That's a very dangerous word. Laddie, what do you mean, exactly?”
“I mean that I think that what inhabits the basement of Jolimont is not our every-day ghost. Perhaps we could, you know, bring it forth and put on a show.”
He blinked, “What makes you think that? You haven't been dabbling in dark arts, have you?”
“No. Not I!”
“You – you didn't summon that thing, did you?”
“Professor, no! You see, I have been reading books.”
“Books? What kind of books?” he probed.
“Well, I had this dream, only I don't think it was really a dream, not like my normal ones. I mean, I could feel and smell and taste everything, only it wasn't real,” I tried to explain, “And there was this enormous palace, only it wasn't a palace, not like something you might expect to see, and there were these voices, and an etching of an altar in stone...”
I looked over at the Professor, who was looking back with knitted eyebrows.
“You don't believe me.”
“I believe you. That's why I am concerned. For Jolimont was stagnant, and now, all of a sudden an angry entity lurks within the cellar. Just how many of these books have you read?”
“Quite a few, not all on the same topic. I had to work my way through until I found what I think might help.”
“These books are causing you these nightmares.”
“I read them after I had my dream.”
“And how often have you had these dreams?”
“Just once. Last night.”
The Professor did not look convinced, “Answer me truthfully. Have you read aloud any of the words in these books? Performed any incantations? Intentionally or otherwise?”
“No, Professor.”
“You cannot fool around with these things!”
“No, Professor, believe me! Listen, please. I spent today at the library. I was supposed to be resting, yes, but please, listen. I approached this as scientifically as I could, and based upon what I have experienced, I think I found what it is that we are up against. Look.”
I took the book from my satchel and carefully placed the heavy book on the desk.
“This is dangerous reading,” he mumbled as he skimmed through, “You can forget about using this to any advantage.”
“No, don't close it just yet. Look, I have marked this page. See?”
He pushed the book back at me, “No. We are scientists, not magicians. I'll not enter into this folly.”
We sat down, the book sitting between us, unsure of what to do. He looked at me from under his cantilever brows. I avoided his gaze. I felt strange. I could not sit still. My hands fidgeted constantly. Tenebrous thoughts crept into my mind.
I broke the silence, more as a way to stop those thoughts, “I am sorry that I mentioned summoning the entity before. That was a selfish thought that, really, I would not normally entertain. Honestly, my mind has been entertaining odd ideas, and I don't like it.”
“I see.”
“I think something is wrong with me. And it has something to do with Jolimont.”
“That seems to be true.”
I pointed to the book, “I think that the author of this book knows about it, too.”
He slowly leant forward, creaking in his chair, then opened the book to my mark. He placed his spectacles carefully on his nose.
His eyebrows rose and fell like they were riding the waves of an ocean, at some points so high I could see the vessels in the whites of his eyes, other times so low I lost sight of his orbs altogether.
Suddenly, he jumped out of his chair. He had forgotten to put his cup down. Tea spilled about, which I hastily cleaned, while he swore, muttered and rummaged about through his notes. Eventually he came back with a stack of paper.
“Let me see... Let me see,” he mumbled, rifling through the leaves, “I have seen these before, yes, only it was for a sacrificial offering. Or was the sacrifice actually a binding? Pah! No matter, no matter. The context is the same. And this isn't orthodox, no, it's an offshoot, more akin to wizardry, or even Druidism or sorcery! Sorcery!”
His eyebrows popped. His mouth hung loose.
He put his notes down, “Oh, dear.”
He rummaged through his drawers, muttering and cursing in a frenzied manner.
“Darn it!” he cried, throwing his finger in the air.
“Professor? Are you feeling well?”
“Oh, dear! Where could it be?”
“Where could what be, Professor?”
He waved his arms about, “My darning kit! I always keep it handy for my socks.”
It was at this point that I thought his mind had broken. Stress manifests in different ways and, looking at him empty the contents of the drawers on the floor, I supposed it was simply a matter of everything coming to a head.
“Um. You have holes in your socks?”
“Had. I had holes in my socks,” he said, looking up with annoyance, “Past tense. That's why I keep a kit close by. Keep up, will you? Better yet, start looking!”
