Episode 11. The Casebook of Dr Miller- Case 4, pt 4. The Darkness Within.
What if the truth rather than setting one free, imprisoned the mind in utter madness, the truth being more than any mortal can accept.
Written, narrated and produced by Charles Walker
The Casebook of Dr Miller © 2024 by Charles Walker is licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 4.0
contact: thetimetapeschronciles@gmail.com
website: https://www.thetimetapeschronicles.com/
Sound Effects from Pixabay
Ashton Manor Kevin MacLeod (incompetech.com)Licensed under Creative Commons: By Attribution 3.0 Licensehttp://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/
Podcast to follow shortly.
Transcript
It has, I must admit, taken me some considerable time to gather my thoughts and to make a record of the events of that evening and night at Berkley Square. I do not suppose that it is of any great consequence in the grand scheme of things as these recordings may remain hidden and unheard for many decades to come, and in truth, they may never see the light of day at all. However, continue I will.
If memory serves me right, I believe that I left off at the point the five of us had all decided upon a course of action, the undertaking of a seance. The dear lady Silvia was to lead the proceedings in an attempt to contact the deceased sailor, John, or any possible spirts that may inhabit the space.
I had no previous knowledge of such undertakings, the world of séance and spiritualism being somewhat of a mystery to me, and I have to admit that I was ill prepared. Even allowing for my recent experiences, what could transpire during such an attempt to contact the ‘other side’ was entirely unknown to me.
Furniture was moved around in the master bedroom and a space cleared; chairs were drawn in around a suitable circular table that we brought from elsewhere in the house. All lights were extinguished, and the heavy curtains drawn tight. Several candles were lit and placed onto the table before us and Silvia asked that we all join hands to create a circle. She commanded that we do not speak, break the circle, or leave the table while the séance was being undertaken and that such adherence to her instructions was especially imperative in its observance on the instance of any apparition or communication from the spirts. We must not under any circumstances speak or break the circle, no matter how much fear or danger we perceived ourselves or herself to be under.
I have to admit that I was somewhat taken aback by this more forceful character that now sat before us in place of the previously rather demure and quiet Silvia, and my honour bulked at the thought of leaving anyone is distress if such events unfolded.
The room looked gloomy enough without the thought of errant spirits under the flickering of the candles and as we sat in the darkened room our shadows played and danced upon the walls, bringing to mind all manner of horrors, some imagined and some, at least for me, real. Several times in my own revelry I nearly let go of the hands of Harriet and Lawrence and it was only in deference to our host that I resisted. Of the mumbo jumbo (or so I thought to my detriment and shame) that followed, I can recount little as I was more than sceptical of the efficacy of such an endeavour, my mind being more pre-occupied with my previous experiences in that god forsaken house. I had witnessed voices and apparitions, and I had fled from that place as a child might flee from the site of some minor misdemeanour, a stolen apple or taunt to a group of older, stronger children, and fear of the retribution to follow.
It was not until I felt about me the deepest of chills in the air, witnessing my own breath as a cold pale fog emanating from my mouth, that I snapped out of my revelry. The room was deathly silent, the air hung still as the grave (an unfortunate term I realise), the candle flames barely flicking. Silvia sat motionless the whites of her eyes shining with an unnatural light, her countenance deathly pale, her breathing low, ragged and uneven.
‘Flee this place, for I have seen the truth, and the truth is more than any of our kind was meant to witness’.
‘Pray for death, as the truth is beyond death and beyond baring’.
The words came as a piercing hiss into that stillness. Silvia’s mouth did not move, and the voice that uttered those words was not hers even though there was no doubting that she was the source of the dire warning.
There was a taint to the air, unidentifiable but somehow familiar. A sweet sickly odour that burned into the nostrils and left one nauseous and afraid. With hindsight, it was a smell that I had witnessed every working day of my life – the lingering odour of death and decay. As if this was not enough there coming from the hallway was a chilling laugh, the laughter of a child, yet somehow not that of a child, a malice was in that laughter that no child could express in their lack of years and experience.
