Authors: Mark Latham
‘They told me that there were small portals such as these opening up across the world, and that they were somehow linked to the rise of spiritualism. I could see no connection, but in their world the practice of magic and mysticism is not a supernatural art, but more of a science. They believed that spiritualists and theosophists had somehow roused energies that man was never meant to dabble with, and strange phenomena were occurring all across the globe as a result. They showed me to their lab, where several supposed psychic mediums were wired to incredible electrical machines, being tested for who-knows-what. These psychics appeared fairly well treated, but it was obvious that they were prisoners, and not volunteers. Isolated in the far north, we were apparently beyond the worst of the psychic phenomena, and thus the experiments were comparatively safe to conduct; but the scientists told me that elsewhere, in the cities and towns where human beings dwelt en masse, the very laws of physics were being upset. I began to read their notes, even assisting with their experiments where possible. They said they would help me return home if they could, but our camaraderie and spirit of cooperation was altered soon after, when a telegram arrived from Washington.
‘My arrival seemed to have changed everything. For the first time, a human being, with a soul and a conscious mind, had crossed between two universes. All of the terrible things that the Othersiders feared were lurking beyond the veil—and they were not afraid to use the word “demons”, gentlemen—were starting to break through. Scientists across the globe were struggling to prevent an upswell in ghostly manifestations and violent explosions of pure chaos, and it all coincided with the time of my journey through the portal. Some members of their expedition sought to turn me over to the authorities in the United States. They mentioned that I would be taken thence to London for “study”. It seems that on the other side, the reach of the British Empire is long indeed. The greatest nations have come together in the common interest, ruled by a shadowy cabal who use any means to preserve the world as they know it. It is led by an Englishman known only as Lazarus—an enigmatic dictator, it seemed to me, sworn to lead his people to salvation from the growing esoteric threat. The scientists explained to me that the people needed to believe that God is on their side, and judging by how much this Lazarus fellow is both feared and respected, I’d say he likes to play God more than a little.
‘Thankfully, there were others who spoke for me, and determined that they could set things right, if only they could find a way to send me back rather than turn me over to Lazarus. In the end, it was this latter group who won out, and for that I am thankful.
‘They subjected me to some unpleasant study, which I will not delve into. Some of it was of the type that our best scientists would mock, but in their world, with their incredible scientific apparatus, they were able to achieve astounding results. They used magnetism—the very thing that I was studying as a philosophical pursuit—as a genuine science and found some method to use my own innate biological energy to create a limited portal. They were incredibly excited by the breakthrough, as I am sure you can imagine. A life’s work, come to fruition in a few days—they believed they could now create a device that could, by using vibrations, magnetism and high-frequency sound, pull a person or object back through the veil and into their own world. They would not use it upon me, however, for they did not think it possible for a being to survive the process. This device is, I believe, what the Otherside agents now use to retrieve their dead.’
James paused to take a sip of water, and I took the opportunity to ask a question.
‘If I may ask, Mr. James, if you did not return by those means, then how did you find your way back home?’
‘The same way I got there,’ he said. ‘They used their new discoveries to make a good many adjustments to their old equipment. They had been monitoring the window for a decade or more, to no avail, and I had provided them with a test subject for experimentation. Through the use of some marvellous sonic and electrical equipment, and the concentration of the psychic subjects’ powers, they were able to harness the rift between worlds, to create a portal big enough for me to pass through. Whereas previously they had been unable to create a stable portal in thin air, we had hit upon the theory of gateways to contain the energy of their strange devices, focusing the power from their machines as a glass may transform the diffuse light of the sun into a tiny point of heat. The psychics conducted some form of meditative séance, entering a trance-like state while wires conducted electrical impulses from their brains. As the portal opened, the demons that the Othersiders spoke of were clearly visible to me, probing for ingress into the real world—as real as their world is to us, at least. When I stepped into the portal I had no idea what would happen. Even the scientists themselves were not certain—they knew that our two universes were linked somehow, but if there were other universes out there, which one could slip into accidentally… well, if that had happened, I would not be standing before you now. Remember also that the apparatus we used was experimental. They believed they could only open the gateway for a few seconds at most, and warned me not to stop moving until I was back in my own world—and under no circumstances to turn back and attempt to cross through or even touch the portal. I cannot explain what I saw as I crossed over; it was like an hallucinatory dream, but when I finally re-emerged into the Alaskan winter, I saw the portal fizzing and glowing behind me for mere seconds before vanishing. It worked, of course, and here I am.’
