an angle. Curiosity compelled me when my better sense told me to leave and seek better provisions.

  “Can you hear that?”

  “Oh my God.”

  “It’s a humming sound.”

  “Oh my God oh my God.”

  “I think I see a light.”

  “Oh my God oh my God oh my God.”

  “Right here.”

  We rounded
the corner. A figure fluttered past us then vanished into thin air. Jill shrieked, but I stared on ahead. I nearly lost all sensation in my arm as she gripped it so tightly, but upon taking sight of what I too saw I felt her fingers loosen, if only slightly.

  It was a wall of sheer pink light. Radiating a warm luminescence that was not seen nor felt only a few feet back, this opaque wall seemed to emanate a soothing sense of ease. Our rapid breaths, which seemed to synch themselves together, both eased to the point where the gaps in-between created an almost deafening silence.

  Through this wall of light I was able to see vague shapes and forms, like figures who flickered in and out of existence, but were never truly tangible, at least from this side of the wall. Another figure fluttered past us, jumping out of the wall before vanishing into nothingness. We had both gasped as it soared out to our left, but as we turned back to the wall we saw another lunge at us. It was a man dressed in tanned hides wielding a sword, and he roared out in a distant cry as he charged between us. We each dashed in opposite directions to avoid him, but though we were not quick enough to completely escape contact we nonetheless felt nothing. He passed through us, thrust his sword as though the subject of his assault were behind us, then he too vanished into thin air.

  “Tempus, what the hell...”

  Hell. I dare say that thought crossed my mind - a gateway to another realm - but I quickly beat it away with other such ludicrous notions. There was, as always, a rational explanation. I looked off to the right, where a few odds and ends that were once stored in these quarters were kept. I found a curtain rod, and reached over to pick it up. Holding it like a spear, I slowly lunged it forth, into the pink wall of light. There was no disturbance, no ripple as though passing through water. No disturbed apparitions. When I withdrew the rod it was perfectly intact.

  “Is it okay?” she asked.

  “It’s perfectly fine,” I commented. “It’s not even warm.”

  I looked at the rod, then at the wall.

  “Oh don’t tell me you’re even thinking of...”

  I reached my hand out, towards the wall. I can't say I was giving my actions much planning, however I did note that I volunteered my right hand. Seeing as I am left-handed, I considered this a rather strategic piece of subconscious contingency planning. Shaking slightly in both anticipation and uncertainty, I plunged the sacrificial limb through the field of light.

  “Anything?”

  I shook my head. I felt no sensation whatsoever. I could still see my hand through the wall, but it was vague and very faint. I moved my fingers and I could see the corresponding movements on the other side.

  “Okay, now pull it out,” she pleaded.

  I looked to her, then to the wall.

  “Tempus, don’t you dare,” she gasped. Not only was she concerned for my safety, but I daresay she didn’t want to be left on her own. “Please! It’s not worth it!”

  I paid no heed, which I in retrospect was selfish towards her sense of vulnerability.

  I took a deep breath.

  I closed my eyes.

  I took a step forward.

  As I passed through I exhaled, for it was only at that moment that I considered the fact that the void I so bravely entered might have been vacuous. A moment of fear, wherein I was too caution to either inhale nor further exhale, soon gave way to the instinctual need for breath. Fortunately this did not prove problematic.

  It was an odd sensation of absolutely nothing. Darkness engulfed me, but that was mainly due to the fact that my eyes were shut. I heard no sound, not even the slightest shuffling of my own feet. My clenched eyes unveiled a landscape that almost defied description, though I shall diligently attempt to do so. I turned to assess the wall of light I had penetrated, however it was no longer pink but largely transparent. Whilst on the other side I could barely see through, on this side I was able to see quite clearly back. It was like being on the other side of the mirror. Jill held herself, an uneasy glance cast out of the corner of her eye. Yet she did not move, not even to tremble. It was as though she herself had become one of her images taken on her ‘digital camera’. I turned back to the vista before me and took it in. Below my feet and just before me was a concrete floor, the very foundations of the Mews with it’s ceiling above me. To my left was a rolling field with clear blue skies above, whereupon a herd of sheep hovered. To my right was a small road upon which a man led an ox cart to amble, warily watching the crimson dusk clouds. Each landscape merged into the other so that I could not tell where one began and the other ended. Despite the fact that these landscapes were summer scenes, I was nonetheless frigidly cold. My senses, I assure you, were struggling to piece it all together. I dared to step forth, and as I did so the image of the cellar before me shifted, changing to a battlefield where I found myself in the midst of a fray, in which Anglo-Saxon warriors clashed. I cried out in fright, the sound of my own voice sounding miles away and only clearly heard a few moments later, as though I had shrieked to the far ends of the earth and back. With a staggering step backwards the image of the cellar returned, and I was once again standing before the frozen image of Jill.

  To my left, however, was the disturbing image of a lady having relations with a young man, who pinned her up against the wall. I shook my head as I took in the image, but as I steadied myself and sidestepped ever so slightly, it quickly returned to the image of the sheep.

  One thing was made clear - if I wanted to make it back, I had best not move from my position. As I took in my surroundings I wished that I had Jill’s ‘digital camera’, for I wondered if modern technology could possibly capture an image that defied every rule of space and time that was yet known and theorized. The shepherd came to tend to his flock on my left, while on my right the ox cart had reached the horizon and a gang of young rogues had passed him, perhaps making their destination the very place he left.

  I could let my intrigue govern me any further. I had taken a bold step without forethought nor planning, and had pushed my luck far enough. I feared for Jill’s safety as well, as her immobile form was quite disconcerting. I moved off to her left so that I would re-emerge away from her, lest I stumble or fall. My mind wrought with causality, I felt as though I were about to walk into a pane of glass, but the dishevelled laws were in enough upheaval to allow such an act go unscathed. I closed my eyes and stepped forward.

  Once again the darkness of the cellar engulfed me.

  “Holy crap! Tempus, are you okay?”

  I was startled by the realization that I was. “Quite,” I replied. Aside from the racing pulse, which I checked against my watch with my finger to my neck, I was quite alright. “Fascinating,” was all that I could say. “Just...fascinating.”

  She came over to me, patting me over as though to make sure I was intact. “It’s a dimensional door or something. A gate. It has to be.”

  A plausible theory, but nonetheless...

  “What do you mean, ‘it has to be’?” What could she have seen to lead her to that conclusion?

  “Tempus, the moment you went in over there, you came out over here. Your leg had only just vanished when your arm came out in this very spot. It was like you walked right through one door and came out another. It's a portal or something! The cake is not a lie! It was instantaneous!”

  Her commentary upon pastries and teas was confusing to me at the time, and even now in retrospect, however it was hardly my focal point. “Instantaneous?” I repeated, wondering if I had heard her correctly. “Jill, I was in there for at least five minutes.”

  She looked at me blankly.

  “That’s impossible.”

  “Show me your watch.”

  She lifted her arm. I withdrew my pocket watch and placed it alongside her digital timepiece.

  “Hm,” I quipped. “It seems I was wrong. I was actually gone for four minutes. And thirty seconds, to be exact.” I showed her my watch. “My watch is thre
e minutes and twenty seconds fast.”

  “What do you mean...?”

  “Our watches were out of synch by only ten seconds. I know this because your watch beeps on every hour, and on our journey here I happened to look at my watch and noted that it struck the hour ten seconds before mine.”

  She looked at me blankly. It was not that she didn’t understand, but rather that it was far too much to grasp in the confusion of the moment.

  “Dear girl, it seems as though one of us has defied the conventions of time.”

  CHAPTER TEN