!

APOCALYPSIS
by Christopher O’Neill

NEXUS PRESS
 !3

Map of Camp Grounds

 !4


 !5

Anastasia was lying on her bed, when she heard a loud thump outside her door. There on the
floor was a parcel wrapped in brown paper and twine. Turning it over she saw that it was addressed
to her; Anastasia Cullen, Westerlo Dr. Albany, Oregon. She brought it into the kitchen where her
father, Walter Cullen, was reading the newspaper.
“What’s that?”
“A package just came through the letter box…”
“For you or for me?”
“For me…” She went back into her bedroom for privacy. Upon opening the parcel, she saw
various reading material and a green event diary emblazoned with the words ‘Camp Calapuyau’ in
blue lettering. Flicking through the pamphlets, she saw that it was a summer camp, based just out-
side the town of Eugene in Willamette Park. All of a sudden, she got a really bad feeling about all of
this and then she found the letter addressed to her. As she read it her bad feelings were compound-
ed;

Dear Ms. Anastasia Cullen,

We are delighted to inform you that you application to Camp Calapuyau has been
reviewed and accepted. Classes begin on Monday 5 June 2017 and continues for a period
of four weeks. Please bring along your diary and any other provisions you might need, all
information is provided in the starter packs.

Signed,
Assistant Camp Director
Ms. Lytton

She jumped down from the bed, nearly crumpling the letter in the process and stormed back
into the kitchen. “You did this on purpose? Didn’t you? You wanted to ruin my life…”
“I’m sorry honey, I don’t know what you’re talking about…” he said calmly. -
She slammed the letter down on the table and left the room. How could he be so thought
less? To sign her up for a summer camp, without so much as telling her? She had plans to hang out
with her friends all summer at the mall, to hang out with her new boyfriend Kirk. She didn’t have
time for arts and crafts. She went into her room and slammed the door. Her perfect day, so full of
hopes and joys; the soft kisses and promises of summer, had been ruined. What was she going to do
now? She flopped on the bed with her head in her hands and tried to cry. But her body was too par-
simonious with its ration of tears to allow her even this luxury. And then she heard the muffled
sound of her father knocking on the door.
“Don’t come in.”
He came in anyway. This made her even more angry, but before she could react, she saw the
look upon his face; shocked, non-combative, empathetic even. “Anastasia, I didn’t have anything to
do with this…”
“You must have…”
“There must be some mistake… Maybe it was addressed to the wrong person…”
“No, it can’t be. There’s our address and everything…”
“Well, is there a phone number I can ring, or something? If there is I can get this thing
straightened out right away…”
 !6
She searched around in the pile of papers on the bed with her father, and then he picked up a
flimsy document and paused.
“What is it?” she asked.
“It’s an invoice… Wow, this camp is expensive…”
“Is it?” She took the slip of paper off him. “How much?” At the bottom of the invoice the
name of the payee was printed in capital letters; JULIA CULLEN, her mother. “But it can’t be…
How is this possible?”
“I don’t know…” he said searching through the rest of the papers until he found the camp’s
phone number. “But I’m going to find out…”
While he was gone, she stayed trying to fit the pieces together. The date on the invoice was
3 October 2007. That just a few short weeks before her mother’s death. She must have intended this
as a last parting gift to her daughter.
This changed everything. It was easy to be angry with her father, but when it came to the
memory of her dead mother, that was a whole different story. She went out into the hall, “Put down
the phone dad, I’m going to the camp…”

Liane and Sylvia were sitting on the road outside of Sylvia’s house, just a few doors up the
road from Anastasia’s house. Sylvia and Anastasia had been friends since as long as they could re-
member. Liane, on the other hand, had only come to know recently with the advent of their new
high school. She was a bit ditzy at times, which provided Sylvia and her with no end of amusement
and they both loved her dearly. The two girls had their bikes out on the sidewalk and were looking
at their phones, when she arrived. “Hey Anastasia, Liane and I were thinking of driving up to the
Wolfe’s Creek tomorrow. Do you want to come?”
Wolfe’s Creek lay about ten miles out of town. No doubt Aaron, Kirk’s friend had offered to
drive them up there, he was sixteen. “I can’t… My dad wants to take me shopping all weekend.”
“You can come up there with us next weekend. Kirk is going to be there.”
“I won’t be able to make that either… The truth is I’m going to summer camp.”
“What? You’re serious… Is there anyway out of it?”
“No… The truth is I want to go…”
This was cause for even more concern. “Why?”
“It was a present from my mother…”
“Your mother… But? Anastasia…”
“I know… I was surprised as anyone… It seems as if she put my name down on a waiting
list and it only just came through…”
“That’s one long waiting list…”
“Where is it?”
“In Willamette Park, just outside Eugene…”
“Hmmm, be careful out there…”
“Why?”
“I hear that lots of kids have gone missing in the woods there…”
“Who told you that?”
“It’s all over youtube.”
“Liane, you’re just trying to scare her? I’m happy for you Anastasia…”
“Thanks…” she said burying her head in Sylvia’s soft hair. There was a blast from a car
horn behind her and then she heard her father calling her. “Listen I have to go… Have a great sum-
mer… and hands off Kirk, he’s mine…”
The two girls smiled at one another. “Oh we will…”
 !7

Samantha Harding turned off the light in her room and climbed into bed. She could hear her
father talking in the next room. She could just about make out his muffled words through the wall.
“What’s the matter with her?”
“George, you know she’s having trouble…”
“… but why does she want to sleep in with us? She’s fifteen years old for God’s sake…”
“She’s sixteen…”
“Even worse…” -
“Look… You know she’s have trouble sleeping, why don’t you just show her some compas
sion.”
“Compassion… And that’s another thing… She complains about monsters in her room, what
kind of…”
“George…”
“No… What kind of sixteen year old still believes in monsters…”
She tried to block out their voices; to block out reality. Perhaps, the thing would leave her
alone and go bother someone else. Her parents, for example. See how they like being stuck in bed,
unable to move, as it slides in beside them. But she wouldn’t wish this sort of dread on anybody,
least of all her parents. She put the thought clear out of her mind and after no small amount of con-
certed effort, drifted off to sleep…
It was sometime later when Samantha awoke again and her eyes adjusted to the half-light of
morning. Even before this, she sensed a presence in her room. It was standing over the bed watch-
ing her, silently probing. She tried to move, but her arms and legs were paralysed.
Why didn’t it ever do anything? It was always just stood there staring at her. All at once, the
shadow moved, and she wished it hadn’t. He climbed onto the bed.
It’s just a dream, she told herself, just a dream; but she knew it really wasn’t.
Her parents were in the next room. They’d come to her rescue; they’d hear her cry. But
when she opened her mouth to scream, no sound came out, just the wind.
The shadow man crept closer. He was on top of her now and she could see that she had been
horribly mistaken about him. -
It wasn’t just that he was shrouded in darkness, he embodied it. A living shadow, like some
thing from a picture book.
She was unable to breathe now, such was his weight pressing down on her chest. Unable to
move, or to cry for help, and the terrifying reality of the situation finally began to dawn on her. If
she did not get out of this situation quickly, she would suffocate to death.
The shadowy man pried open her mouth with his thumb and forefinger. He bent down as if
to kiss her lips, or so she thought, but he stopped just short of touching her. At first, she didn’t know
what he was doing. She felt the strength draining from her body, and a bluish smoke arose from her
mouth. And then, she knew in an instant; the monster was taking her soul.
“Sssh, sssh,” it said in a clear voice. “It will be all over soon…”

Anastasia got ready to place her suitcase in the car. It was six o’clock in the morning and the
sun had yet to rise, but if they were expecting to get down to Willamette National Park by nine
o’clock, there was nothing else for it. Her father was standing next to the car, checking messages on
his phone and with a grim expression on his face. She stood looking at him and flapped her arms by
her side.
“Are you ready?” he asked without looking up.
 !8
“All set.”
“Good.”
They got into the SUV and she gave a last fond-farewell to her home. As they drove along,
she noticed that her father was being unusually silent. “Everything ok?”
“Yeah, yeah I’m fine,” he said and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “How about a little
music, eh?”
He flicked through the stations and the sweet, citrus tones of the violin filled the car. “That
was Mendelssohn’s a Midsummer’s Night’s Dream,” said the radio announcer. “You can really feel
the light bouncy feeling in the piece, as the fairies come marching across the stage…”
Anastasia took a drink of water from her bag.
“And now we return to Mendelssohn’s overture,” continued the announcer. “Here he tries to
capture the more disquieting and malevolent side of the fairy realm…” -
Outside the car, the landscape had changed considerably. The road had become much nar
rower and wound its way up around the valley like a demented snake. Anastasia watched the ver-
dant green of the forest flow by, with the occasional rushing waterfall glimpsed in between. Before
long they reached the entrance to Camp Calapuyau and seeing the coach load of children being
bussed in, she began to feel anxious. -
How will I know who to make friends with? she thought. Will I even like it? Then she no
ticed that some of the kids on the buses were very young indeed. Get a grip, she told herself. If
these kids can handle spending four weeks away from their parents, then so could she. Now might
be a good time to check her bag to see if she had left anything behind. A couple of bars of choco-
late, an apple, some sandwiches, a drink, a well-thumbed copy of Jane Eyre, and the green diary.
The diary she understood to be important, as it contained the only map of the camp grounds, as well
as a neatly laid out timetable, which told her exactly where to be and when.
“Have you got everything?”
“Yes,” she said zipping up her bag. “Oh hang on a sec.” She put her hand up to her neck and
felt for the three interlocked rings on a silver chain. “Yes,” she said again.
The necklace had been a gift from her mother and was one of the most important keepsakes
that she owned. She recalled the night, when her mother had placed it around her neck and told her
that she would be safe forevermore from the monsters that lurked under the bed. Even now that she
was several years older, she still had a feeling of security whenever she took hold of it.
“You still have your necklace?”
“Yes…”
“Good,” he put his hand on her knee. “You know you’re becoming more and more like your
mother with each passing year…”
She didn’t think so. She had the same blonde hair and blue eyes as her mother, she doesn’t
didn’t think of herself as classically beautiful in the same way.
After a long drive up a winding roadway, they came to the visitor’s carpark. Anastasia got
her suitcase from the back seat of the car. She overheard her father introducing himself to one of the
other parents. “Hi, I’m Walter,” he said.
Great that’s all I need, she thought, my dad embarrassing me.
Just then two pink-sandalled feet planted themselves in the dirt before her and she looked up
to see a girl about her age with shoulder length brown hair and milk white skin peppered with freck-
les. “Hi, I’m Wendy,” she said extending her arm. “And this,” she said indicating to a young boy
holding a green bucket and spade and hiding behind her legs. “Is Bruno.”
“Hello, nice to meet you,” she said shaking her hand.
 !9
Wendy smiled at her in the bright sunshine and all of a sudden she felt much of her previous
cares and apprehensions melt away. It was odd, but it was as if she had known Wendy all her life,
even though she had just met her. She wondered if Wendy had the same feeling.
“So, where are you from?”
“Albany…” -
“We were just there,” replied Wendy with a look of surprise on her face. “We’re from Wis
consin, originally, but we flew over to meet with relatives of ours who live there. Just for the week-
end,” she added.
“Wisconsin? You’ve travelled a long way, just for a summer camp, haven’t you?”
“Yes, but Camp Calapuyau is the most prestigious camps of all. It’s the best really, we
wouldn’t miss it for the world…”
She nodded and got her bags from out of the car.
“Come on. I’ll take you over to the Meeting Hall.”
She started off in that direction when she heard her father calling her back. “You’re not go-
ing to leave without giving your father a hug, are you?”
“Dad,” she protested nodding in the direction of her new friends.
“That’s alright,” he said squeezing tightly and letting her go. “Just remember to wrap up
warm at night and don’t forget to phone me if you need anything…”
“I will and thanks Dad…”
Wendy called to her from the shade of some willow trees.

“They grow up fast, don’t they,” said Walter resuming his conversation with the woman who
had introduced herself as Wendy’s mother. She had dark hair like her daughter, but her face was
lined and bronzed with age and the effects of spray-on tan.
“That they do,” she said folding away a beach towel into the trunk of her car. “I’m sorry
Penelope’s my name.”
“Walter,” he said accepting her hand and giving it a firm shake.
“My you are strong, aren’t you?” she cooed. “Do you work out?”
“Part of my job…”
“What do you do?”
“I’m a police office.”
“With the police department?”
“That’s right.”
The woman looked momentarily shocked.
“Is something the matter?”
“No, it’s just… Well, Camp Calapuyau is so expensive. How on Earth could you afford it on
your salary—” Then she stopped herself. “I’m sorry, I’m being rude…”
He bit his tongue. “No, it’s alright… My wife’s side of the family booked it. They’re the
wealthy side of the family. Not that we see them much anymore. We have… ah” he hesitated. “A
difference of opinion when it comes to raising Anastasia…”
“I see… And where is your wife?”
“She passed away, actually…”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” she said slamming the trunk.
“Don’t be, it was a long time ago…”
“Well, I’m sure she misses you very much.”
“What?”
“Anastasia…” she explained.
 !10
“Oh right… She’ll be alright, don’t you think?” -
“Of course… Wendy will take good care of her. And besides the whole camp is very profes
sional. You have nothing to worry about…”

Anastasia rejoined Wendy under the willow trees. She and her little brother were looking at
the ground where a colony of ants were busily making a network of channels. “What do you think
they’re doing?” asked Bruno.
“Looking for food, I guess…”
Bruno picked up a twig and began poking at them.
“Don’t…” said Wendy.
“Why not?” he asked.
“You’ll make them angry.”
On the far side of the trees was a road with a small round traffic island and beyond that was
low circular building with a conical roof like a witch’s hat. A black Lexus pulled up outside and two
men and a woman got out. -
“That’s the museum and library,” said Wendy. “And over there is the fire circle.” She point
ed to a large stone amphitheatre set back into the hillside to the right. “Further down is the lake.
You’ll want to see that. It’s really lovely.”
“Where to now?”
“Eh, Conference Hall,” said Wendy confidently. “No wait,” she said turning around in the
opposite direction. “I expect you’ll want to put your bag away first. Come on, I’ll take you to the
dorm rooms.” -
She hoisted her bag and followed her down a sloping green to a group of low-lying rec
tangular buildings. Bruno carried on in a different direction and Wendy continued on talking, as if
she hadn’t noticed. “What form are you in?”
“Eh, seventh.”
“Me too… That means we’ll be in the same dorm room. You can bunk with me…”
“OK.”
“Over there are the showers. The boys live up the hill there, for obvious reasons,” she
smirked. Together they climbed the three wooden steps. Inside she could see a long dark room with
bunk beds on either side.
“This is our bunk, second on the left. I’m on top. You can sleep down here and then we can
pass notes to each other…”
She dumped her bags down on the dark green bedspread and looked around at the grey
wooden interior. Light was streaming in through the windows and illuminated the dust motes. The
place smelt dank and airless, but it had a kind of charm and mystery to it that she couldn’t quite
place. Just then, group of about six or seven excited girls came into the room; talking and giggling.
Wendy wasted no time in joining them. Clearly, they were all good friends, which made Anastasia
feel even more like an outsider than she already did.
She began unpacking her clothes onto the bed silently. The noise died down and then Wendy
returned with another girl. She had on a striped t-shirt and wore her shoulder length fair hair down
on either side of a pretty, but slightly pinched face.
“Anastasia, this is Valerie. Valerie is head-girl here.”
They shook her hands and exchanged a curious glance. Had they met before, she wondered?
She couldn’t be sure. The petite girl cocked her head; sizing her up.
“You from out of state?”
“No, I’m from Oregon.”
 !11
-
“You’re lucky. I had to travel from Boston to get here,” she said examining some of Anasta
sia’s clothing. “How is that you are just getting here now?”
She wondered what Valerie was driving at and then Wendy came to her aid saying, “Well,
there is a really long waiting list…” -
“I suppose…,” Valerie picked up one of Anastasia’s t-shirts and put it back down with disin
terest. “ People with certain prestigious names get automatic admission to the camp. I’m a Vander-
bilt, Wendy is a Hamilton… You are?”
“Cullen.”
“Cullen? I don’t think I’ve seen that one listed before… Oh this is nice,” she said picking up
a blue blouse and holding it against her chest. “Can I borrow it?”
She assumed it was some sort of test of her generosity and as she was going to be spending
some amount of time with Valerie and the others, it was not a test she could afford to fail. “Sure…”
“Thanks,” said Valerie taking it with her back to her bunk on the far side of the room. Just
then, the loud clanging of a bell was heard from outside and all the girls began to file out the door.
“That’s the bell for assembly,” said Wendy. “Come on…”
Wendy lead the way around the back of the dorm to where there was a wide dirt road with a
rows of quaint wooden chalets on either side. Directly behind the row of chalets was the beautiful
blue waters of lake itself. The camp was surrounded by a number of mountains, the lower foothills
of which were covered in deciduous forest of ash, oak and maple, while the upper slopes gave way
to pines and, in some instances, precipitous bare rock faces. Two-thirds of the way up the road, they
came to a large white building with stone pillars on either side of the door way. Children were filing
in through this doorway from all corners of the camp.
She noticed that many of the scouts, particularly the younger ones, wore a forlorn look on
their faces. No doubt they were missing home and their parents. She wondered where her own fa-
ther was now? Probably half-way back to Albany by this stage.
The Conference Hall consisted of a large room with a wooden floor and a stage area at one
end. The young cub scouts took their seats on the floor directly beneath the stage, while the more
senior scouts sat on chairs behind them. When everyone was seated, three people came in through a
side door and mounted the stage. She recognised them as the three people she had seen going into
the museum building, earlier on. One of their number, a man with a mop of orange-brown hair and
a loose-fitting grey suit leaned over to his female colleague and appeared to whisper something in
her ear.
“That’s Jasper Collins,” said Wendy. “He is the camp director.”
“And behind him is Mr. Bulwark,” added Valerie pointing to a man wearing a cowboy hat.
The man, she noticed, was so morbidly obese that his rolls of fat appeared to envelope the chair he
was sitting on. “He’s the sports coordinator.”
“Sports coordinator?”
“I know,” tittered Wendy.
“Watch out for old Bill,” said Valerie. “He’s a real weirdo and a slime ball.”
“Valerie thinks that Mr. Bulwark likes to perv on the girls in the shower rooms…”
“He does,” protested Valerie.
He was pushing forty, but looked considerably older. He had fat lips and pustules on his
neck. But by far his most striking feature were his eyes, which appeared to protrude from their
sockets. How disgusting, she thought…
“Next to him is Ms. Katherine Lytton,” said Wendy pointing discretely to a woman in her
late thirties wearing a grey suit. “She is assistant camp director with Mr. Bulwark and in charge of
herbalism, home economics… that sort of thing.”
 !12
-
Ms. Lytton wore large dark rimmed glasses perched upon the slender bridge of her nose. In
deed everything about Ms. Lytton appeared slender and catlike. In this regard, she was the complete
antithesis of Mr. Bulwark. Her jet black and oily hair was pulled back severely from her face and
tied into an elaborate bun on the back of her head.
“Most of the staff refer to her as Kat, though.”
“Yeah, especially Mr. Collins, who can’t get enough of her…”
Mr. Collins certainly did seem to have eyes for his female colleague. He was constantly
walking up to her, touching her and making her laugh. She thought there was something unseemly
in this behaviour, especially as it was being done in front of the entire congregation of a hundred or
so young and impressionable scouts. She looked back at Valerie and Wendy questioningly.
“I know,” said Wendy nodding.
“It’s disgusting what those two get up to,” Valerie concurred. “One time I heard…”
But before she could go on any further another of the instructors lay a hand on her shoulder.
“Now, now, Ms. Vanderbilt that’s enough of that…” she cautioned.
Valerie froze solid in her chair and replied, “Yes, Ms Monroe.”
“Pay attention now children,” she said and indicated back towards the stage, where Mr.
Collins was now taking his place at the podium.
“Good morning,” he said and then recoiled as the microphone gave a burst of feedback.
“Sorry about that… Before we begin, our caretaker Mr. Haight would like to say a few words about
camp safety. Apparently, there was an incident last year involving some our scouts breaking into the
tool shed. Is that right, Mr. Haight?”
The microphone buzzed again as he stepped back and a heavy set man wearing blue overalls
and a knitted woollen jumper strode onto the stage. Nobody dared move fear of making a sound.
The caretaker had a shock of black hair and a mottled complexion. His voice was just as rough and
unrefined as his appearance. “Right,” he growled, pointing an oily digit to the crowd. “Now I want
to make this absolutely clear to you all… That wooden shed out the back is strictly off limits, but to
me and a few select members of the faculty. There are lots of dangerous chemicals in there. Last
year, three of our scouts broke into that shed and started playing with the chemicals and they all got
their skin burnt off… that was the incident Mr. Collins was referring to…” He looked at the camp
director who nodded and then all of a sudden appeared to get cold feet and left the stage.
Mr. Collins was up quickly in his place to reprise the microphone. “Thank you, Mr. Haight
for that most enlightening speech. Everyone, please give Mr. Haight a round of applause.”
A subdued applause came from the mostly stunned crowd. Some of the younger scouts
looked as though they might burst into tears. She could hardly blame them.
“… Now with that out of the way, I’d like to welcome you all to the fifty-third annual Camp
Calapuyau. You know that you are all special and that this year I promise you, you will all make it
to the promised land of the Fifth Density…”
A huge cheer went up from the crowd, with the younger scouts especially unable to contain
themselves. There it was again, she thought. The Fifth Density. But what was it? Was it like another
dimension? Had she stumbled upon some New Age cult?
“Settle down now,” he said; the response was immediate. “Like I was saying… We do hope
that you all pass through the Six Stages there to experience the light and splendour of the Fifth Den-
sity, but we know that this is very difficult for you… But even if you are not successful this time
round, I can still guarantee an exciting summer of play, learning and adventure.”
This was some bullshit, she thought. No wonder it was such a rip off.
“Unlike other summer camps you might be used to, Camp Calapuyau does not simply focus
on the physical and academic development of our young campers,” he continued. “But on the spiri-
 !13
tual side also, which is just as important, in our opinion. That’s why our camp motto is ‘Ad Tota
Persona’.. We like to focus on the whole individual and not just the part.”
Anastasia noticed that Ms. Lytton was intently staring at her. Her eyes flashed and changed
shape into the lateral lenses of a lizard. A moment later, the effect was gone; leading her to wonder
if it was real of if she had simply imagined it.
“That is why we have such great instructors here at Camp Calapuyau,” he went on. “Our
staff and faculty members are all highly trained in the art of self-knowledge and self-discovery.
And, if you listen to us, I promise you that we will lead you back to the Fifth Density, for you are all
Children of the Darkheim…”
A smile drew across Ms. Lytton’s face and Anastasia could not bring herself to look into her
eyes anymore.
“… We at Camp Calapuyau are trained in the ancient arts, laid out by our founder Eamon
Radcliffe, who learnt everything he knew from Chief Otaktay of the Calapuyau Indians, as well as
from the Tlingit and Singa tribes of Alaska. During his travels he brought back many artefacts,
some of which — like the totem poles — can be seen on display in our museum…
“… Over the coming weeks and even years we will be teaching you everything he learnt and
even more about yourself. And hopefully, with a little luck you will rejoin your Spiritual Family in
the hidden world of the Darkheim… Are you excited?” he said, closing over his notes before him.
“I know I am…”
There was resounding agreement from the audience and Mr. Collins began to wrap up his
introduction. “Ok, well you all know where you should be, or at least you ought to. I’m taking form
seven,” he said turning around to Ms. Lytton. “Is that right?”
She nodded demurely and with that same indecipherable smile.

Anastasia, Wendy and Valerie left the Conference Hall together. They crossed the yellow
dirt road to a small wooden chalet filled with desks. She took a seat in the centre of the classroom
and watched as the other girls from Form Seven came in and settled themselves. She expected to
see some of the Seventh Form boys as well, but it soon became apparent that this wasn’t going to
happen. “Where’s all of the boys?” she asked.
“Segregation…” replied Wendy. “Girls and boys are split up for almost everything.”
“How dull…”
She smiled. “It’s part of the Native American tradition… We still have meal times with
them, but the only other time you are likely to see them is at social gatherings like the Festival of
Bealtaine…”
“Beal-taine? What’s that?”
“You don’t know? It is the Celtic Festival of Fire in honour of Baal, the protector of the
camp…” -
“Hmmm,” she thought for a moment. “What was all that about the Fifth Density, this morn
ing?”
“Everyone who comes to Calapuyau is from the Fifth Density.”
“Why have I never heard of it before?”
“You have. You’ve just forgotten, like we’ve all forgotten. That’s what they teach you at this
place, how to go back home…”
The Fifth Density, Darkheim, Bealtaine: What had she gotten herself in for? By now all of
the girls had taken their places and Mr. Collins had closed the door, to begin class proceedings.
“Now girls, I trust you all had a good vacation?”
“Yes, Mr. Collins,” the girls droned back in unison.
 !14
“Good. I see that we have a new blood… What’s your name, child?”
It took a moment for Anastasia to realise he was referring to her. “Me?”
“Yes, you… Well, stand up and introduce yourself,” he remarked impatiently.
She stood up and felt the disquieting feeling of having all the girls’ eyes dissecting her. “I-
I’m,” she stammered, her voice sounded barely above a whisper, in her ears. “Anastasia Cullen.”
The girls tittered amongst each other.
“Is this your first time at one of these camps?”
“Do you mean a summer camp, sir?”
“Not quite…” he replied, his tone furtive. “Tell me did you know that the Radcliffe Institute
has lucid dreaming camps across the entire continental United States, across the world in fact?”
“No, sir.”
“Well, then it appears there is a lot that you don’t know, isn’t there?”
There was a burst of laughter and then she overheard one of the girls say; “Stupid
newblood.”
She looked in Valerie’s direction, but then realised that the remark had come from the rather
chubby looking girl sitting behind her.
“OK, sit down and let’s get started with this morning’s lesson, shall we?… Actually first I
need to do our role-call,” he said taking out a large brown ledger from his briefcase and laying it on
the table. “Amelia Astor?”
“Here,” replied a chirpy girl with long dark hair seated across from Wendy.
“Good… Eh, Carol Mason?”
“Here.”
“Annette Dinehart?”
“Present,” said the overweight girl with the curly brown hair who called her the name a
moment earlier.
“Wilma Winthrop?”
“Here.”
“Wendy Hamilton?”
She smiled at her new found friend.
“Here.”
“Anastasia Cullen?”
“Here.”
Her friend smiled back.
“And Valerie Vanderbilt…” there was no reply. “… Also here.” He closed over the book and
grumbled. “Right fine, everyone take out your Book of Shadows.”
She looked around to copy what everyone else was doing. Wendy pulled out a blue bound
manuscript notebook from her bag and showed it to her. “Is everything OK?” Mr. Collins' voice
sounded from the top of the room.
“Yes,” she said reprising the notebook from her bag.
“Good, can anybody tell me, why we refer to it as the Book of Shadows?”
A silence returned.
“Nobody?”
“It’s because of Eamon Radcliffe,” replied Valerie.
“Correct. Our founder was interested in all aspects of Pagan Ritual Magick, from the beliefs
and mythologies of the Sumerians to the Celts and the Native American Indians. The Book of Shad-
ows belongs to the Wiccan traditions.”
 !15
So, she was right. They are a New Age cult… Why would her mother wish to send her here,
she wondered. Her mother wasn’t exactly what you might call ‘alternative’; not that that term even
meant anything anymore.
“… It is more generally a book of magical spells,” he continued. “But we will also be using
it as a dream journal and for other such dreaming practices. Now, I want you to open you Book of
Shadows on a fresh page and divide the page into three columns, like so…” He showed an example.
“In the first column, I want you to write a list of animals. Whatever animals come to mind, it
doesn’t matter which…”
“Can I borrow this?” asked Wendy picking up the ruler.
“Sure.”
“… So, dog, cat, bear, rhino, that sort of thing…”
She started to list animals in her neat handwriting.
After about a minute, she had assembled a list of twenty or so animals; dog, cat, badger,
elephant, rhino, chimpanzee, frog, gorilla, squirrel, horse, eagle, crab, shark, mosquito, pigeon,
mouse and so on… When she was finished she looked around at the other scouts, still busily work-
ing away. All except for Valerie… She had obviously finished ahead of everyone else. Then she
wrote another animal down; Snake.
“All done?”
“Yes, Mr. Collins,” they replied. -
“Good, now in the adjacent column, I want you to write down a positive or a negative at
tribute of all the animals you listed. So, for example, if you’ve written dog, you could say that a
positive personality trait is one of loyalty. What’s a negative one?”
Amelia raised her hand. “They’re filthy…” she said.
A quiver of amusement went through the class and Mr. Collins said. “Quite right… Dogs are
wretched, disgusting animals…”
Why the hatred towards dogs, she wondered? She loved all animals.
“What about a cat? What might a positive trait of cat be?”
She stuck her hand up. “They’re soft.”
“Yes, they’re soft, but that is more of a qualitative trait… I am looking for a personality
trait…”
Wendy raised her hand next.
“Yes, Wendy…”
“They’re intelligent.”
“That’s right. And what about a negative? Can anybody think of one?”
Wendy thought for a minute. “They’re sly?”
“Yes.”
“And lazy,” added Carol Mason.
“Okay, lets not get carried away with ourselves… One will do…”
The children chuckled again.
“I’ll give you a few minutes to complete the task. Begin…”
In her Book of Shadows, she began listing in the different attributes for the animals one by
one. The first couple of animals were easy, as they had been broached in class already. A dog was
indeed loyal, but she disagreed that they were particularly dirty; instead she wrote down ‘greedy’.
She agreed that cats were both intelligent and sly. The next animal was that of ‘badger’ and this
proved more difficult.
At school, she was used to doing tasks that required her to memorise information and she
was good at that, but here she was being asked to be more creative; to draw upon her own experi-
ence of the world, which was something she wasn’t all that used to.
 !16
-
Then, she recalled that Kevin Dobson, a friend of her father’s, had been on a hunting expe
dition one time and had come across a hole in the ground. He knew that the hole was an entrance
way into a badger set, and he had wanted to know how deep the hole was. He grabbed a big stick
and began poking into the hole. The next minute out shot the badger, smacking into his leg and
causing Kevin to fall over. She recalled how she had howled with laughter, when she had first heard
the story from him and wrote down the word aggressive. For frog she wrote resourceful, although
she really had no idea why. But somehow, she felt she was getting better at the task.
In the end she managed to compile the following three lists;

Animal Positive Negative

dog loyal ferocious/greedy

cat intelligent sly

badger –––––––––––––– aggressive

elephant compassionate destructive

rhino stalwart clumsy

monkey humorous unruly

frog resourceful ––––––––––––––

gorilla peaceable dimwitted

horse majestic stubborn

mosquito –––––––––––––– parasitic

pigeon –––––––––––––– ––––––––––––––

mouse cute demure hoarder

koala bear cute ––––––––––––––

otter nimble ––––––––––––––

kangaroo boundless energy ––––––––––––––

snake wise evil

“Now how did you all get on?”

There was no reply from any of the girls.
“Any questions at all?”
“I wrote down ants,” said Wendy. “But I couldn’t think of anything for them.”
“Ah yes… Well, typically ants are associated with industry, community and craftsmanship,”
he said reading from a stack of notes on his desk. “Their negative aspects are that they are warlike
and invasive…”
“What about bats?”
“A bat is a symbol of rebirth, as it thought to emerge from its cave to live again each
evening.”
 !17
-
She looked at her own page and at all of the gaps in her knowledge. “What’s a positive at
tribute of badgers?”
“Ah yes, the badger,” he said looking at his notes once more. “Tenacity and courage,” he
read allowed. “I’ll tell you what, I’ll give you these handouts to look over and if you have anymore
questions you can refer to them…”
Stapled sheets of paper were passed around the class. Reading through them, she came to
understand that the attributes of the animals functioned mostly on a symbolic level and in direct re-
lation to prophecy and divination. If you encountered a crow and you wanted to know what that
signified, you could consult your Book of Shadows and see that it foretold ‘magic and the ability to
manipulate one’s physical appearance’. The notes also made repeated reference to the notion of
spirit animals and totem poles in each of the different entries. She learnt that: ‘The appearance of
animals are said to herald messages from the ancestors, who belong to the spirit world.’ -
She recalled the ants that Wendy and Bruno were watching in the grass. Community and in
dustry were certainly attributable to the camp, she thought. But ‘warlike’ and ‘invasive’? How on
Earth did that fit in with anything?
But she did not have long to ponder the question, before the sound of the old metal bell rang
out around the grounds once more.

Walter arrived back home, and put his feet up: today was the first day of his two week long
vacation from the force. He would have very much liked to spend that time with Anastasia, but he
expected Camp Calapuyau was more important to her, at this point.
His phone showed two new messages. One of them was a voice mail and the other was sent
from Kevin, a friend of his that worked dispatches for the department. Before he even read the mes-
sage, he knew something of its contents. So, he wasn’t exactly shocked to learn that another young
girl had been taken in her sleep the night before. Samantha Harding, just sixteen years old; cause of
death unknown.
Sixteen, he thought, just two years older than Anastasia.
He knew the Hardings; but not very well. He had been round to their house once or twice for
a poker game. He recalled Samantha was a quiet girl, but that was a long time ago. She had been
much younger then. Should I call over and see them? Pay my respects? No… It was best to leave it
for a few days. No doubt they would have enough to deal with, without old acquaintances like him-
self arriving on their doorstep in the midst of it all.
In a drawer under his desk, he kept a case file of every missing person and unexplained
death in Albany. It was a morbid preoccupation, but he had been forced into it by the sheer volume
of cases, quite unprecedented for the size of population and growing more numerous each year.
There had been four incidences of apparently young and healthy people dying in their sleep, in the
last few weeks alone. And that was just in Albany. Ten more had taken place in surrounding neigh-
bourhoods and towns in the same period. Jefferson, Millersburg, Riverside: there wasn’t a place on
the map that was unaffected, according to his records.
The majority of cases saw the deceased going to sleep on a particular night only to be found
dead in their beds the next day. There were no obvious signs of bruising, except those which were
thought to be self-inflicted. In general, the victims were found asphyxiated. Sometimes their bodies
were found twisted up in the bedsheets; blue and contorted. The really bizarre incidences were the
ones in which the deceased had left their beds in the middle of the night; only for their naked life-
less bodies to be found in parks, or in woodlands or water-filled ditches.
 !18
He had spoken with his own superior at Albany Police station on the matter; Police Chief
Emerson Stolz months ago and he still recalled what he said on that occasion. “There are no sus-
pects, no leads and the cause of death was confirmed natural by the coroner in each instance. So
what are you going to do about it?” He knew this as well as any one of course: There was nothing
anyone could do. But what surprised him was why the media had never taken up the story. Un-
doubtedly, these strange deaths were talking place all over the country and yet they were never
commented on by anyone other than the sporadic reports by the local authorities.
But now that he was on vacation, he was free to pursue this any line of inquiry he wanted.
He checked the obituaries page and saw that there was a service for the dead girl later that day at
the local St. Paul’s church. Time to make himself look presentable, he thought.

Anastasia and Wendy joined the other girls at the far corner of the camp, where the forest
came down to meet the water’s edge. Ms. Lytton was there and Anastasia noticed that she had
changed out of her suit and was wearing a black woollen jumper with combat trousers. She indicat-
ed to a heap of white canvas bags next to the wooden fence. “Right, girls. Grab a bag and follow
me…” she said.
They followed Ms. Lytton through the spring-loaded gate and up the old trail. While the girl
scouts struggled up the steep incline, their teacher bounded on ahead with great agility and an envi-
able lightness of step.
Before long they came to a less inclined area of tall pine trees under which was a sea of
white and blue flowers. Their teacher sat down in the grass and asked them all to do the same. “To-
day we will use Native American Shamanic practices to identify which species of plant are edible
and which aren’t. To begin with I want you to all select a plant, then examine it… Examine every
inch; the stem, the leaves, and the flowers, if it has any. Once you have a good picture of it in your
mind, ask the plant whether it is good to eat or if it has any medicinal properties… Take samples
and note the answer down beside it, in your Book of Shadows.”
Anastasia looked around her and saw a tall green plant topped with small white flowers. She
began observing the plant in great detail; taking note of the little vascular tributaries; tracing their
paths all the way to their terminus. She started to follow the course of another of the veins in the
leaf, but quickly realised that she had forgotten the layout of the first, and so, had to start all over
again. Getting a complete sense of the plant in her mind, at this rate, would be impossible, she
thought.
“What’s the matter?” asked Ms. Lytton. “Can’t you do it?”
“I’m trying but there’s just too much to take in.”
“Don’t be so rigorous… Just get a general feel for it.”
She nodded and went back to her task. Once she had gotten a sense of the plant in her mind,
she asked it if it was good to eat. To which the plant responded in a quiet, small voice; “Yes.”
“What did you get?”
“It said yes, it was edible…”
“Don’t look so surprised. You see, it works… The plant is Garlic Mustard. Pick a few leaves
of it and then move onto the next one…”
A large plant with broad leaves, rough to the touch was her next subject. She examined the
plant thoroughly, before asking it the same question and to her surprise she got a similar response.
The experiment did appear to have repeatable results, at least, perhaps it wasn’t as hokey as it ap-
peared. She broke off several of the large rhubarb like stems from the base of the plant and then
joined Wendy and Valerie who were foraging near by.
“What did you get?” asked Wendy.
 !19
She took up the broad leaf and show it to her.
“Ugh, burdock,” grimaced Valerie. “I hate that stuff.”
“This one’s nice,” said Wendy pulling up a handful of green leaves and handing it to her.
She sniffed the leaves and detected that they had a vaguely garlic aroma to them. “Wendy?”
“Yes?”
“What’s a new blood?”
“Oh it just means that you’re the first generation.”
“First generation what?”
“… First generation of your family to join the camp and discover your true self…”
“Oh…”
“My parents went to this camp when they were young. So did Val’s.”
“I see.”
“Once the Soma Ceremony is over and you’ve been initiated, it won’t be such a big deal.
Don’t worry…”
“S-soma ceremony? What’s that?”
“Whenever a camp member reaches a certain age or level of development, they are given an
initiation ceremony where they let you drink the Soma. So I’ve heard, anyway..”
“You haven’t drunk it yet?”
“No, I was sick last year, when they were doing it. Hey, that means you and I will probably
get to do it together,” she squeaked. “Hmm, fun… I was sort of dreading having to do it all by my-
self…”
She smiled. Then she noticed Wendy was drawing in her notebook. “What are you doing?”
“I’m making sketches of all the plants I pick, because some of them are too big to fit in the
pages of notebook.”
This made sense to her. She went back in the direction of the tall, thistle like plant and did
her best to try to capture its image with lines of black ink. When she was finished, she examined her
work. She realised that by drawing the plant you could get a good overall impression of what the
plant was like. It would probably help with the psychic link up.
On the far side of the wood, she saw a patch of shrubs swaying in the light summer breeze.
The leaves were so dark, they were almost black. She went over to them and then noticed the wood
shifted quite suddenly into deciduous woodland. She liked the look of this forest better, and tracked
down the leaf-strewn slope into the unknown.

Harmon awoke and lay with his eyes closed, trying to keep the world at bay a moment
longer. It was no use the birdsong crept in under the gap in the curtains and with it the memory of
what lay in store for him that day.
Today was the day they buried his friend; Samantha Harding. He got up and dressed in his
ill-fitting black suit; the one he had prepared the night before and poured himself a bowl of Krispie
Chunks; a dollar brand cereal marketed to kids that tasted like cardboard topped with chocolate
sprinkles. He looked around the room at the poverty and decay that surrounded him. Working as an
artist was tough. Since leaving college he had made some money selling landscape paintings, but
that had all dried up.
The reason for this was probably due to his insistence on taking his work in a new direction;
one which was not to the liking of the general public or — as it transpired — the art world. He had
taken to painting scenes from his own dreams.
Recreations of these nocturnal visions now covered every available space in his cramped
one-bed flat. They lined the walls and hung above the doorways; stuck out from under the bed like a
!20
 !21
visual library of unsanctioned dream states. After he had finished breakfast, he took his bike down
to Church Street and tied it up against the black railing. Friends and relatives of the deceased girl
filed in through the gates; head bowed and sombre.
He had been getting to know Samantha intimately, even as — unbeknownst to them all —
her final days and weeks approached. Harmon had never met anyone quite like Samantha before.
She was kind and honest; fearless — in a way — and intelligent. In fact, she was probably the most
intelligent girl he had ever met in his life; and this was saying something. And yet there was some-
thing there; a darkness she hid from the world and from those around her.
He could see it, because he shared the same dark world she did.
She had spoken to him about the faces she saw at night when she closed her eyes. It was
among the first things she had ever said to him and the last. It was this that made him fall instantly
in love with her; not only for her brashness, but because in all his years of research — both in books
and online — he had never heard anyone tell of that same condition. Of course others had admitted
to seeing faces as they closed their eyes to fall asleep and to dream; but only himself and Samantha
(it appeared) where subject to faces of such gross and malicious countenance. Nightly men with ab-
normally thick set jaws and scornful eyes intruded upon their slumber. Lately, he had found that
they were not merely content to remain in dreams, but were spilling over into reality. A dangerous
development, to be sure.
They crawled across his bedroom floor at night, slid in behind the headboard and perched
themselves on his chest with those leering grins, mocking eyes and salivating chins in the vague
hypnogogic twilights of the mind. He felt sure that Samantha had witnessed these creatures too, al-
though he had never gotten the chance to fully speak to her about it. He had never gotten the chance
to do many of the things he would have liked to do with her; least of all tell her how much he loved
her. As he was passing through the gates towards the church, his arm was scooped up into the arm
of another girl. He recognised her as one of Samantha’s closest friends Amanda Carrington and next
to her was her friend Julia Winters. Amanda’s hair was bright red and her eyes were a crystal blue
laced with the onset of tears. Neither of them said anything. There was no need; her eyes said
enough for both of them.
The service was considered and to the point and although it offered solace to the family
members and drew a line under their tragic loss; it did nothing either to alleviate or to remedy the
passing of Samantha. Some people might have held that against the church, who professed to be the
arbiters of God on Earth, but he harboured no such delusions. Priests were, after all men — no bet-
ter equipped to solve such intractable problems as the next men. Afterward, he was given the oppor-
tunity to go shake hands with Samantha’s parents. He had heard much about them, and while much
of it had been unflattering he still suspected that he would have gotten along well with any set of
individuals capable of producing and moulding such a remarkable and unquestionably likeable per-
son, as Samantha had been. But it was for precisely this reason that, in the end, he chose to forego
the encounter. Meeting them, he felt, would have been like reimagining her and while the seed of
their relationship had already begun to propagate in his heart, its life had been pressed and aborted.
There was no need for him to pine or consider it any longer.
He had been through difficult break ups in the past and he tended to get very emotionally
involved in all of his partner’s; to the point of obsession — some would say. He never again wanted
to feel that way about anyone. With age had come understanding and he had determined that he
would no longer become drawn into an emotional feedback loop of his own creation. Instead, he
would keep moving forwards, eyes fixed upon the new horizon and leave the dust of his old life,
where it lay.
When he emerged from the church, he stopped and waited for Amanda and Julia to rejoin
him. As soon as they did; a middle-aged man with closely cropped red hair and a dark suit came up
 !22
to them and asked for Amanda and Julia by name. He recognised him as belonging to the Albany
police department. He had that smell about him.
“I’m sorry to bother you… My name is Walter Cullen. I’m a police officer with the Albany
police department,” he took out his badge and showed it to them. “I’m wondering if I could contact
you later to ask you both a few questions.”
“A-about Samantha, you mean?”
“That’s right… I just want to find out a few things… Places she might have been, the people
she was seeing. Purely informal…”
Amanda clutched at the sleeves of her cardigan and nodded her affirmations.
“Is there somewhere I can reach you?”
“Forty three Hill Street.”
“Is that along by the canal?”
“Yes.”
“I know the place.” He turned back in Harmon’s direction. “And my condolences again…”
Harmon watched him leave and resisted the urge to spit on the ground.
 !23
2

Anastasia had not gone far, when she got the distinct and uneasy feeling of being watched.
She looked around her, but could see no-one. The rest of the class was some distance away and out
of sight. To her left, she noticed a dense thicket of holly trees. Was there something in there? She
pushed through the spiny leaves into a wide clearing.
Empty.
Just as she was about to turn around and leave, she heard a twig crack and a tall man with a
face carved from redwood made his way into through the branches of the trees. Clearly this man
was a Native American, she thought, one of the First Nation’s people. Was he Calapuyau? Did they
still exist in this area? She stood facing the tall Native American from across the ring of holly trees,
so they must. Then the obvious question; what was she doing in this part of the woods all by her-
self?
The man stared at her and then she noticed that he was carrying a weapon in the form of a
stone axe bound with twine. As soon as she saw the weapon, she started to back away. And then she
was running, running towards the scouts and Ms. Lytton where she knew she would be safe. She
pushed through the holly trees, scratching her arms and legs badly and then ran, without stopping,
all the way back to where the others were still collecting flowers.
“Where’ve you been?” asked Wendy.
She decided not to mention her vision of the old Indian; the last thing she wanted to do was
draw attention to herself and be labelled a crackpot. “I just went for a walk,” she said.
“You should be more careful… You can wind up anywhere in these woods…”
She looked at her friend, perhaps she knew about the Old Indian after all, she thought.

Walter knocked on the door of 162 Waverly Drive and a thin woman with white rimmed
glasses and thick black hair opened the door. “Mrs. Short?” he asked.
“Yes?”
“My name is Detective Walter Cullen. I’m with the Albany County police department?”
“Oh yes, my husband said you would call. Won’t you come in?”
He stepped into the carpeted hallway and followed Mrs. Short into the kitchen.
The Short family was an interesting, if tragic case. Their eight year old son Brian, an only
child, had been taken from them suddenly one night in late 2013. The case was highly unusual, giv-
en the age of the child and his apparent lack of any medical history. Whilst foul-play was not sus-
pected, the county coroner had been called to conduct an autopsy on the young boy to ascertain the
precise cause and time of death.
According to the police report, the autopsy had taken place at the Surgeons General Hospital
on November 27th and was concluded the same day. However, the coroner’s findings were not re-
leased to the family until several weeks later. The hospital had said that they were waiting on toxi-
cology reports, which turned up negative in any case. Walter was suspicious about this and went to
the Albany County Sheriff’s office, where the report had been filed and noted that the examination
was dated November 29th.
It was obvious that someone wasn’t telling the truth.
He sat down at the kitchen table and Mrs. Short offered him a glass of water. “Mrs. Short…”
“Please call me Angela.”
“Very well, Angela… I’d like to get straight down to business, if you don’t mind.”
“No… that’s fine.”
“According to the coroner’s report your son died of acute pancreatitis. Is that right?”
 !24
“That’s what they say, but my husband and I don’t really believe that.”
“Why not?”
“… Pancreatitis doesn’t just come out of nowhere… There are symptoms, you know, for
weeks — even months — in advance.”
“Stomach cramp… that sort of thing…”
“Exactly. Brain was a normal healthy young boy. He playing around, no problem…”
“Have you challenged the report officially?”
“I have.” She reached for a pack of Kents, lit one and blew a cloud of blue smoke across the
room. “After we brought it up… the coroner, what’s his name?”
“Thomas Sloane…”
“That’s right, that asshole. He said that the diagnosis was only speculative and that the real
cause of death was unknown…”
“Unknown?”
“Yes. Can you believe that?”
He shook his head.
“I mean, I thought that if you signed off on a document the least that you could do is be
honest, you know? But our boy isn’t the only one this has happened to… there are others…”
“Really?” -
“Oh yeah… That’s the reason the whole thing is being swept under the rug. But you’re tak
ing an interest in the case now, so that’s something at least…” she sounded hopeful.
“I’m not here on an official capacity… There isn’t really an awful lot that the police can do
in a case like this. They usually don’t bother with them.”
“Then why are you here?”
“I have a child too and I’m curious…”
“I see,” she said nodding slowly and then took a drag of her cigarette. “Well, regardless,
we’re very happy someone’s working on our behalf. Lord knows, it’s taken long enough.”
“Is that Brian there?” he pointed to a picture of a young boy with brown hair being held by
an elderly lady.
“Yes,” she said retrieving it from wall.
“Is that the boy’s grandmother?”
“Yes… He loved his gran…” she smiled.
“I wonder if you could tell me about incidents leading up to Brian’s passing… Things he
might have said. If he had any strange interests, or unusual visitations from people or
organisations?”
She sat pensively for a moment. “No, I can’t think of anything,” she began. “Well, there was
one thing. But perhaps I’d better show you…”
He followed Angela up the stairs and went into a small room off the landing.
“We keep it just as it was…”
He looked around the little room. It had been several years since a child had slept in it, but
you would hardly have known. Then the thought struck him that Brian would have been twelve by
now. He would have lost interest in most of these toys and taken up an interest in girls, most likely.
He felt a strong empathy for the Shorts. He wasn’t sure how he would react if his daughter were
taken from him in similar circumstances. But he knew from losing his wife, Julia, that it served no
good purpose to dwell on the past too long. You had to get on with life as best you could and avoid
turning the places they frequented into a shrine, or a tomb…
Angela bent down and lifted up an old cardboard box filled with papers; placing it on the
bed. “These paintings,” she said taking out a number of crumbled pages. “We just thought that he
 !25
was expressing himself… You know, boys will be boys, but then… Now that I think about it does
seem almost prescient… Sort of, spooky, really, in light of what happened…”
Looking at the paintings, he could see what she meant. The images, daubed in black and red
paint, showed what appeared to be a huge dark figure with square head standing in a doorway.
“He called it the Shadow Man…”
“The Shadow Man?”
“It all began when he started having those… what-do-you-call-them?” she said search for
the word. “Night terrors… He said that on several occasions a giant came into his room and pressed
down on his chest…”
“Night terrors…” said Walter aloud. “Do you mind if I take this?”
“No, I don’t mind. Do you think it could be related?”
He had stopped listening to her now and looked at the drawing one more time. It stirred
something deep within him; something unruly, something better left alone.

After the herbalism class, Anastasia followed Wendy and Valerie back down the mountain
and into the confines of the amphitheatre. The structure was built from large stone steps that dou-
bled as seats. In the centre was a fire pit filled with ashes and above that was a stone column with
its top broken off. Wendy went to the edge of the pit and started crushing bits of charcoal with the
toes of her white plastic Converse shoes.
Valerie turned to Anastasia and said, “I love your hair…”
“Thanks… I don’t like how wavy it is…” she said pulling at it.
“Are you kidding me? I wish I had hair like yours.”
“Really?”
“Hey, why don’t you let me braid it?” She began taking strands of her golden hair and
threading them over one another; back and forth in an intricate dance.
“So, what did you think of Ms. Lytton?” she asked.
“I like her, actually.”
“She’s a bit dry don’t you think?”
“Yeah maybe,” But then again most adults are, she thought. “I still can’t get over how flirty
she and Mr. Collins were on stage this morning. I mean… how obvious can you get?”
“Oh that’s nothing, believe me,” replied Valerie. “One time I was going into the library to
return a book and you know the way Ms. Lytton and Mr. Collins both have their offices in there?
Yeah well, I was walking by Mr. Collins’ office and the door was open… and you won’t believe
what I saw…”
“What? Tell us…” said Wendy coming closer. -
“… I saw Ms. Lytton, down on her hands and knees on the floor and Mr. Collins was mak
ing her drink out of a bowl of milk… And he was saying things like; Does Ms. Kitty want some
milk? and there’s a good kitty.”
“Ugh. Did they catch you looking?”
“No, I don’t think so…”
“You’re lucky that would have been awkward…” she giggled. -
“Whatever about that, but did you ever see anything as freaky as Mr. Haight? The Caretak
er?”
“Oh I know…”
“That was some speech he gave at assembly this morning. I didn’t know whether to laugh or
run away crying…”
 !26
“‘Those children had their all skin burnt clean off…’” said Wendy hunching over to do her
best impression of the middle-aged janitor. They all laughed and then fell silent.
Valerie pulled on the braid to make sure it was straight. “There what do you think?”
“Looks nice,” replied Wendy.
“I’m bored now,” she said and kicked her feet. “Hey, I’ve got an idea lets play truth or Truth
or Dare.”
“OK.”
“Truth…”
Wendy thought for a moment. “Which of the Seven Form boys would you be with…”
“None of them… My heart is for David,” she said clutching at her breast dramatically.
“Who’s David?”
“He’s the dreaming instructor…”
“And he’s totally dreamy…” pined Valerie.
“OK then, which one of them would you be with, if you absolutely had to…”
“Oh I see… well that’s different… Probably Alex, or possibly Burke, I guess. You?”
“Alex,” she nodded. “… Or maybe Marvin.”
“Uh, why Marvin?” her face twisting in disgust.
“Why not?” shrugged Wendy. “I just think he’s cute and sweet is all…”
“What about you Anastasia?”
“She hasn’t met any of the boys, yet Val. Remember?”
“Oh that’s right. You’ll have to do a dare, then… And I know just the thing…” said Valerie a
mischievous grin darkening her face. “Follow me…”
Valerie led them out of the stone amphitheatre in the direction of the Library. About half
way along they came to a flagstone path and at the end of the path, just next to the forest was the
white shed. “There it is,” said Valerie. “I dare you to take a look.”
“You can’t be serious?”
“I am… You can’t chicken out now…”
“It’s a stupid dare. What about what Mr. Haight said?”
“You didn’t honestly actually believe that did you?”
She had believed it, now she felt a bit stupid for having done so. “Alright, I’ll do it.”
As she drew nearer the shed, she had the vague intuition of some impending catastrophe.
The feeling started out small and remote, but began to deepen with each step, until it could no
longer be ignored. She stopped and turned around to look at her two friends, standing some yards
behind her. “Go on,” urged Valerie.
This was stupid, she thought. What, in the hell, am I afraid of? She turned back in the direc-
tion of the shed, but as soon as she did, the unsettling sensations returned. It was as though there
was some malevolent energy pulsating from behind the shed. The horror of it repulsed her, but at
the same time she felt a sort of attraction to it and to all things devilish and wild. -
She stepped closer along the flagstone path and lay her fingers lightly upon the latch. Hop
ing against hope that it might yet be locked and that she wouldn’t have to continue on any further.
She couldn’t go on; but neither could she back out — not with Wendy and Valerie both watching
her. So, she decided to do the next best thing. She lied.
“It’s locked.”
“No, it isn’t,” chided Valerie.
“It is, come and see for yourself.” She was hoping they would be too afraid to come and see
for themselves, but they both walked abruptly in her direction.
“It’s not locked,” said Valerie looking at the door bolt.
“Well, I couldn’t open it.”
 !27
“Weakling… Let me have a go…” Valerie reached towards the locked and a large, dark,
hairy hand grabbed her by the wrist.

Harmon crossed Clinton Avenue and went up by St. Catherine’s Community School to his
apartment. Along the way he surveyed some of the derelict houses by the roadside. The ornately
framed windows reminded him of picture frames, only instead of them shedding light on the interi-
ors and the lives of those who lived there, they revealed nothing but a piece of old chip board. In
some ways it had been the dilapidated streets of Albany which had initially turned his mind towards
the idea of being a painter. He found the vacant lots and backstreets interesting, as though they
might open up into another world where different laws of physics prevailed, or at least fewer of
them. But as he grew older, he came to resent these hollowed out old wrecks. They were indicative
of social decay that was now consuming his life as well as that of the city. It was strange that a
young man of twenty-six should think like that. And yet, it was somehow inescapably true, where
he was concerned.
In the last year, he had completed more than a hundred canvases, some of them quite large-
scale works and all of them delicately rendered in expensive oils. But he had sold almost nothing;
and hardly enough to keep from drowning in debt and bills. His parents helped him out on occasion,
but he hated having to rely on them for money. Maybe, if he gave another year to painting that
someone somewhere would recognise his ability. Maybe, then, he would begin to get noticed. But it
wasn’t to be, and the gap in his resumé was widening. His only other option was to earn a bit of ex-
tra cash by busking on the street with his guitar. He hated being reduced to begging on the street
like this. But what else could he do?
Worse still was the looks he got from people, women mostly, as they went pottering about
their daily errands with hair cuts worth hundreds of dollars. These people never dropped a coin in
his guitar case, in fact ironically, the only people who ever gave him any money were the homeless
drunks and drug addicts that were everywhere around here. It had forced him to view the world en-
tirely differently.
It wasn’t the poor and disenfranchised that were to be hated, feared and despised, rather it
was the well-off classes. They were the ones who spent the day drifting around jewellery stores
dangling diamonds off their earlobes, while he sat half starving on the street corner across the way.
You couldn’t eat diamonds, at least not without breaking all of your teeth.

Walter sat in his car for a few minutes researching ‘night terrors’ on his phone. Up until now,
he had thought that it was synonymous with nightmare, but as he researched more on the subject, he
became aware that it was a legitimate and self-contained phenomenon. The condition affected one
in five people at some point in their lives and was characterised by a phantom presence that creeps
into people’s bedrooms whilst they slept. This phantom entity is usually unpleasant to look at and
can apparently take on any form it chooses, including; a shadowy figure called Hat Man (so called
because he is typically seen wearing a fedora) an old hag, a troll or even a giant.
Almost all of the sleep paralysis victims describe being watched from a vantage point in the
room. At others times the entity would climb on top of them or choke them from behind. A common
characteristic reported in all cases was the inability of the victim to either move or speak throughout
the experience and why the condition was also referred to as ‘sleep paralysis’. He wondered if the
recent deaths in the Albany could be related somehow. Perhaps an inter-dimensional phantom like
the Hat Man was behind it all. There were even reports of a sexual motivation behind some of these
attacks. The reluctance of people reporting made it difficult to say how common this phenomenon
 !28
was. This made sense. The victims were already feeling alone, vulnerable and probably fearing for
their sanity. And what were they going to do? Phone up their local police station and tell them they
were being raped by a ghost? Nah, he started his car. He bet the boys down at the precinct would
get a kick out of that.

“What are you girls doing here?” bellowed the Caretaker. “You know you’re not supposed
to be anywhere near this shed…”
All three of them recoiled in horror.
“Weren’t you at this morning’s assembly?” he said laying a wooden slat across door to bar
the way.
“Yes, Mr. Haight,” replied Valerie.
“There’s chemicals and machinery in there that would blind you… Go on. Clear off…”
The three girls hurried from that place, feeling more embarrassed than scared.
She was beginning to get more accustomed to Camp Calapuyau and she wasn’t at all sure
she liked it. There were just too many restrictive rules. No playing at the tool shed, and no mixing
with boys. This was supposed to be a summer camp, she thought, it was supposed to be fun… -
Without really meaning to, they arrived at the door to the library. Wendy tugged on the han
dle, but it wouldn’t budge.
“Is it open?” asked Valerie.
She cupped her hands round her face and peered in through the glass. “No, it’s locked.”
“Well, there goes another plan…”
Around the side of building, she found three totem poles stuck into the ground. “Hey, what
are these?”
“That’s Jahbulon,” said Valerie pointing to the one in the middle. “He has three heads; a
man’s head, a frog’s head and a cat’s head. See?”
She looked again at the bottom face and saw that it did indeed resemble that of a toad.
“He’s the reason we celebrate Bealtaine.”
“What’s that again?”
“It’s the Festival of Fires, we have it every year on the June 9th, in honour of Lord
Jahbulon.”
“What are you some kind of a cult?”
Wendy laughed at this. “Well, you could say that… I bet that’s how it looks from the outside
at any rate…”
“What religion are you, Anastasia?”
“Christian, I guess.”
“But you don’t go to church anymore, I’ll bet,” she said smiling.
“Well, not so much anymore,” she admitted.
“Then how can you call yourself a Christian?”
“I don’t know, but I don’t think I’m any less Christian because of that.”
“Part of the reason why Eamon Radcliffe started this camp was that we could have a safe
place from the persecutions of people like you… But we don’t have to hide anymore… We’ve been
slowly chipping away at your institution; chipping away until there’s nothing left…”
She realised that Valerie was right, of course. Christianity had been in steady state of decline
in America and the West, she couldn’t even remember the last time she had heard someone say
Merry Christmas to her on the street. Nowadays it had been replaced with ‘Happy Holidays” if it
was ever said at all.
“I’m bored with this newblood… You coming?”
 !29
“You go along…”
“Suit yourself,” said Valerie shooting her a harsh look and walking back in the direction of
the Meeting Hall, her blonde hair swinging back and forth behind her.
“I’m so sorry about all that,” said Anastasia.
“Don’t worry about it. It’s not your fault. Valerie can take things a bit too far sometimes…”
“Tell me about it…”
“I try not to get involved with the politics of this place. Sometimes the less you know the
better…”
She was beginning to think her friend was right.
On their way back to the dorms, they passed Mr. Bulwark standing on a grass verge. He was
looking up into the sky and following the trajectories of a cloud of swarming midges above his
head. She noticed that his two bulbous eyes moved independently of one another. But this wasn’t
the only disconcerting aspect of the man’s demeanour. Around his mouth he had a glaze of some
tan-coloured fluid, which might have been honey or maple syrup. The flies were periodically get-
ting stuck in this film of treacle and facial hair and just as frequently his large pink tongue reach out
of his mouth and lick all around his face and chin.
“Eww, that’s gross.”
One of his peripatetic eyes fixed itself on them, “You girls best be getting along. Gym class
starts in five…” he said.
They couldn’t wait to get away from there.