‘And this… portal? Can it be reopened? Can they still use it?’ The question came from Melville.
‘The natural portal that I used to cross over in the first place is now closed—I could not find it again upon my return, and many others have tried and failed to do so. There is a detail of soldiers posted to the very site of that phenomenon, standing watch in case it reappears, and anyone—or anything—should pass through it. The Otherside scientists said something about the amount of power required to maintain a portal for any length of time being almost impossible to generate. Before I left, the scientist in charge, a certain Dr. Leiber, told me that it would be theoretically possible to create larger portals for longer periods of time, but that even these would be limited in their application. Most notably, as I have described, a body could perhaps only travel in one direction, and never back and forth as one might wish.’
‘Convenient,’ sniped Colonel Stirling, barely loud enough for us to hear.
‘Mr. James, you mentioned earlier that the Othersiders were here on some dark business, and mean us ill. Yet the men you describe sound rather beneficent. Perhaps you can explain?’ This was Sir Toby, asking a question to which he evidently knew the answer already.
‘Certainly, Sir Toby, although what I know has been pieced together from various intelligence, and owes much to my own speculation. I believe that the other world is in dire peril, from the predations of supernatural entities. I was told as much, and saw evidence for it with my own eyes. I fear that my crossing over may have accelerated the process. Their agents are finding ways in and out of our world, and whilst here they are assassinating psychics and mediums, and doing Lord knows what else. And it can only be for one purpose, gentlemen. They have decided to abandon their world, and take ours for their own.’
This caused much disquiet amongst the party once more.
‘But why kill these “psychics”?’ asked Jim, speaking up for the first time. ‘Do they fear them for the harm they did to their own world?’
‘Perhaps. I have oft wondered if the Othersiders wish to eliminate all such folk from our side, so that there is no similar threat to them if their plan to take over our world succeeds. The death toll so far would certainly suggest so. Captain Hardwick and Mr. Hanlocke can attest to the fate of one unfortunate Mr. Jeffers, a noted medium of the East End. Perhaps the Othersiders fear that our psychics could be used as weapons against them. As Sir Arthur intimated earlier, psychic abilities come in rather handy for detecting them portals between worlds, or at least for identifying potential sites for infiltration and escape. I am certain they are also used for creating them, at no small human cost. I believe that by eliminating psychics—and by that I mean any spiritualist, clairvoyant, gypsy fortune-teller or ceremonial magician who displays inexplicable mastery of their art—the Othersiders are removing opposition to their plans.’
‘So when their plan is complete, will they turn on their own psychics to avoid a repeat of all this chaos?’ asked Jim.
‘Perhaps not. What they gleaned from me during my short stay is that no violent supernatural phenomena had occurred in our world, even though spiritualism had been on the rise for the same length of time. Their dabbling in the supernatural has had quite terrifying consequences, whereas ours has not. Perhaps our two worlds operate under different scientific laws or, simply, maybe their world lies in closer proximity to some incorporeal realm than ours.’
‘Closer to hell, more like,’ muttered Ambrose.
‘But they would slaughter us all to achieve this end?’ I asked.
‘Yes. I believe so. Gentlemen, you must understand, the Othersiders may have brought this on themselves with nothing more harmful than table-rapping séances, and yet they must surely have convinced themselves that we started this conflict. If I had known what strife I would cause by exploring that damned portal, I never would have done it. I am somehow responsible for firing the first shot, and, make no mistake, we are at war.’
The hour drew late, and there were few more questions before Sir Toby brought proceedings to a halt. We were all sworn to secrecy once more, and told that instructions would be forthcoming so that we might further the investigation.
