Chapter 34
Mill Tut Burial Mound
Badock’s Wood
Markland, Jodie and Howie sat on the hill. Markland was in the middle, with Jodie to his right and Howie to his left. They had been there for a few minutes, but nothing had happened.
“Perhaps we’re doing it wrong,” suggest Howie.
“There’s nothing we need to do. If anything’s going to happen, it’ll just happen of its own accord,” replied Markland.
“What if we held hands?” suggested Jodie.
“I can’t see what good that would do, it’s not as if we’re performing a séance……. but I suppose there’s no harm in trying.”
Markland took Jodie’s hand in his right, and Howie’s in his left and the three sat silently and waited.
Nothing happened.
“Perhaps we should sit in a circ…..,” said Jodie, but was interrupted by Markland.
“Listen, can you hear it?”
“I can feel it,” said Howie.
The hill emitted a low hum. Howie felt it rumbling through the base of his spine.
“I hear it too,” said Jodie, sensing the hill shudder.
“It’s like it’s vibrating,” she added.
The hill became enveloped in pale blue misty glow.
“I’ve seen this before, something’s happening, something really is happening,” said Howie.
They gripped each other’s hands and waited. It was Howie who was the first to see something.
He found himself walking along a pleasant, but nondescript tree lined residential road. He didn’t know where he was, yet the place seemed familiar. On one side of the road were semi-detached houses, and on the other was a long row of terraced properties. He crossed the road, and carried on walking along the side with terraced houses. He stopped outside a scruffy house with an overgrown garden. The dishevelled unkempt foliage almost obscured a small fishpond. Something about the house caught his attention.
Howie jerked when he heard the door of the neighbouring house open. A man in his mid-thirties wearing a suit stepped out of the house.
“Can I help you?” asked the man.
“I don’t think so, I’m not sure actually,” replied Howie nervously.
“Are you looking for someone?”
“Do you know a man called James Trafford, does he live in this road?”
“No, I can’t say that I do. Why do you ask?”
Howie didn’t reply. He stared at the scruffy house.
“I know it’s a mess isn’t it. I wish they’d sort that garden out, it brings the crescent down doesn’t it.”
Howie nodded.
“Although I don’t suppose they have much spare time. The twins take up so much of their life, and they’re both working full time.”
“Twins? Did you say they have Twins?”
“Yeah, they have little boys. Why?”
“Is your name……….. ,” Howie closed his eyes and tried to remember the name Han had told him.
“……….. Masterson?”
“Yes, Robert Masterson, should I know you?”
Howie didn’t answer.
“Is the lady next door called Helena?”
“Yes, Helena Barrington-Smyth.”
“Barrington-Smyth? You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Why would I, and what’s it got to do with you?”
“So she’s married with twins to Dean Barrington-Smyth, and not James Trafford?”
“I don’t know who you are, but you are trying my patience. Either you tell me what you’re up to, or you can fuck off before I……….”
Masterson’s voice faded, although Howie could still see his mouth spewing angry expletives.
The next thing of which he was aware was the hill, which was still emitting a strange misty blue glow. He looked towards Markland, who was clutching his hand.
“I saw it too,” said Markland. “I saw what you saw, and I heard what the man told you. It was the neighbour James spoke about.”
“He said Helena lived next door and she had twins, but wasn’t with James. She was with Dean. She’s married to Dean Barrington-Smyth.”
“Do you know him?”
“Yes, he used to work with James before he lost his job. We’re all mates, although I’ve not seen much of him lately.”
“I didn’t see a thing,” interrupted Jodie.
“What can this mean?” asked Howie.
“I’ve absolutely no idea whatsoever,” said Markland, shaking his head.
“Come on you two, tell me what you’ve seen.”
Markland and Howie took it in turns to describe what happened. Jodie found it difficult to concentrate on what they were saying. Gripping Markland’s hand tightly, her eyelids drooped and the blue glow of the hill faded.
Jodie opened her eyes and found herself alone in a huge stone building. It was the largest place she’d ever seen. It was dimly lit by row upon row of candles, which gently flickered and created shadows which danced around her. Her eyes grew accustomed to the low light, and she saw that she was in some kind of library which lay ahead of her as far as she could see. She looked behind her and saw the same thing. Books were everywhere. They were above, below, to the left and to the right of her. She was perched on a stone walkway, which had steps leading to walkways above and below. She peered over the walkway and saw the aisles below were also lined with books. Above were more walkways. The walkway had wooden desks at regularly placed intervals. She cautiously walked towards the shelves, and looked at the spines of the books which were closest to her. Each book was around forty-eight inches thick. They were the largest books she’d ever seen. The title of each book was etched in silver text along the spine. She took a step closer, and ran her finger down the spine of one of the books. She squinted her eyes, and read the title as it reflected the shimmering light of a nearby candle.