The Winters lived in a big house out in the MacDonald Dunne Forrest, just outside Adair,
the next town over. They had lost their daughter Rosemary, earlier that same year. Rosemary was
only seventeen, a gifted student with a bright future ahead of her. But that all came crashing to a
halt, when they found her body laying half naked somewhere out in the woods.
Like in the Brian Short case, an autopsy report proved vague and inconclusive. Unlike their
case, however, news of Rosemary’s death had galvanised the local Adair community and this result-
ed in a relentless manhunt for the suspected killer. A man in his mid to late twenties had been ar-
rested and detained by the Portland Police Department in connection with the incident, but had later
been released without charge. Why this was so, he had never been able to figure out.
He parked his car in a lay-by and crossed over the road to their house; a grey wooden period
style home. Standing in the front lawn was a man holding a length of hose, watering the flowers.
“Mr. Winters? Peter Winter?”
“Yes?”
“I’m Mr. Cullen from the Albany Police Department. I’m here to discuss—”
“Rosemary… Yes, I know, come on inside.” He shut the water off. “My wife and I have
been expecting you. How did you find the drive?” -
“Fine,” he said. “Very pleasant…” He always enjoyed the winding roads of the forest, espe
cially when they were damp with rain.
“It’s a beautiful area,” Mr. Winter said echoing his thoughts. “Come on in.”
He followed him into a dark hallway filled with small delicate prints of fox hunting in the
English countryside. “Are you a fox hunting enthusiast?”
“Not really. My wife likes to collect old stuff like that.”
“I see.”
“You’ll meet her in a moment. Audrey…” he called up the stairs. “The man from the police
department is here… She won’t be a moment. Would you like a cup of tea?”
“Yes,” replied Walter following the man into the kitchen.
 !30
A moment later tea was served. The cups featured the same images of fox hunting. Some
enthusiast, he thought. The lady of the house came into the kitchen in her dressing gown and pyja-
mas. She sat down at the head of the table, “I’m sorry for my appearance Inspector, I’m not feeling
all that well…”
“Don’t mention it… I’ve been following the case of your daughter for sometime… hoping
to shed light on the issue.”
“Well, do forgive me for not being overly enthused,” she scowled. “We’ve had numerous
investigators and detectives out looking for our daughter’s killer and nothing.”
“Surely, you’re aware that the Portland Police turned up a suspect only last week?”
“No,” said Peter shaking his head.
“You weren’t informed?” -
“How did you hear about it? Through the police department was it?” His hand shook un
steadily as his set the cup back down into the saucer.
“No, it was in one of the local newspapers. The Portland Express…”
“Oh, we don’t get that newspaper out here.”
“Well, surely someone would have told you?”
Their silence indicated otherwise. Never in his thirty odd years on the force had he ever
heard of such gross incompetence. The first people to be informed about a new suspect was always
the victim’s family. “You should get in touch with Portland and find out what went wrong… But
later. Right now, I want to talk about your daughter. Particularly, her frame of mind before she
passed away?”
“Well, what do you mean? She was a normal teenaged girl,” replied Audrey.
“Did she ever complain about any strange visitors in her room at night?” -
A look of shock came over Peter’s weathered features. “It’s funny you should ask that, be
cause she did complain about a figure in her room. A dark shadow, I think it was.”
So there was a pattern after all. “How often did she mention it?” -
“Quite regularly… It would come into her room and sit on the end of the bed. I seem to re
call her saying something like that. Kind of creepy, actually…”
“That’s right. I remember reading that in her diary.”
“She kept a diary?” his interest piqued. “Can I look at it?”
“I’m not sure… The police took a number of her things for evidence, but I think they
dropped it back. Hang on, I’ll go check.”
A moment later, she was back with a black and white book. Walter undid the latch and
flicked through the pages. The hunt was on, and he was getting closer to his quarry.

The girls of Form Seven stood doing stretches on the smooth wooden floor of the gym hall.
They complained bitterly that they had to do gym class inside on such a nice day, while the boys
were allowed out on the lake all morning, but Mr. Bulwark assured them that they would get their
chance later on. “Today is basket ball practice,” he said. “Start with laps of the court.”
The girls took off around the hall. After about a lap and a half, she started to become self-
conscious as though someone were staring at her. The obvious culprit was Mr. Bulwark, but when-
ever she glanced over at him he appeared to be focused on something else. Perhaps, it was just her
imagination, she reasoned.
He blew a whistle and the girls came to a standstill in an ad-hoc group at the end of the hall.
Bulwark dragged a large canvas bag filled with basketballs towards them. “Alright, line up against
the wall. Now that you’re all warmed up, we’re going to do some stretches…”
 !31
Bulwark started to demonstrate a number of different stretches and lunges, which despite his
excessive girth, he seemed to manage quite well. “OK, very good,” he said. “Take a ball from the
basket and wait for me…” -
While they were selecting from the bag, a tall, young man with short brown hair and pleas
ant, friendly smile came into the hall carrying a box of miniature traffic cones and reams of reflec-
tive tape.
At the sight of him the other girls grew excited. “It’s David…”
“Hello Bill,” he said. “I’ve come to drop these back…”
“Just put them in the store room will you.”
All of the girls started crowding around him, with Valerie at the forefront. “Hey, David… I
heard that you are our dreaming instruction again this year, is that true?”
“Yes, it is.”
It was clear from some of the reactions of the girls that they could hardly contain their joy.
David smiled; shunted the box into the store room and closing over the door. “So, I’ll guess I’ll see
you all up in the lodge this evening? Remember to bring your totems with you and your Book of
Shadows.”
“Yes, David. We will…”
“Alright,” said Mr. Bulwark, with a hint of jealousy. “If you’ve all got a ball, then I want
you to dribble them up and down the court, until I tell you to stop.”
The girls took off down the court; filling the hall with the noisy, cacophonous sound of bas-
ket balls bouncing off a hardwood floor.

Walter arrived home to an unusually silent house and left the girl’s imitation cow-hide diary
on the kitchen table, before opening up the freezer to see what was for dinner. He extracted a frozen
lump of beef and put it in the microwave on defrost. Then he went back to the diary and opened it
on page one. The first page contained the typical disclaimer; “This Diary Is Private; Hands Off”
and “If you’re reading this and you’re not me, you’re in BIG trouble.”
He skimmed through the first couple of entries which were accounts of her likes and dislikes
of everything from boys to fashion to her teachers at school. There were also accounts of excursions
with her friends and family. These interested him only in as far as it gave a window into her world.
It was clear that Rosemary was your average teenage girl with a loving supportive and a healthy
social life. He wondered how Anastasia compared to this girl. Losing her mother at such a young
age couldn’t have been easy on her; living with him and his moods on a daily basis even less so.
The rest of Rosemary’s diary was sprinkled with the private aspirations and dreams befitting
of a girl of her age. He read how she desired the love and security of a husband and family at some
point in her future. Again he wondered if Anastasia shared these same ideals. It was much harder for
her growing up than it had been for him. The world had becoming increasingly more fragmented
and girls were being pushed more and more into the realms of business and politics, so much so that
expectations of being a mother necessarily took a back seat. Would Anastasia ever have a baby?
Somehow, he felt sure that she would… But not in the ordinary way. How then? Adoption, most
likely…
He stopped think about it and got back to reading the diary. In an entry dated September
21st 2015, he read the following;

… I think there’s a ghost in my room. I was lying in bed with my eyes closed when someone
sat on the edge of the bed. I felt the mattress dip distinctly, but when I opened my eyes there
was no-one there. It was the strangest thing…
 !32

This was the first indication that there was anything amiss in the girl’s otherwise normal life.
It was a fairly mild incident — of that there was no doubt — and one which could easily be ex-
plained away without recourse to the supernatural or paranormal. But he had to admit that it was
interesting nonetheless. He flicked ahead a few pages, until he came to one dated October 10th. It
read;

Another strange dream last night, at least I hope that’s what it was… It seemed so
real… It was horrible… I woke up in the dead of night and saw this black shadow standing
in the middle of the room. I was too afraid to call out for help, in case the thing attacked
me. I waited to see what it would do… I didn’t move an inch all night, I just lay in my bed
paralysed with fear. I was certain I had been awake, and what is more, I felt whoever it was
in that room, it was like he knew me…
-
A loud beep interrupted his reading. He went to the microwave and lifted the sweaty, steam
ing, pink hunk of meat onto a plate, before transferring it into the oven. The next entry of note had
been penned on 14 November 2015. In it, she described how she had awoken with her feet covered
in mud and pine needles. Her memories of the previous nights dreams were hazy and incomplete.
But while she could not account for anything else, one thing was now abundantly clear in her mind;
at some point during the night and for reasons completely unknown to her, she had gone outside the
house. The prognosis was obvious. Rosemary suffered from an extreme form of sleep walking. She
had gone off into the forest, where she had most likely fallen, hit her head and died of exposure.
As he continued reading he saw that she had written a different entry on the same day (using
a different colour pen), which made him question his assumptions. Rosemary wrote of a small tri-
angular mark on the back of her thigh that she had only noticed after showering. It wasn’t particu-
larly painful, but it clearly worried her, as she didn’t know what it was or how it had gotten there.
The entries continued through January, all of which featured the odd appearance of the Shadow
Man (as she had come to term him); his advances were becoming noticeably more invasive and ag-
gressive towards her. During this period, Rosemary wrote that she was feeling increasingly isolated
from her friends and family and that she was falling behind in her school work. This he realised was
the girl’s final plea for help, but for some reason no one heard it or came to her aid.
The last entry in her diary was dated February 29th 2016; a leap day, and seemed to suggest
a more positive outlook on the world. However, the entry was vague and relied upon a host of
commonly used platitudes such as “everything happens for a reason” and “I know it will all work
out for the better in the end.”
Was it possible there was someone preying on the young girl? Perhaps her killer had gotten
hold of her somehow and forced her to write these messages. He didn’t know; maybe if he could
find out the identity of the man they had brought in for questioning in Portland he would have a bet-
ter idea.

Harmon logged onto the internet and began scrolling down through the posts his friends had
made over the last week or so. He stopped when he saw a post from Samantha Harding. Evidently,
her parents hadn’t gotten around to deleting her account yet. The post mentioned something about
“love at first sight being annoying” and Harmon wondered if it wasn’t another direct snub towards
him. He had, after all come on fairly strong when he first met Samantha. He dismissed it as para-
noia. He was fairly sure that she had regularly been fending of a slew of admirers; she certainly was
pretty enough. He continued to scroll through her photos her found another curious coincidence. In
 !33
a series of images of her sitting on a train, he saw her take a photograph of a particular book that
they had been discussing together and then in the very next image she was giving an obnoxious
hand sign. This was harder to shake off as mere paranoia and it made him feel uncomfortable. -
He clicked away from it and posted some more photographs of his newest painting. The im
age was of a young girl; aged about nine years old sitting on the floor of his bedroom with her back
to the viewer. This was the sight that had greeted him upon awakening in this very room one morn-
ing, several weeks ago. Confused as to the identity of the young girl he naturally reached out to-
wards her. As he was about to touch her shoulder, the girl turned suddenly to reveal serpentine eyes
filled with burst blood vessels and a mouth filled with rows of hooked teeth. He recalled how badly
it shocked him and how he had awoken that same instant to an empty room. He played around with
a number of comments in the subject line of the painting and then settled on; “Don’t Sleep, They’ll
get you.”
He liked it; it had a kind of eerie feel to it. He posted it up onto his feed and awaited any
likes and comments it might attract. He waited five, ten, fifteen minutes without so much as a re-
sponse and then he switched off the computer. That was it, he thought, I’ve definitely made the
wrong choice. In the past when he had been painting scenes of urban decay around Albany, he had
gotten numerous likes and comments on his work. But since moving over to the surreal environ-
ment of his dreams, interest in his work had declined sharply. What was it all about? he wondered.
He recalled how his tutors had warned him against investigating the surreal world of dreams as it
had been sufficiently and expertly covered by the likes of Salvador Dali and Magritte; whom he
both loved and respected. He had assumed that criticism of the surrealist genre was confined to the
snobby art world and that the general public at large would be more forgiving. But for some reason
it was impossible to get his friends to give him any feedback on his work.
Perhaps they were jealous, he thought. Yes, that was it, they are jealous of his creative abili-
ties, as well as by the strange and mysterious life he led. What he needed was a hook, some kind of
viral marketing strategy to get them interested in his work. The comment he had written earlier to
describe the mood of his painting came back into his mind.

About ten minutes into gym class, Anastasia was blind-sided by a basketball to the face.
Once she got over the initial shock, she looked around and saw Valerie, Annette and Amelia all
standing together looking at her. “Sorry, Anastasia,” called Amelia with feigned compassion, but
she could see by Valerie’s easy smile that it had been no accident.
After that her relationship with the rest of the group continued on a sharp, downward curve.
She was rarely passed the ball; except by Wendy, her one remaining friend it appeared, and jeering
ensued whenever she tried to take a shot on net. To make matters worse, she could not shake the
feeling that Mr. Bulwark was staring at her breasts whenever she moved around. Naturally, this
made her feel even more self-conscious and uneasy to the degree that it interrupted her game.
Whenever Mr. Bulwark caught her slacking, however, he would blow his whistle and shout; “Get in
there.” -
This frustrated her, but what could she do? In the end, she had to adopt a new way of run
ning. But this more stiffened posture put extra strain on her muscles and led to her getting exhaust-
ed more quickly. In the end, Mr. Bulwark blew his whistle again and called time. As the girls all
filed past him out of the hall, she heard him say. “Good work, girls. Now don’t forget to get out of
those wet things and take a shower…”
 !34
Harmon’s flat was so small that often the only surface large enough to work on was his bed.
He mixed a small amount of vermillion with yellow ochre to create a bright orange colour and then
used a roller to coat the canvas thoroughly. He managed to get some of the paint on the sheets, but
he didn’t mind. There was paint all over his flat; paint on the walls and on the tables and chairs;
along with more unnamable stains.
Some weeks ago, he had started to keep a dream diary; jotting down snippets of dreams and
sketching out scenes from them to be used as the basis of paintings later on. Sometimes he would
dream about galleries and see entire exhibits laid out before him. He would see works of exquisite
beauty in, as yet undiscovered styles. Often these images contained words or letters and compart-
ments which contained yet more images. But his recollection of these compartments and the words
were often fuzzy and so he was unable to accurately recreate them in the real life. -
He flicked through his dream diary to select an image. He knew that he was going to recre
ate a scene from one of his most recent dreams, but he wasn’t exactly sure which one. In the end, he
settled on the on; the image was of a bare-chested muscular man with a shaven head who looked
like he belonged in some kind of martial arts spectacular. The man appeared dejected and next to
him in all capital letters were the words; “ALL THIS TIME MY FRIEND WAS A TRAITOR.” -
He didn’t understand the significance of these words. He couldn’t even remember the con
text of the dream, but this in itself was not unusual for him, as very often his dream recall was in-
complete. Nevertheless, there was something compelling about the image and he felt certain that it
would be well received down in “The Cascades”; a café-bar that sometimes let him display his
work. They might even offer him a few free drinks. He could live in hope…

The girls were exiting the Meeting Hall, just as the Seven Form boys came by. They stopped
to exchanged hugs and kisses with the girls. This left her feeling even more like an outsider than
ever, and to make matters worse, some of the boys were actually very handsome, particularly a tall
blond-haired boy named Alex. -
But, as she was soon to discover, being the new girl had its own advantages; everyone want
ed to talk to her and find out more about who she was and where she had come from. Alex and his
close friend Marvin took the greatest interest. Alex looked like he might be at home on a football
field scoring touchdowns, while Marvin looked like he would be more comfortable indoors playing
video games. He was smaller, darker and slightly overweight, but there was something sweet and
endearing in his lack of confidence.
She noticed that both Annette and Amelia appeared to be especially sour at her for having
attracted so much attention from the boys. She tried her best to enjoy their pain and make the most
of it. “You are the new girl, aren’t you?” asked Alex.
“That’s right.”
“Wendy aren’t you going to introduce us?”
“Introduce yourself…” said Wendy, forgetting her manners.
“I’m Alex,” he said stretching out his hand. “And this is Marvin,” he said pointing to his
silent companion.
“Pleased to meet you…”
“So where are you from?”
“Albany.”
“Really, that close by? We’re from the East Coast… So how are you finding your first day at
the camp?” He began his not too original line of questioning and smiled.
“It’s not so bad…”
Wendy passed behind her; touching her arm.
 !35
“You don’t think it is a bit weird?”
“Maybe a bit, yeah…” She turned in time to see Mr. Bulwark exiting from the sports hall;
and giving her a half curious look back in her direction as he did so.
“Don’t worry,” said Alex, his bright smile returning. “You’ll get used to it. What level are
you guys all on?”
“Stage four,” replied Valerie.
“What about you Wendy?”
“I completed Stage three at the start of the summer.”
“I’m still stuck on three,” pouted Annette.
“Oh don’t feel bad,” Wendy said rubbing her shoulder. “Stage three is a really difficult.”
“Yeah, I was stuck on that one for a good while,” replied Valerie.
“What are you talking about?” asked Anastasia.
“The different dreaming stages,” explained Wendy. “There’s five in total.”
“Six,” corrected Valerie.
“Well, six…. But the last one is sort of forbidden.”
“Not forbidden exactly,” corrected Valerie. “Just unknown…”
“But what are they?”
“David will probably go over all that since you’re new here and all…”
“You’ll have to start at the beginning,” said Annette, as though struck by some frightful real-
isation and then a look of relief came over her. “Well, at least I don’t have to do that…”
She had this anxious feeling that sometimes appears when one has missed a number of
classes at the start of the year and finds themselves lagging behind in their work load.
“So Anastasia?” called Alex.
“Yes?”
“Anastasia what?” he said. “What’s you surname?”
“Cullen…”
“Cullen? What do your parents do?”
“My dad’s a detective…”
“A detective? Like a police detective?
“What other kind is there?” -
“I think she means Police Chief, don’t you?” said Amelia hovering close behind her shoul
der like a bird of prey.
“No,” replied Anastasia shrugging her off.
“What about your mother?”
“Well…” she looked at her feet in the yellow dirt of the road. “She’s dead, actually.”
There was a silence. “Oh, well, I’m sorry to hear that.”
“It doesn’t matter.” She took a deep breath. “It was a long time ago… What do your parents
do?”
“My parents are both investment bankers, from Corsica originally.”
“My dad works for the ICG,” said Valerie.
“What’s that?”
“The International Crisis Group?”
“Never heard of it.”
“They deal with all humanitarian matters across the globe and help out in war situations. My
father is one of the project managers.”
She was impressed. Everyone at Camp Calapuyau seemed so refined and well-connected.
For the first time all morning, she began to wonder if she wasn’t completely out of her depth.
 !36

***

After dinner, Walter drove across town to Hill Street and knocked on the door of Amanda
Carrington’s residence. A middle-aged man wearing a dark dressing gown and slippers answered
the door with a perplexed expression on his face.
“I’m from the police department. I’m here to speak with Amanda,” he explained.
Mr. Carrington invited him inside. “Would you like anything? A coffee perhaps?”
“No, that’s all right, I’m fine.”
“Why don’t you wait in here? I’ll give them both a call,” He opened the door to a bright and
spacious living area with a plasma TV screen in one corner and comfortable looking couch in the
other. Lying on the rug was a large mass of ivory coloured hair, belonging to a dangerously over-
weight family dog. The docile retriever lifted its head up off the floor momentarily, decided he
wasn’t a threat and went back to sleep. He started to get the feeling this might have been a wasted
trip. These girls didn’t have any real information that could help him out. But it was important to
check all avenues. He sat down on the blue couch and moments later the man poked his head in
around by a set of double doors. “They’ll be down in a minute.”
He nodded.
“Terrible news about Samantha, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
Presently there was the sound of light and quick feet upon the stairs. The man withdrew and
in the same instant Amanda and Julia appear through another door. He noticed that they were
dressed for a night on the town. They were both wearing short black mini-skirts and harmoniously
coloured blouses. Amanda sat in the chair in front of him with Julia perched to one side; her long
black stockinged legs arranged lengthwise towards him, as though on display.
“Hello again,” he began; being selective with his words. “Thank you for meeting with me. I
know what a difficult time you must be going through right now…”
The girls both looked at each other anxiously and appeared to rearrange themselves into
more conservative poses.
“I won’t take up too much of your time,” he continued. “I’d just like to ask you both a few
questions that’s all…”
“Sure,” began Amanda. “I mean if there’s anything we can do to help…”
“Did something happen to Samantha?” asked Julia. “I mean, did someone do something to
her?”
“No. We have no reason to suspect anyone… If that’s what you mean…”
The girls both seemed to relax.
“You were both friends with Samantha, weren’t you? You went to school together?”
“That’s right. We took nearly all of our classes together…”
“What about outside of school? Did you see much of her there?”
“Sure,” said Amanda running her fingers through her hair. “We were best of friends. I saw
her almost every weekend.” -
“And how would you describe her mood over the last couple of weeks. Did she seem dis
tressed? Was anything bothering her?”
“No,” she replied frowning. “She didn’t mention anything, anyway.”
“So, no strange dreams, or anything like that?”
“Dreams? No… She would have told me. We told each other everything…”
He grimaced.
“I did notice that she looked a bit thinner than usual,” interjected Julia.
 !37
“Oh yeah,” Amanda concurred.
“We thought she might be a bit bulimic that’s all.”
“Yeah, she like to stick her fingers down her throat…”
His eyebrows went up when Julia said this.
“OK,” he said standing up. “Thanks for your time…”
They both got up off the chair and followed him across the room, barefoot, siren-like. “Is
there anything we can do for you, Mr. Cullen?”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know… We can stick our fingers down your throat, for starters…”
His eyebrow went up involuntarily. “Maybe later…” he said.
Unbelievable… What the hell was the matter with teenagers these days, anyway, he thought
as he made his way out the front door to his car. He had no intention of going near those two, but
this was the first time he had experienced that he had been propositioned like that and he knew it
was only a matter of time, before the crept back inside of his mind again.

Anastasia followed Wendy around the back of the amphitheatre and up the sloping path into
the forest. They climbed a set of flagstone steps that chicaned between beds of wild chickweed and
pennyworth. The path led them up a steep muddy slope; at the top of which was a wooden hut with
a single yellow light shining forth into the gloom. She could see the other girls gathered together
outside; waiting to go in. To her right, in a clearing, lit by the last reflected light of evening was a
wooden house, not unlike the kind you would regularly see in older neighbourhoods around Albany.
The house rested on the hillside, and was propped up on stilts to keep the structure level.
“That’s the Director’s house,” said Wendy. “Jasper Collins and Miss Lytton both live
there… Mr. Bulwark, too.”
“It’s a nice house.”
“On the outside maybe…It’s a bit of a dump inside…”
“Really?”
“It’s just a bit damp…”
She could see reeds growing up at the front of the house, which suggested that the ground
there was waterlogged and marshy. “I see what you mean…”
“Come on,” said Wendy impatient. “We’ll have to get inside quick, if we want to get a good
seat….”
Together they tramped up the wooden steps through the door of the little chalet. It was much
newer looking than the other chalets down by the lake. Inside the girls were all reclining on over-
sized bean bags, but there was; at present, no sign of the Dreaming Instructor.
Wendy found a small white bean bag in the corner and they shared it. The room was more
like a chill-out room at a festival or dancehall than an actual classroom. A designer lamp made of
twisted steel sat on a small cabinet and there were also a number of psychedelic themed posters on
the wall; including Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band and Revolver. All around the top of
the room ran a single shelf on which were books, ornate wooden boxes and numerous glass jars
filled with seemingly random pieces of bric-a-brac. David emerged through a curtain, concealing a
mysterious back room.
“Ah ladies, you made it,” he said lighting another lamp in the corner. “Excellent, shall we
begin?” he seated himself on a stool in front of them and scanned around the room with his inim-
itable gaze. “Let me get a good look at you all… A lot of stage fours here, I see… that’s good.
Wendy stage three, not bad… We’ll have to work on that… And Annette… Stage two… What hap-
pened?”
 !38
“I know,” she groaned and pretended to sob into her hands.
The seventh form girls found her theatrics amusing.
“Not to worry. We’ll work on stage three later on together… Who else have we got?” he
said glancing around. “You,” his eyes rested on her. “What’s your name?”
“Anastasia Cullen, sir.”
“Anastasia…” he said nervously flicking a broken piece of chalk through his nimble fingers.
“You don’t appear to have reached any level…”
All the girls except Wendy laughed at this.
“It wasn’t a joke,” he said indignant. “Well, how do you account for this?”
“I don’t know…”
“She’s a newblood, sir,” said Amelia.
The girls laughed again.
“And a Christian,” said Valerie.
“A Christian?” The chalk was spinning again now, this time faster.
“But she’s not really. I mean she’s not practicing,” interjected Wendy. She seemed to be
making a deliberate effort to stress that point. What for? -
“My,” repeated David. “A Christian… Not too many of them left about,” he said and sound
ed very pleased. “Well, I suppose we’ll have to start back at the beginning with you. You have a lot
of catching up to do.”
“How is she going to catch up with us?” protested Amelia. “She should be back in Form
One with the juniors.”
“Now, now, girls remember that you’re all family here… Besides, I think you could do with
a bit of a refresher course… Who can tell me what the first level of dreaming is?”
Amelia raised her hand.
“Yes?”
“In the first stage, you look for your hands.”
“That’s correct,” he wrote this up on the blackboard. “And the second stage? Valerie?”
“In the second stage, you must fall asleep within a dream.”
“That’s right. We call it ‘translation’ because we are moving through the dream world.” He
wrote down; Second Stage; translation. “And the third?”
“Seeing yourself within a dream,” said Annette.
“Correct,” he said writing that up on the board. “The fourth is dreamwalking and the fifth is
shapeshifting. What’s the sixth?”
“The sixth is only for adepts,” came the reply.
“That’s right… It is forbidden to know or learn about the sixth gate ahead of time… But lets
say we did want to find out, where would we go?”
Several of the girls put up their hands.
“Yes, Wilma?”
“Apocalypsis, by Eamon Radcliffe…”
“That’s right,” he said writing that on the board. “Have you all go your Book of Shadows to
hand? Take them out… This is very important… You must write down every dream you have in
there from now on. Can anyone explain to Anastasia, why do we do this?”
“It helps with dream recall,” replied Valerie. “As what use is being able to control your
dreams, if you can’t recall them when you wake up?”
“Very well put Valerie,” he moved around the classroom again looking at his feet. “So with
regards the first stage of dreaming, the basic principle is what?… Regular reality checks?”
The girls agreed.
“And how do we do these?”
 !39
“We look for our hands regularly and ask ‘Am I dreaming?’”
“Excellent. Then you were having a lucid dream and what’s one of the great things about
lucid dreaming?”
There was no answer.
“It means that you can fly, doesn’t it? And you walk through walls, stop and reverse time,
and take over people’s minds. How does that sound to you Anastasia?”
Anastasia had never had a flying dream before, and she wanted one now more than ever. “It
sounds great,” she said.
There was an audible groan from some of the other Seven Form girls.
“Ok class, I want you to write down your most recent dreams, or a dream that had a great
effect on you in your notebooks and then I’ll interpret them for you.”
The dream that stuck out most in her mind was the one that she had when she was very
young. She was in a harbour, sitting on a slipway used by boats to get in and out of the water. She
had a big bag of toys and was playing with them, as children do. Her mother was there and a man
who was supposed to be her father, according to the logic of the dream, but in reality looked noth-
ing like him. Her parents were both standing on different sides of a canal, a fact which represented a
schism between them. All of a sudden, her father grew angry with her, he picked up the bag of toys
and threw them into the sea. Then concrete slipway split from the land and she was upturned and
thrown into the sea.
But, she decided not to write this dream down; it was too personal. Instead, she settled for
the more recent dream. In the dream, she was walking around her house in Albany. But there were
extra rooms and staircases that did not exists ordinarily, when she was awake. Nothing much ever
happened, but in one instance, she encountered a bear living in one of the basement rooms. She
wrote this down and he came over and examined it. He told her the dream suggested that she would
soon be exposed to both new and exciting experiences and find hidden depths within herself. “The
symbol of the bear,” he said. “Means that you will find within yourself a deep inner strength.”
She recalled what she had learnt from the class with Mr. Collins earlier that morning about
animals. Dream interpretation didn’t seem all that difficult to her, in light of this. “Over all a very
auspicious dream,” he said and passed the book back in her direction.
She smiled. Up until now their attraction had been largely hypothetical, but now she felt the
genuine connection that develops when learning about the world from someone. It was like a warm
tingling feeling that covered her over and made her feel protected and she didn’t want to ever let it
go.

Walter’s feeling that tonight’s investigation would be a wasted effort had been correct. He
knew from reading Rosemary’s diary how difficult it was for sleep paralysis victims to come for-
ward to talk about their experiences. Maybe Samantha had been a sufferer, but simply hadn’t spo-
ken up about it. It might explain her deterioration in health, shortly before her death. He put his
notes aside and started up the car. There was a full moon rising over the Pine Forest Mountain in the
distance. What time was it? Nine thirty; how long had he been sitting here he wondered? Anastasia
would probably be getting ready for bed now. He seemed to recall the camp had a ten o’clock cur-
few. Ouch! He couldn’t imagine Anastasia being fond of that.
He wondered how she was getting on. If she was fitting in all right. Stop worrying, he
thought, it’s not like she is twelve anymore. She is all of fourteen and kids these days grow up fast.
Faster than most parents would like to admit, at any rate. He just hoped that she had more sense
than the two femme-fatales he had encountered tonight.
 !40
As he drove back towards his house he recalled his own upbringing and how he had gotten
involved in drug abuse. He had knocked all of that on the head, but every now and again he got the
urge to roll a joint or pop some pills. He was thinking about it now; with Anastasia away in camp,
he could do what he liked. But, no this was madness… He had given it up for her. He would not go
back to his old ways. Not for anything…

Wendy and Anastasia went back into the warm night air. It smelled of woodbine and pine
sap. She watched as Valerie and the others passed them by on the way back to the dorm rooms.
“They don’t like me much do they?”
“No, I’m afraid not,” murmured Wendy. “Don’t worry. They’ll come around. They’ll find
someone else to hate on eventually.”
She was about to say something else, when a sound coming from her lefthand side made her
turn. Standing on the porch of the house, she saw two figures drenched in the pale glow of moon-
light. She recognised them as Kat Lytton and Mr. Collins. “Please Kitty,” Mr. Collins said. “Don’t
be like that, come inside…”
She and Wendy looked at one another and snickered.
“Wendy Hamilton and Anastasia Cullen….” said Ms. Lytton who evidently had no trouble
making their identities despite the gloom. “Your supposed to be at your dorm room. Curfew is in
five minutes.”
“Yes, Miss Lytton,” replied Wendy. “Come on lets go…”
How had Ms. Lytton been able to see them? It was true that the light of the moon lit up
everywhere to an appreciably bright level, but it did not penetrate the dense canopy overhead. They
ought to remain invisible and yet Ms. Lytton had picked them out easily. How could this have been?
As they passed by the front of the house, Wendy turned to her and said; “Don’t look.”
But it was too late. She had spotted him. Sitting motionless, in the centre of the swamp that
was their front garden was Mr. Bulwark, gazing vacantly at the moon.

When they came back to the dorm rooms, Anastasia got her tooth brush and went to the
shower block to brush her teeth. The washroom was long and narrow, with seven stalls on the right
covered over by blue shower curtains. She stopped by a washbasin and began brushing her teeth.
Several of the other girls; including Annette and Wilma were at the other wash hand basins further
down. They finished up before her. Her whole body tensed up as they went by. She was expecting
some kind of attack. None came, however, and they left without so much as a word. Get a grip, she
thought. A swishing sound from one of the stalls behind her. “Hello?”
No reply…
“Is there anybody there?”
All of a sudden, she was reminded of the seven foot tall Indian she had seen in the forest
earlier that day. She imagined him standing in the shower in muddy boots, holding his stone axe,
heavy breathing. The only barrier between her and a brutal death murder was that thin bit of plastic
shower curtain. She didn’t waste time spitting out the remaining toothpaste, she just gathered up her
things and left. Better just to swallow it, she thought, than stay in that cold and draughty room one
more second, by her self.
When she got back to the dorm room, the Seven Form girls were all there; all except for
Wendy. She noticed the dubious poses of the girls, as though they had just this minute been up to
something or other. Carol Mason sat on the corner of her bunk, filing her nails, with Annette stand-
ing by her side. Despite their obvious attempts to appear nonchalant, there was something fake
 !41
about the whole scene. There was an unnatural silence in the room, the nature of which she was at a
loss to explain. She soon realised what it was, as she drew nearer the bed. Someone had up ended
the waste paper basket there. Sweet wrappers, banana peels, and nameless things were all thrown
across her bedspread. She cast a hateful eye across the room and her gaze found the malefic grin of
Valerie Vanderbilt.
“Don’t Anastasia…” said Wendy who had just now appeared beside her.
She brushed her off and continued towards Valerie who was standing on the other side of the
room near her bed. She saw the blouse that she had given Valerie earlier that same day and snatched
it off the bedspread. “Hey, hands off…” cried Valerie tugging on the end of the garment. “That’s
mine…”
“It’s mine…”
“Careful. You’ll rip it…”
There was a loud bang and Ms. Lytton’s voice sounded angrily in the room. “What’s going
on here? Why are you all out of bed?”
“Take your stupid top… It’s cheapo anyway,” said Valerie relinquishing her grip.
What had she done, she wondered? If she thought things had been bad so far, just wait until
tomorrow and the rest of the week and the week after that. She had now made enemies with the en-
tire group and as she had earlier learnt; these were powerful people. Reputation and ritual meant
everything to people like this.
“Alright lights out!” cried Ms. Lytton. -
After Ms. Lytton had shut off the lights and closed over the dorm room door, she lay shiver
ing for a moment in the cold airless bed. She listened for a while to the noises the other girls made
as they drifted off to sleep and gradually even these subsided. But Anastasia could not sleep. The
near violent encounter with Valerie only moments ago had her adrenaline pumping and she was un-
able to close her eyes for fear that at any moment some reprisal might be inbound from some corner
of the room. She waited and the longer she waited, it became obvious that no such reprisals were to
come. She felt like a doll on a string; being toyed with emotionally. Then, the urge to get out of bed
and punch Valerie all over the head and in the mouth gripped her. She resisted it and her anger sub-
sided.
After that, she lay there looking at the oblique shaft of opaque blue moonlight shining in
through the window across the way. She felt like crying, but even her body was against her on that
front. She longed to be at home with her father and away from this place… It was only the first day
of Camp Calapuyau. Did she really want to stay for a month of this? She decided that if things
didn’t improve that she would call up her father and have him come collect her. She hated the idea
of running away; especially since it was her mother who had applied and gotten the place at the
camp for her. She had assumed that this would mean that she would have a good experience, but the
opposite had proven to be the case.
Sometime later, she was not exactly sure how long, she awoke again into the darkness of the
dorm room. Everything was still and quiet around her. The other girls were in their beds, fast asleep
and breathing softly. And yet there was something out of place… Her eyes turned towards the win-
dow, where the face of a man was peering in through the window at her. His eyes were wide and
bright like the moonlight streaming in behind him. Her imagination must have been getting the bet-
ter of her again, because it looked like the same Native American man, she had seen in the forest
again. His searching eyes found hers in the darkness. She tried to scream, but she wasn’t able to
move and then lapsed into unconsciousness.
 !42

The next day, Anastasia awoke and swung her feet out of bed. She had survived the trials of
the previous day and lasted out her first night at Camp Calapuyau. This realisation made her take
solace. Perhaps she would have the strength to see this ordeal through to the end, after all. The
magnificent weather outside reflected her new found perspective on life. It was a bright, summer’s
morning with the sun streaming through the window from behind the bunk bed. In the new light of
day, she inspected her hands, just as she was urged to do in her dreaming practice. It didn’t take her
long to notice something utterly strange about them.
On the palm of her hand, just below the right index finger, was a strange slowly revolving
spiral: A vortex of pinkish-purple skin. It was as though the ingrained loops and whorls of her hands
had obtained a volition of their own somehow and had taken to wandering about all over her body
like ripples on the surface of a pond. “Am I dreaming?” she asked.
Before she could derive a sensible answer, she awoke once more to the interior of the dorm
room and swung her legs out of bed. She had been dreaming after all. But she was surprised, be-
cause everything about the room was just as she had been in her dream. She looked at her hands
once more; but the spiral was no longer there…
It was only after she had written down these events in her Book of Shadows that she realised
their significance and in her enthusiasm, shook her friend awake. “Hey, Wendy, guess what?”
“What?” she groaned.
“I just completed the first stage of dreaming.”
“You did?” She sounded surprised.
“Yes, I looked down and saw my hands in a dream and there were these strange spirals on
them…”
“That’s not the first stage…” remarked Wilma. “The first stage is to become aware of dream
objects and surroundings. It doesn’t matter what you look at, in particular, whether it’s your hands,
or your shoes or someone else’s…” -
“You’re not supposed to tell her that,” Wendy rebuked her from the top bunk. “She’s sup
posed to figure it out for herself…”
“So what you’re saying is that I didn’t pass?”
“Look. All that matters with the first gate is that you have an awareness of dreaming. If you
didn’t realise that you were dreaming then you didn’t complete the first stage. I’m sorry,” Wilma
continued.
“She may well have passed the first gate. Who are you to say she didn’t?”
“David will know, obviously. He can tell just by looking at you.”
“Well, then, I’ll guess we’ll just have to wait and see then won’t we?” Wendy climbed down
from the top bunk and stretched. “Either way it’s a great achievement… You must really have
dreaming in your blood… You’ll make a good nargual yet.”
“What’s a nargual?”
“It’s a sorcerer.”
She wasn’t sure if the idea of a nargual appealed to her. It didn’t sound very appealing. She
said the word over in her head; Nar-gual…
“Come on,” said Wendy. “Lets go get some breakfast.”

Breakfast for Anastasia and Wendy on that morning consisted of two pots of yoghurt and
some dry weetabix, which they ate happily in the bright sunlight. Anastasia checked her diary and
 !43
saw that they had a history lesson with Mr. Collins in the Museum Building. The building itself,
which was the same one that housed the library, was a circular affair made from lime-washed con-
crete; metal; glass; topped off by a conical black slate roof. The interior was bright, spacious, mod-
ern and clean to the point of being sterile. In the centre of the building was the library and surround-
ing it on three sides was the exhibition space, featuring a collection of apparently Native American
artefacts. On the far side was a number of doorways and corridors which presumably led to the of-
fices of administration.
Upon entering the museum building, the girls all piled into a small darkened room to the
immediate left of the library entrance, where an audiovisual demonstration was about to take place.
The girls were jostling for seats, as the boisterous and well-composed voice of Jasper Collins came
echoing through the halls. He had on the same crumpled grey suit as the previous day, and carried
with him a clipboard. Dangling from a bracelet on his hand, she saw a metal wasp. Before she could
ask what it signified, he called for quiet. “Now girls, settle down. This is a very important video…
It tells of the history of our Camp and where it came from.”
He fumbled about with the remote for a bit, and then managed to dim the lights. The video
started and showing images of a windswept hillside with low stone walls, the ruins of ancient build-
ings. The booming voice of the narrator informed them that; “Eamon Radcliffe was born circa
1815, in the now deserted town of Baal, in Co. Mayo Ireland.” An old photograph of Eamon
showed him to be handsome enough, but still possibly suffering from the combined effects of foetal
alcohol syndrome and malnourishment. “Radcliffe immigrated to United States in 1851; and arrived
in the State of Oregon a year later where he established a successful paper mill factory. At this time,
the Willamette area was still the tribal homelands of the Calapuyau people…” Here the video filed
through a pastiche of drawings detailing daily life for the Calapuyau Indians. Compared to the more
ostentatious pomp and ceremonies of the Northern Native American tribes of Alaska and British
Columbia; with their teepees and decorative headdresses, the Calapuyau were a markedly more un-
derstated bunch, to the point of being dowdy.
They were shown half naked, sitting on the ground outside of their makeshift huts of sticks
and animal hides. It was seen from these historical records that the tribe did not have the least re-
gard for their appearance, but went around in filthy brown rags. They wore their dark hair lank on
either side of their good natured, but irredeemably melancholic faces and she began to wonder how
a people of such low self esteem had managed to survive that long in the first place.
She learnt that when the settlers arrived in the region they found the Calapuyau’s scruffy
appearance and strange customs frightful and set about pushing them from the land by any means.
The now dispossessed Indians took to living and foraging in the forests around the new settler
strongholds. Here it is believed that they subsisted on a diet of dogs, cats, and the occasional rat.
When more and more of the settler’s pets started going missing, however, the townspeople began to
suspect the former landowners of being behind the thefts and set about a campaign to rid the land of
them altogether. This campaign became violent when it was discovered that the Calapuyau were
using the blood of the sacrificed cats and dogs to impose hexes on the heads of the new Christian
inhabitants. Old photographs from the era show a group of Calapuyau Indians standing next to a
tree, on the branches of which are hung the eviscerated remains of dead cats.
In the beginning, Radcliffe had taken the side of the settlers, but when news spread of the
Calapuyau Indians using black magic rituals he was reminded of his own pagan upbringing in the
town of Baal and became more sympathetic to their cause. “Radcliffe often encountered the Cala-
puyau tribes people in and around the area of his paper mill and seeing the destitute squalor that
they were accustomed to, he offered to improve their lot in return for knowledge of their dark magi-
cal arts…” Drawings of the new living conditions for the tribe, showed them much improved. They
were now seen living in round huts with conical roofs, dressed in fine clothes and working at vari-
 !44
ous craft activities to a high degree of skill. “Chief Otaktay [a Native American Indian name which
means “He who kills many”] was Radcliffe mentor and it was from him that he learnt all about trib-
al magic; about the nature of associations in the plant and animal worlds and about the art of dream-
ing. Radcliffe was a keen student and advanced quickly through the different levels and soon gained
the respect and admiration of the tribe,” the narrator rambled on.
“In 1867 there was an outbreak of cholera among the settlers and it wasn’t long before
someone suggest that the Calapuyau had put a hex on the community… Anticipating the bloodshed,
Eamon Radcliffe attempted to broker a peace deal. He called upon people of both communities to
come together in a public ceremony and to lift the curse. However, the Indians failed to show. Thus
snubbed, the townspeople formed a mob and raided the Indian reservation. They set fire to their
homes and massacred men, women and children…” Scenes of men, women and children running
for their lives as men on horseback burned and raided their village were shown. “The Calapuyau
people are no longer in this area, but the Radcliffe Foundation remains; teaching youngsters the
ways of ancient pagan magic; at the dawn of a New Age…”
With this presentation ended and they were let wander through the rest of the exhibition. To
begin with she saw the original drawings of the Calapuyau seen in the video, both before and after
the intervention of the Radcliffe Foundation. For some reason, the older prints were in surprisingly
better condition than the later ones. Moving on into the next room she found a number of glass cas-
es containing everyday and ceremonial objects belonging to the tribe. There was a wooden contrap-
tion with a leather strap that they used to make fire. There were also several bowls decoratively
carved with chevrons and other markings. These artefacts, she learned had been given to Eamon
Radcliffe and his foundation, either in return for his humanitarian work or in honour of his
achievements in his various rites and rituals.
She and Wendy rounded the partition into the next phase of the exhibition. Here two large
photographic prints were hanging side by side. The one on the right showed Eamon Radcliffe; taken
sometime around 1865, in a flannel suit with slicked back hair and a moustache. The other portrait
showed Otaktay the Chief of the Calapuyau Indian. But, she knew exactly who it was without read-
ing the inscription, for the face in the photograph was the same as the one that she had seen peering
in at her through the window the night before. His eyes had the same melancholic gaze. He had the
look of a condemned man.

The next lesson of the day was swimming. The hot sun made the prospect of a cold dip in
the lake all the more inviting. The girls changed into their swimsuits and joined Mr. Bulwark at the
far corner of the lake nearby to where there was a small wooden jetty. The water was cold, so best
course of action was to get down as quickly as possible. She walked along to the edge of the jetty
and dove in. All the noise and trouble of the world was gone, submerged, and she was at peace, co-
cooned within the tranquil womb of blue. She remained here for several minutes; until her lungs
started to burst for want of air.
The other girls were protested against the cold as they lowered themselves gingerly into the
water. She swum in the direction of a buoy about a hundred yards distant. She was trying to wash
away what she had seen in the museum that morning. But even as her eyes closed against the water,
she saw the visage of Chief Otaktay looking back at her. He would not let her escape.
After several laps back and forth; she swam to the jetty where Mr. Bulwark was sitting with
his feet in the water. She clambered up onto the jetty beside him and noticed a small brass replica
turtle place sitting on the deck. Mr. Bulwark snatched at the turtle. “Go sit with the others,” he said
in a gruff tone. She went over to where Wendy and the other girls were sitting on the beach sun-
bathing. As she stood on the beach towelling herself off, Ms. Lytton approached them silently
 !45
across the yellow sand. “Anastasia, Wendy. Just the two I’ve been looking for. Neither of you have
taken the Soma Initiation yet have you?”
“No, Miss…”
“Well, we’ll have to change that. Meet me over at the gate over there, in ten minutes,” she
pointed to the tree line and smiled. “We’re going on a foraging expedition…”

“Hello,” said the nasally voice of a police officer on the other end.
“Hello? Is this Portland Police Service?”
“That’s right. How can I help you?”
“This is Walter Cullen of Albany County Police.”
“Can I have your badge number please?”
“Sure, eight, six, one, five.”
“Thank you, Mr. Cullen. How may I be of service today?”
“I’m looking for information about an arrest made in connection with the Rosemary Winter
case. A man in his late twenties was detained by your department for questioning and then later re-
leased…”
“Could you hold the line, please?”
The officers voice was replaced by a slow progression of musical tones. Presumably the
composer had intended to be a soothing experience, but with time the digital recording had degrad-
ed into an angry sludge. The voice of the officer returned. “I couldn’t find anything on record,” he
said.
“Are you sure? It was reported in the Albany and Portland press around May 12,” he said
fumbling for the newspaper.
“May 12? No, nothing around that time… Is there anything else I can help you with?”
He hung up the phone and looked again at the newspaper article. The author was one
Catherine Daly. Worth a shot… He lifted the phone and dialled the number for the Portland Ex-
press. “Hello, this is Walter Cullen of Albany State Police. Is Catherine Daly there?”
“Can I ask what this is in connection with?”
“It’s in connection with a murder case…”
The phone started ringing again and a moment later he was through to a well-spoken
woman. “Catherine Daly, Portland Express, how can I help you?”
“Hello Ms. Daly,” he said. “I’m interested in finding out more on a case you reported back
in May of this year. It was about the Rosemary Winter affair.”
“Oh yeah, what exactly do you want to know?”
“Well, in the article you stated that a young man had been detained by the Portland Police. Is
that correct?”
“Erm, is that what it says in the article?”
“Yep.”
“Then it must be.”
“I just got off the phone with the Portland Police and they have no record of anyone being
detained in connection with the case, and I happen to know that no one from the department in-
formed the next-of-kin either…”
“OK, what’s that got to do with me?” she chuckled.
“This isn’t a laughing matter, Ms. Daly. This is very serious…”
“No, I realise that,” her tone said otherwise. “You see the thing you have to understand is
how a lot of reporting work gets done… We don’t source stories ourselves, we have news conglom-
erates to do the work for us.”
 !46
-
“Are you saying that one of these news agencies provided you with the misleading informa
tion?”
“That I am.”
“Which one?” He got a pen ready in his hand.
“I don’t know off the top of my head. I’d have to check…”
She’s stalling.
“Can I call you back?”
He gave her a number to contact him on and put down the phone, fully expecting to never
here from her again.

It was hard work keeping up with Ms. Lytton, as she cut a swift path up the mountain. She
wore tight black combat gear over her slim physique and around her waist hung a noisy utility belt,
sporting all kinds of loops and pouches. Dangling from one of these loops was a furry white rabbit’s
foot. She was surprised to see a woman of Ms. Lytton’s age who still clung to such silly supersti-
tions. Presently, she took a knife from her belt and started hacking some vines overhead with her
penknife.
“What’s that Ms. Lytton?” asked Wendy.
“Woodbine… Here put that in your knapsack,” she said handing her a bundle of the weed
and going back to cut some more.
“What’s next on this list?”
“Morning Glory and Hemlock.”
“I can get those,” said Wendy racing off.
She was about to follow her, when Ms. Lytton grabbed her by the neck. “No, you stay with
me…” She handed her a clump of woodbine. “What do you make of that?”
She looked at the waxy oval-shaped leaves, at the woody stems, the bulbous petals and
asked; Are you edible?
There was silence.
“Well?”
“I don’t know, Miss…”
“Ha. It’s a tricky one. Woodbine like’s to keep her secrets. Here,” she said moving in a little
closer to her, her large flank pressing uncomfortably into her shoulder. “I have a tip for you… The
true source of a witch’s power comes through fear.”
“What do you mean?”
“Other’s fear and your own,” she prodded a finger at her chest. “You must get in touch with
her own feelings of inner-dread…”
This sounded unbelievably strange to her, as it went against everything she had ever learnt.
Love was the abiding emotion in her world. Seeing her confusion, Ms. Lytton turned to her and
said; “What happens when we become afraid? We become more aware of our surroundings, don’t
we? Our senses become more alert. That is the goal of the witch, of the nargual, to see the world as
it truly is…”
She wasn’t so sure about this, but then again, she had come to Camp Calapuyau to learn new
and to experience new things and she wasn’t about to argue with her. After all, who didn’t want to
see the world in a new way, while we were still young and before our perceptions became to set in
stone? At that moment, Wendy returned from her foraging with a tangle of green stems and purple
flowers. “Got it,” she cried and then paused. “Am I interrupting something?”
 !47
“No, no, Wendy… Good girl that will do very nicely.” She snatched the bindweed from her
hands. “The next item we have get is Amanita Muscaria, but we’ll have to climb higher for that and
you’ll have to look for it on your own…”
As they scaled the mountain, she began to appreciate more the speed and agileness of Ms.
Lytton. Very soon she outpaced the two girls completely, leaving them to fend for themselves in the
enchanted forests of the upper slopes. The sprawling canopy of the deciduous trees gave way to the
tall conifers and they tramped their way over the springy ground, before finally emerging out onto a
path of limestone regolith. Here, they encountered Ms. Lytton who, once again departed like a
shade, without so much as a word of encouragement for the two exhausted girls.
There was no point in trying to keep pace with her, so they stopped to catch their breath and
to take in the view. Beneath them, they could see all of Camp Calapuyau laid out before them, with
its Museum buildings chalets and Meeting Hall. To the right of the camp they could see the familiar
mountain which rose up out of the valley, only from their new vantage point it was possible to see a
sheer cliff face to one side. As she looked, Anastasia noticed a dark blue patch at the bottom of the
cliff. “What’s that?”
“It’s the old Indian cave,” Wendy said when she saw what she was looking at. “It belonged
to the Calapuyau people at one time.”
“Wendy? Can I tell you something?”
“Sure…”
“Do you remember when we were up in the forest yesterday, foraging? Well, I can’t be sure,
but I think I saw a Native American man in the trees…”
“That wouldn’t have been Otaktay, by any chance would it?”
Wendy’s question shocked her. “How did you know?”
“It is an old camp legend that Otaktay stalks the woods around Camp Calapuyau. To be
honest, you’re lucky you’re still alive…”
“Why do you say that?”
“Otaktay is known for devouring children. He takes them from their beds at night and leads
them into the forest and rips them limp from limp and drinks their blood…”
“You don’t really believe that do you?”
“Well of course, I do. Why else do you think they call attendance every morning? It’s to
make sure that none of the children are stolen during the night.”
“And sometimes a roll call is just a roll call.”
“Yeah… Do me a favour and don’t mention anything about Otaktay to Ms. Lytton will
you?”
“Why?”
“Because if she finds out there’s a child murdering Native man with an axe up here, she
might bring us back down…”
“That doesn’t sound too unreasonable to me…”
“No, it doesn’t, but I’ve waited too long for this ceremony and I’m not going to have it tak-
en away from me now.”
Something in Wendy’s tone of voice made her wary. “No, for sure… Me neither…”
“Good…”
A chill wind tousled the tall pines, and they felt vulnerable and exposed. “Perhaps we should
get out of here…”
“Yeah, good idea…”
Looking up the path, she saw Ms. Lytton had already gone round the corner. They started off
walking and then got faster and faster until they both broke into a jog and then a mad dash and a
frenzied run.
 !48
***

Walter’s phone was ringing. The number was withheld, but even so he didn’t expect it to be
the Portland Express reporter calling back anytime soon. He was wrong.
“Hi. This is Catherine Daly, from the Portland Express. We spoke earlier?”
“Oh that’s right…”
“I did a bit of digging on that source you were after and from what I can remember, it came
from the Associated Press.”
“Can you be a bit more specific? I mean it’s a big organisation…”
“We just get our information through the news feeds. If you call them they will tell you who
gathered the information much better than I can. Alright?”
The sharp rise in her voice at the end signalled that she had given about as much time, as she
was willing on the matter. Walter hung up the phone and dialled the number for the Associated
Press. He got through to the receptionist and explained who he was and what he wanted, whereupon
he was placed on hold for the second time. After two or three minutes the woman’s voice came back
on the line.
“Hello, Detective Cullen? You said you are looking for the reporter for the March story
about a suspect detained by the police… Is that right?”
“Yes…”
“I have that right here. It was sourced by Aleister Sharpton.”
“And where can I find him?”
“He is a member of our staff…”
“Can you put me through to him?”
“I’m afraid he is not in the building at the moment.”
“Well, does he have a phone number I can reach him on?”
“I’m afraid I can’t give out that kind of information over the phone,” the voice buzzed on
the other end. “If you would like to put in a formal request for the information he can assist you that
way…”
“How long is that going to take?”
“Requests take anything up to five or six weeks to process.”
He hung up the phone. Associated Press had given him the run around, as expected. It didn’t
matter, he’d find the information he needed himself.

It took a while for Wendy and Anastasia to catch up with Ms. Lytton, who had gone on
much further than either of them had supposed. They both felt much safer in the presence of their
mentor. Chief Otaktay would not accost them while she was around, of that she was certain. When
they reached midpoint along the crest of the mountain, Ms. Lytton turned to them and said, “Now
girls, I want you to fan out into the woods and look for the muscaria mushroom.”
“What’s that?”
“The red toad stool mushroom…” -
Even someone with a limited knowledge of fungi, as she had, knew of the bright red mush
room with the white spots.
“Wendy you search down there and Anastasia you take the upper slopes.”
Ms. Lytton slung her backpack over her shoulder and stopped when she noticed the reticent
look on her student’s faces.
“What alone?” asked Wendy.
“Yes. Why is anything the matter?”
 !49
“No, Miss,” she said backtracking.
“I’ll meet you down at the break in the tree line. I should have a good fire going by then and
you lot — if you’re any good — should have your mushrooms. If you haven’t found any after half
an hour you are to come back. Is that understood?”
The girls nodded.
“OK, well, off you go then. They’re not going to pick themselves are they?” She stood by
and waited until they both separated and made their way into the forest alone.

Walter could find no mention of an Aleister Sharpton on the Associated Press website, but
with a large and faceless organisation like that; this was to be expected. It wasn’t long before he
found an Aleister Sharpton, who worked for AP, on LinkedIn, but his profile page was private. That
wasn’t such a barrier. The police had means of getting access to people’s social media pages when
the need arose and a little while later, he had all of his personal details, address and phone numbers
he needed. He wasted no time in calling him up. “Hello Aleister, this is Walter Cullen of Albany
County police department. I’d like to talk to you about a report you made on March 12th involving
a missing persons case. A girl named Rosemary Winter?”
“I think I remember something of that… What about it?”
“Well, in the report you stated that a man had been detained by the Portland Police.”
“OK.”
“I spoke with them and they said they had no record of any such incident taking place. So,
I’m curious, how you came about this information?”
“Am I being investigated or something?” he hissed.
“Well, yes, in a way you are.”
“Is this an official investigation?”
“No, not as yet. I’m merely making an inquiry.”
“I see… I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to reveal my source. That’s all I’ve got to say on the
matter. If want to find out more, I suggest you take a more official route.”
“I intend to…”
The line went dead. Charming guy, he thought. The spiel about him not being able to reveal
his source was immaterial. There could be no source, since the report did not match up with the re-
ality. Obviously, this Aleister guy had fabricated it. But to what end? It didn’t matter. He was play-
ing a dangerous game and he had already crossed the line.

Anastasia stepped over the shallow ditch and started to climb the steep bank on the other
side. Once inside of the forest, she saw banks of mist stricken by shards of sunlight cascading
through the trees and searched amid the detritus of the forest floor for the elusive red mushroom.
On a number of occasions she came across different patches of white and yellow fungi. She knew
well enough that most mushrooms were poisonous, or at the very least not very palatable, so she
stayed away from these. But, wasn’t the toadstool mushroom poisonous, as well? She would be
surprised if it wasn’t. Perhaps she would ask it later and see what it said.
Before long, she came to a line of cut trees where grass and patches of fireweed along side
one another. On the opposite side of the clearing, in the shade of a pine tree was a patch of red and
white mushrooms. She crossed over to them and began gathering them up into her bag. Further
along, she saw another patch and another. How many did she need? Ms. Lytton had never said.
She crouched down and saw a pair of bright green eyes watching her from just inside the
tree line. For a moment, she froze, startled by the machine-like face with the angular grin. Then she
 !50
realised that it was just an optical illusion; the green eyes were just green leaves caught in the sun-
light and projecting though gaps in the foliage. The effect only worked from the exact position she
was standing in, if she took so much as a step in either direction they alignment was broken and the
face went back to being a jumble of twigs and leaves. And yet, she couldn’t shake the eerie feeling
that she was being watched.

Harmon left his freshly painted canvas to dry and went out for a walk along by the park to
Clare Street, where his friend and dope-dealer; Darrel Minyon lived. He knocked on the door and
was emitted into a dank hallway. Minyon’s house smelled of rotting cat food, which emanated from
empty cans strewn across the floor. It was an unpleasant environment to be in, but then again he
didn’t plan on staying too long. Just long enough to get what he needed and get the hell out of there.
His plan was to take an of ounce of organically grown weed. Then, when he had sold it all and
made himself a tidy profit he would pay Minyon what he owed. He had done this a number of times
before, and with good results. Minyon also respected and trusted him with the sale of his product,
but on this occasion, he found he was unable to oblige. “Sorry, I’m dry…”
“You’re serious?”
“Yeah, my dealer stopped growing… But I’ve got something even better for you.”
“What?”
“DMT.”
“I’m not selling that shit…”
“Neither am I. I have a load of it in the fridge, if you want. I’m done with it…”
“Sure… Fuck it…”
Minyon went to his refrigerator and took out a small ball of tinfoil and dropped it on the ta-
ble. Inside Harmon saw a nest of orange spore-like tendrils. “Is that it?”
“Yeah?”
“I had no idea that’s what it looks like…”
“Yeah. It’s weird isn’t it? Mind you, I don’t know if it’s supposed to look like that… that’s
just the way the guy made it… He may have gotten a few things wrong…”
“Is it any good?”
“It’s alright.”
“Have you smoked much of it?”
“I tried a few hits with a pipe…”
“And?”
“I had interesting visuals… Some weird feelings.”
“Hey, have you ever had a breakthrough experience, encountered the machine elves?”
Minyon looked at him uncomfortably. “I don’t know. Not really,” he said.
“Well, surely you would know one way or another. I heard the place looks like it is full of
coloured filaments or something like that…”
“Yeah, well everything kind of looks like that when you’re on it. Especially, when you close
your eyes.”
He considered the possibilities such an experience might yield for his own painting practice
and made up his mind.
“You’re going to take it,” Minyon said smiling.
“Sure… I’m fucking crazy too you know?”
“Oh…” he laughed again. “I’m sure you are…”
 !51
Walter called the station to request a meeting with Chief of Police Stolz. He expected it to
take place sometime the following day and was surprised when he was penciled in for later that af-
ternoon. Apparently Stolz wanted to talk with him about something of the utmost importance. He
suspected that it might have something to do with the case, but he wasn’t entirely sure.
The South Station on Arch Street was not the most modern police station in Albany. But
what it lacked in convenience, it more than made up for in style. The building itself was well over a
hundred years old; constructed from a mix of porphyry sandstone and granite carved with various
motifs and emblems. Upon entering the foyer, the officer at the reception desk gave him a nod and
then buzzed him through into the control centre. He went past dispatches and up the stairs to Stolz’s
office and knocked on the door.
“Ah Walter, come in. Just the man I’ve been looking for…”
“What’s this all about?”
“I should ask you the same thing…” he barked. “I’ve gotten two phone calls about you in
the last two hours. Is there anything you want to tell me?”
“About what?”
“About what you’ve been doing the last few days.”
He shrugged.
“Enjoying your time off?”
“Sure…”
“Don’t play dumb with me… You’ve been up to the Winter’s, haven’t you? Stickin’ your
nose in where it doesn’t belong…”
“A girl goes missing, another one’s dead and you’re telling me it’s not my business?”
“Look we’ve had this conversation ten times before. People go missing all the time.” -
“I know, but I figured that if I investigate on my own time, then I wouldn’t be using up po
lice resources and that it wouldn’t be a problem…”
“And ordinarily it wouldn’t be. But it seems that you have pissed off the wrong people here.
This Aleister Sharpton… Remember him?”
“What about him?”
“Well, he seems fairly well-connected. He got on to the mayor, who got onto me, who said
that if I don’t nip this thing in the bud he’ll come down on my neck.”
“Oh come on. You’re not really going to cave into pressure like that, are you?”
“What do you mean?”
“This Aleister guy is suspected of fabricating testimonies and of deliberately interfering with
an on-going homicide investigation…”
“Homicide? Who said anything about homicide?”
“Rosemary —”
“Rosemary died of natural causes… the coroner said so himself in his report.”
“Alright, but there is still the point that he fabricated evidence.”
“What evidence?”
“The report of the arrest…”
“Look if you had wanted to know about the arrest, you could have just come to me.”
“What?… What do you mean?”
“We picked up a kid in connection with the case back in March.”
“In Portland?”
“No… Here…”
“You’re kidding me?”
“No… What do you know, reporters get things wrong sometimes…”
“Well, who was it?”
 !52
“Some two-bit drug dealing kid…”
“Name?”
“Darrel Minyon,” he threw him a list of names.
“And?”
“Nothing… It was a wild-goose chase.”
“And didn’t you inform the next of kin?”
“Look we probably should have… But, come on, you’re not going to bust my balls over this
are you?”
He sat, arms folded.
“Are you?” repeated Stolz more forcefully.
“No, of course not…”
“Good. Now, I can defuse this situation with the mayor. But you… Look at me… You need
to lay off investigating this case and all other cases. Understood?”
He looked at the grotesque tub of a man spouting orders, but he said nothing.
“Why don’t you go on a holiday or something? The wife and I went on a trip to Corsica last
summer. You’d love it. And you could take little, eh… whatshername?”
“Anastasia… Nah, she’s off at summer camp…”
“Ah, so that’s what this is all about… Why don’t you come out and play a round of golf with
me and your friend there in dispatches, what’s his name?”
“Kevin Dobson…” -
“That’s right Kevin… Let’s see,” he said checking his diary. “I’ll be working all day tomor
row. How about the day after that?”
“I haven’t played golf in years,” he groaned.
“You still have your clubs don’t you?” Stolz glanced up.
“Sure…”
“Good. Then it’s settled. A round of golf and some fresh air, it’ll do you and your friend a
power of good… Believe me…”
He didn’t believe him, but he also knew that he didn’t really have a choice in the matter.