As we filed out of the room, both Jim and Ambrose made a bee-line for me, but my mind was full of questions that I had not felt it right to ask in the meeting. I asked forgiveness from my friends, and instead walked briskly along the corridor to catch up with a lone figure with whom I wished to speak privately.
* * *
Sir Arthur Furnival was an unusual man. I was vaguely aware of his being wealthy and hailing from a powerful family, but his bearing conveyed none of the formidable aspects of his peers, those such as Sir Toby. He sat opposite me in the library, which was now empty of clubmen, and swilled black Turkish coffee around in his cup, staring wistfully into the liquid as though it might bear secrets yet to be foreseen. In the background, silently, Sir Arthur’s man, Jenkins, stood motionless. I had been given leave by the gentleman to speak freely in front of his valet, and I wondered just how many of his master’s—indeed, the nation’s—secrets Jenkins was privy to.
‘So, you say that you have some sense of what will come to pass? Like a medium?’ I asked. I had pressed Sir Arthur on exactly what insight he had into the plans of the ‘Othersiders’—a word that I still struggled to use seriously—in the hope that he could aid my ongoing enquiries. He had informed me, quite matter-of-factly, that he was himself of possessed of some small psychic talent, which was how he had come to assist Sir Toby. I at once regretted talking to him, but etiquette demanded I see through the meeting.
‘Not quite a medium,’ he said, his voice low and soft, ‘although I do have some experience in the spiritualist arts. No; my gift is altogether more… unpredictable. It comes to me in flashes, which at times are difficult to interpret. Jenkins calls it “the Sight”.’ He smiled at that, but rather sadly.
‘And through this… sight… you have seen the anarchists?’
‘In a manner of speaking. It is more that I have felt their presence, and more keenly still the presence of their gates. If William James is to be believed, on the other side, people like me are used like laboratory animals, to tear holes in the very fabric of reality. One man’s seer is another’s weapon.’ There was a bitterness now to his tone. ‘Perhaps what I feel is not the intrusion of the anarchist agents into our world, but the pain of the poor souls who help them cross the veil. To many psychic vessels such as myself, suffering calls to us far more readily than love.’ He winced as he said it. If he was a charlatan, he was deeply entrenched in his own delusion; for my part, I believed that whatever pain he himself was feeling, it was genuine.
‘You said during the meeting that I was right about Chelsea Hospital,’ I said. ‘But when I went back there, I found nothing.’
‘I cannot explain that,’ Sir Arthur said. ‘I visited the site, and found it steeped in psychical energy, which was evidence enough for me. Too much time had elapsed, maybe. Perhaps the physical traces left behind by the gateways fade over time, as the veil between worlds is restored and reality reasserts itself. The same can be said of the Othersiders themselves, of course. We are dealing with an enemy who, over time, appears never to have existed. The perfect spies, wouldn’t you agree?’ He sipped his coffee.
‘If only we could all vanish into thin air at will,’ I said. At that, Sir Arthur seemed to scrutinise me, with a look not unlike that which Melville had given me earlier that night. I saw for a moment some of the authority and calculating wits that usually came with a position such as his; and realised that Sir Arthur should not be treated lightly due to his subdued and gentle manner. He was as like to be as astute—and perhaps even as dangerous—as Sir Toby, if need be.
‘Sir Arthur,’ I said, ‘I thank you for granting an audience, though perhaps we should talk more another time. The hour grows late and you will want to get away, I’m sure.’
‘You are right, Captain. If I may be of any assistance in the future, you may contact me through Sir Toby. I am only too happy to help.’
We both stood, and Sir Arthur extended a hand, which I shook. And then something most strange occurred.
Upon touching my hand, Sir Arthur twitched as though he had received some electrical shock. His hand squeezed mine tightly, and his eyes became momentarily glassy. He gasped, like a drowning man emerging from the water, and before I knew it Jenkins was at his master’s side, prising his hand from mine and steadying the baronet. Sir Arthur recovered quickly, and waved Jenkins away before taking a breath to compose himself.