The Outsiders (16 page)

“
In truth, it may already be too late to save your position
here at the museum and I feel that, even were you able to retain
your post, it might be unwise for you to remain. This place, these
offices, I fear you would soon succumb once again to the madness
that has led you to this sorry state. It might be for the best if
you were to seek employment elsewhere away from that accursed
staircase and its spirit.”

The gaze
he bestowed upon me was filled with sad resignation. “You are right
of course. I cannot remain here after all that has
occurred.”

Drawing
himself up from the bench, he had apparently decided upon his
course of action, though it was clear that it was not one which he
would have followed willingly. Never the less I was relieved to see
this new determination in my young friend which spoke much to me of
his resilience under the most difficult of
circumstances.

He turned
to look about his laboratory, taking in, perhaps for the first time
in many weeks, the chaos that his madness had wrought upon the
place. He shook his head slightly and turned to me with a new air
of resolve.

“
Thank you doctor, thank you for coming to help me. You may
return to the directors and inform them that I will put my affairs
in order here and will then meet with them in the morning to
discuss the swift resolution of this matter. You may assure them
that no scandal will be associated with the museum and that I will
follow their direction, and yours, in the matter of my
future.”

I
regarded the young man for a moment, searching for any sign of
deception but saw nothing in his tired but honest features that
would indicate any falsehood.

“
Good. I am greatly relieved that you have come to your senses
over this matter and I am sure that you are making the right
decision. You will find that once you leave this place behind you
the memory will quickly fade.” I smiled warmly at him. “You are a
young man with a great future ahead of you. This small lapse of
good sense will soon seem nothing more than a bad dream I assure
you.”

I turned
towards the door and, when I reached the landing, looked back at
Deacon who had moved to behind his strangely placed desk. “I will
of course speak on your behalf with the directors and I am sure
that they will do all they can to ensure your reputation is
untarnished and that a new place of employment is found for you
with all possible speed. Do what you must to put the laboratory in
some semblance of order but then do go back to your rooms. Do not
stay here tonight. There is nothing for you here now. The nightmare
is over. Tomorrow you start your life anew.”

For the
first time since I had disturbed him, a genuine smile appeared on
Deacon’s face. It was slight but it was there, more in his eyes
than on his lips but a good sign none the less.

“
Goodnight Dr Trenton, and thank you.”

“
Goodnight Matthew. Sleep well. I look forward to taking tea
with you tomorrow.”

“
Perhaps. We can discuss that tomorrow.” He turned away from
the landing, back into the room, not bothering to see me descend
into the shadows of the stairs and leave the building by that
strange, haunted door.

4

That was
the last time I ever saw Matthew Deacon in life or in death. The
following morning his laboratory was found to be returned to its
former, well ordered state and there was little sign of the turmoil
that had been so apparent only the evening before. All the
artefacts were returned to their racks, the books to their shelves
and the equipment and furniture to the positions it had occupied
for so many years before Deacon’s mania. Anyone entering the office
on that warm August morning would have had no suggestion that
anything had been amiss. But there was one thing that was missing
from this scene of scientific study. Of the archaeologist himself
there was no sign.

Initially
this did not give cause for concern as I had already reported to
the directors on the previous evening that I had advised him to
return to his lodgings for some sleep once he had finished in the
laboratory. When I arrived at the museum at just before ten he had
still not made an appearance but given his obvious exhaustion this
was not unexpected, if a little foolish given the precariousness of
his position with his superiors. By eleven I had begun to have some
concerns and asked that one of the curators be dispatched to his
lodgings to enquire as to his health. The man returned inside
twenty minutes to report that Mr Deacon had not returned to his
lodgings on the previous evening, in fact had not been seen by his
landlord or neighbours for a number of weeks.

On
hearing this news and with a cold fear rising within me, I
accompanied the directors up to the laboratory to examine the scene
in the hope of ascertaining some clue as to Deacon’s whereabouts.
It did not take a great detective to find the evidence for which we
were searching. Lying upon the polished top of his large Victorian
desk, now returned to its rightful position in front of the tall
sash windows, was an envelope, addressed to myself and within it a
single sheet of paper bearing a handwritten note. In a moment of
bemused detachment I noted the fine steady hand in which the letter
had been written. There was no sign of mania or undue mental stress
and it could so easily have been a note inviting me to tea at the
café that afternoon. To my eternal regret it was no such
thing.

Dear Dr Trenton

I have chosen to address this last missive to your good self
as, above all men, you have shown me such kindness and tolerance in
these difficult times. For that I will be forever
grateful.

I know this will be hard for you to understand but your visit
last night really did achieve exactly the effect you desired. It
freed me from my demons and allowed me to see clearly for the first
time what I must do to ensure an end to this troubling state of
affairs.

It is also clear that your visit had an effect on more than
just myself. After you left I began to arrange my affairs in just
the manner we discussed and, as I am sure you will agree, I have
returned the laboratory to a state in which my successor should
have no difficulty in picking up the tasks that I have
unfortunately had to leave to his good care.

Although I was already aware of what the night would bring, I
was reassured when, shortly after ten, I heard the familiar sound
of the door at the foot of the stairs being opened and that light
footfall upon the steps leading to my landing. I approached the
door and found, just as I had expected that, for the first time,
the lady in question had not passed me by on her ascent into the
darkness but was instead stood at the foot of the second flight of
stairs waiting for me. She was waiting for me Robert. And as I
approached the door she turned her face to mine and I looked at
last into those wonderful deep pools of light and love that were
her eyes.