Anastasia found Wendy and Ms. Lytton at the end of a forest path. They were easy to spot
by the continuous stream of smoke rising up from their camp fire. To their right was an area of
felled forest about a quarter of a mile wide, filled with twisted grey trunks and branches scattered
about the broken ground. It looked like a scene out of a post-apocalyptic movie and she wondered
why a more aesthetically pleasing location could not have been chosen for the ceremony. -
Ms. Lytton placed a cast iron pot on the fire and poured in a large measure of milk. She se
lected two of the red and white mushrooms and told Wendy to rinse them with water from her can-
teen. After that she carved them up with her penknife and placed the chunks into the boiling milk
along with the colourful heads of the bindweed flowers.
Wendy took out her Book of Shadows and pointed to a piece entitled “A Witch’s Prayer.”
“Read aloud,” said Ms. Lytton. -
“Lord Jahbulon, we ask your acceptance by the power of the nested densities. The first den
sity is the egg, the second is the nest, the third is the tree, the fourth, fifth and sixth densities are the
earth, the sky and the world. And so it goes… The egg in the nest and the nest in the tree, the tree in
the earth and the earth in the sky, the sky in the world and the world in the egg, the egg in the
nest…”
By now the sky had darkened and the wind was picking up.
“Keep reading,” said Ms. Lytton stirring the pot of simmering milk with her wooden spoon.
 !53
“… and the nest in the tree, the tree in the earth and the earth in the sky, the sky in the world
and the world in the egg…” There was a great blue flash and a loud clap of thunder and Ms. Lyt-
ton’s stirring got faster. They picked up pace too. The sky was nearly black now and full of rain.
Ms. Lytton stopped stirring and called for silence. She poured the contents into two bowls.
The mushrooms had turned the milk an orange colour and it floated on the top like brown lumps,
giving the whole infusion a sickly, sweet smell. She looked at Wendy, but she couldn’t tell if she
was experiencing the same feelings of revulsion or not. Ms. Lytton handed them each a bowl and
began gathering up the pots. “This next part is for you and therefore, you must do it on your
own…” She gave the pot a cursory rinse with water from her canteen. “It might not be obvious to
you, but you have dipped you toes into the river of the Fifth Density and you will not be able to
move until you have finished all of your tea… I’ll be wait for you at the end of the path…”
“Wait you’re leaving us?”
“I’ll be just down there…” she said pointing to the brow of the hill. “Don’t worry, you’re
perfectly safe here.” The girls watched her leave.
“Thank, God…” She tipped the frothing yellow mixture into the grass.
“You shouldn’t have done that…”
“Why not? The old bat will never know.”
“She will… Besides we’ll both be stuck here unless we drink the mixture.”
She looked at her friend askance, unsure of what she meant.
“Didn’t you hear what Ms. Lytton said? We can’t move until we drink the Soma.”
“You didn’t actually believe that rubbish did you,” she said. “I can move whenever I
want…”
She tried to stand, but nothing happened. Then, she tried again, same result. It wasn’t that
she was physically paralysed to any degree, it was simply that her limbs refused to obey her com-
mands. “What’s happening to me?”
“Didn’t you hear her? We’re in the Fifth Density here… At least partially… You can’t move,
because you are still trying to move your old body in the Third… You’re wires are all crossed.”
“Wait… There’s a Third Density, now?”
“Of course,” she said picking up her bowl and tipping half of the foul-smelling contents into
it. “Here you go… Now, this time… Don’t spill it…”
She had learnt her lesson. “I won’t…”
She tipped the mixture into her mouth. The taste was an inharmonious collision of fresh
milk and the musty warm fungal flavours of death and decay. Wendy stopped for a moment, her
cheeks full, milk pouring down her chin… She swallowed and gave a dissatisfied grimace…
“Yuck…”
“You still have more to go…”
“I know, just give me a second will you…” Wendy drained the end of the detestable mixture
and stood up.
The binding spell was broken.

Walter left the precinct and drove down Central Avenue, a long stretch of road that cut right
through the heart of Albany. Maybe Stolz was right, he thought, maybe he did need a break of some
kind; and not just from work. The thought of going back home, to sit alone and in silence depressed
him. He needed some sort of stimulus, something to take his mind off the day. He drove down to
Loughton’s Bookshop and parked his car.
Stacks and stacks of old books greeted him on his way in, but the store clerk paid him no
attention and did not look up from her magazine. He went around the various tables, searching for
 !54
something, Eventually, his eyes rested upon a selection of second hand travel books nestled in a
corner behind the cashier’s desk. He chose one, seemingly at random from the large stack of well-
thumbed books and saw that it was a volume on Corsica. A funny coincidence, he thought; recalling
that Stolz had just mentioned the place. “How much for this?”
“A dollar,” replied the woman.
He dropped the money on the counter and went back out into the street. Further down the
road he noticed some men standing on a street corner. The alley way behind them was covered with
the usual tags and graffiti, but one of them seemed out of place. The men, thinking that he was look-
ing at them moved off. He looked more closely at the graffiti;

Don’t Sleep, They’ll Get You.

It could be related to the case, he thought. Possibly even written by someone who had a face
to face encounter with Brian’s Shadow Man. Then again, it could just as easily be some bored kid
messing around. He opened the car and dropped his purchase on the front seat. Then he took out an
evidence bag from the glove compartment. The message had been scrawled in white paint. It was
more than likely that it was some kind of easily available emulsion, the type found in any hardware
store. Then again, he might get lucky, he thought. He scraped a few flakes of paint into the bag with
his pocket knife. It was true that Stolz had told him to lay off the case, but he didn’t recall making a
clear statement to that effect. -
If this message was genuine then it might lead him to a witness, someone who might be ex
periencing on going visitations from the same entity that had abducted and killed Brian and Rose-
mary. If he could interview them, he might be able to discover more about how and why this was
happening to people and how to stop it in the future.
It was a long shot, but he had to try.

On the way back down the mountain, Ms. Lytton stayed closer to the two girls than before.
This was a good thing, because it seemed to Anastasia that the landscape had been broken up, as if
smashed into pieces, and reassembled in a different order. She couldn’t see through the trees, but
she got the sense that the lake now lay several hundred miles further to the East, and the camp was
long gone. It could be anywhere. The entire Earth had been probably been effected. Bits of Paris
were in sub-Saharan Africa, and Amazonian waterfalls poured through what remained of New York
City. All of this would obviously play havoc with air-traffic controllers.
Planes would be rerouted to their original airport destinations, but owing to the lack of nec-
essary fuel supplies most would crash en route. How would she get home, she fretted? How would
her father know where to collect her from, when all the road maps didn’t add up? Was home even
home anymore? She kept her misgivings to herself and she was glad that she had done so, because
before long, she saw the calm, radiant waters of the lake through the trees, just where they should
be.
But what could account for her complete loss in her sense of direction? Some genuine
change had occurred with the fundamentals of reality. She recalled this stretch of mountain trail on
they way up, but now it appeared to her as though it were much longer. The space itself was stretch-
ing. Dimensions that had been hitherto hidden from view were now seamlessly patched in one with
another. Their own Universe; The Third Density had been spliced with a second alternative and
uniquely compatible universe called the Fifth. Here then was an explanation for why the world had
appeared in such disarray only moments before.
 !55
-
The circumference of the Earth had expanded like the bellows of an accordion, to incorpo
rate the new locations, thus pushing more familiar sites further away from one another. A walk from
one’s house to the shop would reveal new streets that had not been there before, and every second
shop would be some completely new, but entirely believable business like a dry cleaners or a hair-
dressers. And the world would just carry on as normal, as who can really say that they truly pay at-
tention to details such as these, and even if they did are they going to argue with a business owner
that swears blind they have been in operation on such and such a street corner for the last decade,
and has the papers to prove it?
And so it would be passed off, another Bearenstain Bears, another dubious shift in the fabric
of reality that no one could possibly prove or deny. The only true concern was that reality would
fold back up. The Fifth and Third Densities would no longer be mixed together and depending on
which part of reality you happened to pass through at the time, you would be now stuck there — a
timespace refugee — without a home or a social security number, just one of the missing faces you
see plastered on telephone poles. -
The familiar squeak of the spring loaded gate, which signalled their return to the encamp
ment, brought her thoughts back down to earth and she felt a bit silly for having fretted in her earli-
er flights of fancy. She suspected that Ms. Lytton might be surprised at her pallor, which no doubt
had turned deathly pale in the descent, but she appeared to take no notice of it at all, or if she did,
she made no mention of it.
“OK girls,” said Ms. Lytton; holding open the gate for them. “Take the rest of the afternoon
off.” As she looked, she noticed a marked, although subtle change in Ms. Lytton’s face; her eyes
grew bigger and her mouth and nose became closer together. Was she turning into something?
Something cat-like? “Don’t do anything too taxing for the rest of the day,” she continued. “If you
need me I’ll be in the Director’s house…” -
The impression faded and she forgot what she had just been thinking about. Next, Ms. Lyt
ton departed on her way, leaving the two girls to their own devices.
“So, what do you want to do now?”
“Nothing. I don’t feel too well… I think I’m going to lie down.”
It was true. Wendy was looking paler than usual; even the freckles on her face had faded.
“Are you alright? Do you want me to take you to the nurse?”
“No. I just need to rest that’s all…”
“Ok. Well, why don’t you go lie down and I’ll come by in a bit and check on you?” -
Wendy walked back in the direction of the girls’ dorm-rooms. Perhaps she was having a re
action to those plants, she thought. It certainly would explain her own strange thoughts on the way
down the hill. She wasn’t sure, but perhaps she would find something written in the library about it.
In the museum building she found the glass-enclosed library. A woman with fiery hair and wide-
rimmed glasses looked up from her desk. “Hello. What can I do for you?”
“I’m looking for a book.”
“Well, you’ve come to the right place…”
“Apocalypsis?”
“What level are you on?”
“I’m not on any level…”
“Who’s your dreaming instructor…”
“David…” she realised she didn’t know his second name.
“David… Well, didn’t he tell you that you were not supposed to read Apocalypsis?”
“I don’t know… He might have…” She started feeling queasy. She couldn’t think straight.
How was she supposed to learn about the stages of dreaming, if they didn’t let her read the book,
she wondered? “Never mind. Can I just use the restroom instead?”
 !56
She reached down to a set of keys hanging by a rope on her desk. “It’s the blue door on the
right over there.” She said pointing to a row of book shelves.
She went in that direction and found two doors one next to the other. The blue door said,
“TOILETS” and the red door said “ACCESS FORBIDDEN: STAFF ONLY”
Inside, she found a small dank room with a black and white tiled floor. The pattern of the
floor appeared to consist of more complicated geometries the usual chessboard pattern. On top of
this, they appeared to glow and throb with an earthly green light, which flashed whenever she tried
to refocus her eyes on them. For some reason, she felt safe in here, cocooned in her slightly damp
isolation cell. She splashed some water on her face, and feeling more relaxed; she went back out to
the librarian to return the key.
“Have a look around…” she smiled. “There’s plenty on offer. Just remember, you can’t read
Apocalysis until you are on Stage Six…”
“Well, is there any book on dreaming I can read now?”
“You could try The Art of Dreaming, by Carlos Castaneda… It’s the same thing, but its just
missing some of the Gates… It should be in the Anthropology section, I’ll check for you…”
“No that’s alright… I’ll take a look myself…”
She took a stroll around the book shelves taking note of the separate categories; Science,
History, Fiction and Travel. As she was scanning the fiction section she came across “The Wild
Hunt of Hagworthy”and next to it, a copy of ‘Vril; The Power of the Coming Race’. In the anthro-
pology section, she discovered a number of Carlos Castaneda’s books.‘The Art of Dreaming’ was
not there however, but she found others including; ‘Tales of Power’ and ‘Journey to Ixtlan’. She
took a seat at one of the large white tables and began reading…
‘Tales of Power’ she soon discovered, presented itself as a factual account of events the au-
thor himself experienced while in training as an apprentice to a Yaqui sorcerer as Don Juan Mathus.
The story began with both sorcerer and apprentice venturing out into the desert chaparral in search
of what Don Juan termed “a place of power”. From the various clues Don Juan dropped, she was
able to surmise that a place of power was an area where two or more leylines converged. This par-
ticular place of power appeared as a circular area of compacted earth, roughly twenty feet in diame-
ter and free from all desert vegetation. -
The story was interesting and compellingly told, but some of the terminology like “the im
peccability of the warrior,” “personal power” and the “sorcerer’s explanation” she found difficult to
understand. She noticed how simple everyday actions in the book, such as the act of choosing a
place to sit down or what to look at in any given situation became a complicated matter beset by
hidden pitfalls. She was reminded of what Ms. Lytton had said in the forest earlier that morning,
about how fear was an essentially part of sorcery. Perhaps that was the modus operandi behind all
of Don Juan’s anxiety inducing words, to sharpen the wit and focus the mind…
Don Juan started to warn Castaneda about how the act of “setting up dreaming” consisted of
a “deadly game” in which a person’s mind attacked the consciousness, bringing on bouts of depres-
sion and apathy. Now we are getting to the good stuff, she thought. Sometimes the threat to Cas-
taneda’s sanity came from Don Juan, at other times it came from the landscape itself, but here it had
been revealed that the true threat lurked within the mind of the apprentice. An example of this
comes from when Don Juan goes over to the edge of the circle and peering into the bushes there,
pronounces that they are full of “strange things”; a comment which then goes on to produce an in-
voluntary reaction of fright in Castaneda’s nervous system.
With Castaneda becoming increasingly agitated, Don Juan suggests that they discontinue his
inquiry into dreaming. Instead they focus on a slightly different, though evidently related matter of
“shutting off one’s internal dialogue”. This, according to Don Juan, was beneficial to dreaming be-
cause it enabled the dreamer to clear the stage of all props and actors; thereby allowing him to re-
 !57
populate it with whatever characters and scenarios he saw fit, just by thinking about it. In other
words, this activity gave the dreamer complete control over the dreamspace.
Don Juan’s method for shutting off one’s internal dialogue consisted of “walking for long
stretches without focusing the eyes on anything”. He also recommended not looking directly at any-
thing, but maintaining an awareness of your peripheral vision by keeping the eyes slightly crossed.
She was at a loss to understand what any of this had to do with “shutting off internal dialogues” and
was beginning to suspect either Don Juan or Castaneda or both of being complete charlatans.

Harmon had a special kind of gift. He always knew when it was time to move and when it
was time to wait and remain still. It was a knowledge predicated on time and the specific order of
events. To Harmon there was two types of time; the ordinary time that everyone lived in and kairos
which stood for ‘the opportune time’. He lived his life in the second kind of time and this afforded
him a kind of psychic knowledge of events. He regularly made use of his gift to avoid encountering
his land lady, to whom he owed a number of months rent to. Once he was inside his room, there was
a knock on the door.
“It’s Lars,” came the muffled voice through the door.
Lars lived in the apartment upstairs. -
He opened the door and there stood the towering figure of Lars with his perpetually un
shaven face and long greasy hair. “Going out tonight, Harmon?”
“Not sure.”
“Party on at the Cascades.”
“Oh really?”
“Yeah there’s going to be some in-house DJs, mates of mine there, you should come along.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Oh and by the way, the land lady was looking for you earlier. Says you’re behind on rent.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Don’t worry, I covered for you and said you were out.”
“Thanks…”
As soon as Lars was gone he got his stash box out from under the bed. Asides from the
DMT, the only other narcotic he had left was a vial of Salvia Divinorum. Salvia was at least as
powerful as DMT. He had smoked it on a number of occasions with limited results. He closed up
the stash box and following Darrel Minyon’s lead he put the spice in the top drawer of the fridge.
Then he checked to see how much money he had left. Two hundred… He could probably spare
some money for a night out if he really wanted to; it’s not like it was enough to pay his rent anyway.
Then he remembered something. What night was it tonight; Tuesday, that meant Jane would
be working the bar. She’d give me a drink or two for free, he thought and the rest could take care of
itself.

Anastasia left the library and went back to check on Wendy. Inside the empty dorm room,
the beds were all made and nothing stirred. Odd, she thought; perhaps she went down to the lake
instead. She went in search of her. Further down the beach, she spotted someone moving. Oh thank
God, she thought; it’s Wendy. She called to her, “Wendy,” she said. “I’ve been looking all over for
you. Is everything OK?”
Wendy nodded. “I just had a strange dream.” She turned away hugging herself against the
strong breeze making its way towards them across the lake. “No, it was more than just that… It was
 !58
more like a memory… I don’t know why I’m telling you this… I’ve only known you for a day or
two, but it feels like much longer.”
She felt the same way, from the moment they had met, she had felt this way. “I know what
you mean.”
“That being said, it is not unusual for children like us… Children of the Fifth Density, I
mean…”
“You really believe all that stuff?”
“Of course… Don’t you?”
She shook her head.
“Well, you wouldn’t… You’re just a newblood… No offence…” She kicked the sand.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It just means that you don’t know what it’s like around here, yet…” She had a far off look
in her eye. “In my dream… I remembered being at this camp as a child. I remember the Festival of
Fires, and the camp instructors dressing up like animals. They would take the children into the tool-
shed and…”
She broke off.
“It’s okay,” she said.
“You don’t think?”
“No… It was probably just a dream that’s all.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right…” she said. -
She saw a group of people walking along by the chalets on their way to the beach and talk
ing loudly. “Who are they?”
“They’re the scout instructors.”
“Is David there?” she said taking more of an interest in the group.
“Yeah… You see the girl he’s with?” She meant the tall look blonde with the curly hair.
“That’s Evette…”
“She’s really beautiful…” Her heart sank. “Are they?”
“No, they’re just friends.”
And then rebounded with schadenfreude.
“Yeah… You see the big guy walking behind her?”
“The guy who looks like he plays quarter back?”
“That’s Ben. He’s our art teacher…”
The look of shock registered across her face. “I’ll certainly enjoy that class,” she said.
“You slut…”
“Hey…”
Wendy laughed. “Hey, you want to go do something fun?”
“Like what?”
“You’ll see…”
She followed her back towards the Meeting Hall. As they were making their way along the
dusty yellow road, she noticed Bruno wandering by one of the chalets. He looked downcast and out
of sorts. “Hey, isn’t that your brother?”
Wendy’s face soured. “Bruno… What are you doing here? Where is your group?”
“I don’t know… I got lost…” he mumbled.
Wendy sighed. “Well, where were they when last you saw them?”
He pointed out along the lakeshore in the direction they had just come from.
“OK, come on,” she said holding out her hand. “I’ll take you back.”
“But I don’t want to go back,” his expression souring. “… I want to go back to the Fifth
Density. I want to go home and see mum and dad. My real parents…”
 !59
“Well, you can’t alright?”
Bruno started on a crying fit.
“Listen, I have to sort this out. It won’t take long, but I need to talk to him in private. Do
you mind?”
“No, not at all…”
“Thanks. I’ll meet you back here in ten minutes or so. OK?”
“Sure thing.”
She walked up the old dirt road that past by the Meeting Hall. That was really weird. There
was something rotten at Camp Calapuyau. She always suspected that all this talk of Fifth Density
was bad for you and now she had proof. Whatever was effect the children around here and Bruno in
particular was more than just home-sickness. It was a form of New Age mind control. What if
Wendy was right after all. What if the faculty members were conducting rituals and molesting chil-
dren in the old toolshed? No wonder they didn’t want anyone to go near it. Well, she wasn’t going
to be put off that easily. Getting caught was not an option, but she had to know for sure, one way or
the other.
 !60
4

Anastasia could see the little white shed was on the far side of the fire circle. The caretaker
didn’t appear to be around, but then again he had surprised her once already. Just like on the first
occasion, her feelings of anxiety increased along with her proximity to the shed. She felt really
small, like the world was pressing down on her and her body temperature soared with a prickly
heat. She was instantly reminded of what Don Juan had said about the mind’s ability to attack itself.
“It’s alright,” she said to herself. “… It’s just a shed.” She reached the door, put her hand on the bolt
lock and got ready to slide it back. All of a sudden, dark shadow fell over her and she knew that she
had been caught.
“Back again I see…”
She turned to see the grinning face of the janitor looking back at her. She couldn’t think of a
good enough excuse and decided to make a break for it instead, but he grabbed her by the arm and
pulled her back.
“Where do you think you’re going? You came to see what’s inside the shed, didn’t you?” He
rattled the door handle. “Well, I’ll show you…”
“No, please…”
“What don’t you want to see anymore?” He slid the bolt back and flung open the rickety old
door, in one violent motion and thrust inside.
“No,” she screamed, grabbing hold of the doorpost to keep herself outside; to keep herself
alive. Her mind was filled with the images of unspeakable acts of what he would do to her. But
what confronted her was completely different. She saw a ladder, some stacks of old paint cans, and
gardening tools. -
She didn’t know if she broke free, or was allowed leave, but which ever it was she was run
ning far away, as fast as her legs could carry her. -
Behind her she heard the loud cackling of the Caretaker. “You see? It’s empty…” he shout
ed. “There’s nothing in there… It’s empty… Ha, ha…”
But she did not look back. She ran and kept running until the air burned in her lungs and
bright sparks drifted in front of her eyes. It was only when she was safely inside a cocoon of trees
that she allowed herself to rest. She looked around at the dank, decay of the forest, partially illumi-
nated by the last slanted light of the evening sun.
Wendy’s vision had been wrong after all. She was wrong… The shed was empty and the
camp was not run by a clique of child molesters. What was going to happen to her now? Being
caught at the shed once was bad enough, two times didn’t bear thinking about.
She looked about her at the fading light and the tall pine trees. She would have to get back
to camp quickly before dark. But which way? There was a sound like that of an animal; a bird or a
rodent, moving in the bushes beside her. Then she heard a loud clicking sound, almost like that of a
dolphin, but or a large beetle of some kind.
She heard it from one bush and then from another. What the heck is that? It didn’t sound like
anything she had heard before. All of a sudden, she was reminded of what Wendy had said about
going into the forest alone. Was there really something to watch out for, or was she just fucking
with her? She moved in closer to the thicket, and made an effort to peer inside. There was some-
thing in there alright. It was light purple in colour and boney in appearance; not unlike a human
hand, or a giant spider. “There are strange things in the bushes…”
The creature hissed and sprang at her, but she managed to get out of its way. It landed on the
leaf litter beside her. Eight robust legs emerged from what appeared like a nobbled crest of bone on
its back and terminated in round stumps, devoid or either nail or claw. In two deep set grooves on
the front of its body, she could see two shiny black orbs, which must have been its eyes.
 !61
She watched in terror, as more of the same hairless arachnids crept from their hiding places,
and out into the view beside her. She had apparently stumbled upon their nest and now she would
have to face the consequences. The fearsome creatures buzzed and hissed in her direction. Not
knowing what to do in a situation like this, whether to run or to fight, she chose the third and most
dangerous option. She covered over her eyes and hoped it would be over quickly.
Just then she heard a strange kind of mournful kind of music and when she opened her eyes
again, she saw Otaktay standing before her in the half-light, blowing into a small wooden flute. She
found the music to be quite soothing, but the effect it had on the giant spiders was anything but.
They writhed and sprawled upon their backs, their legs aquiver in torturous pain.

There was a knock on the door and Walter got up to answer it. Standing on the doorstep
wearing her uniform was Nikita Shields; a cop buddy of his. “I just finished my rounds,” she said
coming through into the kitchen. “And I thought I’d stop by and talk.”
“You’re just in time. I’m sitting down for dinner. You want some?”
“Are you sure?”
“No trouble at all… Would you like some wine?”
“Thank you…”
He dished her out a plate of ribs and poured her a glass.
“So any news?”
“Agh, I was at a meeting with Stolz today… Pain in the ass…”
“I heard about that…”
He was shocked and then he remembered. “Small precinct… So did you hear what it was all
about?”
She shrugged. “I don’t remember.”
“About the false police report? The Winters case?”
“Oh that… Not false, I heard it was just misreported.”
“Unbelievable,” he said taking no notice of what she was saying. “And the fact that they
never informed the next of kin?”
“That was bad, alright…”
“Any idea who was in charge of that case? Who the leading officer was I mean?”
“I have no idea,” she took another bite. -
“Well, I guess it doesn’t matter now anyway. It’s just a bit annoying, you know, and a com
plete waste of my time.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she smiled brightly. “You’re off the case now.”
He didn’t return the smile and just looked at her across the table.
“So, where’s Anastasia? Out with those friends of hers?”
“No, she’s away at summer camp. Camp Calapuyau. Ever heard of it?”
“Can’t say that I have… What in the world possessed you to do that?”
“Well, it’s the darnedest thing. Apparently Julia got her on the list years ago…”
“Julia?” You mean your Julia?”
“I was surprised as anyone…”
“I can imagine.”
“I figured if Julia wanted her to go, she should go, you know?”
“Absolutely,” she nodded.
“I see it as a good thing… Anyway it’s not like I could stop her. You know Anastasia, when
she gets something into her head…”
“Not unlike her father,” she smirked.
 !62
“Yeah, well… How’s the food? More wine?”
“Great,” she said. “No, I’m alright for the minute. But this… whatever this is, it’s delicious.”
“The mash?” he said and chuckled. “You’ve had potatoes before, right?”
“Yeah… Sure…” she said and smiled.
“You didn’t see the game earlier, did you?”
“No, but I caught some of it on the radio.”
“Did you get the score?”
“Fifteen, thirty-five… something like that.”
“Do you want to go catch the highlights? Should be on around now.”
“Sure.” -
He put the washing up in the sink and followed her into the living room. What she was do
ing here? It was true that they were good friends. They went all the back to when they were both
rookie cops on the mounted police, but it wasn’t like it was usual for her to just drop by.
She took off her large coat to reveal a sort of tank top underneath and sat down on the
couch. “This is nice…”
“Yeah…” He flicked through the channels in search of the game. She slid over closer to him
and smiled. The ball was in play… Her leg touched his… The Portland linebacker grabbed the ball
and ran with it… He moved towards her… Across the thirty yard line… His lips locking around
hers… The linebacker passed the ball out to the quarterback… His hand felt up her thigh… But
something happened and the ball bounced out of play… “I’m sorry. I can’t…” he said. “I just can’t
stop thinking about Julia…”
She sat back and stared straight ahead, then she stood up and grabbed her coat. “You know,
maybe it’s time you thought about moving on…”
“If you want… You can watch the rest of the game.”
She didn’t for a second entertain this, but just walked straight out the door. In the replay he
saw that the linebacker had the chance to score, but he chose the Jerk route instead and made an in-
complete pass.

It didn’t matter where she was running. All Anastasia knew was that she had to get away
from that terrible place. She crashed through the trees on a downwards slope, before emerging out
onto a well-trodden path. In the distance, she could see the lights of Camp Calapuyau through the
trees. She never thought she would be so happy to see it again and raced back to her dorm room.
Wendy was sitting on her bed. “Where have you been?” she asked. “I’ve been looking all over for
you?”
“I know, I’m sorry. Wendy, I…”
“Never mind, you can tell me later… The dream workshop is starting now…”
Together they raced up the dirt road past the chalets and on past the fire circle until they
reached the edge of the wood again. She was glad of the company, as they neared the threshold of
the woods. If it hadn’t been for friend, she probably would not have been able to go it alone.
The class had already gotten underway without them and they sat at the back once more.
“Ok, now that everyone has arrived. I would like to give you all an important lesson on the
structure of the universe, or multiverse, as the case may be.” On the black board behind him, he
drew nine concentric circles and labelled them in turn. “The world has many layers; or densities.
The first density,” here he pointed to the smallest of the circles. “Is that of the material or mineral
world. Can anyone tell me what the second density is?”
“The plant kingdom,” replied Wilma, putting up her hand.
 !63
“That’s right. The third density is the human realm and the animal world, combined. Does
anyone know what the fourth density is?” There was a murmur of uncertainty from among the
scouts. “No? It’s the focus of today’s class?… The world of dreams. The beyond that… there is the
Fifth Density, also known as the Darkheim, which as you know is where we’re all from… Then we
have Nilheim; the Sixth Density and Avalon the Seventh.”

“What about the Eighth and Ninth Densities?” said a voice from the top of the room.
“Very little is known about either of them. Although, we believe that the Ninth Density is a
pure energy realm; a place known as Empiricus…” He glanced at a book open on the table. “Now
looking at this diagram I’ve drawn, you would be forgiven for thinking that they exist one inside the
other. And they do, but its best to think about them sitting one on top of the other; sort of like in a
 !64
pyramid. So we would have the first density on top, with the next one and so on and so on… Look-
ing at it this way, we see how Empiricus, the Ninth Density, acts as the ground for all of the lower
densities. It pervades them all and gives light to them.”
Wilma put up her hand again. “What’s the Fifth Density like?”
“It’s beautiful…”
“Have you been there?”
“Yes, I have on many occasions…”
“So, what’s it like?”
“It’s like… It’s like… Well, it’s exactly like our world…”
“You mean it has trees and cars?”
“Yes, and shops and people…”
“Wow, it sounds amazing… Do you think we’ll ever get there.”
“If you pass through all of the stages of dreaming you will, speaking of which, lets see how
you all got on with your dreaming assignments. Shall we?” There was a general grumble around the
room. “Not so well, I take it. Well, I see one of you moved up a stage… Anastasia Cullen congratu-
lations on passing the first gate…”
An shockwave went around the room, as the other scouts tried to absorb the information. -
“Which means,” he said taking down a large glass jar filled with an assortment of inexpen
sive objects from the shelf at the corner of the room. “You get to choose your own totem, now…”
“Well, done Anastasia,” said Wendy giving her a great big hug.
“Now that you have found your hands in a dream, your next task will be to look for your
totem instead.” He shook the jar in front of her. “Do any of these speak to you?”
Inside the jar, she saw a collection of brass buttons, old coins, a plastic butterfly and a small
metal race car among other items of assorted bric-a-brac. “I don’t understand…”
“It’s simple, you’re supposed to keep it on your person at all times. It’s just like the reality
checks you do with your hands only you do them with your totem from now on…”
“What if I don’t want a totem…”
“What do you mean? You have to have one…”
Her hand went up reflexively to her neck, where the three interlocking rings of her necklace
were. “Can I use this instead?”
“I don’t know,” he peered down at her. “Is it of sentimental value?”
“They were my mother’s,” she said.
“Well, we’re not supposed to use totems with any sentimental value…” He said plainly and
shook the jar again.
“Oh please…”
“Well, it’s against camp protocol, but honestly can’t see what harm it can do… As long as
you don’t loose it when you are on the hunt that is…”
The hunt, she thought and wondered what he meant. Wendy smiled at her.
“Ok, well that’s it for today,” he said and then continued speaking over the noise of shuffling
bags. “I know some of you were looking forward to some time off this evening, to socialise, but I’m
afraid that the staff and faculty members are having one of their annual general meetings tonight in
the hall. So, it will be an early night for everyone.”
A dissatisfied groan swept through the class.

-
Wendy and Anastasia got dressed in their bed clothes and sat on the edge of the bunk, comb
ing each other’s hair. Darkness had fallen over the entire camp and with it came a dense fog. As she
looked out the window, she could see that the fog was drifting in the direction of the Meeting Hall
 !65
and in it she could make out the figures of men seemingly being sucked along with its motion.
“Wendy. Look!” she cried.
She stopped combing her hair and peered outside. “That’s just the instructors on their way to
the Meeting Hall, nothing to worry about…”
“Why do we have to stay inside for these meetings anyway?”
“Because there’s no one to look after us, that’s why. All the staff and faculty are at the meet-
ing, accept maybe the Caretaker Mr. Haight…”
She had forgotten all about him. “Wendy. I went to take a look at the shed earlier today….”
“And?”
“Nothing…”
She seemed to relax. “Good… It must have been a dream then. Or the soma, I guess…” she
looked up and saw that there was some activity taking place among the other girls. They were sit-
ting in a circle on the floor passing lighted candles back and forth to one another.
“What are you doing?”
“We’re getting ready to tell ghost stories, if you want to join us Wendy,” called Annette.
“Anastasia has seen Otaktay…”
“So what? I’ve seen Otaktay too,” cried Amelia.
“Well, I saw Otaktay tonight and something else in the woods too,” she said.
“What?”
“I’m not telling, but it was absolutely horrid…”
“Oh don’t be like that,” said Wilma. “Tell us…”
“Yes, tell us,” pleaded the other girls.
“Oh alright…” She took one of the lighted candles and sat next to Amelia on the bed. “I
don’t really know what they were,” she began. “They were sort of like insects, but much bigger;
about the size of a softball.”
“Sentinels…” said Valerie with a bored expression on her face.
“What are they?”
“No one knows, or at least no can say. But you can hear them in the trees at night around
here sometimes. Nasty little things…”
“I hear they can spit poison at you,” Amelia whispered. “And that they live over in the
swamp…”
“Don’t you think that’s a bit strange…”
“Yes… It’s very strange… I agree…”
“Well, this is a strange place…”
“This is true… Well, I’m glad they didn’t spit poison at me…”
“Sentinels aren’t a big deal,” continued Valerie. “What you really have to look out for is the
Berserker.”
“What’s a berserker?”
“Should we tell her?” asked Valerie with an air of conspiracy about her.
“I think we should.”
“Oh yes… Lets…”
“The Berserker is a ten foot tall monster,” Valerie went on, doing her best to give the story
the theatrics it deserved. “He has long arms and lank black hair. He has eyes but he cannot see, and
he runs through the forest at night in fits of rage, breaking branches and howling at the moon…”
This description made her blood freeze. “Have you ever seen him?”
“No, no-one has ever seen the Berserker and lived to tell the tale. But on certain nights, you
can hear him on his rampage through the forest…”
“Does he ever come into the camp?”
 !66
“He’s not allowed.”
“Only on very special occasions,” corrected Wilma.
“Like what Christmas or his birthday?” Valerie quipped in return.
“No, like if it is a misty night and there’s a midsummers moon.”
“A bit like tonight then…” remarked Wendy.
A collective shiver went through the group.
“Oh come on girls,” said Valerie. “He’s not going to return, because it’s not real… It’s just a
camp legend made up to scare us…”
“No, it’s true,” insisted Amelia. “On all other nights he is forbidden entry into the camp.”
“It’s the same with Otaktay. The instructors have built an invisible energy wall to keep them
out, by day and by night; I’m told.”
“That’s not true…” declared Anastasia. “I saw him at that window the other night,” she
pointed to the glass behind her and made Valerie sit up straight with fear.
“She’s joking with you.”
“Just how many times have you seen Otaktay now,” asked Wendy evidently curious.
“I don’t know, about three, I think…” she counted them. “Yes, three.”
“Three times…” exclaimed Valerie. “I’ve been hear ten years and I haven’t seen him once.”
“Three times?” repeated Wendy, as though she might be having difficulty believing it.
“Yes, twice in the woods and once here at the window.”
“The idea of Otaktay being here outside our dorm room at night frightens me more than
anything,” said Amelia.
“What even the Berserker?”
“Yeah, thanks Anastasia, I didn’t want to sleep tonight anyway,” grumbled Annette.
“I don’t see why you’re all so afraid of him anyhow. If it wasn’t for Otaktay, I’d be dead
right now.”
“Otaktay is a child killer, he literally kills and drinks the blood of children…”
“Well, all I know is that he saved me from those sentinel crabs…”
“He saved you from the sentinels? How?”
Anastasia mimed a few notes. “On his flute…”
“Don’t listen to her,” scathed Valerie.
“It might be true…”
“She’s making it all up.”
“No, shut up, Valerie… She’s telling the truth… I know she is…”
“How do you know…”
“Because when I saw Otaktay years back, when I was horse-riding up in the valley. I saw
him standing under a tree, and he was holding a flute in his hands…”
There were two loud bangs on the door, one after the other.
“What the heck was that?”
“Lights out…” sounded the janitor’s voice through the cracks in the wood. It’s okay, thought
Anastasia, it is just the creepy janitor, she thought and marvelled at how relative terror could be in a
place like Camp Calapuyau.

Dusk had fallen over the waters of the lake, but Anastasia was still out walking. On the far
side of the water she saw what might have been a piece of land, or possibly an island close to shore.
On a raised bit of ground, in the centre of the island stood a Buddhist temple, rising majestically out
of the tall pine trees. Beneath this, stepping along the red earth was an Oriental man with a shaved
head. She realised that this wise man knew the secrets of the universe; and he appeared to be beck-
 !67
oning to her to cross the water. How could she refuse such an invitation to knowledge? She started
out across the lake. She was half way to the island, when she realised that she was walking on the
surface of the water. It was a most exhilarating feeling. She was nearly across and already thinking
of the secrets she would learn from this man. He would probably take her in as his apprentice and
wouldn’t that be cool? As she neared the further shore, she saw that it was choke with enormous
brown weed. I wouldn’t like to get stuck in them, she thought. She could see the man beckoning to
her even more eagerly than before, but she was afraid now…
And with her fear she began to sink rapidly into the deep dark water. She tried to swim, but
her arms just got caught up in the weeds. She realised then that the Oriental man in the yellow robes
was not trying to help her. He was like a Willow o’ the Wisp or a Jack Lantern, leading unwary
travellers astray into peril and a watery grave.
She awoke tangled up in her bedclothes. Her relief at seeing another day quickly subsided
into disappointment, as she realised the missed opportunity and what might have been had she only
managed to cross the lake. After writing up the account in her dream diary, she went for breakfast
with Wendy. Neither of them had eaten anything since that disgustingly unpalatable soma brew the
day before. So, they were very much happy to sit and eat a hearty meal of sandwiches and tea.
After they had eaten her fill, they packed up their belongings and went in the direction of the
library. According to their diaries, it was Art Class with Ben Crunch.
He told them to go and set up their chairs and easels outside, where he was getting them to
draw from the totem poles. “Totem poles are similar to a family crest,” he explained. “They de-
scribe the lineage of ancestors of a particular group or tribe. In the case of this totem, which comes
from the Tlingit tribe in British Columbia, we can see an eagle on top, followed by a wolf and a
bear. These, then, are the spirit animals or totems of this particular tribal branch…
“Normally these poles are cut from a single whole tree, with the sculptor following the
woodgrain, essentially freeing the form trapped inside. What I’d like you to do today, is to draw
your own totem pole; one that describes your own Fifth Density family lineage… I don’t want you
to think about any specific animals, I just want you to allow your pen or pencil to feel out the image
in one continuous line. One form should flow into the next in a fluid and uninterrupted manner that
determines its inner-nature and being…” -
Whilst they sketched their individual totem poles, Ben continued with his insightful and in
formative comments, asking them to “let the pencil flow across the page freely” and “to let the line
reveal the image to you, as the sculptor finds the image in the wood…”
Once she realised that the key to shutting off one’s internal dialogue and volition was key to
the exercise, her work continued more smoothly. The first image she drew didn’t look like an ani-
mal at all; it looked more like an ancient geometric symbol of some kind.
From this developed another series of lines; much looser than the first set, cascading down.
By now, she felt that all she was no longer in control of the motion of the pencil at all. The second
form revealed itself as that of a Chinese face, almost dragon-like in aspect. This surprised her, as
she viewed neither herself, nor anyone else in her family, as having the personality traits or other-
wise of such mythical creatures. The man had a sort of beard or goatee sprouting from his lower jaw
and from out of this grew a second beast. There was something tortured and angry about his expres-
sion that shocked her. Was this really the kind of emotional baggage that she had locked up inside
of her subconscious? It seemed to her that this image; frightful though it was, must pertain to her
internal mental condition, somehow. Therefore, Ben was mistaken to suggest that these totem poles
represent the lineage of ancestors, as they appeared to stem directly from the character of the one
who had penned them.
What was the difference?
Perhaps there was none…
 !68

Many of the others girls had already finished their totems some time ago and were now in
the advanced stages of daisy chain manufacturing. She sat in the grass alongside them, snipping the
heads of the spotless white flowers with her painted fingernails and threading them through one an-
other. Upon assembly, Wendy helped attach the creation to her hair. Just then, she saw Ms. Lytton.
She looked like she was on a war path. She walked right up to alongside Ben and whisper in his ear.
This couldn’t possibly have anything to do with her. Before she left, she shot her a disparaging
look.
“Anastasia, Wendy and Valerie,” said Ben looking nervous. “Ms. Lytton wants to see the
three of you in her office… Now.”
***
-
Walter arrived back at the precinct on Ark Street. He was reluctant about bumping into Niki
ta again, their encounter the night before had the potentiality to make working life very awkward
from now on. Bumping into Police Chief Stolz would be even worse, however. If Stolz was to catch
 !69
him wandering the halls of the station he would probably blow a gasket and then he’d never get this
paint sample analysed. He made it to the lab and approached the skinny lab technician behind the
desk. “Can you check this for me?”
“Sure,” he said picking up the bag and examining its contents. “Paint flecks?”
“I was wondering if you could tell me the manufacturer.”
“I’ll try. Could be a bit tricky…”
“When do you think you’ll know by?”
“Well, I’ve a couple of other things that need doing first,” he sighed. “Maybe tomorrow or
the day after that?”
“Fine… I’ll leave it in your good hands.”
He went back out into the corridor and noticed a shadow tailing him. It moved back and
forth erratically and then ducked down into the forensics lab. He turned just in time to see that it
was Nikita. “Hello Nikita,” he said. “Are you going into the lab?”
“No, not really.”
“I see… Take a walk with me?”
“Sure.” -
They walked down the corridor in silence for a moment and he took the opportunity to apol
ogise for the night before.
“About last night…” they both said at the same time and then broke off.
“You first…” he said.
“No, you…”
“Well, I wanted to apologise. It was perhaps insensitive of me, I could have handled myself
better.”
“No, that’s all right. It was my fault really. I should have known that you were…” she
paused looking for the right words. “That you still had feelings for her.”
At this, he began to feel immeasurably sorry for Nikita. It wasn’t fair that she should have to
compete with the affections of a dead woman, he thought. He felt kind of embarrassed for having
put both her and himself in that position. “Say, what about tonight? Would you… I can make it up
to you…”
“I can’t make it tonight. I have work,” she said looking slightly uncomfortable. “What about
tomorrow? I’m free all day…”
“I can’t,” he said recalling his prior engagement. “I’m going golfing with Stolz.”
“Golfing? Really?”
“What?”
“It’s just that I never pictured you, as a golfer that’s all…”
“Nor me…”
“No, it’s good. I’m glad…”
“I’m not sure how long it’s going to take, but I suppose I’ll be free all evening. We could go
get a bite to eat. Something like that…”
“The evening’s good…”
“Good. I’ll see you tomorrow evening then. Around eight o’ clock.”
“Sure,” she said backing away down a corridor. “Eight’s fine.”
He had surprised himself, but somehow it felt good. It felt right. His limbs were vibrating
with adrenaline. The whole world appeared affected. Walls of adrenaline, floor of adrenaline, sun,
sky and Earth of adrenaline. He liked it much better this way.

***
 !70
-
Anastasia, Wendy and Valerie went inside the museum and library building; down the corri
dor which led to the Ms. Lytton’s office. As soon as, she entered the room and saw Mr. Haight, the
janitor seated there with a hurt and churlish look upon his face, she knew exactly what was next.
They were ordered to sit and were reintroduced to Mr. Haight, albeit for the most part unnecessarily.
“Mr. Haight tells me that he caught you snooping around the janitor’s tool shed yesterday, Anasta-
sia, is this true?”
“And the three of them were there the day before that,” muttered Mr. Haight.
“We’ll get to that. First I’m dealing with Anastasia and since she’s new here, I want to be as
delicate as possible… Now… Anastasia, is this true?”
“Yes.”
“Did you not hear Mr. Haight at assembly on the first day, when he expressly forbid any of
you go near the place?”
“I don’t know, miss…”
“You don’t know… Anastasia do you have any idea why it is that we don’t let our scouts
near the toolshed?”
“No, miss,” she shrugged.
“Would you like to tell them Mr. Haight?”
“It’s like I said… kids broke in there once before and got chemicals in their eyes… and had
to be taken to hospital…”
“There you see? And what happened to them?”
“Well, Ms. Lytton,” replied the Caretaker. “They went blind…”
“Now do you see why we don’t want you to go near the shed?” she asked. “Well, Anastasia,
do you?”
“Yes, miss.”
“Good. Now what do you have to say to Mr. Haight?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Haight.”
“And?”
“And… I won’t go near the shed again…”
“That’s right, Anastasia, off you go now and wait outside.”
She did as she was told and moments later she heard the shrill sound of Ms. Lytton’s voice
berating the two girls, from behind the door. “And as for the two of you…” she barked. “I thought
you’d have more sense… You’ve been here long enough…” -
She tried to listen in but the director’s words were drowned out by the sounds of the recep
tionists typing and answering phones. One of the secretaries gave her a contemptuous look down
over the rims of her glasses. Then, the door opened and the two girls emerged looking tired and
shaken. She followed them back outside, to see if they were okay. “I’m so sorry, I hope I didn’t get
you into too much trouble…”
“We have to go help Mr. Collins with the decorations because of you,” snapped Valerie.
“I’m sorry… I—”
“Oh leave it out,” said Wendy. “You know as well as I do that we both put her up to it.”
“The first time, maybe, sure… But, I had nothing to do with the second time that was all her
doing…” she said stabbing her finger in Anastasia’s direction. “Now we’re stuck doing the decora-
tions, while she’s off having fun horse-riding. That’s hardly fair…”
She felt terrible. “Maybe I could go and help you guys instead…”
“You’d better…” said Valerie with a detectable threat in her voice.
“No,” replied Wendy. “If Ms. Lytton finds out that you missed horse-riding because of us,
we’ll get into even more trouble… The best thing you can do now is to just go along and we’ll see
 !71
you afterwards. OK?” Wendy rotated her by the shoulders and pointed her in the direction of the
stables.
Valerie, meanwhile, crossed her path and stepped hard on her foot. “Look out for yourself
from now on, you slag…” she whispered through perfectly white, clenched teeth. “Understand?”
The hum of discontent vibrated in her eardrum and she felt she should say something to
calm the situation. “Valerie wait, I didn’t mean it honestly…”
Wendy took her by the shoulders, more forcefully this time. “Just go. I’ll talk to her…”
“You will?”
“Yes…”
By now Valerie was well out of range. “You’ll be able to explain won’t you?”
“Yes, of course. I know Val, it’ll be alright… Now you’d better run if you want to get a good
horse… Look for the big burgundy one with the white stripe on its nose. I ride him all the time…
His name is Chimera, and he’s the fastest…”
She didn’t waste anymore time. She raced down the dusty yellow road in the direction of the
stables and reached the stable doors, just as Mr. Bulwark was there to open it. She noticed that the
other girls had all changed into their designer riding gear, whereas she was still wearing her denim
jacket, a shirt and jeans.
“What happened?” asked Amelia. “Where’s Val and Wendy?”
“They’re not coming. We got into trouble and they were made help out Mr. Collins with the
decorations…”
“It’ll probably do Valerie some good,” laughed Amelia.
She was surprised to hear Amelia say this, she always thought that her and Valerie were
good friends.
“Are you looking forward to this?”
“Sure am… Any idea where we’re going?”
Amelia pointed south in the direction of a high mountain pass. “It’s quite beautiful and
there’s a natural spring up there.”
“There’s usually enough time for a dip, which is nice on a hot day like today,” added Carol.
She realised that she didn’t have any togs with her, but it didn’t make sense to go back to the
dorm rooms to get them now. She picked up her riding helmet and cane and went in search of
Chimera. She found him at the back of the stables in a paddock, by itself. “Wow, there big beast,”
she said to steady him. “You’re beautiful…”

-
Harmon walked into the stone amphitheatre from out of the desert. At the centre of the am
phitheatre was a stone column and dotted around this were a number of toga-clad men walking
about talking to one another. One of the men reminded Harmon of the likeness of a Greek philoso-
pher; like Plato or Aristotle. “Hello,” he said. “My friends and I are doing a spot of stargazing.
Would you like to join us?”
Looking up he saw the sky dotted with a canopy of stars, but three stars in particular stood
out as they were the brightest. He recognised two of the stars by their size and colour as being
Jupiter and Mars, but there was a third that he could not identify. “What is that star up there?” he
asked.
“That’s Earth.”
“But if that’s Earth…” he whispered. “Then where am I?”
It only took him a few seconds to come to the realisation that he was standing on the surface
of the sun, owing to the fact that he was at such a central position to the motions of the other celes-
tial bodies. But, in truth, he did not know what made him come to this conclusion. It certainly
 !72
wasn’t the most likely one, on the face of it. How could it be that all of these people were alive on
the surface of the sun? Shouldn’t they all be burnt up in an instant and summarily blinded by the
light? And yet here they were and here he was. So bizarre…
 !73

The trail leading towards the mountain pass wasn’t as bad as some of the girl’s fretting had
made her believe. And, all in all, it was a pleasant ride through the country side. She was able to just
hang back and watch the pines and ferns drifting by. The sun’s rays streaked down illuminating the
various nameless gnats into balls of luminous light, that went dancing around her head and the
whole scene was permeated with the pleasantly antiseptic scent of the pine trees.
Before long the pass began to widen and they came to a picturesque little valley carpeted in
drowsy meadow sweet and soft green grass. Dusted and hoary butterflies flitted this way and that
amongst the wildflowers that nodded in the glade. They galloped across and reached the other side
of the glade in seconds. This little taste of riding got their appetite up.
“I know,” shouted Amelia. “Why don’t we have a race?”
They all lined up at the widest part of the valley, a place where the glade rose up a steep in-
cline and terminated at a barbed wire fence. “We’ll race up to the tree line,” said Amelia. “And back
again.”
“Anastasia is going to win,” said Annette. “Her horse is the fastest.” -
“Yeah, well, we’ll see about that. Okay, everyone line up.” And when everyone was in posi
tion, she said. “Ready? Go!”
They all shot off across the glade once more. Anastasia kicked her heels lightly against
Chimera’s side and he carried her swiftly up to the tree line overtaking the lead horses as he went.
She could hear Amelia cursing and striking her horse harshly with her whip, but it was no use; she
was back down at the far end of the glade without a hope of being caught.
The girls dismounted under a grove of nearby apple trees and tied up their horses. Then,
they all went into the forest towards the rush and gush of water. There amongst the trees a wide,
fast-flowing stream bubbled up from a circular hole in the ground. While she stood watching the
powerful flow of water, the girls made a great show of getting changed, which they said needed to
happen quickly, before “that creep” Mr. Bulwark came around. He had left them go on up the trail
alone. Being the most senior of the scout groups had to count for something, sometime.
Before long, all the girl’s were paddling by the deep pool, on the water’s edge. All except
for Annette and herself.
“Aren’t you getting in?”
She shook her head. “No, too cold.”
“Why don’t you come with me instead?”
“Where are you going?”
They walked back out into the bright sunlight and Anastasia looked up at the surrounding
mountains to where she had seen the Old Indian cave. “Up there,” she said pointing.
“You, you mean Otaktay’s cave? But we can’t go up there. It’s forbidden.”
She remembered her dream the night before; about how she had come so close to reaching
the further shore and had failed. She would not let that happen again; she had a date with knowl-
edge, as Don Juan would say.
“Well, you can stay here,” she called back “I’m going up there one way or another.”
Annette stood on the edge of the forest for a moment hesitating and then cried out. “Wait for
me Anastasia, I’m coming too…”

The revelations concerning Harmon’s dream did not cease upon awakening, but continued to
unfold, as he realised yet more connections to history, art and literature. In particular, he noticed
 !74
how his dream closely mirrored those described in the great 13th Century work of poetry The Di-
vine Comedy, by Danté. In the poem, Danté, accompanied by the poetic wizard Virgil, journeys into
Limbo, which is described as a dark and rocky wasteland, just like the one he had experienced on
the surface of the Sun. According to Virgil, this is the First Circle of Hell and reserved for souls
whose only real sin was to being born before the widespread availability of Christian baptismal
rites. Here he describes having met with famous historical figures like; Caesar, Socrates, Aristotle
and Homer. Was it possible that both he and Danté had been witness to the same place and time and
if so, did this provide some sort of proof for the existence of an afterlife; a place where souls went
based upon their past transgressions or favourable moral worth; and there to await the Final Judge-
ment?
From a scientific point of view, at least, Harmon couldn’t see why not. His experience, after
all, had been an honest observation, and one which had been corroborated centuries earlier. If this
were true and the Nine Circles of Hell were indeed a stark reality, then based on his own under-
standing, those infernal realms did not — as had been previously supposed — exist in the ground
under our feet, but rather in the sky above our heads and on the surface of the Sun. This, in its own
way, also made sense, for wasn’t Hell said to be a place where the souls of the damned burnt for all
eternity? And what was the Sun if not for a giant ball of burning hydrogen? It’s own giant Inferno?
But then, if this were so and the afterlife and God did exist, then that obviously meant that the Devil
and eternal damnation must exist also.
It was a sobering thought, that in this age of drunkenness, few seldom permitted themselves
to have.

The beginning of the climb was characterised by tall, straight pine trees that went up sixty
feet above their heads. Surprisingly, however, these great structures did not provide the girls with
much shade and the sun beat down upon their backs causing them to overheat and to sweat profuse-
ly. Consequently they were set upon by a swarm of midges that flittered around their heads and
caused them gross irritation. But worst of all was the thick undergrowth, which on several occasions
forced them to turn around and in search of an alternate route.
Annette sat down on the dusty path to take a break. “Can we go back now?” she asked. -
She looked back at the thick brush and the scree field only thirty metres away, which signi
fied the boundary of the forest. I’m so close, she thought, there’s no way I’m turning back now.
“Listen, you wait here… I’m just going to take a quick look and then I’ll be straight back. OK?”
Annette did not reply, but simply started to unpack her lunch from her bag.
She did not waste any time. She hurried up the last stretch and quickly found her way
through the bracken and onto the scree field beyond. It was so silent up here, it felt like a distant,
alien planet. A blackbird lifted up from between the fallen boulders and perched itself on a nearby
holly tree. It gave her a fright and in that moment reminded her of the fear meditations Ms. Lytton
had encouraged her to do the day before. The idea of promoting fear as a way of life would have
appeared to her an anathema under any other circumstances. But she so desperately wanted to suc-
ceed as a Nargual and have the other girls respect her that she was willing to do almost anything.
And if Ms. Lytton had told her to do it there couldn’t possibly be anything wrong with it, now could
there?
She continued to harbour her feelings of unease as she stopped by the holly tree, but quickly
forgot all about it as she noted the addition of red berries on the branches. How odd, she thought, as
she had never seen a holly tree bearing fruit in midsummer and she suspected few people had. She
picked some of the red orbs and spiny leaves and carefully deposited them in her pocket before she
 !75
carried on. The mouth of the cave was not far away now, but the way up to it was treacherous and
the going was slow. At this rate, she’d never get there.
Just then she noticed something unusual up ahead. Winding its way through the rocks was a
deep groove. She dropped down onto the dry, dusty earth and followed its snaking course around
white boulders smoothened with time, until she came face to face with the cave entrance itself. She
hesitated a while on the threshold. There’s nothing to be afraid of Anastasia, she reminded herself.
The cave stood empty, but it nevertheless showed obvious signs of former habitation. For one thing
there was a dark circle on the floor, where a fire had been set many times. Maybe someone was still
living here? On the walls she noticed strange petroglyphs carved into the rock. One of these re-
minded her of the diagram David had drawn of the different densities, only it had the addition of
some strange lines and characters that she didn’t understand. Had Otaktay drawn these, she won-
dered? Yes, she thought, he is everywhere around this place…
She took out the sprig of holly leaves and left it on a rock near the entrance way. It was her
gift to him; her way of telling him that she was grateful for all that he had done for her.
Time to get back, she thought; Annette would be looking for her. She passed out of the
mouth of the cave quickly and down the winding path.
Being alone made it easier for her to manifest the frequencies of fear needed for her medita-
tions, she noted. She put herself on edge by imagining that at any moment and around any corner
Otaktay, or someone else, might jump out at her and grab her. Presently, she emerged back into the
forest. She moved silently up behind Annette and did not say anything and simply waited for her to
turn around.
“My God, don’t do that…”
“Do what?”
“You know exactly what… Sneak up on me like that…”
She smiled.
“You scared the life out of me…”
Just then they heard a galloping sound across glade. Looking down they were just in time to
see Mr. Bulwark racing through the glade on the back of a horse; keeping one hand on his head to
secure his ten gallon cowboy hat in place. It was an odd sight to see a man so overweight perched
on the back of a horse and one wondered how it was even possibly. But there was no time to con-
sider the physical practicalities of the scene; if they weren’t back soon, he would notice them miss-
ing and then there would be trouble.

-
Minyon said he was calling over and they would go to the club after that, so Harmon decid
ed to stay at home for the rest of the day and work on some paintings. His mind kept going back to
the dream he had just awoken from. If the Sun represented the Afterlife; the Underworld to be ex-
act. And if the Underworld, at least according to Danté’s reasoning had 9 levels or strata, then didn’t
this mean that the Sun had nine layers also? How many layers did the Sun have officially anyway?
He typed it into his computer and discovered that the conventional wisdom on this subject num-
bered them at five: the core, solar envelope, photosphere, chromosphere and corona. But obviously
this was only an estimate, as no-one had ever had gone to the effort of actually opening the Sun up
and taking a look inside. Even with the latest solar imaging satellites the best that astronomers and
cosmologists could do was look at the heat and radiation coming off the surface of the massive irra-
diated body. Everything beyond that was only guesswork and conjecture. -
This, of course, levelled the playing field in allowing voices, who might otherwise be con
sidered to be uneducated or unworthy, to have their say on the matter. In this case it was the 13th
Century poet Danté who had discovered the internal structure of the Sun, albeit unintentionally,
 !76
when he had had his vision of the Nine Circles of Hell. According to his schema, then, the internal
levels of the Sun are nine and were in some way related to the realm of Limbo, and the very human
failings of Lust, Gluttony, Avarice, Anger, Heresy, Violence, Fraud and Betrayal, respectively. He
seemed to recalled that the Ninth Circle of Hell, where Lucifer resided had been described as a cir-
cle without a centre. This powerful image brought to his mind the notion of that other behemoth of
astronomy, the spacetime singularity or black hole. Was it possible that a black hole existed at the
centre of our sun? Certainly, although this would mean that our Sun was a black hole too and that,
indeed, all stars were. -
Again there was no reason why this could not be so. No one had ever made a proven obser
vation observed of a black hole, and in light of this there was no way to determine what this most
curious of celestial objects might look like. For example, it has been suggested that the event hori-
zon of a black hole would not appear black to the naked eye, but would actually be radiating an in-
tense volume of energy; known as Hawking Radiation and, therefore, presumably, would have the
same visual appearance of an ordinary star. The gravity well of a black hole would behave very dif-
ferently, so obviously our sun was not that. But the idea that the Sun might contain a miniature
black hole at its centre was certainly not impossible and might itself account for Danté’s Ninth Cir-
cle.
Harmon had already visited Limbo and did not intend to probe any deeper than that; not
without good reason, at least. He only hoped that his visitation to the realm had been as a tourist and
that it was not a taster or prelude to the kind of afterlife he could expect to endure from now to eter-
nity. Either way it was best to stay on the safe side. He thought about saying prayers again and if
necessary start going to Church. But, this was never going to happen; even with all the evidence he
couldn’t make himself believe it was true.

As they drew nearer, it was clear that something was deeply amiss in the glade. From inside
the darkened wood, they could hear the worried voices of the girls, which grew in fervour until they
became shouts and screams of terror. Had Mr. Bulwark finally gone mad? Had he lost the run of
himself and his despicable urges? There was literally no telling what might present itself to them in
there.
Anastasia was first inside. She saw Mr. Bulwark bending down over one of the girls. She
appeared lifeless and he was leaning down to kiss her. The other girls stood around in a panicked
state.”What happened?”
“It’s Wilma. She fell into the current and nearly got swept away.”
“We were lucky that Mr. Bulwark came and pulled her out when he did. Otherwise…” Carol
trailed off.
“Do you think she’ll be alright?”
“How the hell should I know?” returned Amelia.
“Everybody stand back,” shouted Mr. Bulwark. “And give me some room.”
The girls did as they were told and watched Mr. Bulwark placed his two fat lips to Wilma’s
mouth and blew. Seconds later, she was coughing ad spluttering the clear spring water from her
lungs. The other girls looked at one another in relief.
“How do you feel?” he asked the semi-conscious girl.
She was curious about that herself. She imagined that Wilma was feeling mixed emotions
about the whole affair. For a start, she would naturally be appreciative of Mr. Bulwark and the pains
that he had gone to in saving her life. On the other hand, she could scarcely imagine that Wilma
would be much thrilled to awaken to her prince and to discover instead a ‘frog’. This struck her as
being a clever observation in many ways, as there was something definitely toad-like about Mr.
 !77
Bulwark. Wilma, beautiful as she was in a youthful sort of way and no doubt incredibly wealthy
made for an appropriate modern day Princess. However, unlike the famous fairytale, their encounter
had produced no positive transformation in Mr. Bulwark; he remained as hideous and fat as ever.
But perhaps this was being unfair. After all, if hadn’t been for him, there really was every
possibility that Wilma would have been swept away by the current and drowned. Tales of his hero-
ism, of how he had waded into the water to save her were quick to surface, but it was Wilma who
was unsurprisingly showered with the most attention and kindness.

-
Once they got back to the camp, Wilma was taken off to the nurse and the rest of Form Sev
en were told to sit on the beach and wait for Ms. Lytton to arrive. They all sat in silence, as Mr.
Bulwark paced slowly back and forth across the sand in front of them. Eventually, Ms. Lytton came
informed them that Wilma was suffering from mild shock but was recovering nicely. “She’ll stay in
the infirmary with Nurse Heavyside and then she should be released later today.”
All of the girls were happy to hear it. When they were done, Anastasia went to see if Wendy
had spoken to Valerie on her behalf, as she had promised to do. “So, did you speak to her?” she
asked.
“Don’t worry, she’s just a little sore over what happened. She’ll get over it. Anyway, it
sounds like your day up at the spring wasn’t so hot…”
“You’re right it wasn’t…”
“Why don’t you come with me into the Meeting Hall, there’s something I wanted to show
you…”
She followed Wendy round to the front of the hall and went in through the doors. Inside she
saw garlands and leafy green bunting running up and down the length of it. “What do you think?”
she asked.
“It’s very impressive. Is this what you did all afternoon?”
“We helped a little. Ben and Mr. Collins did most of it… But that’s not what I wanted to
show you,” she said crouching down in front of the stage. “This is…”
In front of her was a small door leading directly under the stage. There were stacks and
stacks of blue plastic chairs under there, which created a sort of a tunnel with just big enough for
them to crawl through. “Follow me,” said Wendy.
It was dark and dusty inside the labyrinthine cave of old school chairs. Further on towards
the back of the stage, the stacks of chairs gave way to boxes and old crates, some of which looked
like they hadn’t been opened for decades. “Hey, where are you going?” she called to Wendy who
was crawling on out of sight.
She pressed on in the direction of her friend and found her again, prying loose an air vent
panel with her finger nails. They climbed out, dusted their hands and knees off and looked around.
They were back outside again, close to the back of the Meeting Hall and not far from the beach
where they had started.