I half-heartedly searched the kitchenette while he scrounged through the cupboards. I heard a whoop as he found what he was looking for.
“Come on, laddie! Bring your gear!”
“What is it?” I asked, getting my satchel.
He glared at me incredulously, “A bloody needle and thread! What does it look like?”
“No, I meant, what...”
The bell rang downstairs.
“Oh, not now, Miss Fitzgerald!” the Professor huffed as we thumped down the stairs, “Too much is at stake! Did you forget – oh!”
Rather than finding Miss Fitzgerald standing at the door, Sergeant Hart and Constable Waverley were there with grave countenances.
“Hello, Sergeant,” the Professor said as lightly as possible.
“Hello, Professor. May we have a word?”
“We're, ah, just popping out. Can it wait?”
“I am afraid not, Professor, no,” he replied, “And I'm sure you know why. If you'd like to discuss this inside?”
“No. Not really.”
“It wasn't really a question, if you catch my meaning.”
“I'm a bit busy.”
“Really?” the Sergeant said, “There have been some serious allegations brought against you. I would have thought a man of your position would prefer such matters to remain out of view of the public eye.”
“We're already well within the public eye!” the Professor snapped, “That's not the issue. The issue is that we could have a very serious problem on our hands if we don't act quickly.”
“I'd say you already have a serious problem...”
“Not like that. Look, Sergeant, you've known me quite a while and –”
“I'm not about to perform any favours.”
“I'm not after a favour. I need you to accompany me back to Jolimont Street, if you will, after which I will be happy to follow you and answer any questions you might have,” the Professor said, “Willingly and openly.”
The Sergeant looked at his colleague who, in turn looked at the pair of us and shrugged, “Couldn't hurt, Guv. These two aren't the trouble makin' type.”
The Professor prompted, “Time is of the essence.”
“We were going to investigate the house after we locked you up. Guess we'll just do it in reverse. Alright, but no funny business. And you can explain on the way.”
The Professor did his best to explain the situation in terms that the police might understand. The Constable sat with a dumbfounded expression. Sergeant Hart only strummed his chin in, the only region of his jaw without hair, between scribbling notes onto his pad.
“Right, so let's say this phantom of yours did mess up the cellar, and there ain't nothin' fishy goin' on,” the Constable interjected at one point, “What's with the whole life-and-death thing.”
“Firstly, my young Constable, it is more likely a demon that we have come in contact with, an evil beast that has never roamed the Earth in human form. This, by it
self, is cause for urgency,” the Professor said.
I noted the colour of the Constable's face drain.
“Secondly, the beast has most likely been summoned at some stage, through the use of an esoteric ritual, bound to this realm by sorcery.”
“Well, if 'e's bound, he can't do no 'arm.”
“Not any longer! If I am correct, and the good Lord knows I wish I wasn't, the cloth used within the ritual to bind and control the entity was compromised by my assistant, rendering the beast free to roam in this world!”
The Sergeant and the Constable both looked at me. I held up my palms.
“It was an accident! I needed somewhere to sit!”
The Professor clicked his tongue, “You couldn't have known, laddie, and we must play the hand we're dealt. Sirs, the cloth is what binds the beast. If you will help me secure it...”
“No fear!” Constable Waverley said, “You can do your hocus-pocus by yourself!”
“Constable! The Professor may believe this tosh, but that doesn't mean that you must as well. Act like the man the city needs you to be,” the Sergeant reprimanded, “Hello? What's all this, then?”
As we pulled up at Jolimont, an ensemble was milling out the front.
The Beast
When we arrived at the house, Missus Butterfield was already out the front, excitedly exercising her God-given talent.
“... and then just like that the whole door burst out! Of course, I was out the back, minding my own business, but I heard it alright, for how loud it all was, and you can see for yourselves the damage. I had a look inside, just in case anyone was hurt, you know. Aye, and such a mess that you've never – Sergeant! Constable! You've arrived!”
The Sergeant cleared a path through the throng, nudging gently with his truncheon. While it took me a few seconds to surmise the situation, the Sergeant clued on