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Stella NovaDreamSpace OneThe House On Yesterday Hillby Maree Sole and Matthew Pavletich |
The hill overlooking the town was barren. No trees would grow there and it was believed by the more superstitious of the villagers to be an old witching ground. But architects are a practical sort, and no silly old legends would deter an altruistic man like Bill Ramsey from utilizing the finest piece of real estate around. So, in a matter of months the early Victorian pile was dominating the skyline of the little town.
8th August 1888
It was the evening of a housewarming party and the new host had suggested, as an after-dinner game, a seance in his well stocked, brand new wine cellar. The stone flagged room echoed to a mixture of pseudo-mystical chanting and shushed giggles.
After half an hour with no success, a crash of overturned chairs, shouts and screams erupted. Several of the guests fled immediately, and those not fortunate enough to have their carriages at hand opportuned the host to help them leave this accursed and unhallowed hall.
No one stayed at the house that night, or indeed subsequently for a very long time, the owner having given up any pretensions of living in the country. His solicitors, appointed as landlords, saw no reason to try and explain to any short term tenant how the strange figure-of-eight-shape was incised into the stone floor of the cellar with the curious magenta-colored dust that collected in the grooves and defied banishment by even the stoutest of cleaning ladies.
8th August 1988
It was a black night with no moon. The wind faintly stirred the stunted shrubbery at the feet of the two who stood before the front door of Ramsey House.
Argon made to open the door, but instead let his hand drop, and turned to look questioningly at his female companion.
"Are you sure that what we're looking for is inside the house, Amethyst?"
"Yes, I'm sure, Argon. Whatever it is, is on the lower level."
Argon sighed and opened the door. As they passed the dusty hall mirror it showed a small, dark-haired and sharp featured man, casually but smartly dressed in shades of grey. In step beside him was a slight, auburn-haired woman with a pleasant round face.
Her silky, pale mauve culottes rustled as she brushed against the hall table. It was the only sound in the otherwise empty house. As they reached the entrance to the parlour/living room, Argon turned to face Amethyst.
"Are you picking up any manifesting emotions?"
"No."
Argon indulged in a moment of irritation.
"Well, we are in the right place at the right time."
They moved into the parlour/living room. Amethyst idly fingered one of the dust sheets covering a chaise lounge.
"Why don't you check the other rooms on this floor?"
Argon shrugged. "What am I looking for?"
"Anything that's not contemporary. I want to find a link to this house's past."
Argon left her to whatever she was doing and poked around three rooms before coming upon what had obviously been the butler's pantry.
In the far corner stood a peeling hatstand, missing one of its four legs.
*Amethyst?* he called. *I think I've found something useful*.
Her light footstep sounded behind him and she moved forward to pick up the hatstand. She closed her eyes and held it a moment, then still with eyes closed, she moved past Argon and out into the large kitchen.
"Is it here?" said Argon. She ignored him and hesitated in the center of the kitchen. The hatstand seemed to pivot of its own accord then up-ended to point straight down at the grubby linoleum-covered floor.
They exchanged a look and then Argon stepped forward. He motioned her aside and held his hand out palm down. A bright point of light coalesced below it, colour changing to blue. A wisp of smoke drifted up from the lino beneath him as he moved his hand in a large square pattern about himself. Then with a diffident motion he knelt and peeled back the cut and melted lino square. Below it was the original stone flagged floor of the kitchen.
The stone flagg they had been standing on had a ring set into the middle of one side. Argon bent and grasped the ring, pulling it in one smooth motion. Whining a little, it pivoted on its counterweight to reveal a steep flight of steps leading downwards into darkness. Amethyst set down the hatstand and followed Argon as he descended the steps, generating a source of light from his other hand.
A musty odour assailed them as they negotiated the steep stairs. Argon's light revealed a stone flagged cellar. Reddish dust swirled about their ankles as they cast about the low-ceilinged room.
"Is this it?" Argon sounded vaguely disappointed. A look of revulsion crossed Amethyst's face.
"Yes. Oh definitely yes," she affirmed. Argon kicked at the dust then bent to scoop up a handful. He stood and regarded it thoughtfully.
Then he looked up at Amethyst's sudden gasp of horror.
"What's wrong?" he frowned. Then his palm suddenly felt moist. He looked back and saw that the dust had become a thick red liquid. With a grimace he let it trickle away.
"You're right. This is the correct place," he said soberly.
He drew himself up to his full height. With a brusque "Get back up on the steps," he spread both his hands out in front of him. Amethyst shielded her eyes so didn't see the brilliant flash of pure light, though she saw it on her closed eyelids. When her eyes re-adjusted, Argon was standing on the now clean floor. She moved to stand next to him as they contemplated the incised design there.
"What do you suppose it is?" she asked.
"I know very well what it might be. And if it is, things have suddenly become a little clearer. Amethyst; have I ever told you about the Arachnis, and how it enjoys taking advantage of the silly little people who play with things they know nothing about?"
"No, but I'm not the expert on their occult practices."