Harmon went to the door and opened it to admit Minyon. He came in and plonked himself
down on a folding chair and started to roll a cigarette. “What’s up?” he asked.
“No complaints. You hungry?”
“Nah…”
“How about a cup of tea?”
“Sure…”
 !78
The kettle was broke, so he had to make do with a saucepan. It seemed like a more authentic
cup of tea in any case, sort of like the difference between mp3s and vinyl.
“You reading this?” Minyon asked pointing to a book on the table. It was Sogyal Rinpoche’s
The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying.
“A bit…” -
He had it open now on his lap reading from it. “I’ve dabbled with Tibetan Buddhism my
self…” he said flicking through the pages…”
So had everyone it seemed. “Yeah?”
“All about the bardos… You heard of them?”
He admitted he hadn’t.
“Its like a self-contained period of time. But it also has something to do with other univers-
es.”
“Other universes? How does that work?”
“I don’t know, but there are like six universes in total, I think… Buddhist have different
meditations they travel to the different bardos. They’re very clever those Buddhist monks.”
He laughed. “And you believe all that?”
“You don’t believe in extra-dimensions?
“What like string theory? Yeah… I believe in that…”
“Here listen to this… ‘a person may know when the time of death is near due to shadows of
men on the sky and investigations…’ Weird, huh?”
“Here’s your tea,” he set the tea down on the table next to Minyon’s rolling tobacco. Next to
the pouch was a plastic army man in a diving costume. “What’s this?” he asked.
Minyon snatched it from his hands. “Nothing…”
“Still playing with toys?”
“No, mind your own business,” he snapped.
“OK, take it easy…” -
“And don’t tell me to take it easy…” he was red now veins pumping in his forehead. Miny
on was clearly unhinged. He had always been that way, however, even back in their days at college
together in Portland, he’s always been a hot head.

Evening arrived and it was time for the girls to attend the dream workshop again. This time,
Anastasia and Wendy arrived early, ahead of the other girls. As soon as they entered, he smiled at
her and said, “Congratulations… On passing the Second Gate of Dreaming.”
“But I thought the purpose of the Second Gate was to wake up in a dream?” Intimating she
hadn’t done that.
“Well that’s what we say, but the true meaning of the gate is to exercise some degree of con-
trol over your dreaming environment… Evidently you did that correct?”
She thought back. “I did walk on water…”
“Well, then there you go then…”
“How exactly do you know when someone has passed a gate or not?” asked Wendy.
“I can see it in your aura,” he explained. “Every time you cross a gate, there is a correspond-
ing change in your unipolar auric field. It begins as a red glow and then changes orange and so on.
Yours is yellow at the moment…”
“But how do you see the auras? I mean,” she looked around. “I can’t see anything like that.”
“It is a skill all sorcerer’s must acquire at some point in their training.”
“And will you be teaching it to us?”
“I should think so, yes.”
 !79
“In ‘Tales of Power’… Don Juan kept mentioning something about the need for a warrior to
acquire energy for dreaming. Is that the same type of energy you are taking about…”
“No, there’s two types of energy. One is called Vril energy that’s what we call it when it is
freely available and the other is sec, when it is bound up inside of a person.”
“So where do we get this Vril?”
“There’s lots of energy sources…” By now the rest of the girls had taken their seats around
the room and David put it to them. “Can anybody here answer Anastasia’s question?”
“What was the question?” asked Valerie.
“How does a sorcerer obtain energy for dreaming?” -
“A sorcerer can only obtain energy by passing through the six stages of dreaming,” said Va
lerie.
“Not so, there are other ways that sorcerers can obtain energy. Lades for instance…”
“What are lades?” -
He pointed to a framed atlas hanging on the wall. “They are places were energy lines con
verge on the surface of Earth. Can anyone name for me a prominent place of power?”
“The Bermuda Triangle?” -
“That’s correct. The Bermuda Triangle is a liminal realm where the divide between this den
sity and the next is thin. In fact it is so thin that ships and aircraft have been known to go missing
there from time to time.”
“But that’s just a story isn’t it?”
“No, on the contrary, it is very real. Entire squadrons have been lost in that region and the
rescue planes that went to look for them were all swallowed up also. Often it is said that lights in
the sky accompany these odd disappearances.”
“UFOs?”
“That’s right, sorcerers can always find places of power by following these lights, as they
are known to refuel their engines at lade nodes.”
“But why do sorcerer’s need to get energy in this way?” queried Anastasia.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, don’t we, as human beings have an unlimited amount of spiritual energy?”
“What makes you think that?”
“Well, don’t we all have immortal souls?”
“Do we?”
Anastasia looked around nervously. “That’s what I was told at least…”
“There’s no God Anastasia… I’ve looked around… so I think I’d know.”
The other girls laughed at this and made her feel stupid.
“The only way to gain everlasting forever is to obtain energy through dreaming and cross
over into the Fifth Density before death. That is the entire point of the Dream Workshops and why
Camp Calapuyau was set up in the first place…”
“So, if a person crosses all of the gates and unlocks their energy chakras, will they have
enough energy to get to the Fifth Density?”
“For a while maybe, but the energy body does not have the proper reserves to keep you
there indefinitely. That’s why we have to make do with other means… But we will get to them in
time… Right now I want you all to concentrate on your dreaming practices, Anastasia here is catch-
ing up with you.”
There was a sharp in draw of breath amongst the class. “You mean?”
“That’s right. She’s crossed the second gate.”
“But how is that possible?” groaned Annette. “She’s only a half-blood.”
 !80
“Half-bloods are capable of mastering dreaming, but it usually requires of them a little more
effort.” he paused to meditate, “Unless she is getting help from someone…”
“Is that possible?”
“Of course, all Narguals have their allies or spirit guides to help them.” -
Being told that a spirit entity was making its way into her dreams at night without her per
mission made her feel distinctly uneasy. But, it was less about consent and more about her feelings
of hurt pride. She wanted to achieve the different stages all by herself, rather than being the unwit-
ting pawn being moved about the chess board by some unseen hand.

Harmon and Minyon made there way down to the Cascade Bar. It was filled with the usual
crowd of geeks and misfits; eating pizza, drinking beer and playing board games from their child-
hood. His sister, spotted him from behind the bar and came over to talk with him. “Hey little bro,”
she said. “Long time no see.”
“Hey…”
“Do you want a beer or some pizza?”
“A beer maybe, sure. I had lunch already…”
“Sure, ok then. Oh by the way, there was a pig in here looking for you today…”
“Oh yeah…”
“Yeah… He was asking about some graffiti?”
He nodded his head.
“Don’t be writing weird shit around town anymore. OK?”
“How’d you know I did it?”
She cocked her head and looked at him. “Because you wrote the same shit on a stall in the
toilet, here one night.”
“Oh yeah.” He had forgotten about that.
A moment later his beer arrived and Harmon went off to look for Minyon who was nowhere
to be seen. Not that that mattered much. The entire establishment was crawling with drunks who
were willing to start a conversation with you at a moments notice.
He went outside into the smoking area outback and someone passed him a joint. “You’re
Benjamin’s friend aren’t you?”
“That’s right.”
“I thought I recognised you…”
“Harmon,” he said taking a blast of the joint.
“Paul…”
“That’s right.”
“So what do you do?”
“I paint.”
“Oh I see. Where do you get your inspiration from?”
“Lucid dreaming mostly…”
“Interesting. Say, I had a dream the other night…” For some reason, he knew what was
coming, before he said it. “I was standing on the surface of the sun with all of these old philoso-
phers types with me, like Plato and Aristotle…”
“I-I had exactly the same dream…”
Paul smiled at him.
“No seriously. It was just this morning. You were standing on the sun right? But it looked
exactly like this.”
“Yeah.”
 !81
“I mean it wasn’t all on fire and the rest.”
“Right.”
“And you met with the Plato and Aristotle. I was in the exact same place…” Here then was
definitive proof in his mind of the objective truth, not only in the visionary power of dreams, but in
the existence of the afterlife. But what did it mean? He felt as though this chance meeting with Paul
was more than just coincidence. The universe was trying to tell him something.
But what? How was it possible for souls to exist on the surface of the sun without burning
up? Did they exist on a higher energy frequency? If so then what did ordinary matter look like to
them. He recalled how Earth and the other planets looked exactly as you would expect them to look
in the night sky, like luminous stars or planetoids. In general the source of this illumination was the
sun, but in the dream that both he and Paul had experienced this was clearly impossible, as the Sun
had grown dim in both instances. Unless he thought, the light from the sun was somehow polarised
in that dimension, so that it was invisible to the viewer on the way out, and its effect only showed
up on the way back.
This concept interested him greatly. Imagine a light that you could shine in your face, with-
out blinding yourself, but which still had the effect of illuminating everything around you.
But the more he thought about it though, the less it made any sense. It seemed contradictory
that the effects of a light source could be seen without the source itself being detected in some way.
However, he didn’t think that this apparent contradiction detracted in any way from the veracity of
the theory as a whole. Not everything had to make sense of have a logical explanation, especially
when dealing with substances and phenomena which existed and had their beginnings beyond the
bounds of ordinary space.

The school bell rang and Anastasia left her classroom and crossed the little enclosed garden
into the concourse. From out of the usual milieu of students, she saw Wendy walking towards her
with a singular intent. She looked at her with a strange and powerful look in her green eyes. She
was no longer the slightly naive girl that she had come to know and Anastasia now saw her for what
she truly was: A powerful Nargual.
Wendy came up and put her righthand on Anastasia’s left shoulder and her lefthand on her
waist. “Close your eyes and follow my lead,” she said.
She did as she was commanded and felt her friend leading her backwards through the room.
A jolt of energy collided with her and Wendy changed coarse; pushing her in a slightly different di-
rection, whereupon she felt another jolt of energy. Although she did not know the purpose or desti-
nation of their meandering path, it was clear by now that Wendy was guiding her through a series of
energy nodes or gateways that only she could see. She noticed that the gateways entered her back
around the left shoulder blade and while she was unable to directly perceive the energy nodes (or
lades) with her eyes, she was beginning to get a sense of their approach. It felt like a large buzzing
orb that grew in intensity the closer she got to it.
It overtook her and she exploded. In that instant, she was transported into a glittering realm
with gigantic tubular promontories, coloured in the complete spectral range and erupting upwards in
every direction. It was breathtaking like a display of slow motion fireworks going off everywhere
around her. This was Empiricus; the Ninth Density; a realm of pure energy that underlay all things
that David had spoken to her of. So everything they said was true; the Densities did exist. It was
clear now that Wendy’s efforts at forcing her through the various energy gates had given her enough
energy to experience this density directly. But even now she could feel her grip upon this most ex-
alted of realities dwindling. She wanted to remain in this glittering realm forever, but she found the
more she desired of it, the faster the vision faded away.
 !82
Having glimpsed the true nature of the universe, if even for a moment had transfixed her and
now nothing less would do than to experience that vision once more in perpetuity. However, it was
not to be and neither, clearly was it her decision to make. The great promontories began to slow and
condense into the heavier and more familiar patterns of base reality. The resulting scene she recog-
nised as her own dorm room. She looked around her and saw the room was filled with the still
sleeping forms of her fellow girl scouts. Next to her, lying asleep in her bed was a face she could
scarcely fail to recognise, but which nevertheless for some reason seemed strange to her. She sat on
her the side of her bed and took in the slightly pudgy features of her sleeping face and marvelled at
the wonder and eccentricity of it all.

Breakfast on this morning consisted of two slices of brown toast, an apple and a carton of
juice. As usual, Anastasia sat with Wendy in the little picnic area outside the tuck shop. She was
very excited to tell her friend all about the dream she had; fully expecting her to have had the same
dream herself. “I dreamt about you last night…”
Wendy looked up with a confused expression. “That’s funny, I don’t even remember my
dream.”
“But you must… You were at my school…”
“Where’s your school?”
“Back in Albany…” she got the sense that Wendy was playing with her now. “Never mind
all that. You were there and you helped me to see through the energy gates…”
“Did I? I don’t know… I remember something about my mom and a cake, I think… Was
that part of it?”
“No…” She was beginning to think that she was completely wrong about the whole affair.
Maybe the person who had helped her in the dream the night before was not Wendy after all. Per-
haps her Spirit Guide had taken on Wendy’s form inside the dreamworld. It was entirely possible
that merely by setting out on her journey of discovery into the realm of dreaming she had prompted
one or other spiritual beings from the void to take up the role of her mentor. It might have been Ea-
mon Radcliffe or Don Juan or even Carlos Castaneda himself, she thought.
There was, of course, one other contender for her ally and perhaps the most obvious one;
Otaktay. She had seen him standing at the window at the start of her dreaming practice, no doubt
trying to make some kind of telepathic connection with her. It was also possible that the Buddhist
monk she had seen was her mentor. She recalled how she had nearly drowned on that occasion, just
as Wilma had done earlier that day. It seemed like too much of a coincidence.
“What class do we have now?”
“Art History and Appreciation…”
“We’ll probably just have to walk around the museum looking at the artefacts again.”
“I know… Can’t wait…”
“Do you really like that stuff?”
“Sure.”
“It gives me the creeps,” she said and shivered.
They arrived at the museum and Ben led the class around asking them to look at and pay
close attention to the various themes expressed in the works. It didn’t take long for her to get a
sense of what Wendy was talking about. There was something definitely unnerving about some of
the old Indian artefacts, in particular the ceremonial masks of the Haida tribe, which appeared mon-
strous in aspect mixing human and animal facial features. Perhaps the most disturbing aspect of
these masks was how the makers had seen fit to incorporated real life human hair into them.
 !83
At one point, she and Wendy were examining pestle used for grinding seeds that had two
distinct carvings of animal heads on it. Ben explained that one of the heads was that of a killer
whale, while the other was an eagle and that the fin of the whale doubled as the wing of the bird. On
another occasion, they were standing next to a stone carving of what looked like a man embracing a
child, but when looked at from the front the true nature of the act was revealed. She was stunned
and repulsed, she had no idea that pedophilia was such a prominent part of Native American life in
the old times. Ben explained how this was an aspect of dual the representation common in their cul-
ture. She felt that it was simply despicable and barbaric. She couldn’t wait to get out of there, away
from the blood beating drum of sacrifice.
Clearly not everything about the past was as rose tinted as she had been led to believe, there
were injustices and hardships in those times just as there were in ours. Consequently, this made her
feel better about the type of civilisation she belonged to. For all its faults, and some would say they
were many, American life and society did not, thankfully, promote institutionalised child sex abuse
or the ritual murder of slaves to appease the Gods, as it appeared the Tlingit people did, once upon a
time.

The road into the golf club snaked round before depositing Walter and his car in the parking
lot, next to the dark wooden facade of the clubhouse. He could see Stolz and Kevin standing beside
their cars getting their clubs ready. He had a plaid golf bag with a set of ageing clubs flung into the
back seat.
“That’s quite a set you’ve got there…” said Stolz, when he saw them. “Were they your
mother in laws?”
“Actually they were my Grandmother’s,” he said slamming the trunk down; he didn’t care,
he like his grandmother.
“Hang on a second… that’s actually quite a nice driver,” Stolz said lifting it out of the bag
and examining it. “I might have a go of that when we’re out on the course.”
“How do you get to it anyway?”
“It’s just through here. That’s the clubhouse down there if you want to take a look.”
“Maybe later…”
“How much does membership cost in a place like this anyhow?”
“Upwards of ten grand a year.”
“That’s steep…”
“Yeah, well I mean look at the place it is worth every penny, isn’t?” The golf course was po-
sitioned in a green belt on the far side of the river and had a view over the entire town of Albany; It
certainly was picturesque, he thought. He was given the honour of teeing off first. He took a few
practice shots and then smacked the ball high into the air.
“Nice shot…”
It landed near the green and rolled back several feet. Not bad was right…
Kevin went next, but managed to send it off left, while Stolz delivered his ball directly onto
the green and stopped dead. “Not bad, heh?”
“No, not bad at all…” he admitted.
As they walked along, Stolz wasted no time in bringing up the real reason why they were
out here in the first place. “So Kevin. Did you here about the little scrape that Walter got into earlier
in the week?”
“No…” replied Kevin with a look of concern.
“It was nothing really…”
 !84
“Nothing? I wouldn’t say that… He had the Mayor of Albany and a State Senator breathing
down my neck and looking for your badge…” he pointed at gloved finger in his direction.
“So what happened? I mean what did you do?”
“Nothing. I told him that Walt was a credit to the force, which he is — most of the time.
When he’s not out investigating missing persons cases…”
“Which case was it?”
Stolz growled. “You should know, you probably assigned it to him…”
“What?”
“That’s what you do isn’t it? Feed him our boy intel for his little investigations into the fan-
tasy realm of the paranormal.”
“I wouldn’t call three hundred missing children cases a year fantasy,” he protested.
“That’s within statistical probability for the state…”
“Way off and you know it…”
“OK, but without a perpetrator what are you left with? Nothing concrete, nothing
tangible…”
“Alright, but we still had dirt on Sharpton. The guy was clearly bent and you let him off.”
“He’s a journalist. So he makes up a story or two. What’s to be done about it?”
“Look… The fact remains that we have an epidemic of missing persons cases on our hands.
There were eighteen cases in the last week alone…”
“Seventeen,” said Kevin eyeing the ball, for another shot.
“What?”
“There were seventeen children confirmed missing last week.”
“There you see… Not as bad as you think…”
“Your figures are wrong…”
“No,” said Kevin. “One of the missing kids turned up, last night…”
“Which one?”
“Look, never mind which one…” complained Stolz.
But it was too late, Kevin had already said it. “The Barker boy…”
He tried to think of who he meant. The Barker boy? He couldn’t remember that specific
case. “OK, so one of them returned home…”
“Well, not exactly home he’s in the Samaritan.”
“Look, no one is saying that there isn’t something fishy going on all right,” conceded Stolz.
“But you can’t expect me to waste police man hours chasing ghosts and spooks and things that go
bump in the night, can you?”
“No of course not, I just think that it should be kept as an open investigation and if people
want to investigated they should…” -
“Yeah, well that’s not how it works in our precinct, and going around hassling young re
porters who are just trying to do their job isn’t par for the course neither.”
“Well, don’t worry, it won’t happen again…”
“You see that it doesn’t…”
Stolz had lured them both out here on the pretext of a game of golf just to further chastise
them. He should have been more angry about it, but had learnt something very important, during
this afternoon’s mismatch. This was the magic pill he’d been looking for. If he could get an inter-
view with this Barker boy, he could find out what he’s seen and with it he could potentially crack
this whole case wide open. And for that, he was more than happy to play through the back nine pre-
tending like he cared, one way or another, about the outcome of the game…

***
 !85
A strange new object had appeared in the camp and consisted of a wooden frame covered
over with chicken wire and which housed a single two stroke out-board motor propped up on a
stick. The dimensions of the cage were about three feet in height, by three feet in length and one
and a half feet wide. The base of the enclosure was padded with sawdust. “What the hell is this?”
“Maybe it’s a generator,” ventured Wendy.
“Doesn’t the camp have its own power supply?”
“Yeah, well there’s another one over there,” Wendy pointed behind her.
“They’re all over the place. How come we never noticed them before?”
“They’re new… They might be some kind of game for the juniors.”
She nodded her head. It certainly was plausible, she recalled her time at girl scouts engaged
in similar activities, which when viewed from the perspective of the uninitiated, would appear com-
pletely irrational. Maybe it was something like that. Either way, she imagined that they would find
out in time.
“Here you don’t think this has anything to do with the janitor do you?”
“Mr. Haight? Maybe, I guess.”
“Come on lets get out of here. I don’t want another telling off.”
“Where will we go?”
“Why don’t we go up and see the boys?”
“Is that allowed?”
“Well, it’s not exactly forbidden if that’s what you mean…”
They left the road, crossed over a stream and then started climbing upwards through a forest
of tall conifers. It wasn’t long before they reached the seven or eight wooden cabins of the boy’s
dorm rooms. They were much the same as their own dorms, only they required thick wooden stilts
to keep them level on the hillside. This additional factor consequently made the place seem more
dynamic and she thought that she would much rather be spending the night up here among the trees
than plodding along on the positively pedestrian valley floor.
At the centre of the boy’s camp, they found Alex and Marvin, the two boys she had met on
the first day. They were standing around and seemingly instructing the other younger boys in the
use of makeshift bow and arrows. This surprised her, as she half envisaged the boy’s camp to be
more reminiscent of a scene from William Golding’s novel ‘Lord of the Flies’. She realised that she
was basing this assumption off of how Valerie and the other girls had treated her so far. She was
therefore more than a bit ashamed of herself and her bias, when she saw that the boys were actually
more genuinely inclusive and supportive of each other than the girls had ever professed themselves
to be. This feeling of inclusivity was not simply limited to the boys however, because as soon as
Alex was finished demonstrating the use of the bow and arrow by striking a paint can with deadly
accuracy half way across the camp, he dropped what he was doing and went to meet with them.
“Anastasia, you remember Alex don’t you?” asked Wendy.
“Sure I do.”
“And Marvin.”
“Of course…” The four of them began walking up the hill and split into pairs, with Wendy
and Alex up front and Marvin and her trailing behind. “This is some place you have here…” She
said trying to break the awkward silence.
“We try to run a tight ship…”
“I can see that…”
“Have you ever been to any other camps, growing up? Girl scouts that sort of thing?”
“Sure, I did joined the Girl Guides for a while.”
“In Salem?”
“No, in Albany…”
 !86
“Oh…”
“Camp Calapuyau is the best honestly…” He sounded like he was selling something, now.
“Are you looking forwards to crossing into the Fifth Density?”
“I don’t know…”
“It’s going to be awesome… You get to meet with your Spiritual Family, your real family.”
“I don’t know, I mean I already have a real family… My dad, at least…”
“Your Third Density family aren’t your real family…”
She stayed quiet; she wasn’t sure she liked where this was going. Just then, Wendy returned
to bail her out, or at least that’s what she thought would happen .
“Anastasia doesn’t believe in the Fifth Density…” she said.
Alex and Marvin both regarded her with equal measures of shock.
“Actually that’s not true anymore… I saw something last night, something I can’t explain…
Remember, I told you at breakfast this morning?”
She shook her head.
“Well, I did. About how you showed me the different energy gates…”
“Oh, I remember…”
“… Then I entered a glittering void-thing,” she continued.
“Wow, Empiricus… Your friend here has some excellent dreaming skills…”
“Don’t I know it,” said Wendy smiling.
“Hey, Anastasia, did you ever attend something called the GATE classes?”
“You mean the dream workshops?”
“No, this is something Marvin saw on the internet. He thinks that everyone who attends
Camp Calapuyau were once belonging to these weird aptitude classes.”
“Well, sorry not me…”
“Weird…”
“It stands for Gifted and Talented Education…” said Alex. “You must have attended it,
you’re the right age…”
“Hang on a sec,” that did ring a bell. “I remember some classes in kindergarten. We were
made go and take these weird tests. Only it wasn’t called GATE, it was TAG.”
“Yeah, it’s different in some states.”
The violent resurgence of repressed memories made her go off and seek the solitude of a
felled log. She remembered her teacher was this tall German lady named Mrs Krugg and how all of
the classes were conducted seemingly in secret with the blinds drawn. Images of the terrified faces
of classmates flashed before her eyes and on the black board she remembered a set of about eight or
nine concentric rings; a map of the Densities of the Universe. My God, she thought, was it all true?
Was she actually a child from another universe, with another family and identity apart from her
own?
Just then Wendy came up to her. “A-are you OK?”
“I’m fine,” she said. “I’m just a bit…”
“I know it’s OK, you don’t have to explain… It can be all a bit much, when you realise
what’s going on… But don’t worry, you’re going to have a wonderful time…”
“I don’t know… I mean…”
“Here, listen… Don’t think about it… I’ve got something important to tell you…”
“What?”
“Anastasia, you like Alex, don’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, he’s over there, waiting behind that shed for you…”
She was surprised at how quickly her friend pulled strings for her.
 !87
“He’s over there now?”
“Yes,” she said picking her up and pushing her in that direction. “Go to him…”
She didn’t need much encouragement. She walked around the back of the shed and there he
was. “Hi…” he said.
“Hi…”
“So, how do you want to do this?”
“I don’t know… In the usual way…”
“Have you ever done this before…”
She thought back to Kirk. “Sure, have you?”
“Sure…”
“Well, then…”
She stepped forwards into his embrace. The kiss was fine, but nothing to write home about.
But what really did it in was how awkward Alex was being. She stopped when her jaw started to get
tired and then led the red-faced boy back around the front of the shed, where they went their sepa-
rate ways.
“So how was it?” asked Wendy.
“It… wasn’t great…”
“No sparks then?”
“She remembered back to the enormous firework display she had seen the night before with
Wendy, when she had ventured up to the Ninth Density. When she compared it with that, she had to
admit. “No, definitely no sparks…

“You’re sure I can’t coax you back into the clubhouse?” asked Stolz when the game had
ended.
“No… I’ve got to be somewhere.”
“Looks like its just me and you Kevin…” he patted him on the back.
Walter went back to his car, threw his clubs in the boot and drove to the Samaritan where his
patient; the Rosetta stone of this entire investigation, potentially lay waiting for him. He drove
around the hospital grounds and eventually he found the admissions building. Minutes later, he ap-
proached the receptionist’s desk and asked her about the Barker boy.
“Are you a relative?”
He showed her his badge.
“Uh-uh… His mother and his grandmother are with him, at the moment,” she lifted the
phone. “Room 212…”
He went up in the lift and found the room, way at the back of the hospital. His mother stood
up to greet him the minute he knocked on the door. She wiped her hands on her dress, before shak-
ing his hand. She had straight brown hair and a worn-out look upon her face. “My name is Walter
Cullen. Do you mind if I have a few words with your son?” -
“Of course,” she said, going back to his bedside. “Michael, this man is from the police de
partment. He’d like to ask you a few questions. If that’s alright?”
He nodded weakly from beneath a mesh of intra-venous tubes.
“How are you feeling?”
“Much better thank you.”
“The doctor said he could be released either today or tomorrow. Isn’t that right?” beamed his
mother with tears in her eyes. -
“Michael went missing, what was it on the eight of this month?” he asked trying to remem
ber the details.
 !88
“The tenth…”
“And he was found what? Yesterday?”
“On Wednesday morning.”
“So he was gone for a total of three days…” he made a note of the dates. “Michael, can you
tell me anything you remember about the night you went missing… The night of the tenth.”
He looked for assurances from his mothers.
“Go on,” she said and patted his hands under the bedclothes.
The young boy turned back. “I went to bed as usual…” he began. “And then, I heard this
noise…”
“What sort of noise?”
“It was like a deep humming sound… coming from right outside my window.”
“OK, and then what happened?”
“Well, I got up out of bed to see what it was… and then, this bright light lit the entire room
up. After that, I was some place else… Somewhere far away…”
“Where were you?”
“I don’t know. It was dark… And there was this man…”
“Can you describe him?”
“He looked like a man, but he wasn’t… I could see past it to his real face. It was all white
and smooth, with big round eyes… like black eyes…”
“Did the man say anything to you?”
“Not really… He showed me a horse… that was missing part of its mouth.”
“What do you mean?”
“It looked like it was cut off, you could see inside of it… at the bone. It was disgusting, real-
ly…”
He looked up at the boy’s mother, sympathetically. “OK, then what happened?”
“Nothing… The next thing I remember it was daylight and I was back in the forest again.”
“He means the patch of trees behind the University,” his mother interjected. “That’s when he
was found and brought here… We were told he had acute hypothermia.”
“What about strange markings, cuts or burns? Anything like that?” He was thinking about
the abduction cases.
“No, a few scratches here and there maybe. Nothing serious…” -
Before he left, he asked the boy to make a drawing of the man he had seen. The image sur
prised him. “You’re quite the artist,” he said putting away his notebook.
“I’m sorry we couldn’t have been anymore help…” said the grandmother.
She was right. The boy’s testimony had not been the smoking gun that he was looking for. If
anything it merely muddied the already opaque waters by bring in aspects of alien abduction cases
into the mix. He thanked them anyway and went back out to look for his car.
None of it seem to fit with the other testimonies he had collected. For one thing the boy de-
scribed being transported out of his bedroom. That was new. And then there was his description of
some kind of shapeshifting alien grey. But the most troubling of all was the lack of any paralysis.
On a hunch, he took out his phone and typed in ‘alien abductions’. He scrolled through the
search results, but couldn’t find anything useful. So, he searched ‘aliens and dreams’ instead. This
time he found a link to a series of online books; entitled; “Fringe Knowledge”. Towards the back of
the book, he found a compelling story about a man driving along a remote stretch of highway alone,
one night. He described how he stopped at a rest stop to get some sleep, when a bright light sudden-
ly appeared and hovered silently in the air above him. As the object moved closer he had a sense
that he was going to be abducted. The normal reaction for most people in this predicament would be
fear, but he approached it on a more mature, intuitive level. Instead of being afraid, he decided to
 !89
project a strong feeling of love toward the craft. In that instant the bright light vanished and he
found himself alone in the parking lot once more; safe and sound.

Anastasia opened the door to the Meeting Hall and saw the other girls sitting on the floor.
According to their diaries, today’s class was a Vril workshop with Evette Thompson. Vril energy
was of no small interest to her, but it was the mysterious Evette that fascinated most of all. Who was
this mysterious beauty who knew David so well? And more importantly, how well did she know
him? Had she kissed him and what was he like?
They took their seats at the back of the class and Evette welcomed them all to the workshop.
Behind her on the wall was a chart showing the human body and the seven energy centres of the
chakra systems. One either side of these were two snaking lines, which she recognised as the right
and the left meridians. She knew the basics of chakra energy. But what did Vril have to do with any
of it, she wondered? -
“Now that we’re all here,” she began. “I’m going to introduce you to Vril energy manipula
tion. Vril is a powerful energy force that emanates from deep within the Earth’s crust. It gives
strength to the plants and by extension to all life on earth.
“Vril energy is intricately connected with the chakra energy system of the human body.
There are seven main chakras in total,” she said pointing to the chart. “The root chakra, which is
positioned at the base of the spine… the sacral chakra at the naval, then we have the solar plexus,
the heart, throat, third eye and crown chakra. Then on either side of these were have the right and
the left channels…
“When Vril is inside of the body, it is called sec. In order to make use of this sec energy,
your chakras must be attuned to its frequency. So, are there any of you that haven’t been initiated,
yet?” she asked.
There was a low murmur amongst the girls and then Wendy said. “Anastasia hasn’t…”
“Very, well then. Now, I want you all to close your eyes. The secrets of Vril energy are only
known to initiates with a level six security clearance…”
They all did as they were told.
Then, Evette came and stood behind her. She felt the gently rush of air arising from the
quick and deliberate motion of Evette’s hands above her head and heard the utterance of a series of
largely unintelligible words. She witnessed a bright light and the arid, mellifluous chorus of the an-
gels; a hundred thousand strong, serenading her with their song. As unusual as this experience was,
there was something familiar about it. She had a very similar experience attending mass in her local
church. How she could have forgotten about such a singular and unique experience was the real
mystery to her. Then, just as quickly as the vision had appeared, it was gone again.
At Evette’s request, she opened her eyes; to see that everyone in the hall was looking at her.
“How do you feel?”
“I feel… Wonderful…”
The girls tittered.
“Did you notice anything?”
She bit her lip. “A sort of rush of energy rising up out of the earth. It was plant-like…” She
had not meant to say that… But somehow it had felt right to lie.
“See, class?” said Evette turning. “No matter who undergoes initiation the effects are always
the same…”
She was in shock. Those had not been her words…
 !90
“Now that you have all been initiated into the Vril energy sphere, you will need to know the
signs and sigils which activate it,” she opened up a folder and took out a number of sheets. “Today I
will teach you two of these symbols… Pass them around.”

The sheets of paper displayed two symbols, which were both very a like to one another and
generally consisted of two spirals connected by a line, with an arrow in the bottom lefthand corner
and two inverted triangles in the other.
By following carefully Evette’s instructions, she was able to draw the symbols in the air
with her finger; starting in the centre of the topmost spiral, looping outward and reversing direction
for the below spiral. Next, the girls were split into pairs, took turns alternately sending and receiv-
ing Vril back and forth to one another. First, it was her turn. She drew the Vril activation sigil above
Wendy’s prostrated body, lay her hands on the crown of her head and waited.
To begin with, she didn’t feel anything too strange. Then, she gradually became aware of a
tingling sensation in her fingers and her hands started to get noticeably warmer.
All of a sudden, she had a remarkable vision. In her mind’s eye, she saw two brightly
coloured snakes; one red and one blue, intertwined in a figure eight with each one grabbing hold of
the other’s tail in their mouth. The two snakes were rendered in the manner of an illustration, ex-
hibiting dark outlines around regions of flat colour. The clarity of the vision was startling to her, at
first, but she managed, through a strength of will not known to her before, to keep her eyes shut and
her attention focused, until the image faded of its own accord.
Then it was her turn to lay back down and let Wendy administer the Vril energy. Here again,
the effects were subtle and she began to question if anything substantial was actually taking place at
all, or if it was sole product of the imagination. And yet there was this undeniable sensation of cold
coming from Wendy’s hands. It was the complete opposite of what she might expect. Why? The hot
and the cold sensations intrigued her. Were they not related to the red and the blue snakes she had
seen earlier and to the right and left meridians of the chakras? It certainly seemed that way, as the
right meridian was coloured red and the left one blue.
It was her turn again to practice the Vril energy healing on Wendy. As she sat there, with her
eyes closed and her hands on Wendy’s head she saw the entire inner workings of the human chakra
system laid out before her. The conventional depictions of chakras as discrete points or wheels, she
learned was truly in error. Instead, a spectral band of colours from violet to red started at some point
above her head and spread out in a linear fashion away from her, before fading into a bright blue
sky. Beneath this, at a distance which was impossible to calculate, owing to the lack of any refer-
ence point, she saw the twin snaking lines of the right and left meridians; a Caduceus of bright
 !91
white energy. She understood that both of these forms were orientated in a similar spatial manner to
Wendy’s body. The angle between the linear rainbow and the Caduceus was hyperbolic in nature,
however, which suggesting that they existed at unfathomably large scales. -
Up until then, she had assumed that the chakra system was just a myth or perhaps a concep
tual framework, but definitely not a real physical system. What she had seen next forced her to
change her mind. She heard a soft titter and when she opened her eyes, she saw Evette standing at
the head of the class with David whispering into her ear. His entrance seemed to signal the end of
the class. “Ok, that’s it for today,” pronounced Evette. “If you’ll permit me to say a few words be-
fore you go, I’d like to wish you all a Happy Bealtaine and just to say that I’ll be doing a hip hop
dance class in the morning and the Maypole dance at the ceremony with the rest of the instructors
this year, so make sure and be there for that…”
While the other girls were exiting the building, Wendy stayed behind to talk to Evette and
David. “Are you looking forward to being in the Maypole dance this year?” she asked.
“Yes, I’m thrilled. We all are.”
“I wish I was an instructor, then I could get to dance too.”
“Well, you could always do the hiphop dancing in the morning…”
“Yeah, I know, but it’s not really the same…”
“Haha… Wendy you are a true traditionalist…”
She laughed.
“Are Anastasia and Wendy part of dreaming workshop?” Evette said rolling up the chakra
chart into a box.
“That’s right.”
“Are they any good?” -
“Anastasia here only started her dreaming practice, what three days ago. And well… per
haps you should see for yourself…” He placed his hand on Evette’s shoulder.
“Stage three…”
“I think you mean Stage Two, don’t you?”
“Nope,” he smirked. “Congratulations… You saw yourself asleep last night…”
“That’s fantastic, Anastasia,” said Wendy. “I’m so happy for you.”
“You should be happy for yourself also,” he hinted.
“You mean?”
“That’s right you passed Gate Four.”
“Wow, I’m really impressed” said Evette. “Three gates in three days… That’s nearly better
than your record isn’t David?”
“Nearly.”
“What will Ms. Lytton say to that?”
“Why? How long did it take you?”
“Two weeks,” he shrugged.
“Was Ms. Lytton your dreaming instructor?” asked Wendy. “I can only imagine what that
must have been like.”
“Oh it wasn’t that bad…” she smiled; draping herself over David’s shoulder. “Kat was very
fond of young David. Who could blame her? Am I right girls?”
Back outside they said their goodbyes.
“So what do you think of Evette?” Wendy asked when they were gone.
“She’s alright… But I didn’t like how she was carrying on with David.”
“Oh, someone’s got a bit of a crush…”
“I mean did you see the way she was all over him?”
“Yeah…”
 !92
“And that business about him and Ms. Lytton… You don’t think?”
“What?…”
“Never mind…”
 !93

For the third time that day, Harmon opened his eyes and questioned whether he would get
out of bed or not. Despite the dull thud of a hangover from the previous night, he saw nothing pre-
venting him from doing so. After a coffee and some chocolate chip cookies, he was saving for
breakfast, he went outside to take the air. He went around by Clare Street and passed the museum,
before looping back around again. He always did this walk, it kept him mentally and physically
alert for the rest of the day.
As he was exiting the museum grounds, he stayed close to the wall to give traffic a chance
to pass. Luckily this road wasn’t particularly busy. He heard a car approaching from behind and a
curious feeling of dread began rising in his stomach. It grew and grew, as the car drew nearer and
nearer and it became almost unbearable. He turned around and saw a dark saloon car drive past,
with an ordinary-looking middle-aged man behind the wheel. The man didn’t take any notice of
him, and left him plenty of room. But he got the distinct impression that something wasn’t right
with him. It was as if he weren’t fully human.
On another occasion, quite unrelated to this one, he recalled being in a supermarket check-
out line and being approached from behind by a lady extremely advanced in years. For some reason
this triggered the odd sensation of a dull, but regular throbbing between the eyes. This feeling was
in no way painful and was restricted to that region of the eyes, where sleep gathers in the morning.
Unlike the other parts of the eye; the iris, the pupil, cornea and so on, all of which are named and
whose functions are more or less obvious with some thoughtful enquiry, this well-defined and oft
overlooked feature, remained — to him at least — a nameless mystery.
He was now convinced that the function of these blood vessels in the interior corner of the
eye was to alert his organism to the proximity of a vampire-like creature that had taken the sem-
blance of a human being. Preposterous? Insane? Paranoid? He didn’t think so. It made perfect sense
from an evolutionary perspective. Every part of the biological organism of man must have or at one
time had a function. Whether this function is known to us or not anymore is irrelevant. Perhaps the
mechanism had evolved when shapeshifting organisms were more numerous. Over time a lack of
use produced a loss of sensitivity, leaving men to become complacent to the threat, which was now
in resurgence. From now on, he vowed to take heed of these archaic bodily sensations, as they
might very well save his life one day.

Walter was back at home, going over the old case files trying to see how many of them fitted
the pattern of alien abduction cases. The reports of bright lights, paralysis and strange alien beings
cropped up regularly, he noted. Add to this to the number of peculiar marks found on the victim’s
bodies and it did seem like a definite pattern. He looked at the time; seventeen fifty-one. He was
meeting with Nikita at eight tonight. He felt nervous, like a teenager on his first date. Maybe he
should call up and cancel. She’d understand wouldn’t she?
His mother was right when she had accused him of having trust issues. Trust issues and
paranoia weren’t unusual in his line of work, where the populace generally frowned upon you and
you could get shot in the back down the next alleyway. Nikita was a police officer too though, so
she understood this. She was on his side. What was the source, then? It was hardly Julia, his first
wife, she was a treasure to him and they rarely even fought or had disagreements, at least not that he
could recall anyway. Then again we have a tendency to only remember the good things and think
well of the dead. This was something else… Something about Nikita. The way she viewed the
world.
 !94
It wasn’t that she was stupid. Far from it, and yet there were certain key areas that left a lot
to be desired. For instance; general knowledge. She didn’t know who Nelson Mandela was, for
starters. She’d never seen or heard of The Shawshank Redemption. And then there was that incident
with the mashed potatoes, earlier in the week.
He could forgive the potatoes, but what kind of person had never heard of The Shawshank
Redemption? In some ways it was a blessing. He hated that movie with a passion.

Sitting in the commons area by the tuck shop, Anastasia watched the sun sink low over the
mountains. All of the Calapuyau scouts were gathering around, for the first time since the assembly
in the Meeting Hall. What if Alex came by, she thought? Would he come over and talk with her, or
would he keep his distance?
“You’re thinking about Alex. Aren’t you?”
“Yeah… How did you know?”
“Just a guess,” she shrugged. “So tell me, do you like him?”
“I do,” she hesitated. “But…”
“… He’s a bit frigid.”
“Exactly…” She wondered how Wendy knew. Then again, why wouldn’t she. She put it out
of her mind. She’d just have to wait and see what happened.
Sometime later, she saw Alex and some of the other boys come into the picnic area. They all
sat down together at a table across the way. She tried to catch his eye through the crowd, but as
soon as he clocked her, he looked away again.
“Alex is a bit immature, I think… What you need is someone more grown up. Like, like…”
“Like David…” she murmured.
“Exactly…”
“Oh but that’s never going to happen. Why is everything so difficult?”
“Never say never, Anastasia…”
Just then a red-orange light, no brighter than that of an ordinary star, whisked across the sky
moving rapidly to the East. It took a meandering path, before vanishing into thin air. “What was
that?”
Wendy shrugged and smiled. “What do you think it was?”
“A UFO?”
Her friend said nothing.
“What do you think it was?”
“I don’t know what that was…”
“I guess it could have been ball lightning…” There was a weird phenomenon. “But either
way it was pretty darned cool…”
Looking around her now, she saw all of the children at their play. Everything seemed very
normal and happy. But despite this, she felt that something terrible was on its way.

Walter set his work aside and was just about to go upstairs and get ready when the doorbell
rang. It was Nikita. “Didn’t we say eight o’clock?”
“Sorry. I just thought I’d pop over a bit earlier and make sure you didn’t change your mind
and chicken out on me again.”
He was stunned. Her admission made him feel like she was intending to smother him. He
looked for a way out.
“Can I come in?”
 !95
“Eh, shouldn’t we get going?” he said picking his coat up off the dresser.
“What? In those shoes?”
He looked down at his dirty white trainers.
“What’s the matter with them?”
She didn’t answer, but cocked her head.
For some reason, he didn’t want to let her in around the house, by herself, but he had no
choice now. “Eh, OK… I’ll go upstairs and get changed. Why don’t you wait here…”
“Here?”
“Or in the living room… Whatever…”
He rushed upstairs, kicked off his shoes and was back down seconds later.
“All set?” she asked.
“Yep, everything’s fine,” he said. “Lets go…”
He pulled the door out behind him and saw her white Camaro parked on the grass outside
his house. “I thought I’d be driving you,” he said and then thought better of it. “… I guess that’s a
bit old fashioned of me, in this day and age.”
“Just a little,” she replied. “Where do you want to go tonight?”
He had made a booking for a little pizza pasta place on the Main Street and told her about it.
“I booked it for half eight, so we’ll be a whole hour early at this point,” he glanced at his watch.
“I doubt they’ll mind somehow…”
He climbed into the car and buckled up.
“Safety first,” she said with sarcasm. “We’re only going five minutes down the road.”
“It’s the law…”
“You never switch off, do you?”
“Everyone buckles their seatbelt, if they don’t they get a fine…”
“Right, but you’re not everyone, are you?”
He assumed she was referring to his ability to get various traffic misdemeanours quashed
without too much difficulty and it was true that this was one of the perks of the job, but not one that
he was in the habit of abusing. -
The evening was off to a rocky start, with Nikita’s demeanour seeming to him cold and con
frontational. Was she still pissed at him from the previous night’s mishap? If so, why not just tell
him to go to hell and be done with it? But, no, somehow he was wrong. It wasn’t simply Nikita’s
disposition that was cold towards him. He actually felt physically cold in her presence. He ran his
fingers along the vents of the car to check for the source of the discomfort.
“What are you doing?”
“Does it seem cold to you?”
She shrugged her shoulders and took a sip from a bottle of water. “No…”
“Must be me, then…”
“So, what did you get up to today?”
“Playing golf… with Stolz…”
“Oh, I see…” She shifted gears. “Sucking up to the boss, eh?”
“Not exactly. You see I was out with Kevin…”
“Kevin was there?” Changing gears noisily again.
“Sure… Actually it was more like an ambush than a friendly game of golf.”
“Ambush? What do you mean?”
“Ahh, Stolz just wanted to grill me and Kevin over the missing persons cases…”
“What does Kevin have to do with it?”
“Ahh… He was instrumental in getting me the names of people who had died and went
missing. I really couldn’t have kept tabs on all of that myself, to be honest…”
 !96
“Oh I see… So, have you cracked the case, yet?”
“At the moment I’ve sort of going down the route of alien abduction cases,” he felt stupid
saying it.
“You’re really into all this stuff aren’t you? … Ghosts and aliens and all that?” -
He shifted his weight uncomfortably in his seat. He resented the implications that just be
cause a person was investigating fringe subjects that that somehow reflected poorly on their level of
intellect and maturity, or that they were somehow whacko. He felt he had to defend himself. “No, I
just find it interesting that’s all…”
“You find it more than just interesting, I’ll bet…”
“Well, you have to go where the evidence takes you… Reading through the reports it looks
as though some kind of alien abduction experience could account for at least half of all cases.”
“That’s ridiculous…”
“Why?”
“Aliens… I mean… it’s science fiction.”
“I wouldn’t go that far. UFOs are just unidentified flying objects; they could, in fact be any-
thing.”
“Yeah, but we’re talking about actual aliens here. Little green men from another world… It’s
impossible.”
“It’s unlikely, but it’s not impossible.”
“So what are you suggesting that aliens are to blame for kidnapping all of these kids?”
He had to admit, hearing it said back to him, it did sound crazy. -
“Wouldn’t it make more sense, if you were dealing with a real life, flesh and blood pe
dophile ring? Like a cult…”
“A cult?”
“Yeah, exactly… It is not unheard of for abusers to drug their victims and then dress up as
aliens, devils or monsters and then abuse their victims, you know? Just to scare the hell out of
them…”
It certainly did seem to make more sense than his own half-baked theory. “That’s good way
to protect your identity if you’re a predator, I guess…”
“And if they try to report it, then no one would believe them… because filling out a police
report saying that they were raped by a ghost or an alien, isn’t exactly believable.”
“Yeah,” he said. She had a point there.
“God, Walter. If you really want to play detective, you need to start using your brain…”
She was right of course, maybe he hadn’t been examining all of the angles, as he should
have been. When they got into the restaurant, it was almost empty and the waiter showed them di-
rectly to their table. After a brief look at the menu, she suggested that he go for the veal. “It’s lovely
and succulent…”
“I’ll go for that then…” -
After he placed his order, she turned to him and said. “Do you know what it is you just or
dered?”
He shrugged.
“It’s a baby calf… that’s been force fed until it bursts…”
He felt like getting sick.

“Today I’d like to talk to continue with our discussion on energy and the best possible
means of harvesting it,” said David. “Now, as I’ve said before there are lades, but for our purposes
today we are going to examine, this…” He pointed to the blackboard. “Self-control… By which I
 !97
mean, control of your emotions… Now, emotions are not what they seem. They are in fact a type of
sec radiation, emanating from the lower densities of the animal and plant chakras. By getting in
touch with this form of energy we can harvest it and do many strange and wonderful things…”
“Like what?” asked Valerie.
“Like altering the chemical make-up and structure of your body,” he replied. “How many of
you are doing regular fear meditations?”
There was a show of hands.
“Good that is most of you. Fear radiation is very important as it can convert the atoms of the
dreaming body into heavy metals. After that you can start working with stronger forms of emotional
radiation like hatred. Before long the irradiated atoms will decay into titanium…”
Some of the girls laughed at this. But to her it sort of made sense, industrial and medical
grade titanium was used in hip replacements among other surgical procedures, because it was chem-
ically inert and didn’t get rejected by the body.
“I know it sounds funny, but obviously, if you are made from titanium you are completely
immortal and invincible.” -
There was one aspect, however that she didn’t quite understand. “But why is it only the neg
ative emotions?” she asked.
“I’m sorry?”
Everyone in the class was looking at her now. “I mean, why choose fear and hatred over and
above the other more positive emotions?”
“You’re missing the point… There’s no such thing as either good or bad emotions. It is all
just energy generated by your lower chakras.” -
“But I can feel that one is different from the other. Bad emotions feel bad and good emo
tions—”
“The categorisation of emotions into good and bad is a social construct. Like I have said
emotions are fundamentally different chakra energy states and all energy wants to do is move from
one state into another… If you are feeling angry, for example, it upsets the balance of your system
and this is something you fight against. It is this resistance and the consequent electrical impedance
generated in your psychophysical system, which ultimately causes the feelings you associate with
negativity…
“Next time you feel happy or angry don’t try to classify or fight against it. Simply observe it
and let it pass on its way. Then you will see that bad emotions are not bad and good emotions are
not really good. All of it is simply energy moving from one place to another…”
She relented. Maybe he had a point… Somebody asked an obscure question about the
Fourth Density and he launched into a long and complicated lecture involving complex diagrams
with spherical manifolds intersecting a four-dimensional space. It took her a while to figure out
what he was talking about. He seemed to be saying that people looked like giant eggs, from the
point of view of Empiricus and that the bright filaments she saw there were really just different
dream universes. Where these filaments intersected with a point on the egg, a point he referred to as
an “assemblage point” then that was the universe they perceived.
“If two people are orientated in precisely the same way in the 4th Density,” he went on.
“They will naturally share the same dream. It is called dreamwalking. However, not all dreams are
in the 4th density. Some of them are simply in the dreamer’s mind.”
“So can you dreamwalk another’s dreams?”
“You can, but it is very dangerous.”
“Why dangerous?”
“The dreams of your average Third Density inhabitant is orientated only of their intentions
and desires. If a Nargual wishes to enter the profane dreamer’s dream, he or she runs the risk of be-
 !98
coming ensnared in that person’s intentions; for good or bad. Now,” he said; setting down the chalk.
“Does anyone know any methods of dreamwalking?”
Valerie put up her hand. “You wait until you are in a lucid dream state. Then you think about
the person whose dream you want to walk and then you simply stick out your arms, like this…” She
stood up and spread her arms out on either side,” …and twirl around and around like this.” The oth-
er girls started laughing at her demonstration.
“That’s right,” he smiled. “Just remember to only spin in a clockwise direction.”
“Why? What happens if you spin the other way?”
“You unravel the entire universe,” he said. Once again the girls burst out laughing at this.
“Okay, that’s it for this evening. But before you go… I want you to hand up your Book of Shadows,
for review…”
She wasn’t expecting that. She took out the blue book and skimmed through the pages;
checking for any love hearts or anything else inappropriate in the margins. She was sure she had
written something about him in there. Before she could finish, he came and took the book from her
hands casually. Too late, she thought.

After dinner, Nikita suggested they took a drive up to Wolfe’s Creek instead of going on to
the cinema. Wolfe’s Creek parking lot overlooked the city of Albany, and was a notorious make-out
spot for teenagers. “Are you sure you want to go up there? I mean aren’t we a bit old for all that?”
“Speak for yourself,” she said. “Come on, live a little… Don’t you want to recapture your
youth?”
He hadn’t really though about it before, but he supposed the idea wasn’t too much to his dis-
liking.
“Besides,” she continued. “I have a bottle of spirits and some mixers. It’ll be fun.”
The decision was made and they drove up the narrow winding road of tall pines to Wolf
Creek and into the parking lot. The ground fell away beneath them into a steep, tree-filled valley
and beyond that was a sea of orange and white lights. She took out the bottle and placed it between
her legs and started to undo the cap. “God, I love vodka… Don’t you?”
“It’s alright… I’m more of a whiskey man myself.”
“Well, you didn’t bring any whiskey did you? So vodka will have to do. Cup?”
He took the plastic cup from her.
“Hold it steady.” She poured a measure followed by some effervescent tonic and smiled.
“There you are. Bottoms up.”
“Thanks..”
“Wow,” she said. “You drank that quickly.”
“Must have been thirsty…”
She paused. “I can see that. Here have another.”
A car with full headlights and bass heavy music pulled up alongside them. He could make
out four or five shapes in the car. They were just kids really and not much older than Anastasia by
the looks of it. He wondered if she got up to this sort of thing.
“Someone’s having a good time…”
He grumbled.
“What are you thinking about?”
“I was thinking about Anastasia. How she’s getting on…”
“I’m sure she is having a time of it… I was at camp before… The girl guides… We always
had a blast… The things we used to get up to…” she said with a shy smile; clearly reminiscing.
“That’s what I’m worried about.”
 !99
Nikita scoffed. “I’m sure you were just as bad at that age. Worse even…”
She was right, he was.
“Alright, for another top up?”
“Yeah.” He was pacing himself now. He didn’t want to get drunk. One of them would be
needing to drive home after all…
“Still it must be hard for Anastasia… Not having a mother, I mean…”
“We get on alright…”
“Yeah, but I mean, she’s getting to that age now… She’s going through all those changes…”
“Why? She’s a smart kid. She’ll get through it…”
“Well, yes… But not just that… A girl needs a good female influence in her life, someone
who sees the world from her perspective… that can help her make the right choices…”
He could tell where this was headed. There was a loud, cacophonous thud as the door of the
car next to theirs swung open and closed. A hand pawed the window pane, accompanied by a high-
pitched squeal. He thought he recognised the voice and rolled down the window pane to see Liane
stumbling around outside.
“Hey Mr. Cullen… I thought it was you…”
“Liane what are you doing up here?… Are you drunk?”
“A little…”
She could barely stand. “Who else is with you?”
“Liane get back in the car…” one of them called.
“Oh you know, just Aaron, Kirk and Sylvia…”
He craned his head to get a look inside the other car and caught sight of Sylvia looking pan-
icked in the back seat. She untangled herself from Kirk’s arms. “Sylvia,” he shouted. “Does your
father know you’re up here?”
“Shit, that’s Anastasia’s dad… Oh hey Mr. Cullen.”
“Sylvia I want you to go home immediately. Understand? I’ll be on to your father in the
morning…”
Sylvia was out of the car now. “Oh please God, don’t tell my dad about this. He’ll kill me if
he finds out… We’ll go home right now, promise… Won’t we Aaron?”
He fixed his eyes on the older boy. He seemed frightened, but sober. He wasn’t that stupid
clearly… “Alright, see that you do. We’ll follow you down Aaron, OK?”
He nodded and they all got back inside the car and closed up the doors.
“Geez, you really are a hard-ass aren’t you?”
“Sorry, but they can’t be up here like this. They’re too young.”
“No, I understand, of course…” She bit her lip and looking around nervously, as though she
were expecting something might happen.
“Is something the matter?”
Nikita ignored the question and started up the car.

After the dreaming workshop all the scouts gathered again back at the commons area. The
staff and faculty had been busy all day putting up the decorations and bunting in time for tomor-
row’s festival. There was also a little stage where musicians were encouraged to get up and enter-
tain the crowd of onlookers. One of the boys from seventh form played a tune on his guitar. The
sound of the steel acoustic strings co-mingled with the moonlight on the water and gave her the
feeling that the entire universe was made up of nothing but waves; marching up out of the water and
back towards death. Ms. Lytton trotted up onto the stage and called for quiet. “Thank you Craig,
I’m afraid that’s all we have time for this evening…”
 !100
Loud protestations went up form the crowd and died off quickly again.
“I know, I know…” cried Ms. Lytton. “But a general meeting has been called. So you know
what that means, everyone has to go back to their dorms. Head girls and head boys, you know
where to go and what to do… On no account should anyone be allowed out…”
A commotion ran through the crowd.
“It’s not…”
“It is,” replied Ms. Lytton. “We’ve just got word from the meteorological department and
they’ve told us that there is a 78.5% chanced of fog, which is unusually high for this time of year…
And you know what that means don’t you, boys and girls…”
“The Berserker…”
“The mist, the moon, and the Midsummer’s Eve, Is the night that the Berserker roams free. It
is imperative that every scout remains inside and safe and does not go out for any reason, is that un-
derstood?”
The groans resurfaced. “Don’t worry, you’ll have plenty of time to socialise tomorrow.
There will be food, friends and fireworks. Now, everyone give Craig a big hand. He was excellent.
Wasn’t he?”
There was short attempt at applause and then the crowd began to break up and disperse.
What was this, wondered Anastasia; two annual general meetings in the same week? Just what kind
of operation were they running here? “Hey Wendy?”
“Yeah…”
“Why don’t we go see exactly what they get up to at these meetings?”
“What? You heard what Ms. Lytton said about the Berserker…”
“You didn’t believe that did you?” -
“Anastasia, are you going to tell me that after everything you’ve seen so far at Camp Cala
puyau that you are in a position to disbelieve anything right now?”
“That’s just silly… OK, I admit it, you were right about there being other densities, but I can
see how that could be true… The Berserker on the other hand just sounds like Bigfoot…” -
She took one look in Wendy’s eyes; she could see that she was scared. That was understand
able. Fear was, after all a normal reaction, but it was a reaction that Anastasia had decided to no
longer give into. She needed to convince her friend it was safe to venture out with her somehow.
But how exactly?

After she had finished washing her teeth, she was still no nearer to a solution to the problem.
A thick mist had fallen on the camp, just as it had done on the first night and just as Ms. Lytton said
that it would. She fortified herself against its cool embrace and wondered if there was something to
this camp legend of the Berserker after all. But that was just stupid. At ten foot tall blind man that
ran screaming through the forest at night breaking branches and howling at the moon. Someone
would have seen him and shot him by now.
When she got back into the dorm room, the girls were all getting ready for bed. Again she
heard the clanking of the metal bell and through the window she saw the silhouetted figures moving
through the mist on their way towards the Meeting Hall. At one point, she thought she recognised
the bent figure of the Caretaker passing by the window. Everyone was going in tonight on account
of the Berserker it appeared.
One less thing to worry about, she thought. An apparent commotion from inside the room
drew all of their attentions towards Wilma, who had just recently returned from the infirmary.
“What’s the matter with her?” asked Valerie.
 !101
“She just remembered something awful that happened to her up at the spring the other
day…” said Carol.
“What?”
“She says that Mr. Bulwark put his tongue in her mouth…”
“He what?”
“Just when he was giving her mouth to mouth…”
“That’s disgusting…”
“I know, to take advantage of someone, when at their weakest.”
“That’s how all pedophiles do it…”
“That’s the last straw…”
“Where are you going?” asked Wendy, as her friend put on her overcoat.
“To get some answers…”
“But what about the Berserker?”
“Don’t you see? The Berserker is just a made up story to cover for whatever weird pedo cult
shit is going on at this camp…”
Wendy looked shocked and then something inside her broke. “You’re right, I’m coming
too.”
“Where?” asked Valerie.
“Outside. Where does it look like?”
“I’m head girl… And no one is allowed outside under my watch…”
“Valerie,” exploded Amelia. “Just this once will can it with the Head Girl bullshit? We’re
sick of it…”
“Excuse me, Amelia…” Valerie strode out to meet her. “But you heard what Ms. Lytton
said… The Berserker is out there…” -
“What are you talking about Val? You don’t even believe in the Berserker. You said it your
self…”
“Yeah…” said the group.
“A girl can change her mind…”
“Whatever…”
Rage and shock rained down on Valerie’s face like a storm from hell and she stomped off in
the direction of her bed.
“Thanks,” she said with relief. “You won’t tell anyone will you?”
“No…” replied Amelia. “I don’t really see what you hope to achieve by going out there on a
night like tonight, but I’m not a tattle-tale.”
And with that, they disappeared out into the misty Eve of Bealtaine, under the full light of a
mid-summer’s moon.

They followed Aaron down the twisting road back to town and then all the way back to
Westerlo Street. He watched as Kirk, Sylvia and Liane got out and walked up the drive to Sylvia’s
house and went safely back inside. “Well, that’s that…”
“What do you want to do now?”
“I don’t know what did you have in mind?” -
“Well, I still have that bottle… We could go back to my place and have a couple more glass
es?”
He looked at this house and began pining for the comfort and familiarity of his own bed.
“You know what? I’m sort of tired. I think we had a good enough evening.We’ll do this again some
time.”
 !102
“Are you serious?”
“Yep, I am…” He got out of the car and watched her take off down the street. It had been a
weird evening. Strange that they would run into Sylvia and the others up at the Creek. It bothered
him somewhat, because he knew that news of him being up there with another woman would in-
variably find its way back to Anastasia; and he wasn’t sure how she’d take that. He looked up at the
big, old Moon… Then again, maybe Anastasia’s feelings didn’t matter so much to him anymore.
Perhaps he should be thinking more about what he wanted, instead.

