She thinks of counting the trees she sees, but the planting is too random, and the fat rubbery leaves or long palm spikes far too unusual. They are best not counted. Let them just be. The ground is made of thick compost. She has seen compost in bags. Her father once tried to grow tomatoes in a bag of compost that he slit down the middle. Sophie did not like this and eventually he got rid of it. Plants grew in the ground, not in bags. Tomatoes came from the supermarket in nice shrinkwrapped punnets, their skin perfectly clean, perfectly shiny. She liked to stroke them with her thumb. She did not eat them because they were not spaghetti but she liked to touch them. They were not misshapen and dirty from the compost or rain. This is not how tomatoes were. She does not like the compost on the floor because of this. But the compost is there and nothing can be done about it so she must try not to think about it. The rest of the vegetation is OK. It is thick and it has taken away most of the sky (like in the forest). This is OK, as long as she remembers that there will come a point when she leaves the jungle and there will be a lot of sky. She does not mind the creepers, does not mind the noise of the parrots above her head, does not mind the shuffle of undergrowth either side of her as other creatures move through the leaves. All of these things are normal in a jungle and so they are fine.
Then she finds something that is not normal in a jungle: she finds a man sitting against a tree. He turns his hands towards her and they are very wrong indeed: they are bleeding and there is a branch stuck in one of them. This is something that Sophie can put right. She walks over and carefully removes the branch. The man is silent as she does this, which is good as she needs to concentrate on not being too scared by the fact that he is there. Once she has removed the thorns she decides the simplest thing is to walk away, then she can stop worrying about the fact that the man is sat there.
"Wait…" he says as she leaves, "please… wait…"
She stops walking and thinks about things. It is wrong that he is there but then it is wrong that she is there. Perhaps now both of them are in the jungle it is no longer wrong, it is no longer a strange "one thing. It has happened twice. Twice means it might happen three times and four times and five times and six times… When something happens this many times it is not wrong any more. So maybe it is better to stay with the man as that will prove that her being there is not wrong. Also it will prove that he is not wrong either. This will be good. She turns and looks at him again. He seems the sort of man you would expect to see in a library, quite old – father old, not grandfather old – and with smart clothes. Perhaps a professor. Perhaps a doctor. Perhaps a teacher. Perhaps a social worker. Perhaps.
She sits down. She will do as he says and wait.
He doesn't move. Sophie thinks he is probably emptying himself though she cannot hear the sound of his hums. After a few minutes he begins to move his arms and legs. He begins to talk to her but she has forgotten to listen because she is thinking about how all toasters must have setting number four on them so why bother with the rest? Why put settings on things that you do not want to use? Isn't this a waste of time? Isn't this trying to confuse people?
The man gets to his feet and walks over to her. "A disturbing place, certainly, a nightmare of a building but… full of possibilities." These are the words he says but she has no idea what they mean as they carry on from other words, words she has not heard. She thinks about answering him with a smile but they do not sound like smiling words so she just stares at him and hopes he will not ask questions she cannot answer.
"I'm talking a lot," he says, and this is a fact so she is happy. "Nerves, I expect."
Sophie gets to her feet and walks into the trees. She means him to follow her and he does. He says something more but she does not hear it. She is sure it will not matter. Then she remembers he knows facts and so she decides she will make a special effort to listen so she can learn more facts. Facts are good.
There is a lot of jungle and this makes walking through it difficult. Sometimes the plants tug at her clothes and hair and this makes walking through it difficult (and reminds her of her grandmother, always hugging, kissing, brushing). The Man Called Alan keeps talking about facts and this makes walking through it difficult. She remembers to listen to some of his facts. This is what they are:
- Alan knows about the box.
- Alan has spent a long time looking for the box.
- Alan has spent a long time reading about people who have owned the box.
- Most of those people have vanished.
- Some people came back (but very very few).
- Those people who came back said the box took them to a house. Two or three people saying that makes it right so Sophie agrees that the other people who vanished probably went to a house too. But they did not come back.