We all at once snapped out of our separate and private thoughts, apart from Silvia, who remained motionless in her seat. Hands were dropped, lamps were lit in a frenzy of activity, tables bumped, and chairs jostled. All faces turned to the motionless figure of Silvia. She did not move although the colour in the newly born light slowly began to fill her face. Her eyes! Her eyes were still a cold pupilless white.
All thoughts of the voice and of the chilling laughter were pushed aside as we variously stood or sat horrified at the sightless eyes that stared past us all into and possibly beyond that room and mortal sight. Harriet Bedlam was the first to Silvia’s side reaching out in concern and re-assurance – maybe it was her training in nursing or pure kindness, but it was not what I expected of her considering her forthright, matter of fact, and bordering on the insensitive manner up until this point. Silvia, seemingly coming to her senses, waved the concern away and informed us all that this was not a regular occurrence after making contact with the deceased, but it was not also not to be unexpected and that she would be fine, and her sight would return within some minutes or at the most a handful of hours. The breaking of a circle without closing did not come without consequence. Her pupilless eyes nor blank expression betrayed even the slightest disappointment in our part in this state of affairs, although I felt it keenly anyways. I think we all realised then that we had all defied the instructions we were all sworn to abide by before commencement of the séance. We must not under any circumstances speak or break the circle, no matter how much fear or danger we perceived ourselves or herself to be under.
‘When the deceased look through our eyes, even when they have returned to whence, they came, their essence sometimes holds onto the sight of living world, finding it hard to let go of what they once possessed and still yearn for’.
‘Their connection will diminish as their energy dissipates, the living life force being stronger than the departed spirts.’
Laughter once again came from the hallway and the sound of small feet running, a door slamming and bouncing back open, the hinges creaking to a stop. Lawrence scanned our group sheepishly- ‘We can’t leave Silvia alone in this state, I shall stay by her side no matter what the cost’, the proclamation had a false air of gallantry about it and I for one instantly saw through the false bravado. I had presumed the man to be of little backbone on first meeting, and so it seemed I was to be proved correct.
Fagin, whose voluminous overcoat had all evening hung wrapped around him, pockets and oddly shaped folds bulging with heaven knew not, produced from under the folds the most antiquated and ridiculous looking Blunderbuss – there was no doubt however that it was a most dangerous weapon and if not to the intended target, then more than likely to the wielder. My own hand went instinctively to my service revolver. Fagin continuing to search within his coat proceeded to fish various indiscernible items from his multitude of pockets ramming them into the horn of the barrel. The man’s shabby clothing, unkempt hair, mutterings and constantly roving eye did little to instil faith in him. He was as likely to shoot us and to ransack the house as he was to aid in our purpose. I was to be proved wrong, as unlike Lawrence, he proved to be a faithful and resolute companion in the face of the unknown, and if I could, I would make apology to him, even though he had no inkling of my thoughts. Time, as will be revealed shortly, did not allow for any amends on my part as to my unfortunate and ill-conceived impression of his character.
Silvia stood and walked straight past us all, her sightless eyes belying her swift and accurate navigation of the room and its contents. Nods were exchanged and we followed in shocked silence, Silvia walking ahead with purpose and with no sign of being unable to discern her route. Lawrence looked less eager to follow and undoubtedly rued his proclamation of remaining at Silvia’s side, all chivalrous charade spoiled and as insubstantial as the last whisps of smoke from a snuffed candle.
She stopped suddenly at the library door which stood half open, a noteworthy observation as we had closed all of the doors after our arrival and orientation of the house in an effort to cause obstruction and also a visible indication of movement if any events took place. As such our actions proved true to their intent. She pushed ahead into the neat and tidy space, crossing the room to stand before one of the tall bookcases, and we followed obediently as ducking’s after the hen. Raising a hand Silvia pointed once again to the empty space on one of the upper shelves, the only empty space, the books on one side leaning in slightly as if to the occupy the untidy vacancy left by the missing tomb.
Traversing the room, I noted with somewhat of a chill that ran the entire length of my spine, that the doll left by Harriet Bedlam was not gone, but rather it had been rather contorted, it’s head twisted to face opposite to that of its body and the limbs folded into crooked angular protuberances.