Out into the moonlit mist they went, tripping across the dew soaked grass towards the bright
yellow light emerging from the large windows at the front of the Meeting Hall. “There it is?” said
Wendy. “What should we do now?”
“We take a sneak peak…” she said edging closer. -
Together they climbed the steps and walked across the boards until they were directly be
neath the windows. They were in there alright; all fifty members of faculty and another twenty or so
of staff. They were all seated in the opposite direction watching the stage, where Ms. Collins and
Ms. Lytton stood giving some kind of demonstration. On the wall behind the two Camp Directors
was a large map of the Earth; including both hemispheres and showing bright red spots over zones
of major population. “What do you think it is?”
“I don’t know. It looks like some kind of planned offensive…”
“Against the whole world?”
“Sure looks that way… London, New York, Madrid…”
“But could they be successful?”
“I don’t know… Considering how much money and influence this group has, I’m guessing
yes. Anything is possible…”
“If only we could hear what they were saying…”
“I’ve got an idea… Follow me.”
Before she could stop her, she was gone. She couldn’t believe it, she thought she was the
brave one, but what Wendy was planning was even more daring… even more crazy than anything
she had in mind. She followed her friend around the side of the Meeting Hall, reaching the little
grate just in time… “Wait a second, you can’t go in there… It is too risky, we’ll get caught.”
“Look do you want to find out what’s going on or not?”
She did, but something was holding her back… Fear.
“Wait here, then…” said Wendy lowering the grate and disappearing inside. For a moment,
she stood listening, clutching at her hair and crossing her legs against the cold. She looked around
in the dark to make sure that they had not been spotted, when all of a sudden she saw a large figure
walking a long up the beach towards her. It was hard to make out in between the drifts of fog, but it
appeared a spectral entity of some kind with long spindly limbs, twice as tall as an ordinary man.
What the hell was that thing? she thought. No… It couldn’t be… But it was… The mist, the moon,
and the Midsummer’s Eve. This was the night that the Berserker roams free.
She ducked down into the grate, no longer thinking of what fate might lay in store for her.
Wendy had been right, all along. She had to tell her to warn her, somehow. Very carefully, she
crawled through the labyrinth of metal chair legs until she came to where her friend was sitting,
peering out through a gap in the little doors at the front of the stage. Her friend, upon seeing the dis-
traught look in her eye, put her finger to her lips. Out in the hall, she could see the entire congrega-
tion of teachers, instructors, janitors and secretaries all looking up at the Camp directors; Mr.
Collins and Ms. Lytton and listening very attentively to all they had to say. At present, it was Mr.
Collin’s who was speaking,“… so just to let you all know there will be a preliminary test going on
 !103
tomorrow, some time around six o’clock… A preliminary for the Quakening… Do we have a report
yet from the People’s Republic of China?”
“Yes,” said another, as yet, unidentified voice. “It is coming through now, sir; three dead in
car bomb attack in the Xinjiang province by Islamic terrorists…”
“Anything else?”
“Ehm… A young girl threw her baby brother out of a twelve story building…”
“Why did she do that?”
“To get more attention from her parents…”
“Good, good… What about South East Asia? Thailand?”
“We have Buddhist monks involved in embezzlement and pedophile rings.”
“Excellent. Phillipines?”
“More islamic state terrorism, crime and kidnappings… But the authorities appear to be
cracking down on it hard…”
She turned to Wendy for answers, but found only a look of puzzlement on her face.
“Hmmm…” he ruminated. “That is unfortunate… Get some of our people on the ground to
stir up trouble, will you… We need total chaos…” -
“Sir, may I suggest that we boost the signal parameters on the antenna to counteract the ef
fects of psychogenic attenuation?”
“Good thinking… We can lump that in with tomorrow’s Quakening test.”
“Sir,” said Ms. Lytton. “I really must stress the urgency of the information I have at hand
here.”
“What could be more important than the Quakening?”
“It could represent a threat to our plans…”
“A serious threat?”
“Not at this stage, but myself and David are concerned that it could grow into something—”
“David?” he interrupted. “David found something? Where?”
“It was written in one of the girl’s diaries. One of the seventh form girls.”
She didn’t like the sound of that; not one bit.
“Well, let’s hear it…” Mr. Collins stated gruffly.
“Very well… The information I have is simply this… Otaktay has violated the terms of our
agreement. He has entered the camp…”
There was an uproar from many members of the audience before she had even finished
speaking.
“Otaktay? Broken the treaty? But that’s impossible…” protested Mr. Collins. “Why would
he do such a thing?”
“I have sworn witness testimony to attest to this fact…”
“Well, go on, then… though I scarcely believe it…”
“Ahem, Mr. Bulwark?” -
He got up from his seat in the front row and make his way towards the stage. The floor
boards sagged and heaved above their heads, as he tramped out across the stage and then back
again.
“… I have been asked not to reveal the identity of the scout who wrote this dream report…
The report is dated 6 June, and reads… ‘last night I dreamt I saw an old Native American Indian
peering in through the window while I slept. It felt so real and not really like a dream at all… It
seemed to me as if the old man were trying to tell me something, but I couldn’t make it out. I lay
there watching him paralysed for some time and then I must have fallen asleep, because when I next
awoke it was morning…’”
 !104
“Very well…” said Mr. Collins. “The report speaks of an old Native American, but it never
mentions Otaktay by name…”
“Well, who else could it be?”
Again there was an uproar from the audience, who were mostly in favour of Ms. Lytton’s
point of view.
“You are quite right,” he continued. “I suppose either way, we can’t take any chances… By
returning to the camp and threatening our scouts, Otaktay has broken the bounds, forth by Eamon
Radcliffe, in the sacred treaty laid out between the Calapuyau and the Darkheim… This can mean
only one thing… Otaktay must die…”
“But we can’t do that tonight…” called a voice from the crowd. “… The Berserker is abroad
the land…”
“Otaktay and the Berserker working together,” cried another. “It is the end of the world…”
“Quiet that man down, before he has a fit of hysterics… Tonight is not the end of the world,
that comes a little later, as you well know… This is just a minor set back is all… If we can’t kill
Otaktay tonight, then we’ll just do it tomorrow instead that’s all…”
“Aren’t you forgetting something,” said Ms. Lytton. “The festival?”
“What are we supposed to do? The law is the law, festival or no festival…”
“Why not just go out tonight and hunt the bastard,” cried Mr. Haight.
“No…” cried Mr. Collins. “As you very well know, the territory immediately outside of the
camp is still his. We must not underestimate Otaktay, he is a very crafty individual. If we go out
there unprepared, he will surely rip us to shreds…”
“… or run rings around us until we are too tired to function,” continued Mr. Lytton.
“And then rip us to shreds…”
“Right. No there’s nothing for it… We will have to postpone tomorrow nights festival and
focus on this Otaktay problem instead…”
“Say, I’ve just had an absolutely stellar idea,” said Mr. Collins. “Bealtaine is all about the
hunt. Why don’t we hunt Otaktay that night instead?”
“A brilliant idea Mr. Collins… The energy that we obtain from the sacred rites to Baal will
ensure our victory…”
There was a tacit compliance among members of the audience and a grim resolve took hold
of them in place of their former fears.
“It’s settled then,” replied Mr. Collins. “We’ll push tomorrows ceremony ahead by two
hours and have the hunt coincide with tomorrow evening’s pyrotechnics display…”
It appeared as if the meeting were reaching a climax. Wendy tapped her on the shoulder and
indicated that it was time to go. She leaned over to shut the little door over. As she did so, she
caught sight of one of Mr. Bulwark’s peripatetic eyes flicking over in their direction.
Had he seen them, she wondered?
Her answer came back in the form of a shriek and a roar, followed by a great commotion.
Then they were crawling quickly passed one another with the labyrinth of chairs and out from be-
neath the stage, into the cold night, come what may…
Already the commotion had spread to the front of the building. Soon, the staff would spill
out onto the road and come looking for them. There were voices coming from behind them; angry,
voices, like the ululations of a pack of blood-thirsty hounds. Luckily, the brume would provide
them with the cover they needed to get back to the dorms in one piece and before anyone noticed
them going missing. That’s if they didn’t bump into the Berserker along the way. The Berserker, she
thought. She had forgotten all about him… “Wendy?” she whispered.
“Not now…”
“Wendy,” she tugged on her sleeve. “The Berserker…”
 !105
“Where?” There was actual panic in her voice now. “Did you see him?”
“Yes. A while back… Down by the beach…”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I tried, but I’m saying something now…”
She seemed to relax a bit. “Ok… Well, it’s not here now… Stay close to me, if we don’t get
back to the dorms, it won’t matter if the Berserker catches us or not, we’ll be dead anyway…”
They moved stealthy along the outer wall of one of the wooden chalets. She knew that their
dorm was only a little way ahead of them, although she still could not see it, wrapped in the fog.
Wendy made a break for it. -
At the same instant, she began running too, she felt something moving towards her from be
hind. It was large and heavy and gaining ground with every step. Her back tensed up, as she could
feel its sharpened claws reaching out for her. Wendy had the door open now… Nearly there, she
thought. Nearly there…
She closed the door behind her and collapsed on the floor breathing heavily and listening for
any sign of had been following her. Nothing. Perhaps it had just been her imagination after all.
There was no time to waste, the shouts were getting closer. They stripped off their coats and
climbed into bed.
“What did you do?” called Valerie’s alarmed voice from the shadows.
“Nothing Valerie,” spat Wendy. “Now go back to sleep…”
A second later, there were violent pounding footsteps on the grass outside. This is it, she
thought, there was no way out of this one now; Mr. Bulwark had seen her and now she was at the
mercy of a summer camp filled with murderous inter-dimensional terrorists. The door swung open.
There stood the Caretaker, breathlessly. “Have any of you girls been outside?” he growled.
“No, Mr. Haight…”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m head girl, I think I’d know one way or the other, don’t you?”
The Caretaker ran his fingers violently through his black oily hair and retreated out the
room. She could hardly believe it. After all the abusive remarks and bullying she had received from
Valerie, she finally had done them a good turn.
“Thanks Valerie,” said Wendy.
“Yeah, thanks,” she said.
“Shut up,” said Valerie.
 !106
7

Sylvia, Aaron, Kirk and Liane were all standing at the top of Wolfe’s Creek. But somehow it
wasn’t Wolfe’s Creek. There was the same precipitous drop and trees, but instead of the city of Al-
bany stretched out beneath them, there was a vast ocean.
Anastasia went to the look over the edge and saw a steep drop of several thousand feet. The
sky and the ocean were blood red in colour, but not from the reflected rays of sunset, as is usual.
Instead, the strange light seemed to coincide with the appearance of disk-shaped craft, moving
around in the water and the air. They were colossal, some of them being hundreds of miles in diam-
eter. One of the colossal craft was sending out giant ring-shaped radar pulses, which transmitted in a
language of clicks and squeaks. Inevitably these attracted the attention of the dolphins who added
their chorus to the alien sonar.
“They’ve returned,” shouted Kirk and he began doing cartwheels along the edge of the cliff.
Aaron joined in with Indian warwhoops. Their excitement was infectious. It did not seem to matter
in the least that the aliens had not come to visit human-kind, but the dolphins instead.
Kirk jumped clear first, followed by Sylvia and Liane and finally Aaron. In the interests of
safety, she had intended to leave enough space between Aaron and herself. But she also anticipated
that any further hesitation atop the cliff might cause her to freeze up completely. This caused her to
jump ahead of time, so that she collided with Aaron in the air. She stuck her feet out to minimise the
impact and push him away, but she wound up making contact, sticking to him and essentially surf-
ing through the air on his back.
As they fell in this configuration, she began to appreciate just how high up they actually
were. She saw seagulls wheeling high above the waves that, from this height, appeared as nothing
more than tiny white flecks of paint. They were falling so fast that the space around them began to
warp. She desperately tried to separate herself from Aaron’s back. It was hard to see how either of
them could possibly survive the impact like this. After several desperate and repeated attempts, she
finally succeeded. Someone cried out… And they hit the water…
She resurfaced almost immediately and then swam back to shore with the others. By the
time she arrived on shore, she saw Sylvia and Kirk running off into the forest together. She went to
follow them and started to climb back up the creek, but she could not find them anywhere. Instead,
she found Liane, sitting underneath a sycamore tree. They’re avoiding me, she thought; they’ve
gone off somewhere to be together…
Liane recognised the sadness in her friends eyes. She reached into a small hole in the roots
of the trees and pulled out an old book. “I know how you feel,” she said handing her the book.
“There’s something written about it on page 108…”
She flicked through the spineless, moth-eaten book and finding the appropriate page, she
read; “The ovum and the spermatozoon…” She had hoped that the words would make her feel bet-
ter somehow, but they just made her feel worse.

Walter got out of bed and fixed himself a toasted bagel and a cup of coffee. He was just sit-
ting down to eat when his phone rang. “Walt,” he said.
“Hi, Walter, this is Francine from the forensic labs.”
“Oh hi.”
“You dropped in some paint samples, you wanted analysed.”
“That’s right, I did.”
“Well, I have the results here for you.”
“Shoot.”
 !107
“Ok then… The sample was of an oil based paint.”
“Oil based?” That was sure unusual for graffiti art.
“Now, this kind of paint is quite common, however, the titanium flecks that gives it the
white colour are nanosized in this instance…”
“Nano-sized?” he made a note of it.
“Yes, only a handful of manufactures go to that kind trouble. I can email their names and we
addresses, if you like?”
“Sure…Yes, do that.”
After breakfast, he logged onto his computer and found forensic email at the top of the list.
It contained a list of two unique brands of oil paint, both relatively new variations on an old theme
and marketed to artists as opposed to industry. There were only a handful of art shops in Albany, he
thought, it wouldn’t take long to pay them a visit and see if they ever stocked either of these two
brands. It was a long shot, he thought; but if it helped him find out who had been scrawling that
graffiti around town it would be worth it…

“So did you hear all that craziness last night?” Wendy said when they reached the top of the
grassy knoll.
“I know… It sounded like that the camp instructors are part of some kind of international
terrorist network.”
“You think?” she said with increased levels of sarcasm.
“Well, what are we supposed to do about it?”
“I’ll tell you what we’re going to do…”
Wendy had a plan, she always did.
“Absolutely nothing…”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, think about it… If you were to discover a hidden cabal of terrorists plotting to over
throw the world from a summer camp, of all places, who are you going to tell?”
“I see your point…”
“We were lucky to escape with our lives last night… And if one word gets out about this, it
won’t be just our necks on the line…”
“You think they’d come after your friends and family?”
“I’m certain of it…”
“But aren’t we all Fifth Density family here?”
“My parents are… I’m not so sure about yours…”
She had made another exceptional point… “Okay, what about Otaktay?”
“What about him?”
“Well, I mean aren’t we going to help him?”
“Why?”
“Didn’t you hear what they said? How powerful he is? He might be a valuable ally to
have…”
“How do you know we can even trust Otaktay…”
“I trust him… He saved my life remember?”
“So, you said… Hey, Anastasia?”
“Yeah?”
“That Book of Shadows they read out of… that wasn’t yours by any chance was it?”
“It was… How did you know?”
 !108
“Just a hunch… You know you can’t feel responsible for that… There was absolutely no
way you could’ve known.”
“I know that… But I’m sure that this is the right thing to do…”
“Okay, supposing you’re right: How do we go about finding him?”
“The grove of holly trees…”
“What?”
“It was the first place I saw him, up in the forest that day. He’ll be there.”
“And if you’re wrong?”
“If I’m wrong, I’m wrong and he’s not up there… No great loss…”
“No I mean, what if you’re wrong and it turns out he is dangerous and threatens to kill us or
takes us hostage?”
“I don’t know.” Wendy raised a third good point here, she hadn’t thought about that. “To be
honest, I think we might be better off with Otaktay somehow…”
Wendy stared pensively out towards the forest; the green that seemed so beautiful before,
now harboured nothing but threat.
“So, will you help me?”
Wendy sighed. “Of course… But we’ll have to go into the camp for a bit…”
“And worship Baal?”
“Jahbulon…” corrected Wendy. “You’ll do well to remember the name… If they think that
you’re not one hundred percent on board with this evening’s ceremony, they might begin to suspect
us…”
“Suspect you of what?” said a voice from behind.
Wendy’s face froze in a grimace of fear. How long had Valerie been standing there, she
wondered? She might have heard the entire conversation.
“Suspect us of being out of the dorms last night…” she said turning around.
Valerie shrugged. “Oh that…”
Good save, she thought. “Oh and thanks again for saving our skins last night, we owe you
one…”
“Oh I know you do,” she said picking up a long stalk of grass and gripping it between her
straight, perfectly clean teeth. “You can start by telling me I was right…”
“Right about what?”
“That you wasted your time out there…”
“Oh sure…”
Valerie pulled the stem from her mouth and narrowed her eyes in their direction. “I told you
the whole thing was stupid…”
They agreed and hoped that would be the end of it, but Valerie wasn’t content to let them off
the hook quite so easily. “I’m keeping my eye on you from now on,” she said.
The two girls looked at each other. They weren’t sure whether or not to take Valerie’s threat
seriously or not. She had lost a lot of face with the other girls the night before. That being said, it
was better to just go along with her, for the time being at least. With everything that was going on,
the last thing they need now was another enemy standing in the way of their plan to make contact
with ghost of Otaktay.

Walter had already hit two arts and craft shops on the south side of the city, but neither of
them stocked the kind of paint he was looking for. This left him with just one more option; the
imaginatively named ‘Arts and Hobbies’ shop, located just off Main Street. He went in through the
 !109
shop door and drew the attention of the store clerk; a middle-aged woman with an oddly peach
coloured complexion. She asked him if she could be of any assistance.
“Actually, yes… I’m looking to price two specific brands of oil paint,” he said handing her
the list.
“Let’s see,” The woman affixed her glasses onto her nose. “No… Sorry I can’t help you…”
He grimaced and stuck out his arm hoping the note would be returned to him.
“Oh hang on… We had the first one on the list, but we don’t have it any more. It’s not in
stock at the moment… If you want I can order some in for you?”
“No, that’s alright. I need to know who bought this paint off you.”
“I’m afraid we don’t keep a record of that…”
“I understand…” He expected as much. “What about orders do you keep a list of those?”
“Yes, if we have any…”
“Did anyone order white oil paint… By this manufacturer?” he said pointing to the note.
“They might have… What’s this all about?”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his badge. “Official police business.”
“Oh I see…” She had her assistant bring her a ledger containing the record of the invoices.
“Here’s a listing of all our orders for our oil paints,” she said running her finger down the column
on the left. “And the names…”
“Any recent purchases?”
“No, nothing particularly recent… There was one going back to May of last year. But the
person never came in to collect it.”
“You got a name?”
“Matilda Adams…”
“Do you know her?”
“She’s was an elderly lady, I used to help her sometimes with her shopping.”
“Used to…”
“She died late last year…”
“I see…” Another dead end… “Alright, thank you for your time…”
He was already on his way out the door when something in the window caught his eye. How
could he have missed that?
It was an oil painting, of medium dimensions; depicting a bedroom interior. It’s colouring
was dark but, from a thematic perspective, it was darker still. It showed a young boy; aged no more
than about eight or nine, lying fast asleep in bed, while a man with a dark trench coat and hat stood
towering over him; threatening him.
“Ah,” said the store clerk. “You like that do you?”
He wasn’t much of an art critic, but he knew what he liked and this definitely wasn’t it. In
fact, he was at a loss to know who this piece was aimed towards. “Any idea who painted it?”
“There should be a name on the bottom, somewhere…”
He knelt down. In the bottom corner was a name; Harmon Hynes.

The crowd of festival-goers appeared sluggish and uninterested, as they moved back and
forth between the attractions. This was in no way a critique of the type or the quality of the amuse-
ments afforded them, but rather to the fact that they had all just recently arisen from their beds.
Anastasia, however, was less than interested in the festivities. More than anything she wanted to go
down onto the lake shore and see if she could find evidence of the Berserker having been there the
night before. She was certain that she would find footprints or something of that kind, but she was
 !110
reluctant to bring Valerie along, who was everywhere trailing them. All of a sudden, they saw a fa-
miliar face in the crowd.
“Uh, don’t look now,” said Wendy. “It’s Alex…”
“This could be awkward…”
“What’s going on between you and Alex?” asked Valerie.
“Oh, she kissed him the other day…”
“You and Alex, huh?”
“No,” she interrupted. “Not her and Alex. Anastasia likes David, now.”
“I see how it is…”
“What should I do?” Anastasia asked.
“Go over there and tell him you’re not interested.”
“I don’t know. I mean, I don’t want to hurt his feelings or anything…”
“You don’t like him do you? You’ll hurt his feelings more if you string him along.”
She hesitated. Oh why did everything have to be so hard?
“I’ll do it…” replied Valerie and marched off in his direction before she could stop her or
call her back. “Come on,” she said not wanting to be in the line of sight when Valerie inevitably
broke the news to him. “Now’s our chance…”
“Where are you going?” called Wendy.
“I saw the Berserker last night down on the beach… I want to check to see if it left any
footprints…”
“Good idea…”
As they neared the place, they were confronted by Mr. Haight the Caretaker, who was up
early and raking the sand. “What are you doing?”
“I’m getting the beach ready for the festival,” he said. “You two girls best be getting on
now…”
They looked at one another; they didn’t need to be told twice. Clearly, the faculty and staff
like to minimise the presence of the Berserker in the camp, whenever it arose.
They walked up road with the chalets on either side, moving up towards the Meeting Hall.
They had the urge to go back there again, just to prove to themselves that they could appear inno-
cent in the eyes of everyone else. They caught sight of Valerie moving towards them in the crowd.
She seemed pleased as punch with herself. “Well, I did it.”
“What did you say?”
“Well, I just told him that you weren’t interested and not to bother you anymore.”
She bit her bottom lip out of nervousness.
“And get this…” she said leaning in closer. “He was wearing cologne…”
“No way…” giggled Wendy.
“He must’ve really liked you…”
“Well, he can forget about that now, because you’re moving on…”
She felt legitimately sorry for Alex, the whole thing just seemed humiliating somehow. She
couldn’t get over how mean Wendy and Valerie were being about it. Maybe she had misjudged her
friend, after all. She was every bit as capable of being a bitch, as the rest of them.
“So what do you want to do now?”
They looked around at the various options. Nearby there was a woman with dreadlocks
making giant bubbles, there were jugglers and a man making balloon animals. It was clear that the
camp had enlisted the help of its younger instructors as far as entertainment and the cooking of food
was concerned. Ben, for example, was manning a barbecue across the way, serving hot dogs on
buns to passers by.
“I don’t know,” replied Wendy. “It all seems a bit kiddish to me.”
 !111
“Evette is doing a dance class up on the hill in a half hour, that should be fun. Wanna go to
that?”
“Alright… That sounds good.”
“I said that I’d go up and help select the music, so I see you up there when its on…”
“Sure. Bye.”
She gave Wendy a look. “Why did you say that?”
“Don’t worry. We’re not actually going to go up…”
“Right… I knew that…”
As soon as Valerie was out of sight they took their chance and left the safety and clamour of
the camp and for the suffocating stillness of the forest.

Walter arrived at Harmon Hynes’ apartment. He tried the door, just as a large, scruffy haired
man wearing a flannel shirt was about to exit. “Can I help you, man?” he said with a perplexed look
on his face.
“I’m just here to visit Harmon. Have you seen him?”
“Yeah, I was just talking with him… You know where to find him?”
“Yeah that’s alright.”
To the left of the stairs he found a door marked number 2 and knocked. There was some
brief and hurried motion from inside and then the door unlocked. There before him stood a young
man in his mid-twenties, with bad skin and a mop of greasy hair, dressed all in black.
“Harmon Hynes?”
“Yes?”
“I’ve come to talk to you about a certain matter…”
“Oh yeah, what?”
He leaned in and whispered. “Don’t sleep, they’ll get you…”
At the mention of these words, the boy who had behaved defiantly, stood up straight, his
eyes wide with fear. “Where did you hear that?”
“You should know… You wrote it didn’t you?”
“So you’re here to arrest me, or what?”
“No… Nothing like that… I just want to talk to you… Can I come in for a moment?”
“Sure…”
He followed the young man inside and closed the door. The room was a disorganised mess
with dirty dishes doubling as ashtrays covering the one available counter top. The rest of the room
was stacked with canvases in various stages of completion and ranged from studies in nature, to sur-
realist landscapes and the wholly abstract.
“How did you find me, anyhow?”
“I saw you’re work in the window of an art shop.”
He looked thoughtful and then nodded. “I know the one…”
“You’re quite the painter, I see…”
“Thanks,” he said clearing a space for him to sit at the paint-splattered table.
He looked up at the large canvas propped up on the table against the wall. It depicted a
young girl with brown-black hair and green eyes, which could only be described as ‘other-worldly’.
“Is this your latest work?”
“One of them, yes… You aren’t interested in buying one by any chance, are you?”
“Maybe…”
“I’ve got some smaller works,” he said riffling about in the corner. “Here’s a nice one…”
He passed him a square canvas with a picturesque lakeside scene.
 !112
“And then there’s this…”
This next one was an impressionistic rendition of a ruined city scape, a large white moon
hanging in the blue sky above it. “Not bad…” -
He looked back up at the painting of green eyed girl hanging on the wall. There was some
thing about it that reminded him of the bedroom scene back at the art shop. “Tell me about the girl,”
he said.
“What do you want to know about her?”
“I’m an investigator, I’m looking into cases that have a similar sort of sense about them…”
“What sort of cases?”
“The missing persons kind…”
“I don’t understand what does this have to do with me…”
“Well, I was kind of hoping you’d tell me… The missing persons…” He went on. “They
aren’t really connected you see… There’s no one demographic… No age relation, ethnicity that sort
of thing. It seems to effect everyone and anyone… With one exception.” He pointed at the painting
again. “They all seem to have trouble sleeping…”
“I’ve only seen her a couple of times,” he said catching on. “The first time I saw her, she
was climbing up the bed…”
“She doesn’t look so scary…”
“She isn’t, at least not to me. But it wasn’t so much her presence, as much as what she tried
to show me…”
“What was that?”
“Mutilated bodies. Just stupid gore stuff, really…”
“I see… In the graffiti you mentioned a ‘they’ any idea who ‘they’ are?”
“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “Demons, I guess.”
“Demons?” That was a new one on him. “What makes you say that?”
“I don’t know… It was just something about them… Their habits…”
“What about their habits?”
“If I tell you, you going to think I’m crazy…” He made to get up.
“Maybe I will. Maybe I won’t…”
He shrugged and sat back down. “It’s sort of like they feed off of fear you know?”
“Fear?”
“Yeah,” he nodded. “Like they’re addicted to it… That girl in the painting for example… I
could tell that she wanted it.”
He looked again at the painting, there was something deathly sinister about those eyes and
they wreaked of death too.
“Do you want to buy it?”
He chuckled. “It’s not exactly the thing I want hanging over the mantel piece, know what I
mean?”
“Yeah.” He nodded with resignation.
“How much for this one?” He hoisted up the image of the ruined city.
“The alien landscape?” He paused for a moment and then said. “A hundred bucks.”
He took out his wallet and counted out the notes onto the table.
“You know,” he said pocketing the notes. “If you really want to know what they want, you
should just go ask them yourself.”
“How do I do that?”
“You can induce sleep paralysis with the proper methods.”
“Induce it? Why would anyone want to do that?”
 !113
“Some people use it as a means of astral projection or lucid dreaming, but you’re just as
likely to experience an attack,” he said scribbling something down on a piece of paper, ripping it off
and handing it to him. “Here… The only way to research sleep paralysis, is to try it out for your-
self… It’s the only way to know for sure…”
“Thanks,” he said. “I’ll think about it.” -
He left by the door and stood on the steps of the apartment. The bright rays of the sun fil
tered through his eyelids. He felt the heat upon his face. Calm, he thought. He hadn’t felt like this in
months, or so it seemed to him. A buzzing sensation broke him from his revelry and pulled him
back to Earth with a thump. He took the phone out of his pocket and lifted it to his ear. “Walter
here…”
“I’m afraid I have some bad news…” The voice on the other end sounded faint and doleful,
but nonetheless he still recognised its as that of Nikita’s.
He knew those words and that tone, and he knew what they prefigured. Who was it to be
this time? His mother? Her mother? Turns out, it was the last person he was expecting.
“Kevin is dead.”
“Kevin? When did this happen?”
“Late last night…”
Then the obvious question. “How?”
“I think you had better come down to the station. It will be easier that way…”
“Sure, I’ll be there right away. Nikita…” he added. “What do you mean by ‘easier’?”
But she had already hung up the phone.

Leaving the noise and the heat of the festivities for the quiet shade of the forest was a wel-
come change, but its seductive calling brought with it a sense of isolation; a feeling of straying too
far from the group where they could more easily come afoul of some malicious predator. They
pushed on through the undergrowth, but stuck close by one another. Before long, the sounds of the
festival was nothing but a distant murmur and they were enveloped in the soft, green canopy of the
forest.
“How much further?”
“It is just a bit… In that direction,” Wendy pointed.
The trees in this region of the forest were older and their branches tended to keep out the
bulk of sunlight. She looked around her. Had something been following them up the path?
“Do you feel that?” asked Wendy.
She nodded.
“What is it?”
“I don’t know what it is…”
“Should we go back?” her question almost pleading.
“No need, we’re already here…” -
Up ahead was the holly grove in which she had first encountered Otaktay. They pushed in
side its thorny perimeter, crunching over the dead leaves and cobwebs until they stood inside the
enclosure with quiet reverence, as if they were stood in the sacred space of a church or a temple.
The silence they encountered there had an almost artificial quality to it. “It’s so quiet…” she said.
“This whole place is under an enchantment,” said Wendy lifting and examining one of the
spiky leaves. “Stay vigilant… And awake…”
In the centre of the clearing was an old fallen tree with weeds grown up around it. She
hadn’t noticed before. She sat down on its smooth surface, intending to wait.
“How long do you think he’ll be?”
 !114
“No idea…”
“Perhaps we should just go—”
“Shhh…” she admonished. “Did you hear something?”
There was a dry rustling sound from behind them. Turning around, they were just in time to
witness the Indian figure step out of his leafy cloak.
“Otaktay…” they whispered.
The Indian regarded them with doleful, brown eyes; a look compressed over centuries.
“You’re not afraid of me?”
“You won’t hurt us. Will you?”
“Well, that depends…” He stepped forward into the circle. “On what your intentions were in
coming here…”
She looked over at her companion. She was frozen to the spot and shaking with fear. It was
clear that she wasn’t going to be much use in this situation. “We’ve come to warn you… Ms. Lytton
and the others are planning to kill you tonight, after the Ceremony…” -
“Ms. Lytton…” he began and then fell silent. “Don’t worry about me. I can take care of my
self… It is you who I am more concerned about, right now…”
“Me?” She took a step back reflexively. “What about me?”
“You have passed the Dreamwalker Gate you are approaching the Skinwalker Gate… But
that is only the beginning. The real danger lies at the entrance to the Sixth Gate…”
“What is the Sixth Gate Otaktay?”
“I cannot say… for I too am under oath.”
“To Mr. Collins?” -
He scoffed and shook his head. “No, neither can I tell you to whom… you wouldn’t under
stand… You must discover the Sixth Gate for yourself in the pages of The Apocalypsis. The answers
to the question you seek lies in there…”
“But how, Otaktay? It’s not in the library I’ve looked already…”
“I know where it is…” said Wendy summoning up the courage to speak. “It is in the Red
Room… I can show you…”
“No, Wendy Hamilton… You must come with me…”
“I’m not going anywhere with you…”
“If you want to save the life of you and your brother you surely will…”
“My brother? You leave him out of this…”
“No, he’s right…”
“Anastasia? What are you saying?”
“Wendy listen,” she took her friend by the hand. “I know this sounds crazy, but I feel like
I’ve known you my whole life and just now I got the feeling that you would be taken away from me
for good… The only way that you can save yourself, is to make a truce with Otaktay and enter into
the woods with him… I’m sure of it…” -
Wendy searched her friend’s eyes with fear and disbelief, but she must have found some
thing comforting there, because she quickly regained her composure and began to relax. “Very
well…”
“You’ll look after her, won’t you?”
The old Indian nodded. “You have my word…”
She watched them cross to the other side of the clearing, before taking leave herself. Then,
she remembered something important. She turned back around just as Otaktay and Wendy were
about to disappear into the tree line. “Wait,” she cried. But,it was too late. She watched them melt
into the foliage and in an instant they were gone.
 !115

***

Walter pulled up outside the police station in a hurry and raced up the steps. The men who
were perpetually dressed for the occasion in their black uniforms turned to look at him, when he
came in the door. He fixed his jaw and then his tie and strolled in past them confidently. Police
work of the routine variety was rarely conducted at a very strenuous pace, but the silence that
echoed about the police station showed him that even what little there was had come to a complete
stand still.
“You heard the news, yet?” said a voice to his side. It was Tom, a sergeant he had known
since his early days at the academy.
He nodded back. “Yeah…”
“It’s terrible isn’t it? Such a giving person…”
“Yeah…” He looked around for Nikita.
“I heard some workmen up at Wolfe’s Creek uncovered the body last night. They pulled him
out of a ditch —”
“What did you say?”
“They took him out of a ditch…”
“No before that… Did you say Wolfe’s Creek?”
“Yeah… Mind you I don’t know what he was doing up there by himself. Seems a tad bit
suspicious…”
The world faded out. It seemed a cruel joke played on him by the God of the Universe that
the place he had only so recently associated with pleasant feelings of courtship, should now be
painfully tied to the untimely death of one of his closest friend. “Have you seen Nikita? I have to
talk with her…”
“No, sorry… I haven’t.”
He had to meet with her, now more than ever. The door to the police chief’s office opened
and Stolz stepped out. “Walter, can I see you for a minute…” -
He spotted Nikita seated in an office chair behind him, dabbing her wet face with a handker
chief. This didn’t look good, he thought.
“Relax,” said Stolz closing the door behind him. “Why don’t you take a seat?”
He sat next to Nikita, who stared back at him red-faced and runny nosed.
“So, I take it you heard?” began Stolz.
“Yes.”
“About the fact, he was up at Wolfe’s Creek last night?”
“Yeah about that—”
“Don’t worry, Nikita told me everything…”
“She did? Well, it’s not what you think—”
Stolz raised his hands up above the desk. “Listen, whatever you two get up to after offices
hours is your own business, just as long as it don’t interfere with your police work that is…”
The irony seemed apparent to him, but he said nothing given the circumstances.
“That being said it is odd… The question I asked Nikita and the one I’m about to ask you is
if you saw or heard anything unusual up there?”
“No,” he shook his head. “I mean we arrived up there about nine-thirty, ten o’clock… We
only stayed for about half an hour, in total, I’d say. Is that right?”
“That’s right…”
“I spotted a group of my daughter’s friends up there and then we escorted them back
down…”
 !116
“So you were back home and into bed by what? About eleven o’clock?”
“Something like that. Yeah.”
“I see, and you didn’t go out again?”
“No…”
Stolz grimaced.
“Am I under suspicion or something?”
“No, no… It’s nothing like that…”
“Good, because you know the last person I saw him alive with was you…”
“Listen, it’s no good you pointing fingers at me… I was at a golf function all last night and
I’ve got the alibis to prove it… You too on the other hand, have got squat…”
Walter simmered. -
“There’s no need for that Walt… We’re old friends… As far as I’m concerned you and Niki
ta… It was just bad timing that’s all…”
“So what did kill him, then?”
“I’ve got the coroner’s report right here. He had ‘trauma to the head and injuries consistent
with a fall…’ I figure its case closed… Another unfortunate accident.”
“Its horrendous,” voiced Nikita.
“I’m not even going to mention either of you in my report… As far as I’m concerned you
weren’t there…”
Try as he might, he found it hard to appreciate this gesture. His blood was still boiling.
“Where’s the body now?”
“In the morgue…”
He felt a lump in his throat.
“There’ll be a humanist service tomorrow. I expect you will attend?”
He nodded.
“Alright, that’ll be all.”
As soon, as they got out of Stolz’s office he caught Nikita by the wrist and drew her to one
side. “We need to talk…”
“Well we can’t do it here… I’ll meet you in the café down the street.”
“The Ladybird Café?”
She nodded and then turned away.
“Where’re you going?”
“I have to run and get something. I won’t be long.”
He watched her as she left in the direction of the locker rooms. What was Kevin doing up
there alone late last night? Had been drinking? He wasn’t the sort for that. He wasn’t the sort to do
to go falling into a ravine in the middle of the night either. Something didn’t add up… And he was
determined to get to the bottom of it.

Anastasia was halfway back to camp when the image of the red door in the library, with the
words; ACCESS FORBIDDEN written on it sprung to mind. So that’s where they’re keeping it, she
thought. She felt certain that the image had not originated with her. It had very likely been telepath-
ically projected there. But by whom she could not say… When she got back to camp, she noticed
that everyone was concentrated around the Meeting Hall and the chalets, while the area around the
Library and Museum building seemed unusually quiet, by comparison. The whole place looked
closed up, on account of the festival and bright sunshine somehow only compounded her feelings of
isolation. “There you are,” said a voice from behind her, prompted her to turn around quickly. It was
Valerie. “I’ve been looking all over for you. Where’s Wendy?”
 !117
“Eh… I don’t know actually… I was just going into the library…”
“Why?”
“To get a book…”
“My God, you’re such a nerd…”
She didn’t say anything in response, she just stared back.
“Enjoy the library, nerd…” repeated Valerie, as she walked away.
She turned and pulled on the handle of the museum building and went inside. Unbelievable,
she thought; it was still open. The librarian was there, although it was clear she was getting ready to
leave, as she was packing up her belongings into her bag. “Do you mind if I—” she began.
The librarians face dropped. “Eh, you’re the new girl right?”
“Anastasia. That’s right…”
“Shouldn’t you be out enjoying the festival, I mean?” she indicated to the good weather.
“Nah…” she shook her head.
“Nah?” queried the librarian in disbelief.
“I think I’d prefer to read…”
The woman sat back down as though her knees had gone weak. “W-well, by all means…”
she indicated to the bookshelves. “I mean that’s what it’s there for…”
“Thanks.” She smiled and walked self-consciously in the direction of the books. She turned
back around and smiled again. The woman did not return her gesture, she merely placed her satchel
back down on the ground in resignation and sighed.
She felt for her. After all, she knew something of what it was like to be stuck inside hard at
work on bright summer days, while the other more fortunate children can be heard laughing and
laying around outside. How their shouts and ululations fractured the mind’s concentration and draw
out the solitary seconds of time, so that its measure ceases to possess any real meaning and becomes
instead like a sort of maddening drone of mental endurance.
No doubt, the Head Librarian thought her a sad case. In her eyes she was probably some
friendless loser, which wasn’t entirely inaccurate given the circumstances. Even more embarrassing
would be if she thought Anastasia had some kind of misguided attraction for the older woman. Oh,
how despicable… But, there was nothing to be done. She had been tasked with reading Apocalyp-
sis. It was the librarian job to ensure that she didn’t and under ordinary circumstances her will
would no doubt prevail. But today was not ordinary. With such a clear distraction taking place out-
side, coupled with the librarian’s obvious interest in it, the chances of her leaving her post greatly
increased with time. All she had to do was to remain vigilant; stay hidden and wait it out…

Walter tore through the little sugar packets and dumbed one into his coffee. Then he looked
around for a seat by the window. He was trying to play it cool, because at present it was the only
way he could maintain his balance in a world that was rapidly snuffing itself and everyone that was
a part of it. He sat for a moment in a bubble of warmth and coffee, and thought about what he was
going to say to Nikita when she got here. He would obviously have to break it off with her now.
Kevin’s death would be a stain upon their relationship forever more. She would have to see it that
way, wouldn’t she? It didn’t matter anyway if she did; It was over in his mind.
The bell rang and Nikita was sat down on the chair opposite him. “Hi,” he said. “How are
you feeling?” -
She took a sidelong glance down at the floor. She seemed tense, but not without good rea
son. “How does anyone feel at these moments?”
He bowed his head. “It feels strange, doesn’t it?”
“Yes.”
 !118
“Listen, Nikita. I don’t think we should go on like this…” the words stuck in his throat. “In
light of what happened, I mean…”
Nikita nodded and glanced down. “No, I think you’re right. It doesn’t bode well, does it?”
“Then you understand?”
“Oh completely,” she said looking him directly in the eyes.
He felt a little uncomfortable now. “Good,” he said taking a sip of coffee, so as not to look
into the piercing watery blue of her eyes anymore.
“Walter? Don’t you think there’s something strange in all this?”
He thought he’d let her say it. “What do you mean?”
“Walter?” She felt for his hand. “Do you think someone might have killed Kevin? Because
of your research… I mean?”
This was not at all what he was expecting her to say. His mind went back to Stolz again, the
last person he knew for a fact who had seen Kevin alive. But he dismissed it. He had known Stolz
most of his professional life. He wasn’t a cold-blooded killer and if he was, he was doing a damned
fine job at hiding it. “If they wanted to stop my work, then why not just kill me… It seems pointless
to go after Kevin…”
“Maybe it was a warning…”
“A warning?”
“Yes… You’ll stop won’t you?”
“With what?”
“Your research…”
He had just about enough of this. “Nikita… Every time I meet you… It seems like you’re
always asking me to stop doing my work…”
She scoffed and blinked rapidly. “Is that what you think?”
“I said it ‘seems’ like that.”
“I’m just concerned is all. What if someone else is next? Like Anastasia?”
“Don’t worry,” he said, thinking he better understood her motives not. “I’ll be careful. I’m
not going to let anything happen to Anastasia.”
“Or to me?”
“Look, you can take care of yourself,” he said getting up. “I’d be more worried about Stolz.”
“You don’t honestly suspect him do you?”
He bowed his head looking at the black and white tiled floor. “I don’t know, I don’t know
who I suspect anymore…”

Anastasia selected a number of books, but quickly discovered that she wasn’t interested in
reading any of them. Instead, she recalled and pondered over the curious events of the previous
night’s dream. If Otaktay was right then that meant she had completed the fourth stage of dreaming,
which meant that the dream she had last night was not her own dream. So whose was it? Sylvia’s?
Or possibly Kirk’s? She wasn’t sure. Sylvia did not express a particularly deep level of conscious-
ness, certainly not one that included interplanetary communications between aliens and dolphins.
She was more interested in boys and clothes and her possessions, which included a great number of
dolls and teddy bears she had collected over the years. Anything to do with science or biology left
her at sea, it was too clinical for her, too detached.
She realised that by turning the oceans and the skies red, the aliens were trying to convey a
message to Earth. That message was; “nevermore shall the sea run red with the blood of dolphin-
kind.” This was a chilling proclamation, not least because it meant that for all our achievements
mankind’s pride in himself was seemingly misplaced and it was clear that the aliens favoured the
 !119
dolphins. What the repercussions might befall us if some fisherman were to inadvertently break this
commandment by snagging one of the pinnigrade animals in their nets?
From outside, there came a loud crash of cymbals, as a brass band started up. It sounded like
“When the Saints go Marching In” with some minor atonal rearrangements in the score. The music
got slightly louder and she noticed that Ms. Monroe had come in through the door of the library.
She exchanged a few words with the head librarian, although she wasn’t able to make out exactly
what was being said. But it was clear that she was trying to coax the librarian out of her obligations
and into the sun and the music. This was it, she thought, make or break time.
“Why don’t you come out and see the band?”
“I can’t,” the librarian indicating in the direction of Anastasia. “I have to mind …”
“Oh, she won’t be any trouble…”
The head librarian seemed to teeter on the edge of desire to see the band, on the one hand,
and her professional obligations, on the other.
“OK, but just for a moment…”
This was it. She watched the two women leave and tiptoed quietly to the desk. Next to the
librarian’s chair were the two keys. She took the key on the red string, as the blue string led to the
toilets, and went straight away to where the two locked doors were. Finally, she would find out
what the Red Room contained, she thought. Over on top of this, brass band played their discordant
refrains, a music she knew would be imprinted upon her consciousness, forevermore.
She pushed the key in the lock and turned it. The intricate mechanism clicked open and she
was presented with the dank and musty smell of old books. She felt around for the light switch.
There before her was a small room, with exactly the same dimensions as the lavatory next door and
with the same black and white tiled floor. The main difference, however, was that the walls were
lined with bookcases. She felt the mystic and untypical delight that comes with discovering a secret
hoard of ancient books. To a bibliophile, such as herself, a discovery of this magnitude was an un-
paralleled joy; her only quibble being that she did not have enough time to sit and read them all.
She had to find Apocalypsis and quickly, before the librarian returned.
Her fingers skipped nervously over the brown and yellowed spines of well-thumbed editions
on every subject to do with history, religion, folklore and gardening. There were also several ancient
editions on herbalism and witchcraft.
No, she told herself, I mustn’t get distracted.
On the topmost shelf, sticking out from the other tomes, she saw a medium-sized hardback
book with a cobalt-blue cover. That must be it, she thought. She looked around for a way up there
and found a set of steps. Even with the height advantage these afforded, she was only just able to
grab ahold of the corner of the book and to pull it down into her arms.
A loud thump from inside the room almost caused her to loose her balance and fall from the
ladder. The Head Librarian had come back. She stuffed the blue book in her bag and locked the
store room behind her.
Even as she approached the librarian’s desk, she could see that it was empty. It must have
been her imagination after all, she thought with a welcome sigh. She hitched the string of the key
around the hook, and slid it off the table. None-the-wiser. Just then, she saw the returning heads of
Ms. Monroe and the Head Librarian rising up the steps of the building. Time to get out of her for
real. She hoisted the bag, which safely contained Apocalypsis on her shoulders and thanked the two
women for their time as she passed them out the door.
 !120

Walter found Harmon’s painting on the counter top where he’d left it. Looking at it more
closely now, he could see that the white mostly derelict complex buildings resembled closely those
of war-torn Beirut in the early 2000s. This impression was furthered by the banks of deep sand col-
lecting against the windward sides of the buildings, like great drifts of flaxen snow.
It was a desert world, but it was not Earth, as the giant planetoid in the sky easily attested to.
The message of the painting was bleak in some respects, as it suggested that even the lifeforms of
distant worlds had to contend with the horrors of war and extinction, in one form or another. Having
said that it was not without its charm, or else he would not have bought it. He went back into the
living room to look for an appropriate place to hang the picture. His eye fell on a dark study of
some flowers in a bowl.
This would look much better over there, he thought and hung this new painting up in its
place. When he was finished he sat back and admired how much it uplifted and brightened a previ-
ous dowdy corner of their house. He was quite proud of himself. But his cheerful mood quickly dis-
integrated again when he started to recall his conversation with Nikita in the café earlier that day.
Was that what was bothering him? Something about it didn’t seem right.
Clearly, she was suggesting that Kevin’s death was no accident. But when he had suggested
the most likely suspect, Stolz, she dismissed it. Maybe she’s right. It was stupid to point the finger
at Stolz without any proper evidence. He was a good man and accusing him would just bring half
the station down on him and regret into the bargain. But then again, why should he trust Nikita?
She was the one who constantly brought up his investigation into the missing persons cases
and insisted he give it up. And how could he forget that it was also her idea to drive up to Wolfe’s
Creek that night, in the first place? What were the odds of something like that occurring? Slim to
nothing. Who knows if it hadn’t been for Liane and Sylvia mucking around up there, he might have
stayed on… And it would have been his body that was fished out of the bottom of the ravine by
those workmen.
But it didn’t matter who it was. Stolz or Nikita, the outcome would be just the same. The
commissioner would get involved, he’d have to. There would be hearings and tribunals and over
what? A couple of vague accounts of ghosts stories from a young girl’s diary and some weird UFO
abduction cases? It was flimsy, nothing to go on really and nothing that would stand a chance in a
court of law. So why all the chicanery? What was it about this sleep paralysis case that they were
afraid of him discovering?

-
Anastasia went back to the forest to search for Wendy. She was getting worried. The instruc
tors would notice her missing, sooner or later. She was still fearful of venturing too far into the for-
est alone; Wendy herself had warned her of this. Oh, and now she was alone with that spectre Otak-
tay and those horrid sentinel things. She arrived at a patch of willow forest, carpeted with bluebells,
where she could see a long way ahead of herself over the flat ground. All of a sudden she turned and
saw her friend walking towards her. She appeared vacant and listless, but otherwise unharmed. As
she drew nearer, she could see there was something changed in her, but she couldn’t tell what it
was.
“You have the book?” she asked in a monotone voice.
“Yes.”
“Give it here.”
She handed over the backpack without hesitation.
 !121
“Good. Did anyone follow you here?”
The question took her on the back step. “No… I don’t think so,” she replied.
Wendy nodded and started walking away in the opposite direction.
“Hey where are you going?”
“I’m going to put it somewhere safe.”
“You mean we’re not going to read it?”
“Not yet. And not here in the forest,” she said glancing about.
“What do you suppose we should do?”
“Wait until nightfall, retrieve the book and read it somewhere indoors.”
“Why not just keep the book back at camp?”
Wendy turned back around and blocked her path. When she spoke, she spoke to her much
more sternly than ever before. “Because if someone finds us with the book they’ll kill us…”
What she said frightened her, but she could see it Wendy’s eyes that she was not afraid.
“What did Otaktay do to you?”
She turned back around and put her finger to her lips. “Don’t mention that name again.
There are eyes and ears everywhere in the forest…”
Her words made her think of the green eyes she had seen peering at her when she had gone
in search of the soma that day. Is that what she meant? Could the forest really see them? Then
again, she supposed, she could just as easily mean the sentinels. She hated those things, there was
something so inhuman about them. They were nearing the edge of the willow trees, by now. Wendy
climbed a densely packed bank of yellow clay and deposited the book in a hole under a tree.
“There,” she said. “It will be safe there.”
It was just like in her dream. “Weird,” she said aloud.
“What is?”
“Oh nothing. It would take too long to explain—”
“Wait… Did you hear that?”
She hadn’t heard a thing.
“Must have just been my imagination. OK, lets go.”
As they were walking back along the path through the bluebell wood, something lithe and
yellow jumped out from behind one of the trees. “Caught you,” said Valerie grabbing hold of her
backpack and pulling it off her.
“Hey, give that back.”
“Why should I? I saw you in the library earlier…”
Had Valerie been responsible for the noise she heard in the library. She turned to Wendy and
hedged her bets. “She met me at the door.”
“I said I’d keep an eye on the two of you, didn’t I?”
“That’s right you did. So, can I have my bag back now?”
“No… I know you too are up to something. And I’m going to find out what it is.”
“There’s nothing in the bag Valerie,” replied Wendy. “Go ahead and look.”
She unzipped the backpack. It was largely empty; save for a few scraps of paper and a hair
bobbin. “Fine, there’s your bag.” She flung it across the forest floor and stormed off.
“That wasn’t very polite…” said Wendy blocking her way.
“Yeah, well politeness isn’t in either of our futures…”
“No, you’re right about that…”
What happened next came as a shock to Anastasia, as much as it did, presumably, to Valerie.
Wendy struck out with her fist and knocked her to the ground. Blood spluttered onto her chin. Red
Royal. “Oh you bitch…”
“Fuck off, Valerie…”
 !122
“I’m going to tell Ms. Lytton about this.”
“Go ahead and tell… Do you really think she’ll care?”
“She mightn’t, but if my dad hears about this he’ll go ape…”
“And what? You know as well as I do what’s at stake… How precious little time is left. The
blood spilled here today is nothing more than the soft spray before the dam breaks.”
“You’re crazy,” cried Valerie picking herself up from the brush.
“Maybe…” she said tapping her foot.
Valerie did not hesitate a second longer. She took off in the direction of camp. When she
was gone, she stared at her friend. To begin with she was speechless and then inconsolable. “What
the fuck happened you?”
“Don’t you start. I saved your life didn’t I?”
“I wasn’t in trouble.”
“You weren’t fighting back either. You have to learn to stick up for yourself in this world.
Until then, I’ll have to stick up for you, I guess. You should be thanking me…”
“Go to hell.” She brushed passed her.
What was she doing? Wendy was her only friend at the camp, without her she would be at
the mercy of those other bitches. But shouldn’t couldn’t bring herself to turn around and just forgive
her. The red mist had settled over her eyes. She half expected her friend to call after her, but she
heard nothing. So be it, she thought; she would continue on alone. She made it back to camp just as
the ceremony was about to begin and was swept along by the crowds.

-
Behind his closed eyes, Walter felt the dull ache of grief. The daily toil and common mis
eries of life had prevented him from seeing it before, but he realised now that in Kevin he had not
just lost a colleague, but a friend. And not just a friend, but his best friend. People were so guarded
all the time, waiting for or plotting the next attack that were no longer able to recognise true friend-
ship, until it passed them by. His grief felt like a blunt steel blade lodged between the hemispheres
of his brain. He searched for a way to make the pain stop. He had a bottle of whiskey in the press by
the kitchen sink, perhaps that would work. But then he dismissed it, a second later. An opiode of
some kind would work better for his condition in any case.
He thought about shaking down some of the dealers in the area; there were plenty to choose
from. And he had the list. He wondered why God hadn’t seen fit to supply man with a natural im-
munity to grief, an anaesthetic secreted from some or other gland during times of bereavement
would suffice.
He lay over on his side. Opening his eyes, he saw an ornate ring tattooed around his finger.
It was a vision that shook him out of himself; back into his empty living room. Did that just hap-
pen? he wondered. The way the mind could create complex illusions like that and then project them
onto the human body was something he had not experienced before.
Perhaps it was a sign telling him, he should get a tattoo, to commemorate Kev’s passing.
Tattooing was a kind of blood-letting. When the blood flows the danger has passed. Where had he
heard that before? An old aborigine proverb, of some kind… No doubt connected to a blood-letting
ritual, a form of ritual magic. Then it happened again. This time, he saw a line of dried psilocybin
mushrooms going down his forearm; three of them in a row. He had promised that he would never
return to his old ways, but he felt the pull of the full moon on his veins. One last time, for Kevin, he
thought.

***
 !123
Anastasia was quick to find a seat, high on the limestone steps, and waited for the show to
begin. From out of the wings stepped three beautiful women clad in white gowns and scattering
colourful petals from woven baskets. The younger children were particularly transfixed by this
spectacle and delighted as one of the three women scattered glittering confetti over their heads. In
the centre of the amphitheatre, stood the stone column draped in vibrant streamers coloured pure
green, red, alabaster, and azure blue. Dotted around it; in triune formation, were three pregnant fires
in steel gratings in honour of Baal Himself.
After the last of the petals had been emptied out onto their guests, one of the women laid
down on the stone plinth at the base of the pillar, pretending to sleep. The other women put their
fingers to their lips and skipped quietly back stage. The show was about to begin…
The slow thumping sound of a drum beat started up and from behind the central column,
appeared yet three more robed figures. The colours of their robes were much darker and they wore
ceremonial masks. She recognised them as being the same faces that were carved on the totem poles
close by the museum and therefore each one represented a different aspect of Jahbulon’s triune per-
sona. At the head of the troop, she could see the bubble-eyed and sharp-tooth toad. He moved
quickly round the edge of the amphitheatre, despite his great size, terrifying the children into
shrieks of horror and glee.
The drum began to beat faster as the three robed figures converged upon the sleeping girl.
“Look,” cried one of the three incarnations of Jahbulon in a loud booming voice. “A sleeping hu-
man child…”
“Shall we drink of her life force, this night?”
“Nay, lets pretend she is one of our own and whisk her away back to our fairy home…” -
As they spoke there came a loud popping sound and a cloud of white smoke covered all. Af
ter the mist had cleared there was no longer any sign of the robed figures or the young girl. The first
scene was applauded loudly by the crowd. She stayed silent, as she could fully not understand the
significance of what was going on. Presently, the young woman in the white gown returned to the
stage; followed closely by the three hideous incarnations of Jahbulon. Her movements were abrupt
and almost mechanical in nature. Bright red cords had been tied around the woman’s hands and feet
were tethered to the four ends of a wooden cross-shaped device, in the manner of a minaret. The
minaret device was suspended above her by the Toad-god, who was using it to control her every
motion. He laid the young woman back on the plinth in the same position as before, and at this ges-
ture a second round of applause went up.
The actors took their bows and left the stage, leaving her at loss to understand what had just
been shown to her. In the wings, she caught sight of Wendy; who had a dour look upon her face.
Anastasia started clapping to distract herself from her mounting levels of tension within her. Today
was not going terribly well for her, she thought. The drums started up again, this time at a much
more vigorous tempo and three men with shaved heads and large black spirals painted onto their
muscular bodies leapt around the circular enclosure. Two of the men wasted no time in lighting the
ends of several batons on fire and then commenced hurling these at each other from across the fire
pit, while the third performer stood belching bright blue flames into the air. The speed and complex-
ity of the patterns entrained by the fire jugglers was impressive, but she found her attention wain
towards the middle part of the act and by the end of it, she was as much applauding their departure,
as she was their performance.
A troop of dancers; consisting of seven men and seven women, came out from the wings of
the stage. The men wore white shirts and pants, while the women wore the same white flowing
gowns as the flower bearers and all had garlands of green leaves in their hair. As the dancers took
their positions around the maypole, she noticed Evette and Ben among them, along with the other
instructors. David was noticeably absent, however. Evette looked up in her direction and smiled.
 !124
The sun was low, but still possessed a red hue, which lit her face with an unnatural splendour. She
looked away again as the lilting refrain of the melodeon started up and the dancers began to move
around the maypole in opposite directions, bobbing and weaving around one another as they went.
The result of this meandering walk was to knit the brightly coloured streamers into a complex and
integrated pattern. Once the streamers had been woven to a sufficient degree, the dancers reversed
their steps, undoing their work.
At the end of the performance, she noticed Evette looking back in her direction once more.
She followed her line of sight more closely and saw that she was looking slightly behind her and to
the left. Turning around she could David seated there, smiling.
“Did you enjoy that?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“What are you doing now?”
She shrugged.
“Why don’t you come down to the lake with me?”
“What for?”
“I could take you and Wendy out on a boat ride.”
“No, I don’t think so…” She looked back to where Wendy had been earlier and saw her seat
empty. “I-I mean. Sure…” -
He smiled. Evening was fast approaching and there was a slight chill in the air, but the en
croaching darkness only added to her excitement. This was really happening, she thought.

-
The old aborigine proverb was going round and round inside his head like some sort of re
curring dreamtime; When the blood flows, the danger has passed… When the blood flows, the dan-
ger has passed… It kept going the whole way; until he reached the house of the perp he planned to
shake down. He wasn’t particularly careful about whom he selected, he just picked one at random
of a list of recent offenders. It was a risky strategy, but the name just jumped out of him for some
reason.
Darrel Minyon.
He arrived at the house and knocked on the door with the barrel of his Colt 45. The door
opened a crack and he kicked it in and pushed on through into the hallway, before it could be
slammed in his face.
“Hey, ho-hold on now,” a voice called in the dark.
Minyon, was a lot smaller than him and didn’t have much in the way of upper body muscle.
He crumbled immediately under the weight of his violence. He had to hold him by his collar to keep
from falling on the floor. He stuck the gun in his face. “You know who I am? You know what this
is?”
“Yeah, you’re a cop…” said Minyon, who looked like he was about to go into anaphylactic
shock. -
“Detective to you,” he spat. This low-life should address him properly. “Where’re you keep
ing it?”
“What?”
“Where’s your stash?”
“My stash? I don’t have a stash…”
He put the gun away and dragged him by the neck into the living room. There on the table
was an assortment of substances clearly in use. “You’ve been holding out on me Darrel,” he said.
“What have we got here?” he said pointing to a white powder in some tinfoil.
“Meth…”
 !125
“What else?”
“That over there is Spice. DMT…”
Hallucinogens… Did it make sense to get mess up with that shit with his brain full of fuck
like it was? It could hardly hurt. “DMT. Good, what else you got?”
“You like your trips huh?” he took a vial down from a shelf.
“Salvia.”
“Fuck. I don’t want salvia. Are you trying to fucking kill me?”
He put the vial on the table and next to the DMT.
“Alright, this’ll do…” he said calming down.
He laid the money down on the table and noticed something in the ashtray. “This a joint?”
“It’s a blunt.”
“You mind if I?”
“Whatever man…”
He sat down and lit the end of the roll up and took a deep inhale. It smoked well. “What did
you say your name was?”
“Darrel Minyon.” -
“Minyon…” he tapped his foot. “How the fuck do I know that name? You’re not from Port
land, originally, are you?”
“No…”
His mind tripped over itself looking for the answer and then he remembered. “Hey, are you
the son-of-a-bitch that was arrested on suspicion of killing that girl, aren’t you?”
“I wasn’t… I mean, I didn’t…” the boy stumbled.
He reached down to his waistband for his gun.
When the blood flows…

He shunted the boat out into the lake and Anastasia leapt in behind him; narrowly avoiding
getting wet, in the process. Seconds later, they were drifting across the black-grey and undulating
surface of the water. When they reached the centre of the lake, he pulled the oars back inside and
lay with his back against the gunnel. “Here, I’ve something I want to give to you,” he said; reaching
into his bag he pulled out a blue notebook. “Your Book of Shadows.”
“Thanks…” she said taking the book from him and running her hands across the cover. She
could feel a certain strange energy off of it, a potential energy, for disaster. The mountain appeared
grey in the half light and she was once again reminded of the dream of the oriental monk. Rain
gathered in the distance. “David?”
“Yes?”
“I dreamwalked last night…”
“Yes, I know. And I’m sorry…”
“About what?”
“I saw your friend Sylvia run off with that boy…”
For a moment, she was struck dumb. She had forgotten all about that. Not because it had no
impact on her, but because she had assumed it was of no more consequence than a thousand other
dreams dreamt…
“Do you love him?” he asked, head bowed.
“Kirk? I don’t know…”
“Because I have feelings for you…”
“You do?”
 !126
“Yes… Come here, let me show you something.” He took out several white boxes from his
bag and opened one to reveal a set of tea lights. Together they lit the candles and set them adrift on
the water. Before long the box was empty and their dark wake was punctuated by a sea of fragile
stars. She thought about how poetic it was that the same medium that buoyed them up carried them
along, could in a moment snuff them out forever more.
“It’s beautiful,” she said.
He moved towards her and closed his eyes. It was the first real kiss that she had ever known.
She saw flashes of red and purple lights behind her eyelids.
“Did you like it?” he asked.
“Yes…”
“Come on,” he said sitting up. “We had better get back. I have work to do this evening…”
She pulled at his arm. “Don’t go…”
“What’s the matter?”
“I don’t want this to end…”
He smiled sympathetically at her and threw the empty box of candles into the lake. “Don’t
worry, they’ll be other nights and nights, besides the fireworks will be starting soon…” -
She fretted. Otaktay’s preparedness for their attack was in large part down to her interven
tion. But she couldn’t tell David about that for obvious reasons. It was out of her hands now. The
two forces would clash out there in the leaking darkness of the wild and there was nothing that she
or anyone else could say or do to stop it.

Walter got back home and slammed the door. He was tense now and his jaw muscle was
working overtime. What the hell was that? he wondered. It was like something had over taken him.
Something animal and mechanical and not of his own mind somehow. He looked out the window
instinctively to see if he had been followed. Could they trace it back to him? Only if the kid
squealed, and that was more than unlikely. Losing a best friend was rough; rougher than he had ex-
pected, but was that really an excuse for how he had behaved? He didn’t know. He didn’t want to
think about it or feel like that ever again.
He went back into the kitchen, he needed something to take his mind off it all. Taking the
drugs was out of the question now, he knew that more than anything else. He wasn’t even sure if he
wanted them in the first place. So why had he gone to that place? He could dispose of them, but that
would be later, for now he needed to relax, to feel normal again… Almost absent-mindedly, his
hand pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket. It was the paper Harmon had given him earlier.
What had he said again? “If you want to find out what sleep paralysis was about, you have to expe-
rience it for yourself…”
It was all he had left.

Anastasia was swept along on the blissful cloud of her own abundant hopes and dreams. All
of the wonderful potentialities that her future heralded were there and awaiting her discovery. She
could feel it. As she was nearing the Meeting Hall, she got a sense of someone watching her and the
feeling dropped like a flat stone on a lake. Turning, she saw Wendy standing there silent, the green
fires of Bealtaine burning behind her eyes. “Enjoying yourself?” she asked, not unpleasantly.
“What’s it to you?”
“Anastasia, I’m sorry about what happened earlier; truly I am… I don’t know what came
over me…”
 !127
She took one look at her friend and found that she simply wasn’t capable of staying mad at
her. “Sure I do. Don’t worry about it… Valerie was acting pigheaded anyway. Like she always is.”
Wendy beamed and held out her hand. “Friends?”
“Friends…”
By now, crowds were making their way towards the beach area for the fireworks to begin.
“Look,” said Wendy pointing to a mass of people gathering near the lakeside gate, she recognised
the faculty members among them, the rippling fire jugglers still bare-chested and decked out in their
war-paint, black like ink in the gloom. “That’s the hunting party. Ben, David, Evette… The lot of
them…”
“Do you think he’ll be OK?” she asked clutching her Book of Shadows.
“Otaktay? Honestly, I don’t know… There’s lots of creeks and places to hide in the park, but
if they catch him out in open ground, he’s done for…”
She was talking of David, but before she had the time to correct herself, the first bright spark
shot up by the lake’s edge and exploded overhead in a glittering orb. Several lavender pink columns
rushed up after them into the hungry black sky, after which there was a brief lull… A chill wind
drifted down upon them, as though the encroachment of man’s incendiary devices upon the dome of
the sky had tipped the delicate balance of Heaven against them. Then, five amber torrents ascended;
hissing like a sea of sun-ripened barley and from out of their midst; green, white and purple flame-
filled flowers bloomed, before going to seed. The dome of the firmament cracked and one of its
splintered shards dropped into her eyes, and then the whole thing came crashing down. Ms. Lytton
and the music teacher, hastened to the children to get inside and everyone ran in the direction of the
chalets and the ever-dependable Meeting Hall.
“Otaktay,” shouted Wendy above the din of rain.
“You think?”
“Who else could it be?”
“Oh no,” she screamed thinking of Apocalypsis.
“What?”
“The book… It’s going to get soaked…”
“Don’t worry about it. I wrapped it up good and tight; it’ll be fine.”
They looked up just in time to see the last of the Bealtaine Festival fireworks let off: A giant
crimson orb. But even as it ascended it was shot through by the most violent flash of lightning she
had ever seen. It lit up the entire landscape; its blue veins branching out every direction, searching
for ground. The report of the firework was swallowed up in the ensuing clap of thunder, so loud and
so terrifying it sounded like a dead body being dragged across the vault of the sky.