Steven Johnson – March 18th 1924 – December 8th 1965.
She took a step to her left and looked at the title of the next book.
Steven Johnston – February 11th 2001 – January 24th 2048.
She made her way further along the aisle and read the title of another, which was a few metres away from where she had read the first title.
Steven Johnstone – May 9th 1794 – November 2nd 1837.
“Shit! What is this place?”
Then something occurred to her. She pulled a book from the shelf and was surprised by how light and easy it was to hold. The huge tome which was covered in a fine layer of dust, almost slid from the shelf and into her arms. She carried it to the nearest desk on which stood an unlit candle, a quill pen and a pot of ink. She grabbed the candle, used the flame of another to light it, and returned to the desk.
She looked down upon the huge book, and beneath her breath read the name which was etched on the front in silver writing.
Steven Johnstone – June 22nd 1964 – October 14th 2005.
With trembling hands, she turned to the first page. The paper was the thinnest she’d ever seen, it was finer than tissue, but had a texture like ivory. The text was italic and had been written by hand. Above the first paragraph was a heading, June 22nd 1964 11.02. The paragraph described the birth of a boy, which had taken place in a London hospital. She turned a few pages which detailed the first few days after he’d been born. She skim read the pages and each paragraph described a day in the boy’s life. Some paragraphs were larger than others. Jodie turned the pages and found a paragraph detailing his wedding to a woman called Charlotte. Beads of sweat formed upon her brow as she continued through the book until she reached the final page, and a paragraph which had the heading October 14th 2005 - 22.17. The paragraph briefly described the death of a man who’d been suffering from cancer.
She replaced the book and was struck by a thought. She looked at the books in front of her, all of which had titles which were variations of Steven Johnson or Johnstone. Sh
e climbed the steps which led to the next aisle above, and looked at the surnames on the books which were closest to her. The name she saw was Johansson. She climbed the stairs to the next level, and saw that the surnames on the books were the same. She ascended the next two aisles, and saw that the surnames started with the letter K. She continued to climb to the next aisle, and to the next, and to the next. She looked above her and saw aisles as far as her eyes could see. There were thousands and thousands of them. She picked up pace and climbed the steps to the next level. It didn’t occur to Jodie how easy it was to climb each staircase. She wasn’t out of breath, nor was she becoming tired. She continued to ascend until she reached a level on which the books had surnames beginning with the letter S. The first one she saw was Emily Sanderson, who had died in eighteen twenty-seven. She continued to climb until she eventually reached a level on which the books had surnames beginning with S followed by the letter T. She ran along the hall for what seemed like miles and finally came to the surname Standwick. Eventually she found what she was looking for.
Jodie Standwick – April 1st 1985 – October 28th 2073.
Her heart beat hard as she considered what she was about to do. Cautiously, she removed the huge book from the shelf and took it to the nearest desk. She lit a candle and hurriedly read the pages.
It was like a diary which accounted for every day of her life. She flicked through the pages, which contained memories, and somethings she couldn’t remember or didn’t care to. She became mesmerised by the book and wondered what the hell it was and what it meant.
She flipped the pages and stopped at the entry dated Wednesday 21st October 2015, which was around a third of the way through, and was the current date.
With trembling hands, she held the page and read the paragraph which described her visit to the burial mound. In the book the hill was even named as Mill Tut. The short paragraph explained how she visited the Hall of Akashic Records.
“What on earth?”
The book listed every day of her life, from birth until the day she died. She had an impulsive urge to skip to the very last page, which had an entry dated October 28th 2073, when Jodie would be eighty-eight years old. Her fingers hovered near the final page of the book.
I could find out how I die.
After half a minute deliberating, she closed her eyes, blew out the candle and returned the book to the shelf.
What the hell is going on, what is this place?
She stood alone in the huge building. It was so quiet she heard nothing, other than the beating of her heart.
Then she did hear something. The rustling of pages. The hall was like a whispering gallery. The sound appeared to be nearby. She heard it for a second time, and it seemed to be coming from above.
Hurriedly, she continued to ascend the aisles and the sound became louder. She climbed fourteen sets of stairs, and stopped when she saw the figure of a man sitting at a desk far away along the hall. He was few hundred metres away from her. She looked at the books nearest to her, and saw they had surnames beginning with the letter T etched into their spines.
Cautiously, she made her way towards the man, trying to make as little noise as possible. The man didn’t appear to notice. Eventually, she stood a few feet behind him and saw that he was hunched over a book. In his hand was a quill pen. He dipped it into the pot of ink and wrote something into the book. She stepped closer and still he didn’t notice. Over his shoulder she saw that he was crossing out what had been written, and was adding his own words in the margins of the pages.