‘It was here, it still is. Not in our here and now, but it is there. I can see more clearly, and I understand’. The last seemed to be spoken to herself and not for our benefit or understanding if indeed there was any understanding to be had. The proclamation of ‘I can see more clearly’ was also not lost on me considering her current predicament.
She turned suddenly, starling Fagin and nearly setting off the blasted weapon in his hands. More disturbing by far was the shape that lingered by the doorway, indistinct, yet that of a child or so the mind presumed if indeed such a distorted and tortured being could be a child. I stared harder and rather than the vision before me resolving into sharper detail it seemed, if possible, to become more indistinct, more elusive in its form. It laughed or so I thought, the sound I perceived to be more in my own head than of the direction of that… words fail me. The shape, no other word seems to fit, rapidly distorted, dissolving and reforming moving further into the corridor and from view.
We followed, what drove us to follow I know not, instinct, fear of losing sight and not knowing where it was, allowing it the advantage for whatever its purpose may be, or did it draw us forward against our own will? Gaining the hallway it was once again visible moving impossibly upward along the staircase wall, the movements jerking spasms and against any movement that mother nature intended. The limbs, if they could be described as such, bent in ways that sickened the stomach, more insectile than human. There came from my left a sudden deafening explosion of sound, plaster crashed down from the wall filling the air with a chocking plume of white dust while our ears rang mercilessly.
‘Sorry, I, er slipped’ Fagin shrugged, the barrel of the Blunderbuss shrouded in smoke. He leaned in close to me, ‘I hate books. The constant chatter and noise. They never stop talkin’ they don’t’. He turned away and riffling through his pockets, began reloading his weapon, as though his revelation was as natural as commenting on the weather or the latest Cricket Score.
Lawrence had dropped to his knees. A pathetic sight that I berated even in my own fear and disgust of that which I had just beheld. ‘Good god man, pull yourself together’. The face that looked up at me, tears in the eyes, held none of its customary superciliousness,. The eyes were rather childish and pleading. ‘I don’t want to go upstairs father, there are, are, things in the dark’. Lawrence burst into tears, arms and hands hugging his frame that shook with great sobs. He continued to mumble between those sobs that racked his entire body. The man it was evident had totally lost his marbles.
Silvia elected to stay with Lawrence as Harriet, Fagin and I followed the creature further up into the house. A few short minutes had seen two of my companions seemingly disabled and we knew not what events were to come. Harriet Bedlams face was a hard mask, and her eyes seemed to gleam in the gaslight as she mounted that staircase. My soul shivered. I was it seemed, to face whatever haunted this house with a bumbling scoundrel with a blunderbuss and a hard, possibly psychotic nurse from London’s most infamous mental institution. Was there any hope? Should I have left this house far behind me after my previous unfortunate visit? There was nothing for it now, too late for second thoughts and too soon to walk away.
Scampering and skittering ahead of us the form inevitably led us to the furthest point of the house, the nursery and nursery maids’ quarters. We all stood atop the landing considering what the next few moments might reveal and if we may subsequently leave unaffected by those events to come. Nurse Bedlam pushed forward a look of determined inquisitiveness on her face.
We found our quarry at the furthermost corner of the nursery, the rocking horse, dolls house and scattered toys an odd contradiction to that which lurked before us. Infuriatingly intangible it shimmered, jittered and twisted before us. The head for want of a better frame of reference, twisted unnaturally in relation to the rest of its form to observe us. I had up until this point put the annoying buzzing in my ears or rather my head down to some effect of shock or adrenaline, however close to this changing form it was almost unbearable, and I saw both Bedlam and Fagin shaking their heads as if to ward off some annoying flying insect.
Through the noise and disorientation I felt that I saw that it held something. I saw, a book! Pulling myself from my discomfort I shouted to the effect of this and that this must be the book Silvia had referred to in the library. ‘It must not leave with it’ I screamed above the incessant humming; ‘we must get that book’. I felt as though my head was on fire, something was pushing into my brain, into my consciousness. I felt, though no words were apparent, that I was offered something. That I was offered knowledge and ‘understanding’ if I would only submit to its influence. I only had to say ‘yes’, to lower resistance and all would become clear and known to me. I would no longer wonder about anything, I would know, I would be free from all doubt and concern, all indecision, any care about the insignificant details of existence. I would be FREE. I had no mind for my companions at this point, it was all I could do to hold my head and defy the need to scream out loud, or to simply let go and acquiesce to the suggestion that with every moment that passed seemed to be more and more reasonable and inescapable. The form before me felt more solid with every passing second and although I could still not entirely focus upon it, I saw, no felt, no comprehended, that it was beyond mortal understanding, beautiful, almost Angelic it its nature, God like.