- They are not in a house, they are in a jungle. This is strange (and might be Wrong).
- Alan sweats a lot but this is probably because he is Fat.
- There is something else in the jungle, following them (but this does not upset her as much as it seems to upset Alan; this is a jungle, of course there are other animals).
There is one other fact she discovers and this is a big fact and is so Wrong that she has to sit down and empty herself after she has learned it.
"Oh, my God," Alan says, "that's unbelievable." Ahead of them the jungle appears to disappear. Between the leaves and branches there is nothing but darkness. This is not the fact. Though it is a fact.
Alan walks forward and touches the darkness. "Unbelievable…"
This is the fact:
The jungle is surrounded by a wall of glass.
CHAPTER NINE
"It's all about finding the entrance," Carruthers explained, "which, when your door is a black rectangle on a black background, can sometimes be rather hard."
"One can imagine," said Penelope.
"Which is why I have come up with this!" Carruthers opened the wardrobe and pulled out a bundle of rope and planks. He began to uncurl the contraption. "The Carruthers Reality Bridge!"
"It's a swing, " said Miles, "the sort of thing children play on."
"Ah, but this is no toy, dear boy!" He pointed out of the window. "You will note that I have constructed a pole that juts out from yonder balcony. The traveller hooks the ends of the rope to aforementioned pole so that, when lowered into the darkness on this wooden platform…"
"Or 'swing seat'," Miles interrupted.
Carruthers gave him a defensive look. "Mock all you will but I have made this journey countless times and know of no other way to leap from one portion of this domicile to another."
"Countless times?" Penelope asked.
"Countless, my dear!"
"Countless?"
Carruthers laughed and threw his hands in the air. "Very well, you devilish woman, four times, happy now?"
"As long as we all know where we stand."
"Or rather sit," Miles said. "So, we go swinging next to the outside of the building… what then?"
"Firstly," replied Carruthers, "you must prepare yourself for the fact that once you are suspended from the balcony there will be no outside of the building. From that perspective you will no longer be able to see the house; you will see nothing except yourself and the box of Carruthers Reality Pocket Locators I will give you."
"Produced by none other than the Bryant & May match company, I notice," Miles said.
"Yes indeed, pure London craftsmanship. You light the C.R.P.L. or 'match' if you insist and drop it earthwards while swinging gently on the Reality Bridge. When you are directly above the point of egress you will note that the match disappears from view more swiftly than at other points on your trajectory. Once satisfied that you have pinpointed the position of the exit along your arc, you dismount and traverse at your leisure."
"You jump off?" Penelope asked.
"Precisely, my dear, nothing could be simpler, eh?"
"And what about these 'wraiths' you mentioned?" asked Miles.
"Oh, well, naturally they will be attacking you with gay abandon throughout the whole process."
"How absolutely lovely," Penelope sighed. "So, what's to stop them pulverising us while we do all this?"
"Nothing but good fortune and speed, my dear. We must move swiftly enough that they do not have the chance."
"Oh, that's all right then," Miles said, "as long as we have a really good plan."
"I did warn you it was dangerous. In fact I seem to remember going on about it rather."
"In fairness he did," Penelope said to Miles.
"He did indeed," Miles replied, "it's the whole 'absolute bloody madness' thing I don't remember being discussed." Miles sighed. "Balls to it, let's just do it, shall we?"
"That's the spirit!" Carruthers replied. "Might I suggest you go first? It would be most ungallant of me not to bring up the rear and one can hardly ask a lady to take the first step 'unto the breach', can one, eh?"
"No, one can't." Miles was finding it very difficult not to run around the room screaming the most obnoxious swearwords. He assumed it was nerves.
"Splendid." Carruthers gathered the rope swing. "You stay in here for now, m'dear," he said to Penelope, "it doesn't take three of us and there's no point in exposing yourself to unnecessary risk." He turned to Miles. "Ready?" Miles nodded, counted to three under his breath, then grabbed the handle of the French windows and stepped outside.