He looked at the instructions Harmon had written out. The scrawl was difficult to read, but
the methods entailed were simple enough. In theory, anyway…
All told, it involved lying perfectly still in the moments before sleep and resisting the urge to
roll over onto your side. This was a test the body performed to test if the brain was asleep yet. If the
brain fails to obey the command, the body begins to flood the bloodstream with sleep-inducing
hormones, thereby allowing the dreamer to enter into the dream-state fully conscious.
He decided not to wait until he was feeling tired before conducting the experiment, as that
would increase the risk of him falling asleep in the normal manner. He got dressed for bed and got
under the covers. After about ten minutes, he encountered the urge to roll over onto his side. He
tried to fight it, while remaining muscle-relaxed, but he found that doing both at the same instance
was nearly impossible. The feelings grew in intensity and he realised that this task was greater than
 !128
he had imagined. He rolled over onto his back. He had been defeated. But he wasn’t going to give
up that easily.
He went through the same steps again. But this time, it appeared his body had become wise
to his intent and employed a more insidious approach to upset his efforts. It started off small, just a
simple itch on his lower abdominal. But it didn’t take him long to realise what a major imposition
this would be. The itch transitioned from being a minor irritation to being a bright cinder burning a
hole into his gut. He gave into this urge a second time and dug his fingernails into his skin. The re-
lief was indescribable, but the strain of the ordeal had left him weak and shaken, like a house with-
out foundations.

Wendy and Anastasia passed in through the open doors of the Meeting Hall, water streaming
from the hems of their clothes and the ends of their hair. There were children everywhere. Some of
them looked frightened by the lightning, whilst others; who appeared to care less, went sliding
across the smooth floorboards or climbing up around the stage area.
This was the first time, they’d been back in the hall since they had snuck into the staff meet-
ing, and it was difficult to know how to act around the instructors without drawing attention to
themselves. The rain on the roof continued. It sounded like an army of trained squirrels drumming
ferociously on miniature kettle drums. After some time, the teachers began to pass worried com-
ments between each other. “Do you think it will let up,” one of them asked.
“I don’t know, but we can’t keep them in here. They’ll catch their death…”
Meanwhile the sky rippled with electric charges every few minutes and the children
shrieked and jittered on the floor, pretending to be struck by lightning. The booming claps of thun-
der that followed in the wake of the flashes sounded like the head on collision of high speed trains;
the screech of brakes and the shattered glass harmonised by the sound of scraping metal. There was
something definitely strange, almost preternatural in appearance about this storm. -
“Alright listen up everybody,” said Ms. Lytton and there was immediate silence and atten
tion throughout the hall. “I want you all to make your way back to your respective dorms. Stick to-
gether with your group and keep going, don’t stop for any reason. Now go…”
She sat back down again.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m not going out in that again…”
Wendy went over and lifted her bodily from the ground and then whispered into her ear.
“Just do as they say, all right?” -
There’s no way you are going to get this many frightened child to leave the safety and com
fort of the Meeting Hall, just because you tell them to. She was about to say as much, when she
looked back at the door and saw all of the scouts had lined up and were now filing out the door like
lemmings.
“Follow me,” said Wendy, holding tightly onto her arm.
Out they went into the rainstorm once more. She felt the cold needles on her face and the
wind stealing the breath from her lungs. On the way back, she thought that the firework display had
started up again, because the sky flashed intermittently with a light green or at other times a deep
red or purple, washing out everything in quite a surreal and nightmarish glow.
It was only when she made it back into the safety of the dorm that she realise the flashes
were not caused by the fireworks, but by the lightning itself. The rap of thunder that followed the
strike was so loud that it sent some of the girls shrieking to their beds.
“Oh my God,” cried Amelia. “Did you hear that? It sounded like it could be directly over
head.”
 !129
“Calm down everybody,” shouted Annette. “We’re safe here…” Although quite how she
knew this was another matter, entirely.

Walter finished brushing his teeth and filled up a glass of water, before padding back to his
room in his bare feet. As he was passing by the spare room, he stopped. He opened the door a crack
and switched on the light. This had been Anastasia’s room when she was younger. She had moved
out of it and downstairs, because of a strange report of a man living under the bed. Or was it in the
wardrobe? He couldn’t quite remember. He pushed open the door a crack. The air did seemed cool-
er in here, somehow, less stifling than the atmosphere in his own room. Perhaps I should sleep here
for tonight, instead.
He clearly heard a woman’s voice call out. “Do not sleep in that room…”
What the hell was that? Was he losing his mind? He wasn’t prone to hearing voices like that.
It was probably just a combination of the weed he had smoked and his imagination. He thought
about ignoring it, but something about it made him change his mind. The messenger seemed so fa-
miliar and so insistent. He decided to take the advice of this unknown voice in his head and went
back to his own bed in his own room.

After they had finished changing out of their wet things, Wendy and Anastasia sat on the
side of the bed and looked out the window. “Have you ever seen anything like this before?”
“No…”
A bright orange network of cracks expanded in a web from a source over the Western hills
and illuminated the entire sky. “Hey do you see that?”
She leaned her head against the glass to get a better idea of what her friend was pointing to.
“What?”
“Up there, on the crest of that hill.”
She couldn’t see anything. “What? What did you think you saw?”
“I don’t know, but for a second, it looked like a flock of giant birds.”
“Well, there’s nothing there now…”
They stayed up a bit longer together watching the strange atmospheric disturbance, but after
a while the interval between strikes became more prolonged and their patience began to wane. “I’m
going to bed,” yawned Wendy.
“Yeah, me too…”
“Goodnight,” she said and climbed into the top bunk in one fluid movement.
As she lay in bed, with the crisp rain clattering against the window pane, she recalled the
time spent on the boat with him; how perfect everything had been, despite the storm that had
everywhere been gathering around them. She tried to recall David’s face, but she found it impossi-
ble to recollect for some reason. She had the various pieces, or some of them at least; an eye a nose.
Her trouble was figuring out the right order. The eye kept on floating up to the forehead and his
mouth and nose slid past one another in a most grotesque fashion. Frustrated, she settled for the
thinking of Kirk instead; her two-timing boyfriend back home.

Sylvia and Anastasia were sitting on the floor of her room, playing with her doll collection.
Sylvia was playing with a set of plastic ponies, trotting them back and forth over the light grey car-
pet and combing their pink nylon hair. David was sitting on the carpet beside her. What was he do-
ing here? His dark clothing and angular build somehow made him seem out of place in the soft
 !130
scene of a teen girl’s bedroom. Sylvia got up and went to the bed, where the shirtless and fairly buff
Kirk lay sleeping. Clearly they were making out with one another, behind her back. “So you were
right,” she said turning to David.
“Yeah,” he said nodding and taking out a knife from his pocket. “Say do you want to go visit
them in the real world?”
“You mean we’re dreaming now?”
“Yep,” he said turning the blade in his hand. “This is Sylvia’s dream…”
“So, how do we get to the real world from here?”
“Stage three, remember?”
“You mean that time when I saw myself asleep…”
“The whole point of the dreaming practices, put forward by Radcliffe is to tie your energy
body into knots… To blur the lines between the dream world and the wake world… In effect, to be-
come a God.”
“Okay, so how do we do this?”
“Follow me,” he took her by the hand and then it felt like they jumped down onto a different
level or plane of existent. The room looked exactly the same, but the lighting was somehow darker
and there was Sylvia lying asleep in bed with Kirk by her side. “I fucking knew it…” she said more
enraged now more than ever. “This is real, right?”
“Yep.”
She slapped Sylvia squarely in the face, but her hand passed right through her skull, no more
than a ghostly blur.
“Not like that. You have to be at least level five to make contact with them on the astral
plane…” he smiled; holding the knife in front of his face. “You want I should try?”
She stepped backwards and shrugged. “Sure…”
He got up onto the bed without exerting any physical effort or leaving any trace of his phys-
ical presence either on the mattress. He knelt down on Sylvia’s chest and Anastasia smiled. This
was payback, she thought.
“I can see her now,” he said closing his eyes. “I’m back in her dream.”
“What’s she doing?”
“She is just lying on the ground terrified,” he breathed deeply and reached out towards her
with his arm shaking, as if in ecstasy. “She’s asking me what I’m going to do next.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to cut her…”
He reached down with the blade and simply nicked her in the side of the neck.
“Is that it?” she asked. He seemed to have barely left a mark.
“Oh she’ll feel it in the morning, believe me… Then her and Kirk will be a distant memory.”
For the first time since setting foot in the room, she began to question if what they were do-
ing was right.
“Remember,” he said placing the blade back in his belt. “The next gate class takes place in
the forest tomorrow morning.”
“Gate five?” she said confused.
“Yes… tomorrow morning,” he repeated.
“I’ll be there.”
He leaned in close to her and kissed her. It was the lightest of kisses and thoroughly absorb-
ing. There was nothing at all forced or jerky in its movements. Everything was smooth, bliss, kissed
and blinded by sunlight.

 !131
9

Sylvia awoke the following morning and felt something hard and small coming up under the
skin in her neck. She had a vague recollection of something. Then she remembered the dream from
the night before. She shuddered. Who was that man in her dreams? The thought of him angered and
frightened her, all at once. She had felt so powerless against him. Why would he do such a thing,
she wondered, why would he be so mean? And then she caught herself: It was just a dream, Sylvia
and thought no more about it.
She went down stairs, stopping into the kitchen for a light breakfast of some orange juice,
before calling up Liane to see if she was ready to join her for a morning run. Liane didn’t sound too
enthusiastic, but then again she wasn’t in any position to oppose her, especially as Anastasia wasn’t
around to lend balance to the situation. As they started out on their run, Liane was already begin-
ning to annoy her. Asking about Kirk, which was none of her business and talking about concealer,
for some reason.
“Concealer?” she said trying to figure out what her friend was on about.
“For your neck.”
Sylvia’s hand went up and touched what felt like a hairy wart-like lump protruding from her
neck. “Compact…”
“What?”
“Mirror…”
“I don’t have one with me…”
She looked at her in horror and disbelief.
“I’m jogging,” she explained indicating to her form-fitting yoga pants. -
“We’ll just… we’ll just walk back to my house, then,” she said trying to regain her compo
sure. Clamping a hand on her neck, she walked briskly towards the house. As soon as she got back
to her room and saw the offending lump, she knew that concealer was out of the question.
“Ugh, that’s gross…” said Liane . It was huge, wrinkly and brown; and it appeared to be
pulsating as though supplied by its own vascular network.
“What am I going to do?” she said; panic rising. “I have to meet Kirk in an hour…”
“Well, you could wear a scarf… I mean…” -
“Good idea…” She grabbed her favourite green chiffon scarf and draped it over her shoul
ders. “That should do… for now… I guess I’ll just have to try to stop him from kissing my neck.
Shouldn’t be too difficult right?”
Liane smiled and then rolled her eyes.

Anastasia woke up a bit later than usual and saw that nearly everyone else was already gone
from the dorm room. Looking up, she saw that Wendy was gone too. She didn’t wake me, she
thought. She looked at her watch, 9:30. Time enough to go into the forest and read Apocalypsis?
Just about. She got dressed in her denims and a pair of red plastic wellingtons and trekked off
across the grass, still wet from the previous night’s deluge. -
It wasn’t long before she made the silver birch wood covered over with the scent of blue
bells. The secrets of the final two gates were almost in her grasp, she could feel it. -
She reached the raised bank and the row of old oak trees, where they had been the day be
fore. Dropping down behind it she saw a deep hole, about a foot wide in the base of the tree. Was it
in there? she wondered. She couldn’t see. Then another thought struck her. What if there’s a nest of
sentinels in there? She could imagine their bright red eyes and their sharp poison filled mouths bit-
ing into her skin. She summoned the courage to dip her hand inside. Feeling around the mass of en-
 !132
tangled roots and rocks, she found there were no sentinels. Thank God. But more disconcertingly,
no book either.
Someone had gotten to it before her, obviously. But whom? Valerie had been snooping
around all that day. Most probably, she saw where they put the book and then came back to retrieve
it. But if this was right why weren’t Wendy and her sitting in Ms. Lytton’s office right now getting
an ear full? There was no way Valerie would let an opportunity for mayhem and mischief like that
pass her by. Then she recalled that they had heard another sound, prior to Val even turning up. Per-
haps there had been someone else in the wood that afternoon. For some reason, her mind turned to
Alex… If Alex had it, he would give it back; wouldn’t he? Oh, there’s no use thinking about it now.
Stage five was going to start soon, and she would have to figure out a way to break the bad news to
Wendy.

Two funerals in as many weeks, thought Walter; God was punishing him for something he
had done in a previous life, he knew it. He laid out his black suit on the bed and searched for a tie.
He must have fallen asleep as soon as I hit the covers, he surmised, because he couldn’t remember
having a third attempt at inducing sleep paralysis. Maybe he could try again tonight, he thought, but
right now he had to consider Kevin and how best to remember him. He would be meeting with his
family, of course. And then afterward they’d all go for a dinner of some kind. He would probably
skip that part of the evening. Socialising wasn’t his strong suit anyway.
He drove to the mortuary where there was a closed casket ceremony; for obvious reasons.
Tea and biscuits were served alongside the body, but it hardly registered to him as food. When
Kevin’s sister asked if anyone would like to say a few words, he cursed himself for not having pre-
pared a speech. It struck him just how little family and friends Kevin actually had, or at least how
few of them were committed public speakers. He had assumed that his own input would have been
surplus to demands.
After the uncomfortable few moments that transpired where nobody got up to speak, music
was played over the wireless speaker system. He recognised the song; it was ‘Don’t Stop Believing’
by Journey. Looking around the small mortuary room now, he became aware of the distinct lack of
any religious iconography. He recalled Stolz said this was a humanist ceremony. Journey kept on
spouting the words, but it was evident that Kevin had stopped believing a long time ago. A cry went
up from one of the younger female colleagues on the force. A strange broken sound, and then it
went into the guitar solo…

Sylvia looked through the glass doors at the mall. There was Kirk sitting patiently waiting
for her by the fountain. He looked a big stupid hunk, but he was her big stupid hunk. But she
couldn’t bring herself to go out there and meet with him. It wasn’t just the wart, she realised,
hideous as it was; but something deeper and more inhibiting. Had it something to do with Anastasia
and that dream she had suffered the night before? Was she suffering from guilty conscience? Hard-
ly, Anastasia’s loss, in this instance was her own darned fault. If she hadn’t gone to that stupid
camp, she would still have her boyfriend. And yet there was the dream… Every time she thought
about it the face of the man who did this to her, both handsome and predatory, she felt herself go
faint.
“Well, aren’t you going to go in?” asked Liane.
“No…” It wasn’t that she was afraid of being laughed at, she was legitimately afraid for her
safety. “I think I’m having a panic attack…”
“A panic attack? They’re when you think you’re going to die.”
 !133
“Are they?” she said and put a hand on her stomach.
“Yeah. You’re probably just having an anxiety attack.”
“No, I was right the first time. I am having a panic attack… Listen, Liane, would you do me
a favour and go in there and tell Kirk that I can’t see him today…”
Liane looked shocked. “What do you want me to say?”
“I don’t know, make something up… Say that I think he’s cute, but I’m down with the flu.”
“Ohhh, I can do that…” she said. “Will you be okay?”
“Yeah, I can walk home…”
“Fine,” she gave her friend a hug and marched through the mall doors. Just before she
turned to leave, she thought she saw Liane walk up to Kirk and wrap herself around him. She must
have been imagining it, she thought. Liane would never do that to her. Would she?

Anastasia caught up with David and the rest of the scout group at the lakeside gate. There
were five scouts in total; Amelia, Valerie, Wendy, her younger brother Bruno and herself. She
glanced sidelong at Amelia and Valerie. Either one of them could have the book, she thought. But, if
they did, they gave no sign of it. “What’s Bruno doing here?” she asked.
“He passed the fourth gate last night, didn’t you Bruno?” she said flattening out his hair.
“He’s a little young isn’t he?”
“There’s no age restriction on becoming a nargual, you know?”
For some reason, she felt a little jealous of her friends younger brother, but she had more
important matters to attend to. “Run along Bruno, I want to talk to your older sister for a minute,”
she said directing him with a light push.
“What’s wrong?”
“The book…” she whispered. “It’s gone…”
“It’s all right. I have it.”
“What?”
“I went up there and got it this morning…”
“Where is it?”
“It’s safe… Don’t worry, we’ll read it after the dream workshop… I promise.”
Why did Wendy get to decide who reads the book and when? After all, she was the one who
risked her neck to get it. She could have saved her a lot of time and worry had she just told her what
she was up to in the first place. Or even asked her along… She had a sinking feeling. Perhaps she
had made an error in trusting Wendy after all…
David led them into a small clearing, not far from the lake, but still in view of it. They all
took their seats on the ground. “Now, I want you to all open you Book of Shadow on the first page,”
he said.
“Do you mean with the list of animals and their correspondences?” asked Valerie.
“That’s the one… because today I’m going to teach you the ancient Shamanic practice of
shapeshifting.”
A wave of giddy excitement rippled through the group.
“You mean we actually get to transform into animals?”
“That’s right. But first, I’d like to draw all of your attentions to this book,” he said; raising
up a small and yellowed paperback. “It’s Ovid’s The Metamorphosis… It is an indispensable guide
to all of the correspondences between man and the animal realm. As I don’t expect you to read it in
one sitting, I have highlighted a few key examples. Write these down…”
She readied her pen.
“Narcissus; vanity. Lynx; jealousy. Newt; disobedience. Spiders; pride. Toads; greed…”
 !134
As he went on, she noticed that the bulk of the correspondences from Ovid’s book were of
animals with negative attributes.
“That’s very interesting, but what does it mean?” asked Valerie.
“You can use these various states of mind to transform into the corresponding animals.”
“But how? I’ve experienced most of these and I’ve never shape-shifted into anything.”
“Obviously, the change can’t take place in the physical world. It has to be in the Fifth Densi-
ty.”
A second wave of giddy excitement went through the group.
“But how do we get there?” asked Amelia.
“By charging your assemblage points from the dream nodes. Dream nodes are areas of space
with surprising amounts of Vril energy. When you have clear sight, you will be able to see them.
There is one over there, for example.”
She looked but only saw the dark leaves of summer scintillating across the pale white sky.
“Stand up; I’ll show you,” he said to Amelia. He placed his right hand on her left shoulder
and got her to do the same to him and then he started to lead her backwards in an elaborate dance
across the clearing. “Close your eyes,” he said.
After a short while, her body stiffened and convulsed. He lay her down on the grass and
whispered an inaudible command into her ear. Next it was Valerie’s turn.
She watched as Valerie, Wendy and Bruno were all put to sleep and laid in the grass. He
stretched out his hand towards her.
“Are they?”she asked indicating to the other scouts.
“Yes…”
“Last night—” she broke off and couldn’t think of the words. “That was you wasn’t it? In
my dream?”
“Sylvia’s dream…”
She turned away from him, suddenly feeling cold. He came up behind her and rubbed her
shoulders. “Don’t fret about it… I saw into her mind. She meant to take Kirk away from you. It was
her plan all along.”
“I don’t care about Kirk,” she said turning around.
Their lips met once more, but she hadn’t intended it this time. It felt good somehow, forbid-
den.
“We have to join the others. I can’t leave them waiting for too long.”
She nodded and he began to lead her backwards across the forest floor. She felt the familiar
jolting sensation as she passed through the dream nodes, but she did not flinch, she kept her eyes
focused on him.
“Close your eyes,” he commanded. -
She did as she was told and felt two rapid impacts on her left shoulder. Then she was tum
bling backwards through a kaleidoscope of electric grey mist. She could not see where she was go-
ing, but she felt that she was travelling out beyond the universe, at tremendous speed. It was not,
unpleasant, however, as the motion was smooth, the acceleration uniform and comforting in the
same way that a baby-stroller pacifies a child.
When she opened her eyes again, she saw Amelia Valerie and Bruno all seated around her
and around them she saw the woodland, just as it had been. “But… But it didn’t work,” she said
looking around.
“Are you sure about that?” asked Valerie. “Look how you’re sitting…”
Looking down, she noticed that she was seated upright with her feet crossed beneath her.
“You don’t remember sitting up like that, do you?”
 !135
-
“No,” She didn’t. “But why does everything look the same?” Camp Calapuyau was a lie af
ter all and David was a fraud.
“That I couldn’t tell you…” said Amelia. “Where’s David? He should know…”
“Know what?” he said stepping into the clearing.
“Anastasia wanted to know why the Fifth Density looks exactly like our own world…”
“It is eerie isn’t it? Almost like they are one and the same…”
“Can’t you tell us then?”
“I’m afraid I can’t…”
“Does it have something to do with the Sixth Gate?” asked Valerie.
“Yes… But that’s for another time” he clapped his hands together. “Right now, I want to
teach you how to shapeshift into your favourite animal…”
There were no more questions.
“Open up your Book of Shadows,” he continued. “Do you all know what animal you are to
transform into?”
“Yes…” they replied.
“Ok then, Valerie, what have you chosen?”
“A wolf.”
“Eh…” he mused. “A wolf is a difficult one to start with… Why not try a dog instead?”
She nodded. “I could be a Great Dane or a Collie.”
“Ok, what about you, Amelia?”
“A deer.”
She chose a horse, Bruno a frog and Wendy a leopard.
“All right. Let’s start with you Amelia. What’s the emotion most commonly associated with
deer?”
“Love and friendship.”
“OK, now close your eyes. I want you to think of your very best friend…”
“She better be thinking of me,” quipped Valerie.
“Matter in the Third Density is set in too low a vibration to be instantaneously affected by
thought,” he continued. “But here in the Fifth Density, things are a little different. Just watch…”
All of a sudden, Amelia’s legs, arms and neck began to grow longer and darker. Her face
grew noticeably wider and her pink sweat shirt and shorts started to melt off her skin, revealing the
tight, supple body of a young deer. She waddled about shakily on her stiff legs, clearly quite con-
fused by her new form.
“Careful,” he said, steadying her. “Are you feeling all right?”
Amelia craned her muscular neck around to examine her new body-shape and witnessed the
white fluffy tail twitching on her behind. “Wow, look at me,” she said prancing about. “I’m beauti-
ful…”
“Okay… Valerie, your turn. Happy with being a dog for the time being?”
She nodded and smiled.
“Excellent. I want you to close your eyes and think of the person that you are most loyal to
in all the world…”
Valerie’s transformation occurred at an even more accelerated pace than did Amelia’s. Her
mouth grew longer and her nose became black and curiously wet. Her blue knitted hoody and her
blue jeans all began to fade to a mottled black and tan and then she sprang forwards on all fours as a
German Shepard.
Upon seeing this transformation, Amelia was understandable distressed. She darted behind
Wendy for cover, but Valerie took off after her barking. He tried to call them back, but in a flash
 !136
Amelia was gone off into the forest with Valerie close behind her. The girls lapsed into fits of hys-
terics, at the sight of this.
“Do me next, me next…” shouted Bruno. “I want to be a frog…”
Quite as soon as he had uttered these words, his eyes expanded, into grapefruit-sized orbs;
first one and then the other, his head expanded and his skin became discoloured and his body bal-
looned up until it was seven feet tall and twice as wide. He was the biggest, meanest, ugliest toad,
she thought she had ever seen.
“How did that happen?” exclaimed Wendy rising to her feet.
“I don’t know. He must have a real knack for this,” he replied.
“A knack for being greedy? Yeah…” she said crossing her arms and sitting back down.
“Sounds about right…”
Amelia and Valerie landed back in the clearing with a crash and sat back down next to one
another. The giant toad blinked at them with ecstatic reptilian-green eyes.
“Ok, Anastasia; your turn… Now, horses are creatures of the divide, right?” She had no idea
what he was talking about, but nodded her head in agreement just the same. “So, in order to do this
you’ll have to think of someone close to you who has died…”
A noticeable silence descended upon the group.
“Is there another way?” asked Wendy. “It’s just that…”
“Well, you could always think of your own death…” he responded.
“No, it’s ok, I’ve got someone.” She reached for her necklace and closed her eyes.

-
There was a man living in the closet; Hat-man, she called him. He was old and mean-look
ing. The fear of the closet — of Hat-man — became so bad that eventually her parents decided to
move her into another room downstairs. “What if he follows me down here?” she asked as her
mother sat next to her on the bed. -
“Here,” she said reaching behind her neck to uncouple her chain and placing it in her daugh
ter’s hand. “Take this… It will protect you and keep you safe from harm…”
“Will it keep me safe from Hat-man?”
She nodded. “Whenever you feel frightened or lost,” she smoothened the hair back from her
daughter’s brow. “You hold onto that and think of me and I’ll protect you.”
“But how? Is it magic?”
“Yes,” she said. “That’s exactly what it is…”
As she lay there in the gloom; holding onto those three silver rings, she felt a sort of calm
descend on her. Ever since then, whenever she felt the weight of the world pressing down on her,
she would always feel for her pendant and think of her mother’s words and feel safe and warm and
loved. But even with this charm, she still felt fear whenever she passed by the doorway to her old
room. Since her mother died, she got the feeling that that room now belonged to her, somehow. It
was her room and she was not allowed to sleep in it again. And, of course, she never did.

Anastasia heard a sharp in-draw of breath from those around her and when she opened her
eyes again, she was struck with a confusing double image that she found impossible to decipher.
When the image was fully resolved in her mind, she understood that she was seeing far more of her
surroundings than she was accustomed to. Ordinarily, she would have to turn her head a full 180
degrees to see what was going on around her. But now she could make out the mutated animal
forms of Valerie and Amelia to her left, as well as those of Wendy and Bruno to her right; both in
perfect stereoscopic clarity. It was remarkable how plastic her young mind was, and how quickly it
 !137
could adapt to the new information. Nevertheless, it was still disorientating, and she now under-
stood why Amelia had been so clumsy in taking her first steps.
“You’re beautiful,” said Amelia.
She whinnied and stamped her hoof into the damp earth.
“OK,” said Wendy. “I’ve changed my mind, I want to be a cow.”
“A cow?” croaked Bruno.
“What? They’re cute…”
“A cow,” repeated David wearily. “The Vedic symbol of the universe… Are you sure you
wouldn’t like to try something simpler? Like a rabbit or a hedgehog?”
“No, I want to be a cow…”
“OK, then close your eyes… I want you to imagine that you are one with the vast expanses
of space. You have nowhere to go, because you are everywhere already… Your eye encompasses all
of the milky stars and blackness of space… You represent the fullness and tranquility of the totality
of time… You must intone the sound of the universe now with me; the A-U-M.”
Wendy began to chant the simple mantra. Drawing out the syllabic tone into a long droning
reverberation. As she did so, her voice became heavier and disconcertingly inhuman.
“We are rushing back towards the beginning of space and time, when all the stars of the
Universe were aligned…”
This concept floored her, as if the entire universe were some hyper-dimensional object that
aligned when viewed from a particular direction.
“The mantra reverses itself from “Om” to “Moo”…”
When Wendy finally did mutate, it was the swiftest of all the transformations. It was so fast,
in fact that there could be almost no discernible intermediate stages and mirrored the expansion of
the universe itself.
“Incredible,” said Valerie.
He could not stop laughing.
“What? What is it?” asked Wendy; a little self-consciously.
“Well done, Wendy,” he said clapping. “Nothing, it’s nothing. I was just reminded of an old
Buddhist saying. It is the one where the student asks his master if a dog can achieve enlightenment.
To which he replies, “Mu”.”
“I don’t get it…”
“Well, neither did I, until now that is…”
She shrugged; not knowing what to make of him.
“I think it means that dog may or may not be enlightened, but that a cow certainly is.”
Valerie looked momentarily offended.
“Alright… Shake it off.”
“What? But I thought we were going to get a chance to run around for a bit,” Amelia
protested.
“There’ll be plenty of time for that later… Right now, I want you to all to return to your
normal shapes and sizes…”
It took them a while to figure out how to do this, as he refused to help them in any regard;
and apparently took pleasure in their frustrations. It was Bruno who figured out the proper method
first.
“How did you do that?” screamed Valerie. “Tell us…”
With time they managed to tease the necessary information out of Bruno. The way back to
one’s habitual form, it transpired, was to recall how one was prior to mutation. She tried to think
back on who she really was, but felt that it was someone she no longer truly recognised. Who was
that cruel girl who had emerged in Sylvia’s bedroom the night before? Who had stood idly by while
 !138
her so-called boyfriend threatened the life of her real best-friend? Who took pleasure in it, even…
There was no denying it, she was ashamed to say and no way back from it either. She must accept
the person she had become and own it, if necessary; a little more fearful, a little more hateful: true,
but still Anastasia, she thought. And that, in the end was all that mattered…

There was a knock on the door, and Walter went to answer it. Who on Earth could that be
he wondered? Opening it he saw the soft-edged profile of his own mother, Elsbeth. Evidently, she
had heard of Kevin’s death and came bearing gifts of ham and turkey sandwiches.
“Mum, you shouldn’t have…”
“I thought you might like a bit of cheering up.”
“Did you drive all the way down from Portland?”
“That’s right… How was the ceremony?” She sat on the couch.
“Strange…”
She looked him in the eye; knowingly. “They always are, my son…”
“It is funny that you arrived… I was just wondering whether or not to call Anastasia and see
how she is getting on…”
“Perhaps you should… Where is my granddaughter anyway I’d love to see her…” she said
nosing into the rooms.
“She’s away at camp…”
“Does she know about what happened yet…”
“No, and I don’t want to tell her…” he flopped back down into his favourite armchair.
“Oh I see. You don’t want to upset her, is that it?”
“Exactly…”
“Why don’t you put your feet up; I’ll break out the sandwiches and we’ll have a nice cup of
tea… We can talk about it afterward.”
It was the solution to everything; sandwiches and a cup of tea and right now, it sounded like
heaven. He tried to relax, but the incident with this morning’s speech came back to him. If only he
had gotten up, he thought; Kevin deserved better than that. He could have told them all about how
kind-hearted Kevin was, how hard he worked…
Was it just his own cowardice preventing him? Then again how was he to know that Kevin
had such few family members? At least one of them could have contacted him and asked him to
prepare a speech. Expecting people to just get up and rattle off a homily extemporaneously was a
bit of a hard sell. But this was just an excuse, a salve for his own bad conscience. He didn’t really
need time to prepare a speech, he knew Kevin better than anyone and was just as capable, more so,
at singing his praises than the next guy. But, when it came down to it, he simply froze up.
Elsbeth came in with a tray full of biscuits and sandwiches. “So, where was it on?”
“What?”
“The ceremony…”
“Oh, it was in the funeral home… They had one of these humanist ceremonies.”
“And what’s going to happen to the remains?”
“He’s not going to be buried. He’ll be cremated at Four Oaks, tomorrow afternoon. There’ll
be some kind of a public function afterward, I think.”
“Are you going?”
“I’ll have to.”
“And Anastasia?”
“Well, that’s the thing… I mean, his ashes are to be shared out…”
“Meaning?” she dipped her biscuit in her tea.
 !139
“You know he’ll be given out to different loved ones.”
Her nose wrinkled at the suggestion. “And will you get some?”
He was about to say ‘no’, but the truth was he didn’t know. He wasn’t sure about anything at
the moment. “It’s possible…”
“Well, I’d say Anastasia might want to be there for that…”
“You’re right…” She would probably hate him if he didn’t at least let her know. It was, after
all, important to say goodbye to people; even if it sometimes hurt. “I’ll get onto the camp later…”
“Where is this camp anyway?” -
“Just outside Eugene…” then the thought struck him. “How did you get out here, so quick
ly?”
“I drove,” she said taking up her plate.
“Are you going to drive back to Portland this evening, or do you want to be put up for the
night?”
“Well, I was thinking; now that I’m down here I might as well stay for a bit, you know?
What time is it?”
“Half four I think…”
“I’m going to take a nap for a half an hour…”
“What now?”
“Is that OK?”
“No, it’s fine… It’s just that… I don’t have the guest room set up… Why don’t you go sleep
in my room instead…”
“Are you sure?”
He nodded and she went out the door. Looks like I’ll be sleeping in the spare room tonight,
he thought.
“Don’t sleep in that room…” said a woman’s voice beside his ear.
“Who said that?” He looked around. There was nobody there. He was amazed. It wasn’t the
fact that he was hearing voices again for the second day in a row that shocked him, but rather the
consistency of the voice both in tone and message; almost like a tape recording playing out in his
head.
“I found this,” said Elsbeth. She was standing in the doorway, in her dressing gown, holding
his travel guide to Corsica. He had forgotten all about that. “I thought you like might like to read
it… Take your mind of things, a bit…”
“Thanks…”
She left it down beside him and went off to bed a second time. He waited until he heard the
door close upstairs, before opening the book and flicking through its contents. As he read, his atten-
tion was drawn to an entry on the Cap Cors. It was described as “a forty kilometre long peninsular
in the North Eastern section of the island — sticking up like a finger in the direction of France”.
The author didn’t overtly specify, but given Corsica’s notably bloody history as a French colony, it
must be assumed that he was talking about the middle-finger. -
The western edge of the peninsula was bounded by precipitous cliff faces and rugged moun
tains, gradually sloping down to the more temperate beaches of the Eastern shoreline. He had al-
ways assumed that a travel-writer’s job was try to portray their travel destination in the most posi-
tive of lights, in an effort to attract more tourist trade to the region. So he was surprised to find an
entry on the Corsicans in which the writer spoke of them in a less flattering manner.
He described a small troop of about fifteen homeless vagrants (both men and women) who
apparently lived together in the rugged forests of Cap Cors and spent their time getting drunk on
wine and presumably whatever else they could lay their hands on. The leader of the group explained
 !140
how they would meet every night in the forest to, as he put it “… transform into animals and go
about the towns and roadways attacking people…”
He was surprised to read an account like this in a mainstream travel publication. Was it pos-
sible that it was true? As an officer of the law, he knew that an admission of this kind was inadmis-
sible in court and it was therefore quite natural for him to dismiss it as the ravings of a drunken lu-
natic. And even if it could be supposed that people were able to change into animals, couldn’t their
time and their talents be put to some better use than going around attacking innocent travellers?
What purpose could that possibly serve? It didn’t make any sense to him and he gave up trying to
understand it.

Now that they were all back in their original forms, the next step was for them to return
them all to their proper density. Although in truth and despite all that she had seen, she wondered if
they were not already in their own density and that the rumours of the Fifth Density were just that;
rumours. It was conceivable that he had used post-hypnotic suggestion to make them think they
were travelling to another dimension and turning into animals.
“You will all return to the Fifth Density tonight in your dreams…” he went on. “If you make
it tonight you will learn the secret of the Sixth Gate.”
An excited buzz went through the group, all except Wendy and Anastasia; who simply
looked at one another and smiled. They were already in possession of Apocalypsis and they would
know of its secrets soon enough. They passed through into a clearing in which stood an enormous
moss-covered oak tree. It looked to be several hundred years old. “Follow me,” he said. “And step
where I step…”
She took off towards the old oak tree, careful to stand only where those ahead of her had
stood. As she rounded the great girth of the tree, she noticed something unusual in her perceptual
sphere. It was as if she remained still and it was the scenery that was rotating around her. Looking
up she saw David standing knee deep in a patch of pungent smelling weeds; smiling at her. “Wel-
come back to the Third Density,” he said.

Harmon got a call from Darrel Minyon.

“What up?” he said. “I guess you heard the news…”
“What news?”
“About the cop who beat my ass and stole my stash?”
“You’re kidding…”
“No, and when I find that son of a bitch, I’m gonna smoke his ass. That guy doesn’t know
who he is messing with or what we’re capable of…”
He didn’t quite know what he meant, but Darren got off on the idea of pretending to be
some kind of underground gangster with criminal connections. “Sure you are…”
“I am…”
“Listen, I don’t think it is a good idea to go around threatening the police, do you?”
“This guy needs to know who he’s fucking with… We own this place…”
“Ok, whatever…” He hung up the phone and shrugged. Getting rolled by the cop was an
occupational hazard when you were a drug-dealer. Not that you had to like it, but getting bent out of
shape over it was not his style.
 !141
Wendy and Anastasia stood together outside the shower block. “Ok,” she said handing her
friend the backpack. “I’ll meet you down by the lake, when you’re finished…”
“Don’t you want to read it too?”
“I’ve already read it,” she said with a smile.
All the colour drained from her face. She was supposed to be the one to discover the secret
of the Sixth Gate. Or was this mere selfishness on her part? She didn’t want Wendy to think of her
as being anyway other than grateful to her. Even so, it begged another question; Why hadn’t Wendy
just told her the secret, instead leaving it up to her to find out for herself and dragging this out more
than she had to?
The shower block was empty this time of day, so it was easy to find an empty toilet stall.
She chose one and went inside; locking the door behind her.
Unzipping the bag, she took the book out and laid it on her lap. Apocalypsis, she thought.
She opened the book on the Sixth Gate and started reading:

An important requirement of the nargual is continuous access to a readily available

source of Vril energy. As we discussed earlier, Vril energy is enormously difficult to come by
in its natural ætheric state. Therefore a nargual must be prepared to go to the most ex-
traordinary lengths in order to acquire sufficient quantities. The Ancient Druidic societies
were well accustomed to such practices, as were many other cultures. It was, however, with
the rise of Christianity in the West that these practices became demonised and denigrated to
acts of criminality. Under this oppression, our people have had to slink around in the night
and in secret, and as such much of the knowledge of the ancients has been lost in perpetu-
ity.
The general concept, however, remains unchanged. What is needed is the blood of of
a sacrificial victim; either human or animal, offered to Lord Jahbulon. Now, it must be un-
derstood that the Vril power does not lie in the blood itself, although it is obviously good
and nourishing in itself, but rather the fear created in the organism of the victim during
death. The slicing up of poultry or foul is enough to provide sufficient ætheric energy for a
jaunt to a neighbouring density, but it can only take one so far, and for so long. Much better
then, and much more prized is the blood of a human; the younger the better…

So far, so weird, she thought. If she was understanding this correctly, it appeared that the
Sixth Gate was about murdering children to steal their lifeforce so as to translate through dimen-
sions. But that would mean… Wendy. Hadn’t she read this, which meant that she knew all along
and said nothing. Such a thing was inconceivable if she were… well, even close to being human. A
sudden chill ran up her spine, as she realised that she was trapped in a very dangerous situation. The
whole thing seemed like a treacherous joke, and she was the butt of it. She turned the page and con-
tinued reading.

… There are, of course, drawbacks to this strategy, not least of which is the issue of
procuring the children, which must be done under covert measures and can often lead to
accusations of blood libel and other nasty inferences. This is why other methods are em-
ployed in order to avoid detection. The Six Stages of Dreaming provide the perfect cover, by
which members of our Order can move undetected through the densities and to enter into
homes and, yes, even the dreams of others. By such means, we can prey upon their fears
and insecurities to extract the precious energies that are known as Astral, from their slum-
bering bodies.
 !142
Having already learnt the underlying principles of Mutabor; shapeshifting, from the
previous chapter, the dream scout must now learn how to take on the eldritch forms of the
Darkheim. These forms are often dependant on the inner-nature of each individual dream-
scout and inhabit and in some sense inform the Nargual in the manner of a possessive spirit
or coconsciousness. These entities are the Sacral Children of the Lord Jahbulon and as
such hail from within the Holy Realm of the Darkheim itself. The list of entities include, but
are by no means limited to; the Old Hag, the Shadow Man, the Troll, the Demon, the Ogre,
the Giant, the Kraken, the Harpie, and the Succubus. It should be recognised that the num-
ber of these forms is limited only to the depths of imagination…
-
A sound coming near the entrance of the shower block caught her attention. She sat and lis
tened for a moment. Nothing. It must have been her imagination, she thought. The list of entities
she had just read interested her; the Old Hag and the Shadow Man. She wondered if her old friend
the Hat Man was part of their number. Oh, who was she kidding… She continued reading;

The means by which we transform into these spirits is similar to the methods of the
Mutabor stage. In that instance focus is made on the major essences, whereas the key to
Shadeshifting is in the minor essences, or explicitly; fear, dread, hatred, disgust, jealousy,
rage, lust, anger etc. See Appendix II.
Once the scout has assumed the appropriate form, they can begin to terrorise the 3rd
Order inhabitants through any number of psychologically or physically abusive means in-
cluding, but by no means limited to; climbing into bed with them, pinching them, choking
them, sitting on their chest, poking their sides etc. Sexual means are also very effective,
particularly if consent is not received. There are cases where consent can be obtained, like
that of the Succubi and which still lead to an outpouring of Vril energy…

She felt physically sick, like an oppressive weight had descended on her and couldn’t go on
reading any longer. But this was only a fraction of her discomfort. The true panic of her situation
was still to come, she thought. She wasn’t hiding from anyone in this lavatory, she had been placed
here to be found.
Then, she heard the noise again, only this time more distinctly. It sounded like footsteps
coming down the hall towards her. Here they come… They feet stopped outside her stall. And then,
nothing; absolute stillness… The footsteps moved off, back the way they came, and she leaned
down to catch a glimpse of, whomever it was, through the gap between the floor and the door. She
could hear the footfalls well enough and knew in which direction they were coming from. But when
she looked out across the tiled floor, there was nothing there.
She was losing it… -
Perhaps this was the onset of some incredibly powerful and deleterious form of schizophre
nia. She wouldn’t be too surprised; finding information pertaining to a conspiracy involving one’s
friends and teachers was a classic paranoid schizophrenic delusion. She might have gotten it from
her mother’s side, after all she knew very little of her medical history.
She slid the book into her bag and slid back the bolt. Peering out once more, she saw that the
room was indeed empty. She walked forwards into the bright sunlit exterior. No, wait… There was
something there, hovering just in the threshold of the doorway. It looked to be a dead leaf or a
feather, suspended by an invisible spider thread. As she reached towards it, it drifted away from her;
drawing her out. There was a hard knock of bone and a ringing in her ears, the sun went purplish-
black. The world toppled down.
 !143
***
Sylvia got home and unwrapped the scarf from her neck. The boil was there to greet her.
She could feel it, like a hard, unresponsive lump under her skin. Cancer? No, she thought, I’m too
young for that. Couldn’t people of her age get cancer? Possibly, but other people got cancer, not
her. She was too good looking; too… Oh who was she kidding. She was hideous. It was hideous.
She pushed and it and squeezed until it started to hurt. A little fluid came out, but otherwise the
mass remained unchanged. It was no use, she would have it forever…
She lay down on her bed and buried her head in her mass of pillows. She just wanted to die.
She was so tired, so, so tired… Her mind went back to what had transpired at the mall. Had she
seen right? Was Liane really moving in on Kirk? Oh who was she kidding of course she was…
Oddly enough, however, she didn’t blame Liane. It was Kirk who was at fault here. He was a no
good, three timing, sleaze ball and as soon as she was feeling up to it she would say it to him. Who
knows, maybe she could even get him to change his mind.
She reached out and caught hold of her favourite teddy bear, Mr. Tiddles; the one that she
had since she was very young. He was missing an eye, but she still loved him, and she felt Mr. Tid-
dles loved her too, in his own special way. It didn’t matter that he was just an inanimate clump of
stuffing sewn together in some brown cloth. He’d be there for me, she thought; he always was.
Even when her friends abandoned her, Mr. Tiddles was always there.

When Anastasia awoke, she was in the Meeting Hall surrounded by half the camp and all the
camp instructors. In front of her, like two monoliths stood Ms. Lytton and Mr. Bulwark and behind
them on the stage was the small statured Mr. Collins. He was bathed in blue light. “W-what’s hap-
pening?” she asked. -
“Silence!” exploded Mr. Collins. “You have broken the most sacred rule of Camp Cala
puyau…”
“… She has looked at the secret of the Sixth Gate, before the appointed time,” proclaimed
Ms. Lytton, lifting the book high above her head. The crowd erupted into an angry, convulsing vio-
lent throb, the nucleus of their eyes burned with radioactive fire. Their tongues and teeth were
sharpened and barred against her. They grabbed at her clothes and shook her violently. Their shook
her back into the total awareness of the horror the world had devolved into.
“If it was not for Wendy here,” She pointed to the proud-looking slip of a girl standing in a
pool of red light, at the foot of the stage. “We would not have known what she was up to…”
“Wendy,” she screamed. “How could you?”
“Strange… All she need do was wait a few short hours and she could have learnt the secret
without any consequences whatsoever. Would you call that ironic, Kat?” he turned to his compatri-
ot.
“Yes, I would.”
“I’ve read your stupid book,” she blurted over the heads of the other scouts. “And I think it’s
disgusting…”
“Who cares what you think?” someone shouted.
“I want to tell you,” she said with desperation. “That I want no part of it…”
“No part of it?” guffawed Ms. Lytton. “I’m afraid it’s a little too late for that, don’t you
think? You’re already part of our family…”
Family, she thought; these people weren’t my family. She had a father back home who loved
her, and she loved him. “When my father hears about this, you’ll all be in big trouble…”
A cacophonous laugh went up from the crowd.
 !144
“You’re father is no threat to us,” Ms. Lytton proclaimed. “Like I said, Anastasia. We’re
your family now and like every family this one has rules.”
“Neglect the rules, or break them…” growled Mr. Collins.
“… And we’ll break you…” croaked Bulwark.
“Simple as…”
She struggled against the grip of her captors. There was no way out… If she was going
down she was going to take that bitch Wendy with her. “Wendy read it too…”
“Is this true Wendy?”
Wendy smiled darkly and shook her head. “No, I only told her that to fuck with her head,
that’s all…”
Ms. Lytton smiled and spoke with all of the soft pride of an affectionate mother. “Well of
course you did my child. I can see the milk of ignorance in your eye. You, however,” she grabbed
Anastasia by the chin and stared deeply into her eyes “… Are not under the control of the soma, are
you?”
She was too afraid to respond, so Wendy responded for her. “No, ma’am, she threw her’s
out….”
She remembered back to the day of the initiation. She had thrown out the horrid mixture, but
in the end Wendy and her had drunk equal amounts. Why had it effected Wendy and not her? It
didn’t make any sense. “We both drank the same…”
“Quiet!” screamed Mr. Collins with unbridled venom. “If she is not under the control of
soma, then she is a danger to our entire community… Where is her totem?”
She shook her head and tried to runaway, but was held fast by many hands. “No, no, I
won’t… You can’t take it from me… I won’t let you…”
“Strip her,” cried Mr. Collins, and instantly the hands began clutching at her, tearing her
clothes from her body and casting them aside. She couldn’t have anticipated this level of humilia-
tion. Why were they doing this to her?
“There!” cried Wendy. “Her necklace.”
Ms. Lytton clutched at the amulet and snapped the chain from around her neck. “David, put
that with the others. You two,” she said pointing to Mr. Bulwark and Ben. “Take her up to the old
grey house.”
David stepped forward. Seeing him here in her most vulnerable hour, it was too much to
take. Everyone had abandoned her and all was lost. She was unable to contain her emotions and her
loud sobbing mutated into acute hyperventilation.
“It is alright,” he said draping a blanket around her shoulders. “It’s over now…” -
Ben and Bill grabbed at her and hurried her out of the hall. For some reason, she was re
lieved that there weren’t any people outside, but then again the whole camp had just witnessed her
at her most broken down and vulnerable, so what did one or two more matter? Her life here was
over, she would never show her face her at Camp Calapuyau again. But, if she ever did, she vowed
it would be very much different from the sweet innocent face she had shown them up until now.

 !145
10

Harmon opened up the fridge and took out the piece of white paper, containing the bright
orange DMT and laid it on the chair. Next to the paper was a small vial containing the Salvia. He
had smoked both of these drugs separately in the past, with varying results ranging from mild to
unbelievably intense. But this was the first time he ever planned on taking the both together. He
added the DMT to the pipe first, before packing it down with the divinorum. The moment of truth,
he thought. The smoke tasted of an almost incomprehensible mixture of Salvia’s cold mint flavour
and the more acrid, bacterial stench of the DMT. Best practice with Salvia was to hold the smoke in
for at least sixty seconds. The method differed somewhat with the DMT, but he doubted if it would
make much difference to the overall trip.
If anything it would probably just make it stronger. -
After a minute, he breathed out again and went for a second hit. The drug was already alter
ing his perception and taking effect, but he wasn’t completely aware of the changes yet. He lay back
on the bedspread and closed his eyes. He was moving through a tunnel of constantly shifting multi-
coloured machine parts. Little modular machines were moving along the wall of the tunnel, build-
ing it up by degrees. There was so much happening that it was hard to process to any satisfactory
degree. You simply had to surrender and let the experience wash over you in a wave of undifferenti-
ated mayhem.
Next, the tunnel broke apart and he found himself laying on his back under a concave glass
dome streaked with light. He was dressed in white overalls, with various plastic umbilical cords and
intra-venous tubing sprouting from his legs and chest. Presently, he heard a sound, like a high-
pitched, metallic sweeping noise and it was getting closer. The sound reached its crescendo and
something dark and mechanical moved over the glass; a single red eye beaming down at him. The
machine passed on, but its appearance produced an involuntary shock reaction in him he was unable
to control. He started ripping out the different tubes and cables from his torso and extremities.
Blood and other fluids, he was at a loss to identify gushed from the various nozzles and then slowed
to a spurt and a trickle. He pushed against the glass lid of his coffin with his blood-stained hands. In
truth, he did not know where he was going, he simply wanted ‘out’. The lid gave way under the
pressure and he flopped out painfully onto the hard metallic floor.
Along the walls, on both sides, he saw numerous glass containers, just like the one he had
been in. In a moment of panic, he realised that these people were all being held prisoner. The life he
had led up until now, was a fake. Total horse-shit. This was the true reality. He to wake everyone
up, he had to warn them that they were being used as livestock on an alien farm. He rushed up to
one of the nearest pods intended to upset it, but what he saw there made his heart race even faster.
For the creature inside was unrecognisable to him. Whatever this place was, it was not merely con-
tent with harvesting energy from humans, but had done so with aliens from all over the galaxy.
Were they all living out the same delusion alongside him on Earth, or were they restricted to
their own artificial reality playpen that more closely resembled their own home world? He had no
idea. What was this place, he wondered? Were they in space? Or deep underground? It was hard to
say. The corridors ran on for miles, which suggested something subterranean. But the deep rever-
berating sound gave rise to thoughts of a propulsion engine of some kind. For some reason that
sound filled him with dread. He had to get out of there, to run away.
This was an incredibly selfish act, he knew, but he had no choice. If they caught him, they
would put him back inside. He wouldn’t want to be put back; to forget all of this… He wanted to be
free, to be real, even if that meant contending with the Nightmare.
How could he possibly hope to be the saviour of all these people, if he did not ensure his
own safety first, he reasoned? So, he ran; without knowing exactly where he would go. Up ahead he
 !146
saw a doorway, which looked like it led into a brightly lit cargo bay. An eight-foot tall creature was
stacking containers into a spaceship. He who appeared to be made of lumps of clay. As soon as he
entered the creature stopped what he was doing and turned round. His face looked like it was made
from hardened lumps of plaster. His eyes were beady and round and his teeth were sharp. Harmon
tried to get past him, but was knocked to a heap on the floor. As he lay there, writhing in pain, the
creature reached down and grabbed him by the ankle. The sensation of the iron grip from the crea-
ture’s hand around his bones was an instant shock to his senses. It confirmed to him his worst fears.
This was no hallucination, he thought, this was really happening…

Anastasia was marched up the staircase of the Director’s house. Even during daylight hours,
it looked dismal and dark, she thought. She didn’t want to go in, but she had no choice, her two es-
corts were much too strong for her. They took her through a screen door and then into a wooden
room with a kitchen and living room area in one. It all looked so ordinary, she thought, which made
what was to come next even more bizarre. Mr. Bulwark threw her down onto one of the kitchen
chairs. “Stay put,” he growled.
“Here,” Ben said tossing him some rope. “Better tie her up, for this next bit…”
Mr. Bulwark grunted his approval and set to work, just as David came through the door. She
looked at the man with whom she had shared so much intimacy for some kind of recognition of
their past. He showed none; he would not look at her.
“Hey, Dave give us a hand here will you,” wheezed Bulwark tying her ankles round.
He took a handful of rope and started to bind her hands to the wooden arms of the chair.
Just then, Ms. Lytton came in the door with a large paper bag of groceries and started stack-
ing them in a frenzied manner on the counter top. “I know, I know, it’s your Fairy Godmother…”
she said irreverently.
“David…” she cried; it was all too much.
“I’m sorry,” he said without looking up.
When David had finished tying her down, Ben went around and tightened each of the knots
still further with his big, brawny hands. She could feel the ties biting into her skin and her hands
starting to hurt and turn cold from the restricted blood flow. In the meantime, Ms. Lytton was furi-
ously chopping up ingredients and tossing them into a plastic bowl. Finally, she added the freshly a
white gloopy mixture that looked like gone off milk and poured it into a glass. “Here, give her this.”
He took the glass from her and put it to her lips. The same sickly smell of the Soma reached
her nostril and made her wretch. He pushed the rim of the glass into her mouth, but she kept her lips
tightly shut and it washed uselessly onto her face. “Drink it,” he said.
She turned away from him, trying to resist.
“She won’t drink it,” he said.
Ms. Lytton came up behind him holding a plastic funnel. She inserted one end of an orange
funnel into her mouth forcibly and tilted her head back. No way to stop this now, she thought, it was
going down.
Ms. Lytton started to pour the soma mixture down her throat. She tried not to swallow, at
first, but then Ms. Lytton held her nose. She was surprised at how effective this turned out to be, she
thought it only worked in cartoons. Ms. Lytton kept pouring the mixture into the funnel until it was
all gone. Once again, she could taste the earthen decay and astringent flavour of the Soma, coating
the back of her throat. This time it was cold. It tasted even worse cold, she thought. She didn’t think
that was even possible.
“Now,” she proclaimed. “That wasn’t so bad was it?”
 !147
She had never undergone such an ordeal in all her life and it had left her feeling numb, weak
and exhausted.
“What do you want us to do with her?”
“Get her a night dress and lock her in the downstairs bedroom. It will take a while for the
drug to take effect…”
David came towards her holding a nightdress in his hands. Ben had loosened her binds, and
then he ordered her to raise up her arms up above her head. He slid the white nightdress over her
head. It was the first time he had been close to her, since their last encounter in the forest, but there
was no longer any love between them. How odd it was, and how much had changed between them
since then. Her entire world had been inverted.

Harmon was back in his room again, the hallucination was over, or was it? The last thing he
remembered was being stuffed back inside the sleeping chamber by that ‘thing’. How did he know
that this wasn’t the illusion and that he was lying unconscious in that labyrinth of metal with tubes
sticking into him? What were they feeding him? His own waste most likely… This whole world
was merely the waste product of his own mind and the aliens were just force feeding it to him to
keep him distracted while they… What? What purpose did it serve to keep humanity in cages? To
keep them thinking they were free when they actually weren’t? It was part of the endless struggle
between good and evil. He had to find a way out… But how? He felt awake now, but he was in fact
lying in a coma in another universe. But even if he awoke again into that horrid world how did he
know that that was the real universe? It could just be another layer in an endless stack of fake reali-
ties? All of a sudden the oppressive nature of his thoughts began to over take him, he felt the weight
of an infinite number of false universes all pressing down on him. He couldn’t breathe.
He had to get outside.
Yes, outside… for a walk, he’d feel better after he’d cleared his head.

To the lefthand side of the front door there was a fair sized room. It was in there that she was
placed. “Go to sleep, Anastasia,” he said, shunting her inside. She had tried to reach the door, before
it closed, but she was too late. Locked. She beat her hands against the wood and she fell upon her
knees.
“Go to sleep,” he repeated.
She tried to catch a glimpse of them through the keyhole, but they had already moved on.
She turned her attention to the room that was to be her prison looking for a way out. There were no
windows in the room and only one door, In the far corner, she noticed a little recess hidden by a
black curtain. Inside, she found nothing but a bare closet. She went over to the bed and lay down.
The effects of the soma were clearly taking a hold of her and she felt extremely unwell. She could
hear the intermittent creaking of the old wooden house and the sporadic shouts coming from the
rooms above her. But she was unable to make out who the voices belonged to. -
A commotion in the room caused her to awaken once more. A black spherical mass of tenta
cles was hovering over the bedspread and crawling towards the door. Almost as soon as it appeared
it was gone again. It's the Soma thought Anastasia, it must be.
For the next hour, Anastasia lay in the bed with her knees tucked up against her chest; listen-
ing to the sounds of the floorboards creaking all around her. Now and then, she could have sworn
that the sounds were coming from directly behind the black curtain. Was there someone back there?
She was too afraid to go and look. It was one thing, she realised, to hallucinate on a strange drug
 !148
and quite another to do it alone in a creepy, old, dark house filled with your worst enemies. His
came back to her. “Go to sleep…” And she found them impossible to resist. -
She dreamt that she was standing at a window looking out onto a dusky marshland. She lift
ed up her arms and saw that they were a dull brown colour, the colour of fired clay. She was dream-
ing and decided to try something Don Juan had spoken of in Tales of Power. Namely, the crossing
one’s eyes slightly to shut off the internal dialogue. While this was of limited interest to her, she
wondered what effect it would have in dreamspace. After all, one didn’t see with one’s eyes in a
dream, and yet they were intimately involved in the process of dreaming, Rapid Eye Movement be-
ing a primary example. If the varying motion of the eyes had the ability to alter what the mind per-
ceives, the effects of doing something as unusual as crossing them should itself have some notice-
able effect on the brain. How the brain would go on to interpret this stimulus would be impossible
to predict and that was the exciting part.
As soon as she did this, the dull shape of her arms exploded in a dazzling display to reveal a
substrate of yellow muscles with bright red veins coursing through them. The surreal primary
colouring gave the vision an animated, almost cartoonish quality. What an achievement, she
thought, I’ll bet Don Juan never crossed his eyes in dreamspace. But she spoke too soon… All of a
sudden, the dream faded and she woke up again. What a shame, she was actually kind of enjoying
herself, she thought. But her visions were far from over, for even now the black spherical ganglion
was floated across the room and wrapping its tendrils around her eyes, before faded out again…
She thought she saw something moving on the floor, over by the doorway. It was a silver
shelled creature with a long, bony tail and a spike jutting out from the front. Was it a sentinel?
Probably, but it seemed different to the others, She lost sight of it, when it moved behind the foot of
the bed, but she could still hear its hard little appendages tapping across the floor. The idea of being
alone in a room with that primordial crab creature made her sick to her stomach. But if it had gotten
in, then it meant that she might be able to get out… All of a sudden, she saw something small and
compact racing under the bedspread towards her. Her body tensed up, as the thing impacted her leg.
She instantly pulled back the covers, but there was nothing there.
Her mind went back to Tales of Power, in which Don Juan describe strange creatures living
in the bushes near power places. Perhaps, Mr Collins’ and Ms Lytton's house was built over one of
these places where the veil between the worlds of the living and the dead were thin. It certainly
made sense. Then again, perhaps it was more likely, given Mr Collins and Ms Lytton occult lean-
ings that the sentinels had arrived through a rift in the wake of a Satanic Ritual that certainly would
explain what was going on around here, she thought.

-
Cars whizzed by along the road and Harmon kept to the footpaths. He felt everything spin
ning away from him and tried to recall his meditation practice. He was seeking that state of non-dif-
ferentiation and in doing so could not fail to notice what a strange animal man was with his cars and
roads, his words and his inventions. And yet with respect to matters such as work, play, rest and
sustenance man was not really all that different from other animals. So if he were to ask himself
“What is man?” this question, he realised, was not like “What is the atomic number of cobalt?” or
“What is the capital of France?” in which one asks the question and expects an answer, but rather
more like questions of a philosophical bent like “What is the nature of the soul?” or “What is love”
and doesn’t. Therefore, man was an ‘undefined quantity’ that was averse to rational categorisation.
But that did not mean that we could not try and categorise man, merely that we would have to step
outside of what we deemed ‘rational’ and ‘scientific’ in order to do so.
Up ahead he saw a middle-aged man with a skinhead, and a bomber jacket. The man glared
at him and he realised something. The world was divided into two equal parts. There were those of
 !149
us who, like Harmon were human, but trapped inside the machine and then there were those who
were like ‘game characters’ generated by the artificial reality and in some sense the personification
of it. These were the androids, and the terminators, the skinheads and the haters whose hearts God
had hardened against the Lord and who would be cast into the fire of Hell on Judgement Day. On
the other side you had the ‘humans’; soft, lovers, kind and gentle. With time and conditioning a
human could harden into a robot and a robot could transform into a human. It was imperative there-
fore that you attempt to foster love at all times, not just to other humans like yourself, but to the
robotmen, or androids as well, so that the whole world could be transformed into light.
He followed a path, still deep in thought, that took him up to Wolfe’s Creek. As he reached
the foothills, he stood and looked back over the town of Albany and was struck by how similar it
was in appearance to that of a circuit board. The robotmen had grafted themselves onto the living
substrate of the Earth cell Gaia. But we humans no longer knew of Gaia, only GAIA; the Geo-Arti-
ficial Intelligence Application that the androids had constructed. It had taken over and substituted
itself in its place. He did not realise it yet, but the personification of Gaia, also known as the God-
dess Minerva, Hera, or Artemis was standing beside him now, and causing his tongue to curl unnat-
urally in his mouth. When had the robots arrived here? he wondered. Sometime long ago in the past
when the Shade Alliance had tilted the Earth’s poles and caused a great catastrophe. After that man
built his civilisations up again, not realising that ‘they’ were already among them; the Centurions,
the Robotmen of the Roman Empire… -
Further up the path, he came to a section of woodland he often used to walk in as a school
boy. He had forgotten all about it by now, but in those days, as he entered the wood, he would imag-
ine that he was accompanied by a Greek Goddess in her flowing white robe. The memory of this
now came flooding back to him. But he had no need to imagine it now, for he could clearly see her,
as a white spectre hovering just on the edge of his peripheral vision. What was happening to him?
Was he going crazy? That much was clear… Perhaps he was cursed? Yes that was it. Damned that
blasted salvia, he had indulged and it had hardcoded itself into his DNA. But it was a double-edged
sword, for what had cursed him, had also blessed him. It had allowed him to see through the world
and see it for what it really was. It was poison and antidote all at the same time.