I did not this time hear the shot from Fagin, I simply observed part of the wall disintegrate, the form flung itself towards and between us, I fired, a primordial reflex rather than conscious decision. There was also another shot, and I felt a hot sting in my shoulder.
It was a few moments before any of us gathered our senses. Harriet Bedlam lay slumped against the wall, I found myself clutching at my shoulder, warmth trickling through my fingers. Fagin stood staring at the ceiling above us. I turned my gaze to follow his and I watched as the form dissolved into and through the solid surface before us. Fagin took aim, I shouted, ‘No. The book and whatever that thing was is lost to us, and was, is, beyond our capabilities’. Fagin shrugged and lowered the weapon, ‘fuckin books, nowt but trouble, mark my words’. he and subsequently I turned our attention to Harriet. Harriet it was evident had been shot at my own hand, I at hers, as I now noted the small pistol that lay discarded in her lap, her hands now clasping her abdomen. Fagin and I in the kind of stupor that only follows as momentous event half helped; half carried her down the seemingly never ending stairs to meet the others halfway down. Lawrence still sat sobbing although now moved against the wall, Silvia next to him, her eyes still pale white.
I commanded that we needed to leave this place with all haste and Silvia unquestioningly cajoled a barely resisting Lawrence to his feet and out into the street.
Rain was falling heavily into the night, yet as is the case in London, a cab was not far away and on a determined whistle from myself we were able to gain our escape from Berkely square.
Nurse Bedlam recovered, I believe personally it was through sheer spite and revelry in her ‘work’ at the psychiatric hospital that she defied death. She never mentioned the manner in which she was shot, and Fagin backed me in the rouse of a robbery gone awry. Lawrence was institutionalised in the very same psychiatric hospital, I hope not under the care of Harriet Bedlam, although I fear she would have found some way to take interest. As I record this, I have been over a long period of time, visiting Lawrence and his mind remains broken save the occasional bout of lucidity. The man it would seem is to be forever in the state of his childhood self and the fears that he expressed only once in that house.
For me, I had only sustained a graze and from what some may call a peashooter, a very small calibre gun. My mind was another matter. Something had changed, and I now took very little happiness in things, seeing the end of things in all that I saw. The beautiful flower that would over time wither, the laughter of a child that would as nature dictates one day become a death rattle. Maybe in some small way I came to see some of the ‘truth’ in things.
Fagin and I, as unlikely as it may seem, became friends, if friends I now have as with all things even in friendship, I see its transitory nature and ending. He will still not look at a book and I have never asked what he meant by his words on that staircase. However he, like I, seems to have been drawn to a study of the esoteric and the events and things that a more sensible person would leave well be.
Silvia also became if not a friend, an acquaintance that has helped me several times. Her eyesight did not return for several weeks, and she has confided in me, although not as to the detail, that she has seen the same creature or being that we witnessed in the house in her own home. It watched her yet made no attempt to harm her. She confided that it was not the only one, during the time of her blindness to this world she saw through her own window and when being led by others in wider society - others, they mingled in rooms unseen and followed some as might a shadow. The form witnessed through her sightless eyes I found was akin to my own experience in the attic space.
Harriet Bedlam made no further contact, however from my infrequent visits to see Lawrence and through discrete enquiries, not really wishing to see the woman again, I am aware has risen through the ranks to a prominent position. I sometimes wonder by which means as more than one of her predecessors vacated their positions through seemingly untimely but not as such suspicious deaths. I believe her to be more than a capable woman.
I often wonder what it is that Lawrence fears so much and that caused his mind to retreat into that of his childhood. I fear for what he may be seeing in that state.
I also fear for what I may see and although I do not see as Silvia did, I often glance to the corners in a darkened room, wondering what may lurk there unseen.