What’s he is doing?
She took a step nearer to get a closer look, but the candlelight wasn’t enough to illuminate the page.
Jodie swallowed and took a breath.
“Excuse me, what are you doing?” she asked, in a timid tone.
The man paid her no attention and continued to write.
“Hello, what are you writing?”
Again, the man ignored her.
She stepped forward and walked around to the other side of the desk. She stared down upon the man, who didn’t seem to notice she was there. He was too engrossed in what he was doing.
“Hello, my name’s Jodie, what’s yours?”
Her words where lost. It was like she wasn’t there. He placed the quill pen on the desk, closed the book and sat back in the chair.
Jodie frowned when she saw his face. Her frown turned to a look of astonishment when she worked out who he was. She recognised him from the pictures on Howie’s phone.
“You’re James Trafford.”
Again, he ignored her. He stood up, lifted the huge book, carried it to the shelf and slid it back into place.
Jodie followed him to the shelf, and read the title on the spine of the book.
‘James Trafford – August 28th 1984 – January 17th 2069.’
It really is him.
She tried to speak with him again.
“James, my name’s Jodie. What is this place, where are we?”
Again, he ignored her. She watched him walk away and descend the stairs leading from the aisle.
She followed behind and leaned over the edge to see where he was going. She did a double take when she saw he had gone. Jodie took a step back and shuddered. She felt scared and very alone. She looked along the length of the aisle, and was in awe at the size of the building.
What the hell is the Hall of Akashic Records?
Jodie didn’t want to be there any longer. She’s seen enough, but had no way of leaving the building. There were no doors or windows.
“Help, is there anybody here?”
Her voice seemed muted as if she was in a sound proof room.
“Can anybody hear me?”
There was no reply.
“Please, someone get me out of here.”
“It’s okay Jodie, you’re safe. You’re with us.”
It was Markland’s voice. She could hear him, but couldn’t see him.
“Markland, where are you?”
“I’m here, right next to you.”
She felt his hand in hers.
“I can hear you but I can’t see you.”
Markland squeezed her hand. Jodie opened her eyes, and found herself to be back at the top of the burial mound alongside Markland and Howie.
“Are you okay?” asked Howie.
Jodie didn’t answer.
“It’s okay Jodie, I saw where you were and what you did.”
“Where was I?”
“The Hall of Akashic Records.”
“What’s that?”
Markland had read about the Hall of Akashic Records, but didn’t believe it to be true. Now he wasn’t so certain.
He was about to speak, when all three experienced a sudden pain throughout their bodies, as if they were being dragged through a barbed wire fence. Just as quickly as the pain had started, it stopped. They looked at one another quizzically.
“What was that?” asked Howie
Markland was about to speak, but was interrupted when raindrops the size of marbles bombarded them.
“Come on, let’s get back to the car,” said Markland, helping Jodie up.
The three of them ran towards the exit as rain poured. Then, a bolt of fork lightening lit the air, struck a tree which was a few feet in front of them and split it in half. The following thunder was deafening. Jodie screamed and Howie yelled ‘get down’.
They fell to the wet grass as the tree came crashing down beside them. It had missed them by a matter of feet.
“Is everyone okay?” shouted Markland. Jodie and Howie nodded.
“Let’s get out of here,” said Howie.
They ran to the entrance of the woods and Howie stopped when he reached the street light.
“Shit, my keys. I must have dropped them,” said Howie, searching his trouser pockets.
“I think you dropped them by the monument, I heard something land on the ground before we climbed the hill.” said Jodie.
?
??I need to go back, wait here.”
Howie ran back to the woods, past the fallen tree, and towards the stainless steel monument. He stopped in his tracks.
“Where is it?” he said beneath his breath.
He made out the bench where he and Markland had sat earlier, but the monument wasn’t there.
The rain became heavier. Howie ran back to where Markland and Jodie were waiting.
Markland huddled with Jodie beneath the street light as Howie sprinted back to them.
“It’s gone,” shouted Howie.
“Don’t worry about it now, we’ll sort your keys out later.”
“No, not my keys. The metal monument with the poem on it. It’s not there.”
Markland frowned and Jodie winced, as the rain stung her eyes.
“Let’s get to your car,“ shouted Jodie. Her voice barely audible above the sound of the rain blowing at them sideways.
They continued to Doncaster Road, and to where Markland had parked his car.
“Shit, where is it?” shouted Markland.
“It should be right here,” said Howie. “I remember sitting in it and watching that flickering streetlight over the entrance of woods.”
“It’s not flickering now,” said Jodie.
“Don’t worry about the streetlight, where the hell’s my bloody car?”