He was struck again by how dead the air felt, as if they were still standing in a room, just one so infinitely large its boundaries couldn't be perceived.
"Don't dither, m'boy!" Carruthers scolded, pushing Miles to the edge of the balcony. "Remember time is of the essence!" He hooked the ends of the rope on to the pole and tossed the seat over the balustrade. He pressed the matches into Miles' hand. "Don't light more than you have to. I have several boxes but nonetheless there's no point in wasting them. Now lower yourself over the edge, quickly as you can!"
Miles swung his leg over the balustrade, took hold of one side of the swing and began to slide down the rope. Already the fear he had experienced before was building in his chest.
"It's coming!" Carruthers shouted. "Can you feel it? A tightness in the chest, a shortness of breath? The damn thing is terror personified! Concentrate on the job in hand. Focus on the darkness, not what's in it."
Miles reached the end of the swing and pulled himself on to the wooden seat. He was so scared he was close to hyperventilating so he took a moment to close his eyes and focus on becoming calm.
"Don't just sit there, lad," Carruthers called down, "nobody's going to give you a push!"
"Fucker," Miles whispered, sliding the match box open with his thumb and starting to swing.
"That's it!" Carruthers said, "bit higher, cover as much space as you can."
Miles was swinging several feet to either side of the balcony and he noticed Carruthers popping in and out of vision as he did so. It was just as the man said, beyond the balcony there was nothing. The window hung there in the darkness; move in a steep enough angle either side and it vanished altogether.
"That'll do!" Carruthers shouted, "now… only drop a match on the backswing, that way you can follow it as it falls. Drop your first at the farthest point and then each successive one a second or so further back on the arc, you get me?"
"Yes!" Miles replied, adding, "of course I bloody get you" under his breath. He lit a match and nearly spilled the whole lot. He managed to grip the box in his fist at the last moment but missed the furthest point of his swing so he waited, sailing backwards before the momentum held him still for a fraction of a second and he moved forward again. At the farthest point he dropped the match, watching it as he once again swung backwards. The tiny orange light dropped into the darkness, twinkling smaller and smaller until he was no longer able to see it. He lit another and dropped it a second or so into his return swing, about two feet away from the first. Again, it sparkled for longer than he could keep track of.
"Quickly now!" Carruthers shouted, "the wraith… can you feel it?"
Miles could, he knew instinctively that the creature was heading towards him, zooming in on his tiny swinging form as it sailed through this absence in search of intruders. He dropped another match: nothing. Next time would be four seconds into his backswing, almost directly down from the balcony. Something moved past him in the darkness, setting him spinning on the swing. He pushed the ropes apart as they threatened to entwine with one another, gritting his teeth as he waited for the creature to return. While holding the ropes to try and swing straight he couldn't light a match, couldn't do anything but wait for the wraith to strike. It hit him again, setting him spinning in the opposite direction.
"Keep moving!" Carruthers shouted, "it's your only hope!"
The swing was spiralling, despite Miles' best efforts to keep it on a straight arc. The wraith came again and this time Miles could hear the slight displacement of air as it hit him head on, knocking him backwards off the swing. He managed to instinctively throw his legs wide, hooking the rope with his feet to stop himself falling. The matches were still in his hand and he tried to grab another one, his head swimming from being upside down. The matches spilled from the box as he fumbled it, spraying out in a trail behind him. He gave a yell, frustrated and terrified at the sight of them falling away. Then he noticed a gap in the line of matches, a point of blank space. Either side of that point he could still see the matches as they fell but – for a span of maybe four feet – there was nothing. He had found the hole he needed. He followed it with his eyes as the swing pulled him away, desperately trying to fix the point so that he would know when to jump. The wraith flew past him again, this time narrowly missing him but coming close enough to clip the tip of his nose. He would have one chance at this, he'd never be able to keep track of the hole unless he jumped…
now!