It wasn’t long after that Anastasia fell asleep again. This time she found herself wandering
around an old, industrial building that had been converted into a kind of modern art gallery. She
went from room to room, passing deeper into the structure, until she came to a part of the gallery
that was still apparently under construction. At the back of the gallery space, she could see behind
the wooden panels to an apparent black void beyond. This was the edge of the Fourth Density, she
realised, and the beginning of the Fifth. For the first time, she noticed how fake the world of ordi-
nary dreamtime looked to her. It was as if it were constructed from mere facades, of the kind seen
on a Hollywood film set. A voice from behind her made her turn around. “Congratulations,” said
David.” You’ve made it… The Fifth Density lies just beyond that wall.”
“What is this place?”
“It’s the Corridor… That’s all the Fourth Density really is, a bridging point that connects the
world of Fifth Density with that of the Third…”
“It’s artificial then?”
“Quite… At night we fill the corridor with dreams and stories…”
“Why?”
“To keep those from the Third Density occupied… To keep them from finding the portals
ways to our world, as you have done…”
“Don’t you want them there, or something?”
 !150
“In the beginning when the denizens of the Third Density went to sleep in their world; they
woke up in ours… and vice versa. At first there was plenty of room for everybody and there was no
trouble; but as time went on, the men of the 3rd Density overstepped their bounds. They wanted the
Fifth Density for their own… So, we built the maze and they got caught in the illusion of their own
desires and forgot what they were searching for, in the end…”
“How come I can see through it?”
“When the Corridor went up, some of our people were trapped on the Otherside. We have
spent years trying to find you and bring you back… But you have seen through the Veil of Illusion,
which means that you are ready to return home…”
They stepped into the darkness behind the corridor and into what looked like the bright
green forest of Camp Calapuyau. But it was somehow different; lighter, more energetic, and she
knew that this was in fact the parallel universe of the Fifth Density.
"Of course everybody at Camp Calapuyau is from Fifth Density,” he went on. “Otherwise
you wouldn't be here…” he smiled. “Our agents usually select the children of important Third
Denizens… They grow up and spend their whole lives believing that they belong to the Third Den-
sity without ever realising the truth.”
“Like changelings…” She now realised why the children in the camp always went round so
forlorn looking. It was because subconsciously they were wrestling with the knowledge that they
weren't really human, that their parents weren't really their parents and that one day they would
have to make a choice to fight by their side or rise up and destroy them… It sounded like an incred-
ibly cruel and heartless world to live in.
“That’s right… Those who remember find their way back here and begin to learn. Then
when there is enough of them they start setting up schools and training camps, teaching Fifth Densi-
ty children about who they really are and about their real heritage…”
“The Gate Classes…”
“Exactly…”
“But why send them, in the first place?"
“We sent them there to scout the Third Densities defences; to gather Intel and develop the
Secret Commonwealth among them.”
“I thought it was the Third Denizens that were the aggressors.”
He smiled. “Things change…”
She looked upon him disapprovingly. -
“Oh don’t give me that… After all they have done to us? The killing, the raping and murder
ing. The Third Denizens are scum… Lower than animal…” he spat.
“So you are staging an invasion?”
“There's no need to, we already own everything… Ever wondered why the Pentagon is the
shape it is?… Anyway they tried to invade us first… We are merely protecting ourselves and insur-
ing that the same thing never happens again…”
“How?”
“The signal… We had our final test yesterday… I’m personally overseeing the project,” he
said with no small sense of self-satisfaction.
“You’re going to kill them all?”
“Well not all of them, just about ninety percent…”
“Ninety percent…” It was hard to contemplate. “When?”
“Tomorrow, at eighteen hundred hours, our operatives will send a specific set of dream
down the corridor from the Dark Locale…”
“You’re broadcasting the signal from the Fourth Density?”
“Yes, from our command centre there…”
 !151
She thought she understood. If it really was the humans that were to blame in all of this,
then attacking them would certainly eliminate the threat they posed… But then she started to think
of her own father; Walt. "But what will happen to my father and the people I love?"
"Anastasia, you have to understand that they are not your real family: We are…” he took her
by the hands. “Anastasia is just your codename. You are a scout for the Fifth Density…”
"I'm trying," she said. “Maybe if you were to take me there, it would be easier.”
He eyed her warily. “Where?”
“To the Dark Locale…”
“I can show you our headquarters if you like and the cemetery, but I can't take you into the
command centre… For obvious reasons…”
“Oh come on… You can show me…”
“No, I can’t… You need a Stage Six Security pass. Stage Five won’t even get you in the
door.” He held up a blue marble in his hand.
“What’s this?” she asked.
“It’s my totem… Look inside… There’s another world in there,” he said.
She held the glass bead up to her eye and discerned the air bubbles and swirls within its
bounds, which seemed to take on the form of a strange castle or fortress; stretching up miles into the
sky. She smiled. This was the David, she loved; the tender, imaginative David; the David that cared.
But as she looked, she saw that it was more than merely flights of fancy. The air moved, the sun
shone, and the scene came to life…
She was standing on the edge of a great walled citadel stretching for miles towards the
colossal Dark Tower at its centre. She swallowed hard.
“That’s the Dark Locale,” he said.
“But what’s all this?”
“That’s the Fourth Density in all its glory,” he said waving at the maze of roadways in the
haze of a red sun. “Here a gazillion dreamers rub shoulders with one another, though they be safely
tucked away in their beds. Look closely and you will see how it is ever-shifting network of roads
allows for simultaneous processing of dream paths.” -
She watched the roads separate in one place, only to reform into a different pattern some
where else.
“How did we get here?” she asked.
“I told you many more degrees of freedom, remember?” and then he threw the marble up
into the air.
The curve of the dark orb caught her eye and drew her in and when he caught it, they were
standing on a large flight of concrete steps. Looking up she saw that they were standing at the foot
of the Dark Tower, which was really three enormously rotund black skyscrapers placed one beside
the other; shored up hard against the dark brown sky. What kind of nightmare realm is this, she
thought?
"This is what I wanted to show you," he said, pointing out across the land. There, stretching
all the way to the horizon and beyond where row after row of tombstones.
"These are all of the people who died in the Great War. We built our Headquarters here to
remind us precisely why we fight and why we must be victorious…”
The air was cold but that was not the reason that she shivered so.
"You feel it, don't you?" David asked taking her in his arms again and brushing her hair
across her forehead. "The souls of the dead are calling to you; forcing the change. Don't fight it…” -
She looked up; but she could not see David anymore. All she could see was a dark, indis
tinct, humanoid mass standing there before her. She stepped back.
"What's happening to you?" she asked
 !152
"This is who I really am…” His voice sounded distant, granular
"A shadow?"
“No, David is the shadow… I am the Shadow Man…”
He took another step towards her and blocked out of the sky.
Everything went dark.

Wendy was afraid. Her plan to trap Anastasia had worked. But maybe it had worked a little
too well. What if the Directors decided to kill her for breaking the laws of the camp? She almost
hoped that Anastasia did die, so that she wouldn’t have to look her in the eye again. She mustn’t
think like that; not, if everything Otaktay said was true. Oh, but this was all Otaktay’s fault, she
thought; why had she listened to him and gone along with his stupid and insane plan to begin with?
Still there was nothing she could do now… She had made a deal with him; a pact with the Devil;
you might say… Anastasia’s soul in return for her’s and Bruno’s. He did say that he would try and
secure, her safe return; but that it would be up to her and for the most part. She went in search of
Bruno and found him playing with his friends on a pile of rubble; apparently the remains of an old
dry stone wall.
"Don't you have any classes?"
“No…"
She looked around her at all of the scouts and camp faculty milling around. It seemed that
classes had been suspended for some reason, perhaps on account of what had happened with Anas-
tasia; she wasn’t sure.
“Hey, I saw what happened to Anastasia this morning…”
“I know, horrible isn’t it?”
“She broke the rules of the camp didn’t she?” said the other boy. “I heard she’s a traitor…”
“Shut up…” she spat. She took Bruno off to one side. "Anastasia is being detained in the
directors’ house. We've got to help her…”
He looked conflicted, but said nothing either way.
"You do like Anastasia, don't you?"
"Sure" he shrugged.
“Good… Then, come with me…”
“Where are we going?”
“For a walk," she said pointing towards the valley high up in the mountain. “Up there…”
“Why are we going up there?”
“To meet a wizard…”
“A real wizard?”
She nodded and he asked no more questions. Together they walked through the lakeside gate
and into the tree line. After about twenty metres up the path, he stopped again.
“What are you doing?” she asked. -
“Miss Monroe told us we are not allowed to go beyond this point, without a teacher or in
structor present," he said pointing to an old stump.
Wendy sighed and walked back down to him, "Have you got your totem with you?"
"Sure," he said and reached deep into his pocket to pull out his domino with the two sixes on
it.
Wendy took the token in her hand and said. “Alright now, follow me again…”
“Hey, that's not fair…”
She turned on her heel. “If you want your totem back, you'll do exactly what I say? OK?”
The boy bowed his head and did as he was told, just like Otaktay said that he would.
 !153
After about an hours walk, they came to the glade with the spring at the other end. The sight
of it made her thirsty, so she stopped and took a drink out of her bag.
"My feet hurt," he said.
She took a sip from the bottle and handed it to Bruno. "Not far now," she said, pointing up
the steep slope of evergreens. "Just to the base of the mountain where the rocks are."
After he had drunk his fill of water, they set off up the hillside. The way along the base of
the Mountain was rocky and hemmed in by thick patches of briars but it wasn't long before Wendy
found a passage through.
“Look Bruno,” she said. “There's the cave.”
She went inside and quickly came back out again. “Where is he?”
“Who?” asked Bruno, who had taken a seat on an oblong stone inside the cave.
“Otaktay,” she replied turning back to look at him.
“Oh… that’s easy… He's standing right behind you.”
She drew a sharp breath and spun round to see a dark shape fill the mouth of the cave.
“Otaktay,” she said. “I did as you said… Anastasia is being held captive in the director’s
house…”
“She must be well on her way to the Fifth Density by now… I see that you brought young
Bruno with you…”
“As we agreed. Remember?”
“I remember," he said. “And I kept my part of the bargain…”
The old man unslung a leather drinking pouch from around his neck and handed it to her.
“The medicine has to be made up fresh each time… and it has to be administered quickly before it
loses its potency.”
She knelt down in front of Bruno and undid the cap.
“Drink this.”
“What is it?”
“It will make you feel better…”
“But I don’t feel sick.”
“It will stop you from getting sick, in future…”
He looked at her doubtfully and then took a drink from the flask. “That’s horrible,” he said,
his eyes smarting.
“Drink more,” she said forcing the canteen at him.
Bruno took another few gulps and then protested more violently. “No more,” he said.
She stepped back. “Will that be enough?”
“We'll soon see…”
The young boy walked to the back of the cave whereupon a torrent of white fluid erupted
from his mouth to the cave floor. The instant it was out, he burst into tears. “You said it wouldn't
make me sick,” he whinged.
“No that’s a good thing,” she exclaimed. “It means that the milk was bad and your body got
rid of it.”
Those words appeared to have the appropriate effect on him and he stopped crying. She took
out her bottle of water and some napkins and started to clean his mouth.
“Sorry about the mess,” she said looking at the white remnants of the soma all over the cave
floor.
Otaktay gave a deep laugh. “It's ok,” he bellowed. “Think nothing of it.”
“How can you laugh at a time like this?”
His eyes opened wide with shock. “You mustn’t worry about Anastasia, my child. She is
much stronger than you think… Possibly than you can even imagine….”
 !154
“I have a feeling that Anastasia is going to hate me when she gets out of this. If she ever
does…”
“You had no real choice, in the matter…” he said and taking out a small folded piece of
leather he handed it to her. “Give her this and she will understand…”
“What is it?” she asked. -
“The way back…” he replied. “Speaking of, which…” he pointed to the sky. “It will be get
ting dark soon…” -
She nodded and pocketed the mystery envelope. Then she gathered together all her belong
ings and prepared to exit the cave.
“One other thing,” said Otaktay. “They have taken Anastasia's totem from her…”
“I know… That scoundrel David has it…”
“I know him well… Be careful with the likes of him, he is an obscenely powerful nargual,
but on no account must Anastasia leave the camp without her totem, to do so would be disastrous
for us all…”
“I understand,” she said nodding. Then she paused for a moment. “Oh I almost forgot Bruno
here's your totem back.”
He held out his small hand and accepted the domino with a smile.
“You're your own man now,” she said.

Harmon continued up the brow of the hill. He passed through a grove of maple trees and
then back along the trail. Gorse bushes grew up on either side of him as he walked. This path must
not be in use very often, he thought, as it was getting slightly overgrown. The prickly throngs grew
out and met overhead, forming a sort of a tunnel. Hang on, he thought, this isn’t right. He must have
come the wrong way. But no, he couldn’t have; there was only one way out of the grove, he knew
and he had taken that path. He pressed on, but the conditions worsened with each step. The roof
over his head got lower and lower and the sides narrower and narrower, until he found himself
crouching inside the hedge with no sign of the path beneath his feet. He began to panic. Something
was wrong with the fabric of reality. He had passed through a boundary, a liminal plane, into the
fairy world. He pushed through the gorse, hoping that conditions would surely improve just around
the corner. But they didn’t and in the end he had to force himself through the spiny foliage out onto
the crest of Wolfe Creek.
He had rejoined the path somehow, but it was not one he recognised. The sky was covered
over with dark with clouds streaked magenta from the Albany City lights. Evening was fast ap-
proaching, but there was something otherly about it. He heard a female voice down by his feet, gig-
gling. Looking down into the heather by the path, he saw two people; a man and a woman lying
there in each other’s arms. The shock of seeing them caused him to run ahead, up and down over
the rocky path. He stopped running; there was nothing to be afraid of he thought. And yet it was
strange… Why choose there of all places for making love and why now? Not that he was judging
them… If anything he felt the utmost compassion for them, for they knew as he did that the world
was rapidly coming to an end and that you had to grab hold of the person nearest you and love them
with all of you heart from the deepness of your soul.
He did not know why he had this sensation, but he could see it in the depths of their eyes. It
was their eyes that betrayed their smiles and the sadness in all men; mortal or immortal. He thought
about Samantha again, but he no longer pined for her, somehow he had outgrown the need for love.
It was something that he had always strived for and now that he had achieved it, he did not feel any
loss of anything, rather he felt a great deal more love for Samantha, wherever she was. Out across
the valley he saw the lights of the city again, and just above them he saw a light. What was that? An
 !155
airplane? No, too low… A Chinese lantern? It was the right size and luminosity. But something was
off about it. He watched it ascend up to the dark, brooding cloud layer and then wait, as another
light drifted up from street level to join it. Then just as the second light was approaching the cloud
layer, the first light blinked out and the second one took its place. Now a third light was approach-
ing. Clearly, someone was setting off Chinese lanterns, but where were they coming from?
Before he could answer the question, his assumptions about the nature of the spherical lights
was dealt a crushing blow. He expected the second light to blink out and be replaced by the new-
comer, but instead it descended to meet with it, as thought it were intelligently controlled. It began
to do loop-the-loops around its companion and then they both flew up into the cloud layer and van-
ished. The invasion had begun. Who were they? The androids? No, they were shapeshifting alien
Lizard Men from another dimension. The ones that Philip K. Dick had spoken of, with the three
eyes and the crab claws for hands.
And then he saw something that absolutely took his breath away. Rising up out of the centre
of the city, was a confederation of lights. It was absolutely enormous, football field size. No one
could possibly fail to notice it, now. It would be all over the news in the morning. Incontrovertible
proof that they were not alone in the Universe. They had arrived.

Walter sat in his study going over old case files, when he suddenly had an idea. It was so
obvious, he thought, and wondered why he had never considered it before. If he recalled the sta-
tistics correctly, one in five people are victims of sleep paralysis throughout their lives. What if one
of the remaining four people were the perpetrators of this act of despicable vampirism? This would
mean that the Entity causing all the sleep paralysis was not from another dimension, after all.
Rather it was a consortium of people, just like the wayward band of vagrants from Cap Cors. A con-
sortium capable of transforming into hideous animals and demons and of entering into people's
dreams at night to murder them and feed upon their life force. -
It would mean, of course that the offenders could be absolutely anyone. It could be the per
son from your workplace; your neighbours next door; or even a member of your own family. It
seems like a revelation to him and yet at the same time he had heard of something like this many
years previously, in a documentary he had watched; “African Witch Child" or something like that.
In the film, one of the village elders was accusing two young boys of vampirism. He claimed they
shape-shifted into animals and left their house to go out into the night and terrorise people in their
dreams. Kindoki, it was called.
Witchcraft.
At the time, he had thought the idea implausible and absurd; the product of the uneducated
speculation of a primitive culture. But what if they were correct? What if such people did indeed
exist and had just that kind of ability? What could be done about it?
Nothing in a court of law, that was for certain. Witchcraft was no longer a crime in the West
and even if it was; where was the evidence? The suspected killer left no trace; no fingerprints; and
had the perfect alibi of their own sleeping body that, as any waking observer could attest to, had
never even left the room.
African cultures who believed in kindoki and saw it as a real problem tended to scapegoat
the more vulnerable members of their tribe; namely children and the elderly. This was seen as su-
perstitious and barbaric by those in the West, and rightly so. There had to be some other way to
tackle this problem. But how?
It seemed to him that the best course of action would be to continue to inducing sleep paral-
ysis until he had a breakthrough. That way, if one or other of the attackers took the bait, he might be
able to force a confession out of him; a name; anything.
 !156
Elsbeth was in the sitting room watching some chat show or other, he let her be and climbed
the staircase to the spare bedroom at the back of the house. The bed was cold and airless, but he
didn’t care. Time to trick your body into thinking it was falling asleep again, he thought. But as
soon as his head lay down on the pillow, he entered into a deep and dreamless sleep…

-
Harmon fell back inside the door of his apartment with a mixture of tiredness and exhilara
tion coursing through his veins. He had made it home from Wolfe’s Creek, after managing to walk
most of the way back in the dark. He switched on the TV and put his feet up, fully expecting there
to be a news report on the strange lights he had seen earlier. Nothing. He flicked through the chan-
nels again. The non-stop twenty four hour news networks were covering some interesting stories
including a volcanic eruption in Indonesia, as well as the funeral of an Italian dignitary, but nothing
about an alien invasion. Perhaps he had been mistaken after all, or it might have been an hallucina-
tion. That incident with the gorse bushes was definitely out of the ordinary. But how was this possi-
ble? Salvia and DMT were only supposed to last in the region of fifteen minutes. It was hours since
he had taken it. Unless it was still in his bloodstream, affecting his mind and his memory. Yes, his
memory was a bit off. He couldn’t remember if he had been alive before taking the salvia cocktail
or if his life know was a product of the salvia.
Perhaps he hadn’t taken the salvia after all… Perhaps that was the problem…
The news report ended and the ads came on. The first ad was, predictably enough for the
network he was watching; Sky News. Ordinarily, he would have changed channels at this point, but
there was something arrestingly unnerving about the imagery he saw. The palette being used was
dark and sophisticated and instead of showing actual people it focused only upon their shadows. It
showed their silhouettes gliding across walls, making their way down hallways and boarding onto
airplanes, all apparently on their way to work at the Sky News Corporation. He was reminded of
what Minyon had read out to him from ‘The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying’. What was it
again? “Shadows on the sky are portents of death…” clearly what he had seen just now was an up-
dated and modernised version of the old Tibetan prophecy. And the other one that had confounded
him; investigations, like police investigations. His mind went back to that pig that had arrived at his
doorstep. Had that not been an investigation of sorts?
The full impact of his chilling realisation hit him… He was dead… He was sure of it, now.
But when had this happened? When had he died and how? Was it that time when he had the
argument with Minyon? Had he finally snapped? But why wouldn’t he remember something like
that? Unless, his mind had intentionally buried the memory in his subconscious and then kept up the
charade of the world, to keep him distracted from the truth. But if this truly was the afterlife, then
why did everything look exactly the same when he was alive? Or was it? The alien spaceships; the
lovers in the weeds; the fairies in the gorsebushes; and the strange weather they were having these
were all signs that the fabric of his mind was coming undone. The illusion could only be kept up for
so long, and then?
Heaven or Hell? Damn it, he should have heeded the warnings earlier and started asking for
forgiveness, for now it was to late.
He picked up ‘The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying’ realising that the answer to his soul’s
salvation possibly lay within its bounds. This would be his manual on how to successfully navigate
the afterlife. This meant that the monks had made the book so that it somehow appeared in both the
universe of the living and of the dying at the same time. But, how had they achieved this? No doubt
by creating a superposition of spin in the molecules of the ink and paper. It would then be able to
exist in both dimensions, just in case you had been unable to finish reading its message when alive.
Minyon had been right, the monks were very clever, very clever indeed.
 !157
***

Anastasia was standing in a corridor constructed entirely of wooden doors; like a collage of
lots of bits of interiors; all cobbled together in no obvious order. “What is this place?” -
“These are our portals,” David replied. “They allow us to enter into the dreams and bed
rooms of any sleeping body we wish.” -
Up ahead she saw the ghostly figure of Valerie, as terrifying as ever, standing next to Mar
vin. “Here’s the hunting party now… You’ve met Marvin and Valerie before, I’m sure.”
“Of course…” -
“Alright, let’s get to work… The two of you stay here and watch… I’m going to take Anas
tasia through her paces.” He turned and gripped her by the shoulders. “Are you ready?”
She nodded. “I think so…”
“Don’t worry you’ll do fine,” he said. “Just remember what I taught you…”
He pushed open the door nearest to him and entered into the gloom of Sylvia’s bedroom.
She had spent a lot of time in Sylvia’s house growing up, and it was one of those houses with a pe-
culiar kind of smell. It wasn’t unpleasant, just unusual.
“She’s over there…”
In the corner of the room lying in the bed was the sleeping form of Sylvia. David turned to
her; a shadow in the dark. “OK, now I want you to think about all of the hatred and rage that you
have for Sylvia…”
She looked at her, but she could think of nothing but pity for her sleeping friend. “No listen
to me. You need to focus. Think about how she betrayed your trust… How she mocked you in front
of your friends…”
In her mind’s eye, she witnessed Kirk and Sylvia together again; taunting her. The anger
flowed easily, but it seemed to sap her energy and caused the skin on her hands to wither and sag.
“That’s it… Let the hate possess you. You are becoming the Old Crone…”
In the mirror next to her, she could see her hair become like straw and a beak-like nose pro-
truding between two large saucer-shaped eyes. She knew that face, it was the face that lay hidden
behind the curtains on certain nights, hovering just outside the window. And now she had become
that thing.
“Now go to her…” he said.
She knew that what was required of her. She was to suck the life out of her friend to feed on
her reserves of sec. She couldn’t bring herself to do it. “No, no, it’s not right…”
Impatient, he climbed up on top of her like a dark shadow and clasped her hand over her
mouth… Sylvia’s eyes snapped open, awake with terror. She felt a strange excitement to the obvi-
ous pain and horror her best friend was enduring. What was this sensation? This was new…
He leant down closer until he was only a few inches from her face and began breathing in a
thin stream of particles. As soon as she saw it, she wanted to join in. He drank so greedily, she
feared that there would be none left for her. “Wait…” she cried.
“Don’t worry,” he whispered across the dark. “I left some for you…”
She leaned over the gaunt face of her friend. They had never been so close… She began to
drain the lifeforce from her friend’s body, feeling its power invigorate her senses, and then all too
quickly it was over. The reserves were gone; used, dried up, taken. And what of Sylvia?
Dead…
She had been fooled she realised; forced to take the last of her friend’s substantive energy,
leaving only a corpse behind for time to turn to dust. The realisation that she was now the final rest-
ing place of her friend made her physically sick, she wanted to vomit, but for some reason had for-
 !158
gotten how. She went about clasping her hand over her mouth stifling her own screams and then her
eyes rested on his. Dark, handsome, deadly…
“You… You took this from me… My life… My soul… My humanity….”
“You were never human to begin with… You’re old form was just a mould… You are the
Old Crone, the Cauche Mer… deep down that’s who you always were…”
“No, it’s not true… I…” she went to attack him, but he grabbed her by the wrist and twisted
her arm around. Again she was forced to look upon herself in the glass.
“Look at yourself…” he growled. “How many times did you and Sylvia play in front of this
mirror? Putting on make up and pretending that you were really just oh so grown up… And now
look at you…”
She tried to move away, but he grabbed her by the face and pulled her back around again…
“This is you Anastasia… This is who you really are… Look…”
She had really grown up… and missed out on quite a few decades in the process, by the
looks of it. And yet despite the missing years there was something in that face that she couldn’t help
fail to identify with. How had she not seen it before? She had always been an old woman, trapped
inside a young girls body. That is why she was so mature, and Sylvia was still a baby. David had set
her free; without him she would never have known: He had set her free.

When Walter opened his eyes again, the dappled light of morning was resting against the
light pink interior of the room. The tranquility of the scene was broken by the intrusion of a brown
hobgoblin sitting perched on his chest, smiling down on him with something truly manic in his
eyes. The goblin, had thick leathery skin, lank greasy hair and where its nose should be was nothing
more than a triangular hole, as if the cartilage had been eaten away or ground down by some me-
chanical means. Looking past this disfigurement, however, it was easy for him to see that this crea-
ture shared his exact likeness, right down to his own learned mannerisms.
The horror of seeing his face mocked in this maimed effigy was an insult too far. He lunged
at the troll and pushed him clear across the room, so that the two of them were now grappling on the
floor. He pinned it down with his knees and started to pummel the creature’s face with his fists.
Now, let’s see how you like it, he thought; sitting on the creature’s chest. When he looked into the
goblin’s face, instead of fear, he saw that same constant and infuriating grin. Then something extra-
ordinary happened. The creature dipped his head and in that instant, he found himself back inside
his bed; the creature sitting on top of him once more.
This time when he tried to get up he found that he could not move. He was completely
paralysed. Worse than this, he found that he couldn’t breathe. The troll smiled even more delighted-
ly at his new understanding of the situation and the obvious horror that was resulting from it. Then
he remembered that he was not alone in the house. Elsbeth his mother had come to stay with him.
What luck? If he was only able to call out or attract her attention somehow, she would come in and
save him. He opened his mouth to call for help, but no sound came out. He was like a fish out of
water gasping for breath. He realised that this had been the sorry fate of all the other victims he had
investigated: To be alone in a room suffocating to death unable to move or call for help.
There must be a way out of this situation. In all of the time he had spent studying sleep
paralysis and its terrifying effects, he had never once bothered to inform himself of the means to
escape it. Up until now, he didn’t know if there was one and he didn’t care… It would never happen
to him. How fucking stupid could he be? Think… -
Then he recalled the story he read in that book of esoteric knowledge; “Fringe 101”. Some
thing like that. The story the man in his car who encountered a mysterious light out in the desert. He
remembered that in that instance, the man had defeated the bright object by projecting a strong feel-
 !159
ing of love towards it. Being acutely aware of the similarities between sleep paralysis and abduction
cases; it seemed plausible to him that what worked in one situation would work just as well in the
other. He stopped being frightened and when he was sufficiently relaxed; he began projecting love
toward his misshapen doppelgänger. Instantly, a look of shock came over the creature’s face. And
he blinked out of existence, defeated.

Walter kicked his legs out of bed. What had happened to him? Was that real or a dream? If it
was a dream, then at which point had he awoken from it? Was it the first time that he opened his
eyes and saw the creature sitting on his chest? Or the second time when he was transported back
into the bed? Or was it just now when the creature had vanished?
He was tempted to say the first one as it for all the usual hallmarks of waking up. Specifical-
ly, he recalled opening up his eyes, but then again, if that were the case then he would have to con-
tend with the fact that the creature was indeed real and had been inside his house, something he
wasn’t exactly comfortable with. He was lucky to have escaped with his life. It hadn’t been for the
fact that he had read that story and put the two together he would almost certainly be dead by now.
He listened to the sounds of the house. Nothing. His mother obviously hadn’t heard the commotion
resulting from him knocking the stuffing out of the troll around the room.
This was another reason to suspect that this was in fact a dream. But if that was the case,
then why he could remember no occasion after that when he had opened his eyes? It had simply
been a seamless transition dreaming to waking up. This made him question if there was a difference
between the two. Perhaps we were just dreaming that we woke up everyday.
This seemed like a remarkable discovery. He went over to examine the spot where he had
gained the upper hand over his assailant; at the foot of the wardrobe. There was something on the
ground there; a keychain with a deep-sea diver figurine attached. Was it Anastasia’s? Or had it fall-
en out of the hobgoblin’s pocket, during their altercation? He wasn’t sure. He pocketed the curious
object for later and looked at his phone; 10 missed calls and one new message. Something terrible
had happened. He could feel it.

Anastasia had awoken early from her slumber and was surprised to find herself back in the
dormitory. How had that occurred, she wondered, whilst giving her arms and legs a good stretch.
The events of the previous night, both dream and reality — although who, truthfully, could tell the
difference anymore — were scattered and incomplete in her mind. She dressed and went outside to
see Amelia and Valerie clad in their riding gear.
"Good morning, Anastasia,” said Amelia."Sleep well? How do you feel?”
“I feel terrific,” she said.
The two girls laughed, but it was true. She felt imbued with a virile energy which seemed to
exude itself from the pores of her skin and the strands of her hair. She felt connected; in every way,
to the brisk morning air and the summer sun and breathing it in gave her no end to ecstasy.
“We’re glad,” said Amelia coming closer to massage her neck.
“Congratulations on achieving the Sixth Gate last night," said Valerie. “You deserved it.”
“Myself and Valerie are going horse riding… Do you wanna come?”
“Oh do!" said Valerie linking arms with her.
She was a bit taken aback by how friendly they were being. “Aren’t you still mad at me over
what happened between you and Wendy?” she asked; referring to the bloody nose that she had giv-
en her.
 !160
“Oh no,” said Valerie. “We’re all Sixth Gate girls now, and Sixth Gate girls have to stick to-
gether…”
“What about Wendy, is she Sixth Gate?”
“No, Wendy never made it to the Corridor last night.”
“Neither did Bruno for that matter.”
“She’s a loser. They both are…”
She was glad to hear it. Wendy had been right to betray her over Apocalypsis, she knew that
now; but this didn’t mean that she didn’t still hate her for it and that she wouldn’t outright seek her
revenge.
“Incidently,” asked Amelia. “How did you find your way to the Fifth Density?”
She didn’t know. Had David brought her there? No, she had found the doorway by herself.
That’s right. “I crossed my eyes in a dream.”
Amelia grabbed her arm sternly and looked hard into her eyes. “You’re not supposed to do
that, you know?”
She swallowed. “Why not? Did I do something wrong?”
“It’s just that Mr. Collins and Ms. Lytton are both really strict on that, no perceptual manipu-
lation of the fabric of dreamtime… It’s forbidden…”
“I didn’t mean to…”
“It’s alright, you didn’t know…”
“From now on just try to be more careful in future…” -
“Oh, we’re going to have such a wonderful time… My new best friends,” Amelia said giv
ing them both a hug and then she asked. “We can still be friends can’t we?”
“Of course…”
“Besties,” she said holding out her pinky finger offering it to her.
She linked fingers with her new friend.
“Great, now that that’s out of the way, why don't you get some riding gear on?”
“I left mine back in the dorms.”
“Don’t worry,” said Valerie. “We’ll wait for you.”
She rushed back to the dorm rooms excited about the prospects of the day’s adventure, as
well as the affections of her new-found friends. The horrors of yesterday seemed a world away, or
simply an unpleasant dream. She threw off her bright knitted woollen jumper and loose fitting jeans
and replaced them with a dark riding jacket and pants. Then she strode back out to meet with
Amelia and Valerie in the bright sunshine.
“All set?” they smiled.
“Yep.”
“Don't worry about a riding cap or a whip. I'm sure that the stable can provide you with
them.”
“Oh definitely,” agreed Valerie.
Off they went to the stable where she was once again reunited with her stallion; Chimera.
“You remember me, don't you boy?”
Amelia and Valerie where saddling up their mounts, when Ms Monroe appeared in the
doorway of the stables.
“Anastasia Cullen?”
“Yes?”
“Come with me…” -
She looked up toward’s Heaven to the eternal amusement of her new found friends and fol
lowed Ms Monroe back out into the sunlight. “Anastasia” she said. “There’s a telephone call for
you up at Ms Lytton's office. Do you know where that is?”
 !161
She nodded.
“Then, go there directly…”
Just my luck, she thought watching Ms. Monroe go.
“What is the matter?” called Valerie.
“Telephone call… You go on ahead and I'll catch up with you if I can…”
She marched back in the direction of the Museum Building curious as to the identity and
purpose of the mystery caller. As she neared Ms. Lytton’s office, she found the door slightly ajar.
“Come in,” she said. “And sit down… Anastasia, I'm afraid your father called earlier and
said that he is picking you up…”
“What? Why?”
“Something about a friend of yours, Sylvia James?”
“Sylvia James?” An image of her kissing her friend flashed in her mind. Was it a memory, or
something else? She sucked on her wrist.
“…Yes, it appears that she has died.”
She stopped sucking. “She’s dead?”
“Yes, and he wants you to attend the funeral.”
“He?”
“Your father…”
“…But I don't want to go back; I want to stay here.”
“I understand that. But these things happen… It is unavoidable… He is coming to collect
you in an hours time. So have your bags packed and ready to go.”
Ms. Lytton picked up her pen again to start writing and this was supposed to be her cue to
leave. She dare say, she could not disobey it.

She walked back to her dormitory dragging her feet through the grass. Just then, she saw
Wendy approaching up the brow of the hill. She tried to avoid her, but saw that Wendy was coming
straight for her, contact was inevitable.
“Anastasia wait up…”
“What do you want?”
“I'm so, so sorry …”
“Don't worry about it. I'm over it.”
“You are?”
“Yes, I've got new friends now…”
“Who?”
“Amelia and Valerie. We're going on a horse riding trip. Or at least, we were…”
“What do you mean?”
“The truth is, I'm leaving…”
“Leaving Camp Calapuyau?”
“Yes, my father is coming to pick me up in an hour…”
“Anastasia, you can't go…”
“Can't? I don't have a choice…”
“Ms Lytton…”
“Of course, who else?”
“I see. Then this is goodbye?”
“For now it is, at any rate…”
Wendy took out the little leather pouch and handed it to her.
“What's this?”
 !162
“A parting gift… or ‘the way back’” -
“A gift from you? What is it? AIDs?” she sniped and took the little leather pouch and emp
tied it out into her hand. The contents were the two red berries, now slightly shrivelled and the holly
leaf she had left in the old Indian cave. As soon as she held it in her hand, the memory came flood-
ing back to her. She remembered how she felt upon reading the Sixth Gate in Apocalypsis for the
first time; how sickening she had found its description of children being sacrificed and then she re-
membered something else; something equally as abhorrent. She remembered leaning over Sylvia
and seeing her face frozen in horror… She remembered David kneeling down beside her urging her
on…
“I killed Sylvia,” she said and wept.
“Oh no…”
“I didn’t mean to do it… He tricked me…” She shook her head as though trying to break
free of her hand in this. “They're vampires Wendy. All of them, that's what they are…”
“Listen, Anastasia… Come with me to the cave. Otaktay knows what to do. He’ll help you.
Just like he helped me and Bruno…”
“No I can’t… I have to go back home…" and then she stopped. How could she go back
home and face her father and sit in silence at Sylvia's funeral. How could she face Sylvia’s parents
knowing that she had brought their only daughter to a premature end? She couldn’t; absolutely
couldn’t. “Oh Wendy, what should I do?"
“First thing's first,” said Wendy. “We need to get your totem back…”
“My totem…” How could she have forgotten about it, or even contemplated leaving without
it. “You’re right…. If I hadn’t been separated from it in the first place, none of this would have hap-
pened…” There was just one problem… “I don’t know where it is…”
“I do. It’s the same place he always hides them…”
“The shelf in the hut with all the glass jars on it.”
“Exactly. Let’s go get it…”
She didn't need any further persuading. She had discovered a horrible truth about herself,
but right now the most important thing was to get the amulet back and set things right.

Together they climbed the old hunting trail leading to the hut. The building looked deserted
in the dappled sun, but it was still potentially very dangerous…
“Are you ready?”
She nodded and pushed open the door. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the light,
but she could see the room was empty, for the time being. Using a chair she climbed up to the top
shelf and began searching around.
“Any luck?”
“Nothing yet,” she said opening and closing lids and turn the glass jars around.
“Anything?”
“I can’t find it… It’s not here…”
“What do you mean it’s not here? It has to be here.”
“Well, why don’t you check…” She got down of the chair to give Wendy a chance.
After a while of checking, Wendy was forced to come to the same conclusion. “That doesn’t
make any sense… I was certain that it would be here…”
No, she was right, it didn’t make any sense; no sense at all, in fact.
“Anastasia, what if the totem is here, but somewhere else?”
“What do you mean?”
“What if it is in the Fifth Density?”
 !163
Of course, why didn’t she think of that. The Fifth Density was indistinguishable from our
world. How much of what had gone on in Camp Calapuyau over the last week had taken place not
in our Density, but in the Density of the Nargual, she wondered? The Sentinels, the fireworks dis-
play all of it. “You know, Wendy I think you might be right…”
“Well, if I am right then you and I are in real trouble…”
“Why do you say that?”
“Well, we don’t know how to get to the Fifth Density? We’d have to access dream nodes to
do it and I don't know how to do that… Do you?”
She smiled and took a step closer her friend. “No, I don’t, but you do…”
Her friend raised an eyebrow.
“I’ve seen you do it before, in a dream.”
“Oh that was in a dream… This is real life and in real life, I don’t know how to do it…”
“Just trust yourself Wendy,” she said linking hands with her. “Close your eyes and trust
yourself.” She closed her eyes too. “Try to imagine them… How they look…”
“But I don’t know how they look…”
“You have to try…”
Wendy went through the motions of leading her backwards about the room. At first they
bumped into tables and chairs, in an awkward and risible dance. But then Wendy seemed to get a
sense of where things were and her second sight seemed to improve and take over.
“That’s it Wendy, you’re doing it…”
“Yes, I think I see something… It is like a diffuse glowing light… I think it’s a dream node.”
“That’s sounds like it could be it… Give it a try and see what happens.”
Wendy steered her across the room and she felt a pulse of energy run through her shoulder.
“That's got it," she said. “Now, lay me down…“
She collapsed on one of the bean bags, and a moment later she awoke back in the room only
this time Wendy was nowhere to be seen. She worked quickly opening up the various jars and boxes
on the shelf. In the first couple, she found only the usual items; brass buttons, old train tickets and
coins of strange denominations. Then at the back of the shelf in a dusty old corner, she found a box
she hadn’t seen before. It was roughly hewn and painted black, this had to be it. She opened it up.
The box was lined with purple velvet, with a mirror on the inside lid; and sitting on the bottom was
her necklace.
Just as she was closing the box again, she caught sight of something in the mirror. It was
David coming into the room. “Hello Anastasia…” he murmured. The door slammed and she spun
around on the chair to face him, almost losing her balance in the process.
“Careful now… We wouldn't want you to fall and break your neck…” His emphasis on the
word ‘break’ suggested otherwise.
She stepped down off the chair, placing the amulet back around her neck. As soon as it was
fastened there, she felt much better about herself, more confident.
“I'm afraid I can't let you keep that,” he said; stepping forwards, his hand outstretched. His
words no longer had any influence on her. He was still terribly handsome, but she knew what kind
of person he really was; deep down.
“If you want it; you are going to have to take it from me…” She manifested two bright orbs
of Vril beside her. The intense heat from them shocked her, evidently you could do a lot more in the
Fifth Density than just change shape.
“Don't go to war with me, Anastasia… You’ll lose…”
“You took my best friend from me…”
 !164
A shadow fell over the hut and started to spill inside. It was as though David were sucking
all the light out of the world. Soon he appeared as a featureless black shadow again and moved to-
wards her. “Some friend… I did you a favour…”
“You made a murderer of me…” she screamed.
The orbs of Vril energy erupted and collided with his chest, knocking him through the door
and onto his back. She was on top of him, before he could move. She grasped David's face, holding
his mouth open with her taloned hand and began to inhale deeply. She felt the first violet vapours of
vril enter her mouth. It tasted sweet and forbidden. She gripped him tighter with her thighs.
“That's it,” laughed David. “Become the hate. Feel the rage that is within all of Jahbulon's
children…”
Even as he spoke she understood what was taking place. Her hatred of David had changed
her back into the Old Crone, like a disease brought on by bad habits that resurfaces whenever those
habits are indulged in. She looked at her hands. They were withered and liver-spotted; her hair lank
and grey… The shock, she felt, caused her to pull back and in that moment, she allowed him to get
the better of her. He pulled her to the ground in one quick, fluid motion and pressed himself on top
of her.
“Now, let's see how you like it…”
She tried to covered her face with her withered hands, as she knew what David intended to
do to her.
“No," growled David. “Look at me…”
He forced her hands down by her side and she felt him pressing in between her thighs. She
gave one last whimper, closed her eyes and got ready to submit to her fate. She had done well to get
this far against a Nargual like David, but now it was over. Just as she had given up, a bright flash
and a loud electric discharge rang out. When she opened her eyes, she saw him lying there doubled
over and clutching his stomach in pain. He was back to normal again and so was she…
Wendy walked over to her and helped her off the ground.
“Sorry David,” she said. “But Anastasia is not really into you anymore…”
“No,” said Anastasia walking over to where her former lover lay struggling in pain. “I don't
like rapist scumbags…” Her foot connected with his jaw knocking him back into a pile of dead
leaves.

 !165

11

Walter found the turn into Camp Calapuyau and drove down the long twisting road through
the forest. On the drive up, he had been contemplating how he would break the news to Anastasia
that her childhood friend; Sylvia, was dead. He felt it unlikely that the camp administrator had in-
formed her about the news. It was the kind of thing was usually best delivered by a parent or rela-
tive. Sylvia's passing was unquestionably tragic. He wondered if the same entity that attacked him
only this morning had been behind Sylvia's death, as well. He guessed he'd never know.
He parked his car in the vacant lot and looked around for the welcome party. A woman
wearing a beige skirt and a floral blouse was waving at him over by some steps. That must be the
woman he spoke to on the phone.
“Hello Mr Cullen,” she said descending the steps to meet with him and offer him a firm
handshake. “Commiserations on your loss and that of Anastasia's"
“Thanks," he grumbled. “…She around?”
“I'm not sure…” He could see a vein in her head throbbing. “But, I’m sure she'll be along
any minute… You know how long girls take to get ready.”
“I do…”
“I trust the drive up wasn't too long?”
“No… But I really would like to be getting on the road,” he said looking at his watch. It was
already approaching midday. “For the funeral…”
"I understand… Perhaps if you’d come with me to the girl’s dormitory, we’d find Anastasia
there?” -
He nodded his agreement and they both set off down the uneven road surface in the direc
tion of the lake. “Nice place you got here…”
“It once belonged to the Calapuyau people. Did you know that?” He didn’t. “Well, I must
say that Anastasia is a lovely girl and a great student. You must be very proud…”
“She didn't give you any trouble? She can be quite wilful sometimes.”
Ms Lytton's smile came back, softer this time, but still just as unnerving. There was just
something off-putting about her, in general, he thought.
“Here we are,” said Ms Lytton.
“Well, where is she?” -
Ms. Lytton's arms fell down by her side. "I, I don't know…” She seemed genuinely con
cerned and taken aback.
“Well that's her bag," he said lifting up the half empty suitcase. “And these are her
clothes…”
“I'm sorry about all of this," said the lady; regaining her composure. “Excuse me… Our
Caretaker… He might know…” She went over to the door and started speaking with a stocky, un-
kempt man wearing a navy blue sweater. "Mr Haight… Have you, by any chance, seen Anastasia
Cullen? It’s just that her father is here to collect…”
“Haven't seen her…” he grumbled. “There's a group of them on the beach, if you want me to
check there…”
Walter sighed. Anastasia was obviously having far too good a time here. She most likely
wouldn’t want to come home at all. This was going to be much more difficult than he imagined,
even before he broke the news to her. He followed Ms. Lytton around by the chalets and it wasn’t
long before they found some of the girls from Anastasia's dorm. They were seated on a bench with
some boys, over by the water’s edge.
“Excuse me, girls and boys," she called. “Have any of you seen Anastasia?”
 !166
“I think she was going horse riding with Amelia and Valerie," said a girl with red curly hair.
“No, Anastasia wasn't with them…”
“What about Wendy, then? Any of you seen Wendy?”
The girls shook their heads. They hadn't seen either of them, it appeared.
“Well,” screamed Ms. Lytton, her deep composure breaking like a damn. “Find them…” -
The children moved out of the way in every direction, as though dodging an in-coming mis
sile. Ms. Lytton turned back in Walter’s direction.
“Trouble?” he asked.
“No, no, Mr Cullen… It just appears that Anastasia may have gone off somewhere that's
all.” Her smile became as tight as the hair on her head.
“It just seems like first you are missing one child and now two…” he observed.
“Thank you Mr. Cullen… If you bear with me I promise we’ll find them…” her tone was on
edge. Just then, a rather large man with bulging eyes and a piercing hollow-tipped glare stepped out
towards him from underneath the bare branches of a nearby tree.
“Ah Mr Bulwark. Why don’t you accompany our guest back up to the library? Would you
mind Mr. Cullen,” she indicated for him to go along.
“That’s OK… I understand.” And then turning to the big guy, he said. “Lead the way."

When Anastasia and Wendy arrived at the cave, Otaktay was standing outside to meet with
them. He gave no sign of welcome but immediately passed inside the cave. They exchanged a brief
bemused glance and went in after him. Despite her initial apprehensions, she found the interior of
the cave to be both warm and inviting.
“Come in and sit down,” he said. “I'm glad you could make it. Did you get your totem
back?”
She pulled the chain out from under her blouse and gave a wide grin.
“Good, and I believe you have something that belongs to me," he said.
She looked at him questioningly and then reached inside her pocket to produced the little
leather pouch and handed it back to him. -
He pocketed the pouch somewhere beneath one of them many layers of his zig-zagged pat
terned clothing. "Right then, let's get started shall we?" He poured the clear liquid contents from his
hip flask into the fashioned wooden cups and handed one of them to her. "Drink," he said.
She drank a mouthful of the acrid liquid and grimaced.
“All of it…” he urged.
She emptied the contents of the cup down her throat before being handed the next one.
She steeled herself for round two and drank it down just as fast. As soon as she was done, she felt a
violent lurching in her stomach. She got up and reached the entrance of the cave, just as the vomit
reached her mouth. To her surprise, it came up completely white. It was the Soma, but, there was
something else in there too. Something foreign… It looked like a tapeworm or a dark coil of rope.
"Uh, what is it?” she said.
“… A sentinel, of sorts… Don’t worry… It’s dead,” said Otaktay.
She shivered the thought of that thing being inside of her. Were there more? Had it laid
eggs? She tried to stop thinking about it, because it was making her feel gross and uncomfortable.
She rejoined them inside the cave. She looked at the tall muscular Indian, with the withered face
with increasing curiosity. “You’re Otaktay, aren’t you? Chief of the Calapuyau people?”
He nodded grimly.
“You knew Eamonn Radcliffe didn’t you… Personally, I mean…”
 !167
“That’s right, I did… I taught him almost everything he knew… And then he stabbed me in
the back…”
“But didn’t he help your people?” asked Wendy.
“Help us? He did nothing of the sort… Our people were doing just fine before he showed up
and burnt us out of our homes and drove us into slavery, while he set up factories on our lands…”
“But in the museum, in the Library building,” began Wendy.
“Lies, put there by Radcliffe to make us look bad and him a hero… Nothing could be further
from the truth…”
“Radcliffe’s not that important,” she interrupted. “It’s all about Jahbulon, as far as I can
see… So who is Jahbulon?”
“You mean you haven’t figured that out yet?” he scoffed. “How could you, you don’t even
know who you are…”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Here,” he said picking up a stick and pointing to a series of six concentric circles etched
into the stone wall of the cave. “These circles represent the boundaries of the seven densities… “
“Nine…”
“What?”
“There’s nine densities,” she responded. -
“This is an old map… they didn’t know about the other densities back then… Now, pay at
tention. This is Nilheim, here,” he pointed to the sixth and outermost circle. “Lieb is the seventh,
the Fifth Density is here, then the Fourth Density, Third and so on… Now, which Floor Density are
you from?”
“Fifth?”
“No… Try again…”
“Third?”
He put his head in his hands, as though he were in physical pain.
“I don’t know,” she stamped her feet on the dirt floor of the cave.
“Never mind, we’ll come back to it. What can you remember of your dreams… There must
be something that sticks out for you…”
There had been something that she recalled when she beheld the berry, it was almost like an
after thought. “Ah,” she said picking a grey twig from the cave floor and wagging it in the air be-
fore her. “I remember…”
“Yes?”
“I was having a dream about dolphins and UFOs, but it wasn’t my dream it was someone
else’s…”
“Yes…”
“After that we went to a house with a funny patterned floor,” she drew three zig-zagged
lines in the fine clay with the old twig.
“Go on…”
“Then, we went across the road to another house, and I had a drumstick with me,” she held
aloft the stick. “There was a party on in the house, so I left the drumstick by the door…” she said
placing the stick down. “And then… later on…”
“Yes…”
“Three people called to the house. Only they weren’t really people… Well, one of them may
have been, he was sort of like an old man. But the other two… Well, one was like a giant octopus;
the other was a dead horse: Really gross looking. And all three of them were wearing these black
robes.”
“What happened next?”
 !168
“They tried to come in, but couldn’t fit… Then I realised that they weren’t three separate
people at all. They were really one person; and all sharing the same big cloak.”
“Interesting…”
“The people at the party chased them out and they went into a transit van, or a type of, and
then they just sort of vanished… I mean they were still in there… I just couldn’t see them any-
more…”
“Perception filters embedded in the glass. Trademark Darkheim technology…”
“So who was the man in the van?”
“Jahbulon…” said Wendy.
“That’s right…”
“I thought Jahbulon was a hybrid of a cat, a frog and an old man…”
“Each of them can be whoever and whatever they want to be… They’re like that…” he
replied. “The real clincher was when you mentioned the glass, as one of Baal’s chief attributes is
that of invisibility.”
“Vril,” she said.
“What?”
She did not answer immediately but instead wrote down the names of the three instructors in
the dirt, like so;

JASPER COLLINS
WILLIAM BULWARK
KATHERINE LYTTON

Then, she crossed out some of the letters in the name like this;

JASPER COLLINS
WILLIAM BULWARK
KATHERINE LYTTON

“Jasper, Bulwark, Lytton,” she said. “Jah-Bul-On.”

“Oh yeah…” said Wendy. “Why didn’t I think of that?”
“Perception filters,” he asserted.
“Must be… But which one of them is Jahbulon?”
“They are all Jahbulon… together,” he replied. “Singularly Jasper Collins is Baal, Katherine
Lytton is the cat…”
“That would explain her nickname, I guess… And Mr. Bulwark must be the bullfrog…”
“Seems that way… Wait a second… The Power of the Coming Race,” she said stamping her
feet in time with the words. “When I was in the Fifth Density with David, he mentioned something
about an invasion… He said that they had sleeper agents all over the Third Density and that they
would be activated by a special subliminal message sent out in their dreams…”
“Oh this is bad, this is very bad…” he said.
“What happens when the sleeper agents are activated?”
“The Quakening… All out war…”
“The Quakening? I remember that; Ms. Lytton spoke about it at the Faculty Meeting. She
said that they were going to broadcast that would make everyone go insane and kill each other…”
“So that’s what I’ve been feeling…”
 !169
“I think we’ve all been feeling it,” she said thinking back to what Wendy did to Valerie in
the forest that day, and what they did to her later on in the Meet Hall. She swallowed bitterly. “We
have to stop it…”
“But how? We don’t even know where they are broadcasting from…”
“The Darkheim Tower… from the Command Centre there…”
“Where’s that?”
“The Dark Locale,” he said gravely. “It’s deep inside the Fourth Density…”
“Well, then it’s hopeless…”
“Why do you say that?”
“The Nargual created the Fourth Density Corridor, they have control over all the access
points…”
“Who told you that?”
“David…”
“They’re such liars. The Fourth Density has always existed…”
She was shocked. That meant that the war and the massacre was likely a fabrication too. Of
course it was, and all of it calculated into manipulating her to go along with the murder of her
friends and family. Did that mean that she wasn’t from the Fifth Density after all? That she didn’t
have to travel there? That they’d been lying to her all along?
“The real trouble will be getting you inside the Darkheim Tower. Security has always been
tight there, I can’t imagine what it would be like in the lead up to the attack…”
“Oh, I’m not sure about that… I’ve got Stage Six Security clearance, remember?”
“That’s right, you do…” he replied; his voice elated, but a moment later he was pensive
again. “It won’t be enough… Not if you come up against Jahbulon, I mean… He is a God; an Im-
mortal, like me… You’ll need to be Stage Seven at least, to even so much as brush shoulders with
him and survive.”
She was shocked. “The Seventh Gate? But I thought there were only six?”
“Oh, are were only six, at least in the original Apocalypsis of our people’s; but then Eamonn
Radcliffe got hold of the teaching and subverted it for his own warped needs…”
“I don’t understand.”
“He took out the real sixth gate and replaced it with energy vampirism… And we’ve been
stuck with it ever since.”
“Why don’t you fight him, then Otaktay,” asked Wendy.
“I can’t,” he said getting nervous, now. “I’m too old… Anastasia on the other hand, with the
proper training, at least might stand a chance… Hang on a second…” The colour drained from his
withered face.
“What? What is it?”
“When did you say this Quakening thing was going to take place…”
“Six o’clock… I think…”
“Six o’clock, tonight?”
“Yes, of course…”
“Oh no,” he said doubling up in agony again with his head in his hands.
“What?”
“There won’t be enough time to train you…”
Neither of them knew what to say.
“Getting to the Seven Gate is extremely difficult,” he explained. “Only a handful of shaman
have ever made it… And I’m one of them…”
“But you helped me through the other gates didn’t you? Surely you can help me through this
one…”
 !170
“I did, but you don’t understand… The Seventh Gate is different. It has to be done alone; it
took me years to master even the first part of it…”
“Well, there must be some way—”
“You have to learn how to superimpose your energy body onto your real body and even then
—” he stopped.
“What is it?”
He got up and started walking around the cave. “Well, there might be another way?” He
stopped at the circular petroglyph and pointed to a set of parallel lines which extended beyond the
bounds of the diagram and terminated in a three pronged fork-like structure. “You see this? That’s
the corridor the Nilheimir built. It stretches all the way from the Sixth Density and out past the An-
tilco Sea to the stars.”
“What’s that?”
“The Antilco is a legendary, mythical ocean, which is grimly euphemistic considering how
anyone who goes into the sea is burnt horribly alive…” he grimaced. “But for those special few
who survive the ordeal, their’s shall be eternal life…”
Anastasia groaned. “I thought you said that this was the easier option…”
“I never said that…” he exclaimed and then started to backpedal. “It is a shortcut, and short-
cuts tend to be risker…”
“Riskier. Getting my skin burnt off doesn’t sound riskier to me, it sounds suicidal…”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ve got some of my best people on it…”
“Like who?”
“The other immortals, I know… Gautama and the Sandman…”
“What you mean you know Gautama? The Buddha?”
“The Yellow Buddha. I know him…”
“What’s a Yellow Buddha?” -
“Never mind… It’s too complicated and I don’t have time to give a lecture on Tibetan Bud
dhist believes about the afterlife…”
Wendy cooed and raised her eyebrows.
“I’m going to have to put you to sleep now…” he said and knocked Anastasia on the head
with the palm of his hand. The last thing she heard was Wendy’s scream, then the sounds and the
lights of the world went dim…

Anastasia was walking along an old pier that jutted out into a restless ocean. By her side was
a bald-headed Oriental-looking man with flowing yellow robes, the Yellow Buddha. And to her
right, was a thickly set man with rugged skin and hair like straw, which must have been the one
called the Sandman. Along the outer edge of the harbour was a metal railing and beyond that she
could see an iridescent yellow ocean topped with orange-pink foam. The water was unlike anything
she had ever seen before. It appeared to have a will of its own and exhibited powerful and highly
localised currents that flowed in and around one another creating short-lived cavities, which gave
glimpses of its interior depths.
Gautama pointed at these holes in the oceans and helped her over the bar. Sandman stood
behind her with some kind of handheld recording device singing a peculiar song; the words of
which did not quite make sense to her. She continued to stare into the deep waters, as if waiting for
something. Presently, the surface of the ocean opened up to reveal a deep hole into nothingness.
“There,” shouted Gautama. “The entrance to the Void… If you jump in now you will live
forever…”
 !171
In that instance, she remembered where she had seen this man; the Yellow Buddha before.
He had been the one standing on the island and beckoning her to the further shore. On that occasion
she had become fearful and hesitated, but she would hesitate no more… She jumped and was swal-
lowed up by the waters.
***

David awoke to see Ms. Lytton standing over him. His face and neck hurt and there was
blood pouring out of his nose and from his mouth.
“David,” she said. “What happened to you?”
“It was Anastasia. She came… and took her totem…”
“And you let her get away?”
“It wasn’t my fault… she had help. Wendy…”
“Wendy Hamilton?” she croaked. “Did you see where they went?”
He shook his head and then regretted it when splinters of fire went shooting up into his
brain. “No…” he said with bitterness. “They took off into the woods somewhere…”
She went over to a nearby bush and bent down, as though she were listening intently. She
nodded her head, whispered something inaudible into the bush and then came back…
“What is it?”
“Anastasia…” she said.
“What? What about her?”
“It appears we may have underestimated her. She may be moving on the offensive…”
“What? How?”
“One of our sentinels picked her up in the Fourth Density at the edge of the Antilco Sea.”
“And? What happened her? Did she fall in?”
“No, she jumped…”
“Did she survive?”
“I have no idea… But if she did then she has become a serious threat to our mission.”
He could hardly conceive of such a thing. The Sea of Antilco was legendary, but very few
knew how to get to it, let alone how to pass the trial of fire and enter the Void below.
“Alert all the faculty members, if either Wendy or Anastasia show their faces again in the
Fourth Density, I want them eliminated…” -
He felt his worldview was shattering like a glass. He had become used to the idea of Anasta
sia being his lesser and him the master. But all that had now changed. He had been the Sun and she
the Moon, now she had become like a black hole that threatened not just to eclipse him, but to suck-
ing the entire project into its disastrous horizon. He could scarcely imagine something so horrifying
and yet if Kat had said it, it surely must be true… Whatever was the secret to the crossing of the Sea
of Antilco, Anastasia Cullen was the one to ask, obviously. He wanted to know, he needed to know.
“What do you think?”
“About what?”
“Are you strong enough to lead the charge against them in the Fourth Density?” -
“N-no… I’m not certain I am…” he said clutching his belly. “Let Ben do it… He’s a hard
ened warrior…”
“Warrior or not, he’ll be no match for a Seventh Gate Immortal. What we need is to ensure
we catch her early enough and in great enough numbers to completely quell her advance.”
“How can this be happening? Anastasia hadn’t even a stage when she arrived here five days
ago…”
“She must have an ally somewhere…”
“Otaktay…”
 !172
-
“My sentinels reported seeing her with that fool Buddha and the Sandman, but it is only log
ical to think that Otaktay put them up to it.”
“But if their in the game… And Otaktay, what chance do we stand?”
A hard smack landed against his cheek and she continued speaking without skipping a beat.
“Otaktay is an old fool. I could break him like a pair of old twigs and he knows it. And the rest
won’t challenge me in my realm or in the Dark Locale…”
He had regained his composure somewhat, when she gripped him around the jaw with her
ice cold taloned hands and drew him up standing. “You didn’t by any chance let slip about our plan,
did you?” she stared studiously into his eyes.
“N-no… Your Majesty…” he wailed.
“Good… Tell Ben to guard the border along the Fourth and Third Densities and not to fail
me…” she said loosening her grip and walking away. “If they move, crush them…”

Walter had been sitting across from Mr. Bulwark for what seemed like the last half an hour
and with barely a word spoken by either of them. Since arriving in the Camp Director’s office he
had learnt, much to his dismay, that the overweight gym instructor was far less hospitable and lo-
quacious than his colleague Ms. Lytton. The silence was just about becoming unbearable, when he
opened up a drawer and pulled out a white plate, on which was stacked a number of cookies.
“Biscuit?” he said.
He picked up one of the cookies and noticed that it was infused with unknown substance
forming a dark mesh. “What’s in them?”
“They’re my own recipe.”
This was too vague and too like information to go on. At the risk of offending the man, he
tossed the curious biscuit back on the plate. “No thanks; I’ll pass…”
Mr. Bulwark retrieved the biscuit. Just then, a buzzing sound from the corner of the room
drew his attention.
“It’s a fly…”
“I know…”
“Look, how much longer do you think this will take?”
“Not much longer…” he replied, although it wasn’t exactly clear who he was talking to;
him, or the fly.
Walter thought he saw something dark and hairy move down below the window and give a
deep growl. What the…? The sound of the buzzing stopped and there was a smack of lips. He
turned back in the direction of the gym instructor, who was sitting innocently in front of him with a
dumb, satisfied look upon his face.
“Did you just?”
“What?”
He was growing impatient now. “I want to speak to the Director,” he searched in his pocket.
“Mr. Collins is it?”
Mr. Bulwark was just about to respond when the door opened and in walked Ms. Lytton.
She approached him with a singular, unnerving and almost predatory intent. “I’m sorry for keeping
you waiting, Mr. Collins. I have…”
“I have to get back for two funerals today and I’ve been stuck waiting here for over an hour
now… I want to speak to someone who has some real authority around here. Where’s Mr. Collins?”-
“But, sir, Mr. Collins and he’s standing right here…” she said and indicated to a man wear
ing a brown two piece suit, who was standing just next to her. Somehow, his failure to register the
presence of this man, disturbed him more than Ms. Lytton’s entrance or Mr. Bulwark’s strange di-
 !173
etary habits. The man was small, only about five foot two, but this didn’t account for why he had
overlooked him, as he was eminently recognisable with his large head, pronounced features, and
shock of red hair. He recalled having a vague unconscious impression of an extra person standing in
the room with them, but had somehow failed to take note of him. The small man stepped forwards
with a broad grin on his face, as though he were aware of his own uncanny abilities to hide himself
in plain sight.
“How do you do?” he said; extending his nobbled hand.
“Forgive me… I didn’t see you there.”
“Think nothing of it,” said Mr. Collins smiling and shaking his hand vigorously. “You’ve
been under a lot of stress, lately, I can tell…” -
He narrowed his gaze on him, and returned the handshake more slowly. “Yes… Yes I sup
pose I have…” -
“And I am sorry for keeping you waiting. It is just that we have had some… um… unex
pected complications…” he paused and glanced over at his female colleague.
“I don’t want your excuses… I just want my daughter and to get out of here…”
Mr. Collins chuckled. “And you shall…”
“With all of the missing kids you have round here,” he went on. “You realise that I could
have this place shutdown for gross negligence.”
“Well, Mr. Cullen, I don’t think that will be necessary, do you?”
“What? Well, why not?”
“Because we’ve found Anastasia…” said Ms. Lytton.
“Well, why didn’t you just say that earlier?”
“I tried but you wouldn’t listen…”
He felt a bit silly, now. “Ok, well, where is she then?”
“She’s locked herself in the utility shed…”
“Why on Earth would she do a thing like that?”
“One of the other girls must have told her about the death of her friend, Sylvia, was it? She
says she won’t come out, unless she hears from you; her father…” -
He winced. It was a strange way for a girl of her age to be behaving. More than a little em
barrassing really… He had brought her up better than that, hadn’t he? Then again, you can’t be too
hard on the girl, I mean she has just lost her best friend. Sylvia was like a sister to her, really. Better
go do your duty as a father, he thought. “Yes, well, alright then. Let’s get this over with.”
“This way, Mr Cullen…”
He followed her out into the hallway; with the other two directors flanking him either side.
His attention was immediately draw to her sleek figure and the slow, almost mesmeric motion of
Deputy Director’s hips, as she walked towards the door. Evidently his gaze did not go unnoticed, as
she turned to him and smiled. He smiled back, but felt a little embarrassed about the whole situa-
tion. Not that there was anything physically wrong with Ms. Lytton, she was just not his type. She
was a little too frigid and barren for him.
They marched down the steps and went round the side of the building to where the utility
shed was. “There you are,” she said; holding out her hand and smiling like an air hostess.
He looked at the rickety white shed and questioned if his daughter was really in there. It
seemed hard to believe somehow. But, he saw no reason why they should lie. Camp Calapuyau was
a respectable establishment, by all accounts. “She’s in there? You’re sure?”
“Yes,” she nodded.
“OK, then,” he walked up to the shed door, self-consciously. He made it half the distance,
before he began to feel unwell. It was like a deep, droning sense of dread pressing down against his
head. He turned back around and saw Mr. Collins, Ms. Lytton and Mr. Bulwark egging him on.
 !174
He must have looked a right idiot to them, he thought.
By now he was breathless and covered in sweat. This wasn’t normal, he thought; clearly
something was wrong with his blood pressure. But that didn’t make mush sense, he was in great
shape for his age. The searing hot pain in his blood vessels began to diminish as he went further on.
By the time he reached the door, the pain was almost gone. He was more exhausted than anything
else. He tried to pull on the door lock, but it refused to budge.
“Anastasia?” he cried.
A muffled voice from inside called out; “Go away…”
It sound like an impression a grown man might do of a fourteen year old girl and for some
reason he was reminded of Little Red Riding Hood, with the roles somewhat reversed. “Anastasia,
open up; It’s your father…”
On the periphery of his consciousness, he was vaguely aware of something moving towards
him. The voice from behind the door said, “OK.”
The bolt slid back and the door swung open. In place of his daughter, a creature with huge
menacing black eyes reached out and grabbed at him with massive pincer-like hands. Despite its
monstrous appearance, he recognised the clothes. This was the man Ms. Lytton had spoken to out-
side the girl’s dormitory only a few hours ago. The Caretaker… But how he had changed. When he
opened his mouth it was large enough to encapsulate the head of a man whole. He jumped back in-
stinctively, but was hit from behind by a force that shunted him forwards and into creature’s grasp.
The creature pulled at his hair; pulled him deep inside his lair, and Walter’s imagination
started to get the better of him. He envisioned bits of his daughter chopped up and sealed in plastic
bags, along with the bloody pieces of other girls. Maybe this was where all of the missing children
had wound up, he thought.
He had been looking for the source of the terror all these years and now he had happened
upon it quite by chance and in a place where he was least expecting it. However, instead of seeing
this, he saw something less brutal, but somehow no less horrifying. Through the door at the back of
the shed, he glimpsed the outside again. But it was not the same summery exterior that you might
anticipate. Instead, there was a concrete jungle teeming with alien life forms in the dead of night.
And yet as bizarre as all this was, he could not say that it was completely unfamiliar to him.
He had, in fact, seen something very similar to it before, in the painting which now hung in his liv-
ing room. The one which had been wrought by the careful and delicate brushstrokes of Harmon
Hynes’ hand…

As Anastasia sank down into the endless black brine, and she curled herself tightly into a
ball. She felt naked and afraid. Out of the dark, the outline of a room appeared, as the colour was
added she saw that she was sitting at a desk and a man looking at her across from it. He was in his
forties, the same age as her father, although more clean cut with black hair and wearing a blue shirt
and tie. How had she gotten here, she wondered? Was she still underwater? She found it hard to re-
member the previous events of the harbour and the depth of the Void.
The man slid a glass of water across the table and a couple of blue and white pills. “Here
take these…” -
“What are they?” she asked, but before he even had time to answer she found herself reach
ing out for them and putting them in her mouth.
“They’re the antidote…”
She took a sip of the water and swallowed.
“The antidote to what?”
“For what’s going to come next…”
 !175
She didn’t like the sound of that.
“Do you recognise this place?”
She looked around the small white windowless office, with doors on either side of her. She
shook her head.
“Do you know what the Order of the Hexagram is?”
“The Interdimensional arm of the Sixth Density Intelligence Service…” she said without
really knowing why she had said it, or how she knew such information.
“I see your memory is not the worse for wear,” he said making a note in his ledger. “You
still have your Merkabah, I presume?”
“My what?”
“Your neck lace…”
“Oh, yes,” she said drawing out the chain; perplexed.
“Good… and I hear you have obtained your stage six security clearance,” he said making
another mark on his checklist. “I’m guessing you’ve also achieved level seven, recently?”
Her mind went back to the pier and the incandescent ocean of plasma. “I jumped into the
Sea of Antilco, if that’s what you mean?”
He made another note of it.
“So did I do good?”
“Good? You did better than just good, my darling…” He closed over the ledger and smiled
at her. “Out of all the operatives we sent out… You’re the only one to return…”
“I’m the first? But where’re all the others?”
“Who knows? It is a very involved process, as you know… You had to take the place of the
real Anastasia, as a Fifth Density changeling… That was always going to be tricky…” he smirked.
“And then there’s infiltrating the Fifth Density itself… A real nightmare…”
“Wait a second… Who did you say I replaced?”
“Anastasia Cullen… of course… The real Anastasia…”
The room was spinning and she felt like she was going to be sick again. Her entire life was a
lie. She felt like an imposter; a parasite. Every lungful of air; every morsel of food, she had stolen
from its rightful owner. “Where is she?”
A worried look darkened his face and the anxious tone returned. “You thought…” he began.
“You think you are her?”
“Where is she?”
“I-I can’t tell you that…”
“I need to know…”
“Anastasia, you’re stressed and you’re tired… I understa—”
“Tell me…” she screamed.
“She’s in the Darkheim somewhere…” he shook his head. “I shouldn’t have told you
that…”
“The Darkheim… You mean the Fifth Density?” -
“Not necessarily… The Fifth Density you know is just a foil and the outer shell of some
thing much more corrupted…”
“What do you mean?”
“We’re not entirely sure… It has taken a long time to unravel this whole thing. The last
piece of the puzzle just dropped into my lap a few hours ago… Apparently they built the Fifth Den-
sity as replica of the Third Density so that they could practice their sec gathering without interfer-
ence. Pretty sick, if you ask me…”
“Pretty sick?” she choked. “How do you think I feel?”
 !176
“Listen, don’t worry about it. I mean for all we know the original Anastasia is probably long
dead…”
“I don’t believe this…”
“Right now we have other priorities like getting you into the Dark Locale Command
Centre.”
“To hell with the command centre… You tell me where she is and I guarantee you every last
one of them will suffer…”
A smile returned to his face. “That’s my girl…”
The rage subsided as the full effect and implication of these words came to bear on her soul.
“You’re… But it can’t be…” She recalled the dream she had as a child; of being thrown off the end
of a pier by a man who was her father, but looked nothing like him. “You’re my father…”
He swallowed hard.
“But you abandoned me?”
“That’s right… I threw you to the Void… That’s how it always was… It was a sacrifice we
had to make…”
“All those young souls, cast into the Sea of Fire? How could you?”
“This is war, Anastasia… You knew the risks as well as anyone… Once the Darkheim are
finished stripping the Third Density, they’re coming straight for us next… And by then it’ll be too
late.”
She stood up, to leave, but in truth she did not know where she was to go. “Don’t worry, I’m
not about to let the Third Density fall… That’s where my real family are… Those who actually care
for me… But after all that I’m going to the Darkheim and I’m going to get Anastasia back…”
“Are you sure that’s such a good idea,” he called.
She turned back around. “What do you mean?”
“I mean…” he said rising to his feet. “Will Walter still accept you? Will he be able to love
both of you equally?”
She decided not to dignify this with an answer, but the truth is she didn’t know how Walt
would react. She left the room and tried to stifle the tears.