Argon rubbed his chin. "It always requires a trigger, usually a coincidence in time and place. Black magical practices can weaken the fabric of space-time. That has happened here, and somehow, two coincidental events are about to bear fruit."
Amethyst regarded the design on the floor. "So you think two things that happened, what is the connection?"
"I don't know yet. But that's what we're here for." Argon walked around the symbol.
"It is the key. Eight. The shape of the figure eight has significance. What is the date today?"
Amethyst's reply was tinged with comprehension. "The eighth day of the eighth month of nineteen hundred and...."
"......eighty-eight." Argon finished, nodding sagely. "Now lets take that another step: The hatstand...." It appeared suddenly in Amethyst's hands.
"It became a witness on the eighth day, eighth month of eighteen eighty eight."
"Yes," Argon waggled a finger, "That date is significant. Let me see it."
Amethyst tilted her head back and closed her eyes. A few feet in front of her, an image seemed to project itself upon the very air. It expanded around them, until it filled the room.
Argon and Amethyst remained unseen, regarding a group of fashionably dressed people conducting a seance in a party atmosphere. Suddenly one of the women glanced down to where the hem of her dress brushed the floor. her eyes widened in horror. She saw that the floor was awash at least three inches in blood.
Chairs overturned as the scene became one of panic. Argon raised his hand. "I've seen enough", he said tersely. But before Amethyst had a chance to stop the projection, another scene overlaid the first, like a picture coming into focus. They saw the image of a man in rough ceremonial robes, a dagger upraised in his hand. Wild chanting was audible growing more frenzied as he brought the dagger flashing down on the squirming form of the young girl he held fast.
"Stop!" Argon said. The image vanished, collapsing in on itself before disappearing. Argon looked thoughtful.
"Human sacrifice is common during occult rituals, is it not?" Amethyst said.
"Yessss," he replied slowly, absently. "That sacrifice took place on this very spot, 200 years ago, yes?" Before Amethyst could reply he hurried on; "The eighth of the eight, eighteen-eighty-eight, a seance. Same date: 1788, that barbarous act which awoke the Arachnis and created the time bilocation. Today," he said, jabbing a finger in the air for emphasis. "The eighth day of the eighth month - 1988; it is finally strong enough after feeding on the time continuum power after both eras to break through on this, it's very own birthday." He appeared mildly triumphant with his conclusion.
Amethyst folded her arms. "How about if you could somehow break the bilocation by disturbing the time sequence?" Argon raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to continue.
"If that sacrifice happens, say, a minute later, the very moment that they hit upon the triggering chant phrase in the seance, it will no longer coincide."
"What was the time at that point?"
Amethyst thought for a moment. "Eight minutes past the hour of eight pm."
"And what is the time now?'
Amethyst smiled resignedly. "One minute past eight."
"Right," said Argon, rubbing his hands. "Amethyst; I want a hole in time at the moment of the dagger's up swing."
"How long do you think you can hold him?"
"The Arachnis will try to force its way through the hole in time you have made, so you had better fend it off, until I have had a chance to break the bilocation.
"That wasn't what I asked you," Amethyst muttered, but too low for him to hear.
Argon took up his position at the point where the two ovals of the figure joined.
"We haven't much time. You had better start," he said, flexing his fingers.
Amethyst moved closer, but was careful not to stand on the design.
She pressed her palms together and then made a curious motion, opening the palms of her hands but with fingertips still touching. Then reversing the action until her fingertips were splayed like the petals of a flower. Argon reached between her hands and she moved them slowly apart, her brow knitted with the effort. Argon appeared to steady himself. He spared her face a glance. "Rerun the projection and standby to synchronize."
Abruptly Amethyst's hands began to shake.
"Argon, it's trying to get through!" she hissed.
"Hold it steady," he snapped, "It's nearly time." The projection showed him an indistinct figure, one arm bringing up the gleaming instrument.
"It's seen us, Argon!"
"Hold it steady," Argon hissed in his turn. And then he lunged forward, his arm disappearing to the elbow. His muscles bunched with the effort as he caught and held the point of the descending blade in his palm.
The Arachnis changed tactics, scrabbling around the hole in time.
It attacked the fraying edges, trying to widen the gap. But Amethyst moved faster to relative time, blocking its attempts to gain a foothold. Suddenly, the weakened time fabric steadied and Argon snatched his hand back.
"Close it!" he snapped. Amethyst brought her hands together with a clap that reverberated around the cellar. They stared solemnly at one another. "Did it work?" was left unspoken.
Instead they both slowly looked down at the floor, which was now innocent of any mark.
"Satisfied?" Amethyst said, a trifle smugly.
Argon merely raised an eyebrow. "Yes. For the next hundred years, anyway. Arachnis isn't dead, it simply got it's meal a little late. We will have to ensure that no one plays silly little games in this place at the appropriate time and date."
They mounted the cellar stairs and Amethyst replaced the hatstand in the butler's pantry without another word.
Then they departed, not troubling to use the doors.
The End