She awaits me now, just outside the door for she will not
enter. I am to go with her into her world and I go, you may be
assured, with a fearful yet joyful heart. At last I will know the
truth of who she is and what fate brought her to this place. One
day, perhaps, you too will know that answer. I will be awaiting you
when you decide to take that journey.

Thank you again for all your kindness and be assured that I
will remain, always, your friend,

Matthew

There was
no more. No sign of my young friend was ever found though the
museum and the police conducted their enquiries with the utmost
diligence. The idea that he had actually left this life in the
company of a ghostly apparition was never seriously considered and
the authorities had little choice but to leave matter as
unsolved.

After
Matthew’s disappearance the post of conservator was left vacant and
the duties of the position were transferred to the Shire
Archaeologist and the University authorities. The laboratory was
converted into storage rooms and, because there was now no need for
so many secretarial staff, the offices were also transferred to the
main museum buildings. As a result the old Victorian stairwell was
visited far less often and encounters with ‘Maud’ became less
frequent.

Not that
they ended entirely. There were still sightings of the girl in the
summer dress climbing the stairs into oblivion but the reports that
returned to me were now subtly different. In all the many years
that she had been climbing those stairs, not a word had ever been
reported passing the lips of the apparition. But now, more often
than not, sightings were accompanied by the sound of gentle
laughter or whispered speech, as one would associate with lovers on
a country walk. No word could be clearly heard but the tone was
warm and carefree.

And on more than one
occasion, although the spirit was apparently alone on the stairs,
it was reported that her words were clearly answered by another
voice, equally loving, warm and carefree. The voice of a young man.
The voice, I have no doubt, of my good friend Matthew
Deacon.

MYTH

Ian Faulkner

‘
You can’t stay in your
corner of the Forest waiting for others

to come to you. You have to go to them
sometimes.’

A.A. Milne (1882-1956)

53° 19.44' North Latitude 131° 57.31'
West Longitude

Graham Island, British
Columbia

McKinney wasn’t sure just how long the
two of them had been running and fighting their way through the
dense forest. But it seemed like it had been a whole
lifetime.

Deep scratches from the flaying
branches they had been forcing themselves through must be covering
his face, he realized, if the salty burn of his sweat was anything
to go by.

He held up his trembling hands in front
of him as he weaved forward up a slight rise, and through a rare
area of clearing. He needed to know what kind of condition they
were in.

They were lacerated too, he noted; raw
and bloodied; fingers and palms bleeding from his efforts of
tearing a path through dense copses of trees and entangled
undergrowth that had cruelly hampered their flight.

Yet, strangely, he thought, they didn’t
hurt him at all.

His lungs however, were another matter.
They felt like a pair of shredded fluttering balloons contained in
the raw burning cavern that was his chest. His shirt now adhered to
his flesh; a flourishing new hide that was comprised of filthy
ripped cotton combined with rank sweat and pungent fear.

McKinney had to stop, even if it were
just for a few moments.

He gratefully came to a breath
shuddering halt. Putting out a hand, he tried to support himself
against the nearest cedar.

The bark felt rough to the touch of his
fingers, unyielding; and yet somehow it comforted him with its
ageless solid strength.

His whole trembling body oozed copious
amounts of salty sweat; seemingly from every pore he had, giving
any exposed surface of the skin an oily unpleasant layer of
sheen.

The clouds of midges and other buzzing
insects, those tiny hateful denizens of the forest closed in on him
instantly, sensing the feast.

McKinney was too fatigued to even
attempt to bat the miniature whining harpies away. He just let them
be.

The young girl, Bobbie, who had been
just a little way behind him in the tree festooned, nightmarish
tangle, finally caught crashingly up to him scant seconds later,
and she stumbled out of the tree line to join him.

She came to a faltering, swaying rest
beside McKinney, and leaned her tall willowy form tremulously
against his sodden arched back; the sounds of her breath dragging
in and out were horribly tortured gasps.

McKinney, so exhausted, that even this
simple act of elicited comfort from Bobbie was almost enough to
push him wearily down to the forest floor.

With a supreme effort, he straightened
up; forcing himself away from the cedar tree’s welcome respite and
in doing so, shoved his female companion unceremoniously back and
away from him.

However, with some slight vestige of
chivalry, McKinney did manage to turn round in time to support the
woman’s sagging form so she didn’t end up falling onto the moist
mulch of the dank forest floor. That effortless act on her part
would have meant certain death for the young woman.

They had to keep moving, McKinney
instinctively realized. It was their only real hope of surviving
this nightmare.

The others in the small study group
that had once numbered twelve only a few hours earlier had
foolishly tried to make a stand. They were now all gone.

McKinney believed in God. He did…in the
Holy Father and his infinite mercy. So why had He let these
appalling things happen to them? Why?

He attempted to close his mind off to
the terrible ways in which he had seen and indeed heard his ten
fellow theology students and their professors die. But McKinney
couldn’t ever quite manage it somehow; the grotesque images and
sounds of their awful deaths would not leave him. They echoed in
his mind…ripples on a bottomless blood-red pool of
abomination…horrors that no one should ever have to
witness.