“How long is this going to take?” said Wendy, who had been sitting patiently on the floor of
the cave for what seemed like hours.
“I don’t know,” replied Otaktay kneeling down beside her. “It shouldn’t be too much longer.
I suspect…”
“What’s supposed to happen exactly?”
“Anastasia will get her orders from the Nilheimir and then she’ll be sent bodily into the 4-D
Maze.”
“The 4-D Maze, what’s that?”
“That’s all the Fourth Density really is, in my estimation, just a big maze. You have to find
the centre of maze,” he said holding up a large quartz crystal up to the sunlight.
“And what’s at the centre,” she said leaning a hand on his shoulder.
The crystal turned black and he dropped it on the floor. “Never mind what’s at the centre,”
he bellowed; getting up and walking to the back of the cave.
“Okay, don’t get all bent out of shape. I was just asking…” She looked back at the crystal,
but found it had disintegrated into a bluish powder on the ground. “Hey…” she said crushing it un-
der foot. “That’s strange…” It reminded her of her dreaming practice, how objects in her dreams
could drastically change size, shape and colour based solely on the angle one looked at them
 !177
from… All that time trying to perfect the Gates and for what? What use had it all been, for any of
them?
The sound of a dog barking drew her attention to the rocks outside the cave and she was just
in time to see a small white and tan foxhound making its way purposefully towards her. “Hello,
boy…” she said bending down to stroke his fine fur. “Where’d you come from?”
Otaktay came rushing out from inside the cave. “What’s that?”
“It’s a dog… He looks like he might be lost…”
The dog barked, causing her to jump.
“That’s no dog… It’s your brother Bruno…”
“Is it really?” she said looking into his eyes.
He barked once more.
“Of course it is… Tell him to change back and quickly.”
“I don’t think he can… I mean, I don’t think he knows how.”
“He got himself into that shape… He can get himself out of it,” he responded like a father
giving his child a stern rebuking.
“Bruno, change back…”
But Bruno ignored the request. Instead, he went over to where Anastasia was sleeping on the
rock and laid his paw beside her.
“I think he’s trying to tell us something… Is it something about Anastasia?”
He barked excitedly and went back to the mouth of the cave, wagging his tail and leaned
forwards in the direction of camp.
“The camp… And Anastasia…” Then she remembered that Anastasia’s father was supposed
to be coming to collect her and take her home. “What is it Bruno? Is Anastasia’s father in some kind
of trouble?”
Otaktay grumbled. “Oh boy, here we go… I suppose he fell down a well or something…”
“No,” cried Wendy; not understanding the reference. “He’s probably being held captive
somewhere back at the camp.”
At this Bruno broke into a series of loud barks and rushed back towards them.
“That’s it isn’t it, Bruno?” she said giving him lots of pets. “Oh you are a good dog…”
“I’ve had enough of this,” said the old Indian in exasperation. He gave Bruno a hard slap
upon his back. Far from hurting the poor animal, he was instead attempting to shift his assemblage
point and a second later there stood Bruno in human form before them. “Now what is it? Out with
it?”
“I was trying to tell you,” he screeched. “The camp directors grabbed Anastasia’s dad and
threw him inside the tool shed.”
“The tool shed?” he replied wide-eyed and trembling. “But that means… Oh no this is
bad… Very bad indeed…”
“Why? What’s happening?”
He went to sit down. “This could well jeopardise all of our plans…” He glanced in the
sleeping Anastasia’s direction.
“Should we wake her up and tell her?” -
“What?” he said with shock. “No… Rousing a sleeping agent from a Sixth Density dream
state would have disastrous consequences for her psyche… Besides, we’re too late… She is going
to sublimate back into the Fourth Density any minute now…”
“Sub-limate? What’s that?”
“He means that she’s going to go deeper into the dream world… Isn’t that right?”
“I knew that,” said Bruno; scratching himself behind the ear.
 !178
“Deeper than almost anyone has gone before… Look children…” he said pointing in the
direction of the ghostly white Anastasia. “There she goes, now…”
As they watched, she appeared less and less defined, as though they were looking at her
through a hoary glass. Then she was seen shrouded in a white mist that slowly began to evaporate
away taking her with it, until finally there was nothing left.
 !179

12

Anastasia walked into the foyer with the bright sunshine streaming in through the glass
fronted building. Her reunion with her Spiritual Father had not been ideal, but for some reason she
felt that a great weight had finally been lifted from her shoulders; a weight she had hardly known
was there. Two well-built men wearing black suits and sunglasses opened the door for her and led
her down the steps to a white saloon car idling on the pavement. The driver was already in the car
and a man with dark curly hair and shades sat in the passenger seat. All were Sixth Density agents,
working for the Order of Hexagon and in the payroll of the Spiritual Father.
She got in the backseat and her two bodyguards got in on either side of her. They took up
most of the room in the back and she felt like she would be crushed between them. The car sped off
down the road, but soon became mired in the mid-afternoon traffic.
“This doesn’t look good,” said the man in the front seat taking out a weapon from the glove
compartment.
He was right, they were sitting ducks out here… An attack could come at any moment and
from any direction. Whose idea was it to take a car through the centre of the Fourth Density at the
height of rush hour anyway?
“Can we back up?” said the man to her left.
“No,” replied the driver, as the traffic was steadily building up behind them.
“Keep an eye out… I don’t want any surprises…” -
She looked out the window at the daytime shoppers stepping along the sidewalks and be
tween parked cars. Among the smiling faces looking up towards the sky, she thought she saw some-
one she recognised. Is that Ms. Monroe? She pointed to the car and a man wearing a dark suit and
glasses stepped off the sidewalk towards them.
“Here they come,” said the man in front affixing a silencer to the barrel of his gun.
More enemy agents were amassing on their position. Out in front, she saw the burly form of
Ben and he looked positively vitriolic. The 5D agent in the dark suit was running up behind them.
He climbed up onto the back of the car and slapped the palm of his hand on the glass. A shard of
electric blue energy splintered through the rear windshield and travelled in slow motion impeded, as
it was, by the resistance in the glass. She couldn’t move, hemmed in on either side by her useless
bodyguards, she had to sit there and watch the events play out around her. Once the energy pulse
got through the glass, it would picked up speed again. Then it would hit her square between the
shoulder blades and it would be game over. But that wasn’t entirely true. After all, she was immor-
tal now wasn’t she? The position of the attack gave her an idea… Just before impact she shifted her
assemblage point. Even as her body lurched forward and gave its last tremulous cry of pain, she was
out up through the roof of the car and moving.
She ascended high above the street level traffic and the buildings and emitted a reflexive
burst of Vril energy. She had astral projected inside a dream and it had given her an idea of what the
immortality of the soul was like. Even if she became trapped under an avalanche of rock and stone,
she could always respawn on the astral plane without too much difficulty. The shockwave of the
energy pulse subsided and even as it did so, she knew that she had killed every Fifth Density agent
in a five block area. It had all happened so quickly that she didn’t really have time to reflect upon
the moral consequences of what she had done. Ben, Ms. Monroe, Evette and the rest of the faculty
members had all been burnt up in the energy blast. She had been provoked it was true, but was
killing everyone the only answer?
Her status as an omnipotent Godhead was plain for all to see. But, surely there were other
more peaceable ways of dealing with the alien threat; ways that didn’t include her becoming a mass
 !180
murderer, after a kind. All of her preconceived notions of her intrinsic goodness and virtue had been
disproved and she realised that when the line was drawn, she had no more trouble crossing it than
had the enemy. The only difference between the two of them was that they were afraid of her now.

Wendy was clambering back over the rocks towards the cave. She had ventured outside for a
time to sit by the edge of the forest and had witnessed Valerie and Amelia horse-riding in the glade.
She wasn’t expecting anyone to be around. Had they seen her? The way they bolted from the glade
sure made it look that way. They were probably riding back to the camp now to inform the others.
Otaktay wasn’t going to like that. He seemed grumpy and uptight at the best of times. When she got
back to the cave, he was standing there with his jaw sticking out, wrapping a length of rope around
his arm.
“Eh, Otaktay?”
“Yes?”
There was nothing for it; it was better to be straight with him. “I think we may have been
spotted.”
“By who?”
“Valerie and Amelia…”
“Those two miscreants…”
“I’m sorry. I —”
“It doesn’t matter. We’re leaving any way.”
“We are?”
“Sure, there’s nothing left for us to do here… Come with me. I have to show you
something.” He went out the mouth of the cave, over to some rocks and began pulling at a large
wicker basket out from behind them. “Give me a hand with this will you?” he wheezed. “It’s
heavy.”
They both leant their weight to help shift it. A sweet, asphyxiating smell wafted up to her
nostrils and almost made her wretch. “Uh… What’?s that smell? It’s revolting…”
“It’s meat, mostly.” he said donning the straps of the basket on his shoulders and standing
up. “Lots and lots of meat…”
“What do you want with all of that Otaktay?” asked Bruno.
“Oh, it’s not for me…” he said turning around with a strangely unhinged look in his eye.
“It’s for the Berserker…”

Anastasia climbed the steps of the Darkheim Tower and entered into the main doors into a
spotlessly white tiled foyer. On the far side she noticed a number of agents stopping people on their
way into the control room and checking their security clearance. On her lefthand side was a small
anonymous door that looked like a service entrance. She wasn’t sure where it led, but she had a
hunch that it make get her nearer her target, and besides it was less risky than walking straight up to
the security personnel and introducing herself.
She went into the room and let the door close behind her. As soon as she did so, she realised
that she had made a terrible mistake… There was something definitely not right about this room,
but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it.
To her left, embedded into the wall above the door was a digital clock face, which read 5:54,
and on the far side of the room was a man wearing a blue velvet coat with long, flowing grey hair.
He was standing with his back to her at a large metal sink, apparently engaged in some kind of ac-
tivity involving a set of clear plastic beakers. She watched him filling them up with water from the
 !181
sink and emptying them into one another. Presently, he switched off the tap, so that only a fine
spray was being emitted. Over an electronic speaker system, she heard the click of a button and then
the static of a recorded male voice said, “Why can’t I hear the trickling sound of the water?”
“I’m not doing that anymore…” replied the man in a petulant tone to the speaker system
above his head.
“Well, you should be…” advised the recorded voice, after which the playing device was
switched off.
What was going on? Why was the man having a conversation with a recording device? And
who would record such a message in the first place? It made no sense… On the far side of the room
was a white metallic door without a handle. There was no use going that way, she thought, but nei-
ther could she go back. The whole room was on some kind of time lock, there was no way in or out.
In six minutes the signal would be transmitted and the Quakening would begin. If she didn’t find a
way out before then, Earth would be lost. Just then, she heard someone approaching from the direc-
tion of the foyer.
This was it, she thought. She crouched down on the floor behind the door.
No sooner had she got into position, than the door flew open and in walked two men and a
woman dressed in black sports clothes. She flung herself at the one nearest to her, but he turned
suddenly and she bounced off his chest, like hitting a brick wall. Next, she tried grappling with the
smaller, leaner female agent; she was more her size, but the other man grabbed her arm and held
them tightly behind her back. Non-lethal measures weren’t exactly working out for her too well, she
thought, as the first man put his arm around her neck and wrestled her to the floor. Perhaps she
should have worked out a better strategy ahead of time, which included winning.
The woman crouched down beside her and smiled at just how helpless she was. She dropped
a black sports bag on the ground and unzipped it. “Roll up her sleeve,” she said extracting a black
attaché case. Upon opening the case, she could see it contained vials of various liquids and a set of
hypodermic needles. They were going to drug her, she thought. The woman began filling up the
chamber of the hypodermic with a blue liquid. She flicked the tip of the needle and looked for a
vein to patch into. She knew that if whatever was in that needle didn’t kill her outright, which was
unlikely given her newfound immortality, then she would probably wake up deep in the Darkheim
in an even worse state than she was now. She struggled against her captors one last time.
“Hold her steady,” she growled pressing the needle to her vein and getting ready to push the
plunger home. “Sweet dreams…”
At that moment, she heard the unexpected and alarming sound of high pressured gas being
pumped into the room. Perhaps they didn’t think the cocktail of chemicals was enough to finish her
off and they felt they needed this stuff to finish the job. The effects of the invisible, odourless gas
were instantly apparent on the constitutions of the Fifth Density agents. She saw their hands going
up to their throats and their faces turning red. Within seconds they all lay dead on the ground around
her. She alone was immune.

Wendy, her younger brother and Otaktay were back in the Fifth Density and rounding the
edge of the camp. They stopped at the roadway, which gave public access to the camp and listened
for any cars. “OK, follow me,” he said.
“Where are we going?” asked Wendy.
“To the Berserker’s stomping grounds. Just, across the way…”
She had never been inside this part of the forest before. It was off limits on account of the
marshy ground. You wouldn’t want to go in there anyway, she thought, with all of the strange
 !182
sounds and screams that emanated out of the place at night; and yet, here she was following the two
hundred year old ghost of a dead Indian Chief in there. It is funny how things work out.
“Keep your eyes peeled,” said the Indian.
“What are we looking for?”
“Any sign of the Berserker; broken branches, a trail…”
It wasn’t long before they found a line of broken trees up ahead. “This is it…” he set down
the heavy basket in the mud and wiped his brow, before opening it up and handing Bruno one of the
slabs of meat. “Put that on the rock over there… and quickly.”
Bruno laid the pink meat on the moss covered boulder, while Otaktay dragged the basket
over the bed of broken branches that lined the trail; dropping bits of meat while he went. They
helped out all they could, but Otaktay was so fast and efficient that they had very little to do, in the
end. “Bruno?” she asked tossing a bit of meat on the ground. “How is it that you came to be a dog
in the first place?”
“I don’t rightly know,” he said. “I started making my way back to the cave, to tell you about
Anastasia’s dad being captured and, as I was coming up the hill, I just thought; this would be a lot
faster and easier if I had four legs, like a dog… And the next thing I knew I was running along with
my nose sniffing the ground…”
“How come I can’t do that?”
“Different people have different level of abilities,” replied Otaktay. “Your brother, for ex-
ample, is a master Skinwalker, but it can be a blessing as well as a curse…”
She ignored the old narguals remarks, as she still had more questions. “Bruno? Where were
you when you saw Anastasia’s father being pushed into the shed?”
“I was over by the fire pit playing…”
“You know you aren’t allowed to do that…”
“I know, which is why I hid when I saw them coming.”
“Mr. Collins and Ms. Lytton, you mean?” -
He nodded. “Yep. Only it didn’t really look like them. Mr. Collins didn’t appear too differ
ent,” and here his voice became tremulous. “But Ms. Lytton had transformed into a giant cat and
Mr. Bulwark looked like a horrible frog and they were all joined at the hip and moved along on spi-
der’s legs…”
“Jahbulon…” said Otaktay.
A chill went up her spine, at the mention of the name.
“Shh…” said Otaktay, holding up his hand for quiet and looking back along the trail. There
was no sound and nothing moved, save for the occasional chirp of a bird far off. “OK,” he said.
“Let’s start making our way back to the camp. I don’t want to be here when Jolon comes through.”
“Jolon?” asked Bruno. “Who’s Jolon?”
“Jolon was once the greatest warrior in all the Calapuyau territories…”
“And he became the Berserker, right?”
“That’s right… You know the story?”
“No,” she admitted.
“Well, I’ll tell you… You see, in those days there was a lot of back and forth killings; tit for
tat and the like. Radcliffe and his men were afraid of Jolon and with good reason, he killed ten
rangers in one day. So they waited until he left and then they stole into the village. Radcliffe found
Jolon’s wife and family and cut their heads off and stuck them on pikes…”
“That’s terrible…”
“Then they burnt down the whole village. When Jolon returned from his patrol and found
the village in ruins, he was heart broken. He knew that Radcliffe had killed his family, but when he
 !183
saw what he had done to their remains, he flew into a rage and ran off into the forest and he never
stopped running…”
“How horrible…”
“That’s the legend, at any rate. My people say that he is searching for the one who did this to
his family and that he won’t stop until that happens…” -
“So that’s what you’re doing… You’re leading him into the camp so that be can find Rad
cliffe and kill him for you…”
“Not Radcliffe, Jahbulon…”
“I-I don’t understand…” -
“Jahbulon and Radcliffe are the same person… At least Radcliffe was possessed by Jahbu
lon when he first came here; that much is obvious… Jahbulon always hated the Calapuyau, because
we refused to worship him at his altar when he arrived here at the beginning of the age…” -
Bruno nodded and scooped out another handful of meat. “What kind of meat is this Otak
tay?”
“Deer mostly, with some rabbit and fox thrown in there for good measure…”
“Well, the Berserker sure must be hungry. You brought a lot of bait.”
“Oh no… There must be some kind of misunderstanding.” said Otaktay, with a serious look
upon his grey, weathered features. “The meat is just to get his attention, but he doesn’t actually eat
it… You see, you and Wendy are the bait…”

Anastasia stepped over the dead bodies of the enemy agents and went back to the metal door
and pushed against it. It was no use; it wouldn’t budge. She looked at the clock; 17:56. She would
have to think of something and fast. Lying on the floor beside the sink was the dead hippy, still
clutching the plastic beaker. She went over and retrieved it from his cold, lifeless hand. She looked
around. On the wall, in front of her were two dials. One was an analogue clock and the other looked
like some sort of pressure metre. The key to getting out of this room had to have something to do
with this. But what?
The door was on a time lock that much was obvious. So it was synchronised to open at the
appropriate time; whenever that was… Oh that doesn’t help very much, does it? But wait… When
the old hippy was having that conversation with the recorded voice that required synchronisation
between himself and whoever it was that had recorded the message. So, that was two counts of
‘synchronisations’; the door and the recording.
She put her hand on the sink. Sink, synchronisation, synch. Made three counts, which was a
kind of Jungian synchronisation in itself. It was a play on words, she realised. She turned on the tap
and saw the pressure metre moving in the opposite direction. Evidently, the dial did not measure
pressure, but rather the amount of water flowing down the plughole at any given time. This gave her
an idea. If she was able to adjust the amount of water going down the drain, so that the rate that dial
moved matched that of the rate of the second hand on the clock face, it might trigger the door to
open. Synchronisation, she thought.
It was worth a shot.
She manipulated the tap heads. But even with the taps on full, the volume of water simply
wasn’t enough to bring about what was needed. It was almost enough, but not quite… The beakers,
she thought, that must be what the old hippy was doing. She began filling them up and emptying
them down the sink; she looked at the clock; 17:58. Was she going to make it? The dial hand moved
into the same position of the clock and the door clicked open. She tipped the last of the water in and
leapt through the door, before it slammed shut behind her…
 !184
***

Harmon sat on the edge of his bed looking at the stash of salvia and DMT. It had only been
two days since his last trip into the void and he had yet to fully recover from it, either emotionally
or existentially. And yet, here he sat, smoking pipe in hand, prepared to do it all over again. Not be-
cause he had really wanted to, but because he had just awoken from a very peculiar dream. In the
dream he had met a child with blonde hair and the most intensely saturated blue eyes you could
imagine. Following this he was shown a diagram of the Lorentz transformation, which was pivotal
in the formulation of Einstein’s Theory of Relativity. The diagram consisted of a parallelogram, and
next to it were listed the spacetime dimensions of the object in the form of the ratio 31:13. As to
what it meant, he had no idea. Perhaps in these cryptic numerals the key to the understanding of
faster than light travel might be discovered, or simply a better method of visualising the geometry
of spacetime. He didn’t know, but what he did know was that he was left with an unshakable and
inexplicable urge to return to that nightmarish realm of metal and steam.
His hands shook as held the loaded the pipe in front of his face and he clinched the lighter.
He drew the minty chemical tasting mixture into his lungs and held it there. This time the effects
were almost instantaneous. The world began to break apart before his very eyes and there yawned
the chasm of the abyss before him once more. The void welcomed him back, but it was as though
he had never left, as if this experience and the previous one were linked somehow in time and in
space. This idea shocked him, as it meant that the void was the only thing that truly existed and the
rest was all a dream, a fantasy of illusion. He had awoken to the true state of the world, and by do-
ing so had undone the world. All his life he had wanted to know the secrets of the Universe, but
now that he had found out, he would have given anything to return to that blissful ignorance. For as
tiresome and as loathsome as his former existence sometimes could be, at least it was something;
something to distract him from all this grim, black, Nothingness.
He felt himself drifting to the left and then he witnessed the colourful bands, like DNA
strands stretching out from him in a modular loop. The spaces between the bands grew exponential-
ly and when they had reached their limit if expansion began to contract again. It looked like the
pages of a book being snapped shut and he was being caught in amongst them; crushed by their
combined weight. A heavy mechanism clicked over and spun him round. He tried to scream, but
something was forced into his mouth. Salvia was a Hell of a drug.
The repulsive force of gravity flipped him around. He felt the hard edge of a something
across his back and then he was falling onto the metal floor…

Anastasia was standing in a corridor, which veered off to the left and out of view. At the
corner, she saw a pentagonal door way. It was not set into the wall, but propped up against the cor-
ner in an ad hoc sort of way; hardly the kind of image you would expect from such shrewd opera-
tors as the Dark Locale. But then again, she thought that was the point; the Dark Locale could do
whatever they liked. They answered to nobody.She approached the doorway and touched its smooth
surface.
“Hello Anastasia, you’re just in time…” said a voice from behind her.
She stepped back to see David standing behind her. The shock of seeing him again after
their last violent encounter must have registered across her face, because he said, “Don’t worry
Anastasia, I’m not going to hurt you…”
“No?”
“No…” he took her by the hand and the pentagonal door slid back at his command. Inside
she saw a dark windowless room filled with men in military uniforms. They were all seated at
 !185
desks, talking into headsets and busily typing command prompts into computer terminals. The
command centre, she thought. She followed him into the room and saw that the officers were all
facing a large digital map of the world with live video feeds depicting scenes of social unrest, war
and apparently common place traffic accidents. -
“This is our command centre,” he said with a smile. “I want to introduce you to some
body…”
A man wearing a white lab coat with grey hair and spectacles made their way over to them.
“This is Professor Wayne Vanderbilt, he is project manager here at the Dark Locale.”
Vanderbilt, she thought, where’ve I heard that name before? And then she remembered.
“You’re Valerie Vanderbilt’s father?”
“That’s right… David here hasn’t stopped talking about you all morning. He said that you
be coming in for a visit…” A military officer walked up beside him and handed him a clipboard.
“Do excuse me for a moment will you?”
“Are we getting ready to transmit?”
The professor fixed David with his stony gaze. “Yes,” he said. “And you too have the best
seats in the house.”
She went back to watching the screen. “What is all of this?”
“These are all the false flags and staged terror attacks we’re currently orchestrating around
the globe. Car bombs… This down here,” he said pointing to an Islamic State soldier firing an RPG
in the ruined city of Magreb. “And even seemingly random unfortunate events, like this ten car pile
up on the London M25…”
“But why?”
“We do it to keep the level of fear in the Third Density at a constant level. Society’s easier to
control that way and we find such things beneficial to our health…”
“You feed off of it…”
“That’s right… You can see by the screen that ambient levels are in their thirties, which is
quite good for us, but watch that dial, it will soar way into the red when we activate the switch…”
“Why are you doing this?”
“I’ve already told you…”
“No, I mean why are you protecting me?” she interrupted.
“Isn’t it obvious?” he shrugged. “You have been through the Sea of Antilco and survived. If
I had that kind of power, I would be unstoppable. Even the Thrice Great Jahbulon would kneel to
my will…”
“You’re insane…”
“Think of it Anastasia, we could rule of the Dark Empire together…”
“And what about them?” she said pointing to the screen.
“Them? You don’t care about them, do you? That’s not the Anastasia I know…”
“Then you don’t know me very well… I would never sacrifice my friends and family for
power willingly…”
“Well, there’s nothing you can do… It’s over… You’ve lost…”
She looked at the screen. Only a few seconds were left on the clock.
“No… It’s not over…”
“What are you doing?”
She concentrated and made a special intention to take control of the minds of everyone in
the room. She terminated all of their thought processes and actions and injected positive feelings of
love and happiness instead. As soon as she finished, she saw that everyone in the room had turned
into a vacant and drooling halfwit. All of a sudden, she realised that this was in some ways no better
than what she had done to the agents out in the street earlier that day. While she had successfully
 !186
robbed those people of their lives, here she was guilty of taking away the freewill of the enemy,
which surely in God’s eyes was equally as bad. Her attempt at a non-lethal intervention was not go-
ing according to plan, but what choice did she in have? It was either this or all out war?
“What are you doing?” he cried; smiling through the pain.
One look at her former dreaming instructor, and she could tell that all was not right with
him. His skin had gone chalk white and pasty and he was breaking out in cold sweats.
“You’ve cut us off from our food source… Without hatred and fear we’ll die…”
“No you won’t,” she said. “I’ll save you…” She reached out towards him and lay her hands
on his shoulders and began to transmit positive healing Vril energy into his body. There was a bright
flash and he crumbled into a little heap of white dust on the floor. Looking up she saw the outline of
his body, burnt onto the wall behind him. She was reminded of similar pictures from Hiroshima and
Nagasaki where the shadows of those that died had been burnt into the wall by the twin thermo-nu-
clear blasts… But unlike them this burn mark was filled with a concentric rainbow-like pattern and
she realised that somehow she had managed to burn his aura onto the wall.
She went over and examined his remains more closely. The aura was fading now, but in its
place she saw hundreds of thousands of words written in pencil. These were all of his thoughts and
memories imprinted onto the wall at the moment of death. She glanced over some of them;

The Mouth of A Vampire.

Vincent, Vincent.

She understood the mouth of the vampire, part. But who was Vincent? Was it his father? His
brother? She realised how little she knew about him really. Another inscription read; Orphanage
and reversed her earlier theory. Was David an orphan? Of course, he was… He was a changeling,
just like me… We’re all of us orphans here… All of a sudden, she stopped feeling sorry for him. He
was at peace now, his struggle was over, while hers was just beginning…
She turned back around and saw the professor slumped over his desk with a strange grin on
his face. Neither him, nor any of his men appeared to take an interest in David’s demise. It was
clear that they were beyond doing anyone anymore harm, indeed it appeared they were beyond do-
ing very much of anything period. The green bar at the bottom of the screen showed the ambient
levels of Vril energy was stationary at thirty percent, maybe even dropping slightly. She had done
what she had set out to do. But just to be sure, she sent out a second burst of Vril energy which
wiped the databanks of the Dark Locale’s computers. The screen glitched out with green artefacts
and then everything went black.

-
What the hell am I doing here? Have I lost my mind? The oppressive hum of the superstruc
ture around him dragged his mind down further into spirals of anxiety and terror. This was a really
bad idea. His best bet is to just lay low until the drugs wears off. If he could keep out of sight until
then he might get out of this alive. But what was he worrying about? He wasn’t really here. He had
to remember that he was asleep in his flat. Nothing could really hurt him here; it was all a dream, a
trip, an illusion. Up ahead he saw a crowd of people moving along. He stepped out into their midst
to see where they were going and then he heard something that he wasn’t expecting. In fact, it was
the last thing he was expecting. Someone was calling out his name. “Harmon… Hey, Harmon…”
He even recognised the voice. It was Darrel Minyon. What was he doing here?
“Yo, what’s up dog? Have you come to see the end of the world?”
“The what?”
 !187
“I didn’t know that you were Darkside too bro…” he said thumping him in the arm. “That’s
out of sight…”
“Yeah,” he said rubbing his shoulder.
“I guess I should have suspected it, what with all your creepy weird paintings and such. Man
that shit is fucked up…”
A realisation came to him then that Minyon had been behind all of this from the start. “Hey,
this is all your fault. You gave me those shitty drugs. You fucked up my mind…”
Minyon took him by the arm and started leading him off to the side. “Hey keep it down will
you… That shit is only meant to be for 3-Ders, but sometimes it happens that we can get mixed up
ourselves with that shit. Especially if you are like me and dealing it…”
He shook his hand off.
“Hey, chill man… We’re going off to meet the Wizard, remember?”
There was a sound like that of a blood-curdling scream. “Someone just had his name deleted
from the Book of the Life,” mused Minyon.
“What the fuck was that?”
“Executions… Come on man, we’re going to miss the show…” -
A line was forming at a doorway up ahead. A large bare-chested giant with a disproportion
ately small head stood at the door way checking people as they entered and looking around menac-
ingly. “What’s going on?”
“They’re checking for totems…”
“Totems?”
“Please, tell me you have your totem…” Then, a look of terror flashed across Minyon’s
face.
“What is it?”
“Fuck, I lost mine… Oh ironies of ironies…”
Someone ahead of them in the queue turned round; a woman he’d not seen before and said.
“You lost your totem? Geez, that’s really dangerous… You know anyone can control you or kill you
with that if they find it…”
His eyes narrowed and his tone turned sarcastic. “Yeah I know that… Thank you…” He
turned back to his friend. “Come on, I know another way in… Lets ditch these losers…”
“OK…”
He followed Minyon down the hall and underneath a railing. The screams were much more
audible coming from this direction and were supplemented by the terrific moans and roars of
dozens of encaged prisoners desperately awaiting trial by death.
“Here they all are, the poor bastards…”
He glanced down and saw a small naked grey dwarf like creature huddled inside one of the
cages. “Who are these people? I mean what have they done?” -
“Oh different things… Traitors mostly… Agents who get too attached to their foster fami
lies… They get too attached to their host and forget who the real boss is…” He said pointing up-
ward. “Know what I mean?”
“Yeah…” He didn’t have a clue, but it was best to play along.
“Hey, well look who it is…” he said walking up to one of the cages. “It’s the cop I was
telling you about… Hey homie, I told you I’d fucking get you… You messed with the wrong ar-
chon, homes.”
“Walter? What the hell are you doing here man?”
“Never mind that, just get me the fuck out of here, will you?”
“Hang on, you know this guy?”
“Yeah, he bought a painting off me, earlier this week…”
 !188
“Huh, small Universe… Well you can forget about getting out…” he rattled the cage.
“You’re about to get strung up and gutted for what you did to me,” he pointed at the cuts across his
forehead and the bruises under his eye.
“Don’t listen to him, Harmon… He’s lying, I never touched the guy…”
He was shocked. It was horrifying seeing Walter caged like that. He had found the man to be
nothing but pleasant and it was always nice to meet someone who was at least halfway appreciative
of his artwork. He was reminded of all the people up there in those glass pods. He wanted to free
them, but he didn’t know how. But he might be able to free Walter, given half a chance.
“Shut the fuck up. Come on Harmon… lets leave this piece of shit to die…”
“What are they going to do to him?” he asked, following him up the tunnel.
“Probably just chop his head off and then feed his body to the sharks,” and then without
missing a beat, he said. “Hey, do you want some snacks for the show? I can get you something?”
“Eh, OK…”
“Good… What do you want?”
“What is there?”
“You can have worms or tadpoles, it’s your choice…”
“Eh, nah… Maybe not…” They were nearing the crowds and the screams now. “I’ll just
skip it, I’m not really that hungry.”
“Oh come on… You might as well they’re free…”
“OK, why don’t you get me something… And I’ll wait for you here…”
“Sure thing bro…”
While Minyon was walking off in the direction of the food stand, he caught a glimpse of the
executioner standing throwing bloody lumps of what had once been a person into a giant pool filled
with black man-eating sharks. He had made a mistake looking, as he knew now that he would never
be able to unseen the horror he had seen on this day, if he ever lived to tell the tale.

Anastasia left the control room by the main door and crossed the foyer to the outside. The
graveyard, she noticed wasn’t there anymore, if it ever had existed to begin with. In its place were
now row upon row of white office blocks. She knelt down and shouted; “Ascension,” before cata-
pulting herself off the ground. Within a second she was at cruising altitude of most airplanes and
she stopped to take in the view. Far off in the distance, she could see the edge of the Fourth Density,
where the horizon met the sky and made her way in its direction. If she was going to find a passage
way into the Fifth Density, she knew that that’s where it would be found.
The further she went from the centre of the 4-dimensional maze the older the buildings and
their edifices appeared. When she got to the outer-rim, the structures were truly medieval: Large
stone cathedrals and round towers rose up from the smoky jumble of houses and network of cob-
bled streets. Encircling all of this was a large defensive stonewall; a hundred feet in height and thir-
ty odd feet thick. Beyond this lay only forest and the distant white mountain peaks of the Fourth
Density.
She looked for an appropriate place to set down, which she found conveniently in that of a
town square fitted out with an old well. The streets were quiet and appeared as if the whole town
was asleep or otherwise engaged. She proceeded by foot, walking down a narrow road to the
perimeter wall. She saw the door of a tavern opening and ducked down behind an old barrel to re-
main out of view. Glancing up she saw an old man wearing a black robe, which suggested he was
part of some mystical order, probably the Order of the Pentagon. The lefthand side of the man’s face
had a dark line running down it that sliced his eye in two; causing blindness, and between the tufts
of white hair on his bald head she could see many welts and protrusions. She recognised him in-
 !189
stantly as the man that she had seen in her dream that night. It was none other than Mr. Collins, or
Baal himself. She waited until he was a little way down the street and then followed him. As she
was passing by the tavern, she looked to see if there was anything unusual about it. But it seemed a
totally ordinary place, with a black wooden doorway and box hedges outside.
Baal was standing by a wall at the end of the street now. He gave her a knowing smile, took
a step to the right and vanished between the cracks in the wall. It was clear that he expected her to
follow him and she wasted no time in doing so. -
As she drew nearer the entrance; a shift in the wall’s anamorphic perspective revealed a se
cret passageway. As her eyes adjusted to the light, she saw stage rigging and lighting. She was back
stage at the Meeting Hall, and back in the realm of the Fifth Density. A loud bang signalled that the
main door had closed and she raced out into the hall to find the hall empty. This was a game of cat
and mouse, but who was toying with whom? She went out into bright sunshine and saw Baal run-
ning back down in the direction of the stables as fast as his sandalled feet would carry him. She was
after him like a lightning bolt, but lost sight of him as he rounded one of the end chalets.
Where had he gone, she wondered? Then she remembered what Otaktay had said about one
of Baal’s chief attributes being invisibility. She turned around as something thick and wet wrapped
itself around her head and neck. She spun round instinctively, unravelling it and then launched her-
self into the air. At the other end of the dirt road was Mr. Bulwark in the shape of a large green toad,
but clearly recognisable by the addition of an oversized cowboy hat. She was reminded of Bruno’s
transformation from the day before, only Fly Killer Bill was on the order of about four times the
size. -
A slight breeze blew the yellow dust from the road. She couldn’t see Ms. Lytton, but as
sumed she was around some place. The toad blinked and one of his glistening eyes sank into his
head momentarily, which she seemed to recall was how frogs chewed their food. The idea of being
pummelled to death by his giant eyeballs didn’t sound too appealing to her and she got ready to de-
liver a pulse of Vril energy his way. But before she had reached the optimum height, a pink ribbon
snaked its way across the sky towards her and knocked her to the ground. She had never seen some-
thing move so fast, before.
She landed back down on the dirt road with a thud and tried to recover herself in time, but
Mr. Bulwark was attacking her already. He whipped his long, sixty metre tongue back out in her
direction. This time it clasped around her ankles and she felt herself being reeling her like a fish.
She was dragged up the road in a most undignified fashion and to the promise of an even more un-
savoury end. If she let this go on much longer she would be swallowed whole to become just anoth-
er item of food, making its way through Mr. Bulwarks digestive track. The idea singularly repulsed
her.
She reached down with her hand and shocked the slimy appendage with a bright burst of
psychic energy. He retracted its tongue back in a flash and recoiled in pain. Now it was her turn to
fight dirty, she thought patting the dust off her clothes and getting ready to unleash a barrage of Vril
energy bursts in his direction. She shot back up into the air and rained down an unholy cache of
bright beams onto his head, chest and arms. When she was done, however, she saw that it no mea-
surable effect. His green hide must be too thick to penetrate, she thought, or else it was possessed of
some kind of protective mucosal film. -
Either way, she would have to think of something else, if she wanted to do anything ap
proaching lasting damage. But it was clear that she didn’t have much time, for even now; a bright
glow in the pit of the bullfrogs stomach indicated that he was getting ready to release a retort of Vril
energy himself. This eventuality, however, also presented her with an opportunity, for in order to
strike at her, the hubristic Mr. Bulwark would have to open his mouth and at that point he would by
revealing his soft fleshy interior, be at his most vulnerable.
 !190
She swooped down to move in closer and get a better angle of attack. Already she could see
the pink innards reveal themselves to her. Just a little bit wider, she thought. She wanted to make
darned sure she didn’t miss. Even as she released the blue energy pulse, she sensed a trap. Sure
enough, from out between two of the chalets passed, like a rolling ball of fur and murder, the full,
terrifying feline form of Ms. Lytton. She had never seen a cat so big, or so violent. She was at least
as big as Mr. Bulwark, if not bigger and out of her claws shot half-moon scythes of electrical energy
sent to kill or to maim.
But Kat was already too late, as she had got her strike off. It struck target deep in the belly
of her amphibian comrade. Mr. Bulwark swallowed the energy beam like a fly that had gone down
the wrong way and a second later tears and black smoke rose up from behind his eyeballs. He
belched orange and yellow flames across the battlefield and across Ms. Lytton’s back, accidentally
lighting her luxurious black fur aflame. Now the fearsome cat reacted against her compatriot; lash-
ing out against the mass of green blubber next to her; plunging her knife-like claws deep into his
softly exposed underbelly. The gigantic toad sprung away in great pain and fear, bounding towards
the entrance of the shed. All the while, he was being poked and prodded by the Kat who ran scream-
ing in his wake with flames burning from her behind. It almost looked as though the little shed
would not contain them, but it bent and stretched and squeezed to accommodate their passage; and
in an instant they were gone.
Turning around, she saw Wendy and Bruno, with Otaktay standing next to them in fits of
giggles.
“What’s so funny?” -
“It’s just as my people said it would be,” he replied wiping a tear from his eye. “The bull
frog and the flaming cat making their way back to their house in disarray at the end of the fifth
world…”
“I’m afraid I don’t know what you are talking about…” -
“It doesn’t matter how did everything go at the Dark Locale, I suspect you stopped the sig
nal from being transmitted?” -
The memory of all of those top officials starving of joy in their high security command cen
tre came back into her mind like an unwanted guest, but she had to respond. “I did…” -
“Good going Anastasia,” cried Otaktay; but a second later his demeanour became more seri
ous. “There he goes…”
As they watched, they witnessed the dark robed figure of Baal; Master of Ceremonies
scrambling up the hill behind them and entering the shed.
“I’ll stop him,” she said; taking off in his direction. She could hear Otaktay shouting at her
from behind to ‘Wait…’ but she ignored his pleading, eager to be done with all this. She reached the
door, not long after it was closed and locked. She landed blow after blow with her boot against the
outer door of the shed. The percussive sound of her barrage echoed across the empty valley like a
giant using the hollow sky as a drum.
The little shed sure was standing up to a lot of punishment, she thought; it might as well
have been a block of steel, for all her efforts.
“Not that way, Anastasia…”
Otaktay and the others had returned.
“I can’t get through…”
“Jahbulon has taken your father hostage… If you damage the entrance way we may never be
able to gain access.” -
“You should listen to him, Anastasia… Jahbulon — the camp instructors — they’ve kid
napped your father… They’re keeping him prisoner in the Darkheim…”
 !191
“They what?” Shame and anger washed over her momentarily, but she quickly regained her
sense of calm and focus.
“It’s true,” said Bruno almost bursting into tears.
“It’s alright Bruno everything is going to be fine… We just have to get in there, that’s all…”
she said turning back in the direction of the door.
“Hang on…” cried Otaktay.
Just then a great ululating roar went up from the tree-line behind them. It sounded almost
human to her ears, but it somehow lost that indefinable spark of understanding that separated the
human from the purely animal. “What the hell was that?”
“That’s what we’ve been trying to tell you,” said Wendy. “We’ve been baiting the Berserker
here…”
“You what?” she cried in disbelief.
“He was supposed to come in here and rip Jahbulon to shreds, but you came by a bit earlier
than expected,” he said emptying the rotting dregs of the basket out on to the grass.
“So what are we going to do when the Berserker gets here?” she said in a panic.
“Oh that…” replied Otaktay. “Watch…”
In that very moment, the Berserker came crashing through the trees; pulling them up by the
roots. He was almost completely naked, save for a collection of dried mud and leaves clumped
around his groin. He stood eight feet tall, with a wiry muscular frame. Here and there twigs pierced
his flesh, in some cases going straight through the muscle and bone and out the other side. His arms
and legs were mottled with red and blue contusions, but the area of his anatomy that had taken the
brunt of the assault was the face and in particular the forehead, which he obviously used to ram
through trees, and boulders, and all other obstacles in his way. Over years and repeated years of
abuse, the area had become horrendously distended into a white lump of hardened bone that came
down over his eyes. Whether, the vestigial organs of sight still remained beneath, or had long since
been crushed out by the expansion of the skull she could not say, but it was clear that he was at least
functionally blind. The creature stopped and sniffed the air…
“Here he comes… Hey Jolon…” screamed Otaktay; lifting up his arms. “Over here…”
At the sound of his voice, the already mean-spirited Berserker flew into a wave of unbridled
rage. He wheeled his sharp, angular frame around in their direction, his large and bloodied bare feet
smacking down on the dry, arid earth.
“OK now, children, don’t be afraid,” proclaimed Otaktay.
One look at Bruno and Wendy and their petrified faces and it was quite clear it was much
too late for that…
“When I give the word, everyone… I want you to run behind the toolshed. OK?”
The ferocious beast broke through a patch of trees, uprooting them and snapping their
trunks, as though they were nothing more than dry twigs and turning them to dust. He kept coming
across the road; taking ten feet at a stride and getting dangerously close.
“Ah, Otaktay?”
Otaktay appeared frozen in terror at the spectacle of such unadulterated madness and rage.
“OK now… Right now,” he screamed.
They all rushed behind the tool shed with the shrieks of the Berserker so loud in their ears
that he sounded like he must surely be right behind them.
“Up against the back wall,” he shouted pulling Wendy and Bruno towards him and covering
their ears. The unstoppable subject of the Berserker, met with the immovable object of the toolshed
and there was tremendous noise. She screamed as a pressure wave exploded out across the valley
raising many buildings and trees to the ground followed by an impossibly bright white light and in-
 !192
tense heat. In such moments it is hard to think, but it felt as if the entire world were coming to an
end…

While Walter had raised his daughter to be Catholic, mostly on account of her mother, he
had to admit that his faith sometimes faltered. But when you are locked in a dungeon in a Hell di-
mension surrounded by demons, you quickly realise that the spectrum of what can exist is far larger
than what is generally deemed credible in polite company. A broadening of the horizons of such a
kind is obviously distressing, but with it comes a sort of hope; for obviously if Hell exists, then
might not Heaven also? It seemed reasonable to suggest as much, as the alternative did not seem all
that conscionable.
He prayed for himself, he prayed for his mother, but most of all he prayed for his darling
daughter who was out there somewhere; all alone and possibly in danger. When he was done he did
feel somewhat calmer. A sound of metal scraping against concrete brought his attention around be-
hind him. It was Harmon and he was carrying a steel rod. “What are you doing with that thing?”
“I’m going to get you out of here.” He jammed the metal pole into the keyhole of the cage
and started to press it down against the bars.
“That won’t work,” he said, as the bars began to bend.
“You were saying?”
Just then, Walter spotted a group of people making their way down towards them. “Wait,”
he said reaching out to grab the metal bar off him. “Someone’s coming…”
From out of the shadows stepped Minyon hoisting a mouthful of something into his mouth.
“Hey Harmon, there you are they didn’t have any tadpoles, so I got you slugs instead… I hope you
don’t mind—” He stopped in mid-sentence and stood staring at Harmon, who still had the iron bar
in his hand. He wiped his chin of the slime. “What are you doing?”
“This isn’t what it looks like…”
The others who were with Minyon, a ten foot tall giant who looked like he had been turned
inside out in some horrific experiment and an African American in a clown suit and a pink wig
stepped forwards. “He’s trying to break out the prisoner,” cried the giant.
“No, no, it isn’t…”
Walter could see that Harmon wasn’t coping very well with the situation. They had only one
chance. He grabbed the boy by the shoulder and shouted. “Have at them…”
“W-what?”
“Hit them over the fucking head with the crow bar…”
The boy managed to land one ineffectual blow against the forearm of the mutated monster
and then the weapon was knocked out of his hand.
“Sorry,” he said.
“Don’t worry about it kid,” he replied and then winced as the giant proceeded to pile-drive
the kid into the solid steel floor; breaking his neck in the process.
 !193

13

After the initial blast, they all braced for the second impact; when the Berserker encountered
the back wall. But it never came… Amazingly the small toolshed had shielded them from much of
the ill-effects, although they were still shaken and had persistent ringing in their ears. The rest of the
camp did not fair so well, however, much of the grass was burnt black and not a single building had
withstood the force of the explosion.
“What happened to the Berserker?” asked Bruno.
Otaktay looked at him sidelong and said. “What do you think happened?”
“He’s not dead, Otaktay, is he?” hinted Wendy, evidently protecting her younger brother
from the truth.
“He’ll be fine…”
“Did you hear that Bruno?”
They walked towards the front of the shed and stared through the black blossom of burnt
wood, which was all that remained of the entrance way. Through the clouds of billowing smoke
they caught terrifying glimpses of an alien world, not meant to be seen or trespassed upon, by mere
mortals. Luckily, Anastasia didn’t fall into that category anymore.
Beyond the gutted interior of the toolshed, she saw the Darkheim; a dark city of stone. The
sky was thick with black and red clouds and in the far distance, raising high above the land was a
grey pyramid; Jahbulon’s domain.
One look at it and she knew that was where her father was being held prisoner, possibly
even her half-sister in some deep sleeping coma. There was to be no more hesitation. She stepped
through into that smoking wreckage.
“Wait…” the Old Indian cautioned once more. “You can’t go in there like that…”
She looked down at her slightly shabby horse riding gear, she had on from earlier. “Why
not?”
“There are millions of demons in the city. Therefore, we need to disguise ourselves if we
want to stand a chance of entering into the pyramid alive.”
“You mean changing back into that old hag again? Forget it…”
“It’s the only way…” he insisted.
“Every time I transformed into that thing I feel the cold, bony fingers of Jahbulon tighten
around my throat.” -
He gave Anastasia a hard, quizzical look. “Are you not stronger than that? Can you not re
sist the urge of evil when it comes your way?”
She didn’t know.
“You don’t have to invoke the spirit of Jahbulon every time you take on the form of an old
woman, do you? We’re shapeshifters aren’t we?”
“We are,” said Bruno.
“Well, then, shift shapes…”
She cursed under her breath and shook with involuntary rage. Her shaking continued and her
entire body transformed itself into the decrepit demeanour of the Old Hag.
“That’s the spirit…” chortled Otaktay.
She sneezed. Life seemed altogether colder as the Jahbulon Crone.
Bruno followed suit changing into a three foot tall goblin-like creature. His face was obscure
into darkness by the hood of his robe, so that only the two polarised lights that served as his eyes
could be seen. “What do you think?”
“Very good,” she croaked and smiled a toothless grin.
 !194
-
Then, they all looked at Wendy, who stood at the back of the group trying not to draw atten
tion to herself. “Well, it is alright for you two,” she said. “But what am I to be?”
She waved a withered hand over her friend’s face, turning her eyes black and her skin white
like alabaster. “There that ought to do it. What about you Otaktay?”
He raised up his battle-axe and grinned. “Well, I think I look sufficiently scary, don’t I?”
She was about to argue, but then she saw that he had a point. “That you do,” she said. ‘That
you do…”

Harmon felt himself being cast inside the cast iron cage. He had a fat lip and a ringing in his
ears, but other than that he was alive. There was, however, a warmness around his crotch which he
couldn’t identify. He was initially enjoying the feeling and very much wanted it to continue, but
then; quite suddenly, it started to grow icy cold.
“I thought you were dead…” said Walter taking the chance to kneel down and look at him.
“I think I pissed myself…”
“Yeah you did, but you did well…”
“Did I?”
“No, not really…” he admitted.
“Well, look at you two love birds…” said Minyon. “I hear tell that the Master has something
special in store for you… Too bad I won’t be around to see it… I’ve got to get back to the Third and
help with the initiating Apocalypsis… But, I’ll hang around for as long as I possibly can… Just to
savour the moment…” he smiled.
He watched Minyon, his former friend leave with the giant and the man in the clown suit.
“This day just keeps getting worse and worse…” -
“Not really,” said Walter. “We’ve just had a temporary stay of execution that’s got to ac
count for something…”
“You seem surprisingly up-beat for someone who’s on death row…”
“You have to be, the first and most important rule of combat is your ability to adapt mentally
to every situation…”
“OK, well, if you’re the expert, then what the hell are we supposed to do now?”
“Get out of this cage, I guess.”
“Oh it’s pointless,” he said touching his upper lip, which was beginning to swell abnormally.
“I’m not really here…”
“What?”
“I’m stoned in my apartment all of this is just a hallucination…”
“Well, if you’re stoned then how did you get that fat lip?”
“No, I’m telling you… I’ve been here before.”
“What?” -
“I woke up in one of these glass chambers upstairs. They’ve got all these people locked in
side of them, asleep…”
“And that’s where you came from?”
“No, I told you… I’m just having a hallucination… None of this is real, you’re not real…
Well, I’m real… And I’m going to wake up soon…”
“I was on my way to collect my daughter when I was knocked on the head and dragged in
here. I’m no hallucination…”
“That is just what I’d expect you to say, if you were…”
“You think I’d make something like that up?”
 !195
“I don’t know? I don’t know what to think anymore… All I know is that I was smoking a
bowl of salvia and DMT and then I woke up in this place…”
“Salvia?”
“Yeah, you know, it’s a —”
“No, no, I know what it is… Here, tell me, what have you got in your pockets?”
“Just a pipe and a lighter. Why?”
Walter went searching around in his pockets and a small brown plastic container fell out
onto the floor and rolled by his feet. He picked it up and saw that it was a vial of Salvia, the same
kind that Minyon gave to him. “Hey… Where did you get this?”
“Hey, Iforgot I had that… Give it back…”
“This is Minyon’s, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” he admitted.
“Hey, you lied to me…”
“So what I lied… I’m a bad person…”
“Yeah, you are…”
“So what? We still have to figure out a way to get out of here don’t we? Besides I’m not the
one who made friends with a creepy alien psychopath from another dimension…”
“Yeah, ok…”
“I mean who a man makes friends with says something of his character…”
“Alright, you made your point…”
“Say,” said Walter sidling down beside him. “You said you got here by smoking Salvia and
DMT to get here, right?”
“U-huh…” Not sure where he was going with this.
“Well, what would happen if we smoked it again? We’d go back home right?”
“Maybe we would… Or we could end up farther out… We might never get back home…
Besides I only have Salvia on me…”
“Well, looky here…” he held out his hand to reveal a wrap of tinfoil and something else.
“What’s this?” he said picking up the key chain with the plastic deep-sea diver attached to it.
He recognised it instantly as being part of Minyon’s collection of trash he had lying around his
house.
“Oh that, it’s nothing…”
“It’s Minyon’s…” Then another idea hit him: Was it possible? Could it be? “Where did you
get this?”
“I probably picked it up when I was at his house…” and then he paused. “No wait, I found
that on the floor in my house…”
“No, you couldn’t have…” He felt his only hope slipping away.
“It was after…”
“After what?”
“That little bastard?” he spat.
“Why? What is it?”
“Do you remember the time you gave me those instruction on how to Lucid Dream?”
“Yes, of course… The sleep paralysis method…”
“Well, I did it and it worked…”
“Awesome…”
“Something came through… I thought it was a demon of some kind, but if what you said is
true, then, it was Minyon…”
“Minyon? Yes, it all fits… Then, I was right, we’re in luck…”
“But what difference does it make anyway?”
 !196
“Don’t you see, this is his totem…”
“It’s a piece of junk,” he said and went to toss it away.
“Don’t…”
“Why not?”
“Because if I’m right, we can use it to call Minyon and he’ll do our bidding…”
“You’re serious? Alright, then what are you waiting for?” said the detective; grinning to
himself. “Let’s give your dealer a call…”

The streets of the Darkheim were unnervingly empty. The long narrow roads were hemmed
in on either side by windowless concrete structures each one four stories in height. Beneath these in
the streets, banks of yellow sand was gathered and here and there lay wrecked automobiles. What
sort of a place was this? There was no sign of a functioning society; in fact, there was no sign of
anything. No people of any kind. Even so, it seem that every step on their path through the gutted
city was watched closely by unseen eyes. Now and again she thought she saw flickers of black
shadows out of the corners of her eyes, but when she looked they were always gone. The ghosts of
an alien world, she thought.
The only real signs of life that they saw on their entire journey were the groups of stray
crablike sentinels that sat motionless on the sand dunes. It wasn’t clear if their disinterest was on
account of some kind of natural predisposition among these creatures for idleness or if it was on
account of their disguised appearance, but either way she was glad that she had taken Otaktay’s ad-
vice, in the end, if it meant for a safer passage for all. As they neared the centre of the city, she no-
ticed a distinct change in the buildings. The architecture took on an abstract and brutalist quality to
it and with it the streets became narrower, leaning and chicaning through wild angles that made up
the windowless buildings on either side.
Not far from the base of the pyramid itself, the street widened again into a water filled
dockyard, where they once again could see the sky. However, even this moment of respite was tem-
pered by the sight of a woman in black circling about on a broomstick, cackling loudly. She was the
most stereotypical witch she had ever seen and she was reminded of the Wicked Witch of the West
from the Wizard of Oz, which meant that this was the Emerald City, in a sense. But if it was the
Emerald City, it was surely the most depressing, dystopian upgrade a city had likely ever seen. The
witch did not stay long. She flew off in line with the Great Pyramid towards the setting sun.
There was something odd about this place. It seemed as though this city existed not just on
the edge of space, but on the edge of time as well. It was also a place of great hidden power, as
though the longer one waited here, the more likely one would get to witness the unfolding of the
some great apocalypse. They did not tarry long, but made their way around the edge of the dock-
yard by means of a narrow concrete walk way.
Up ahead they came to another area, this contain three concrete sumps. In one of these they
saw a blonde haired girl crouching down with her face in her hands and she appeared to be crying.
Around the edge of the sump was a one inch wide indentation in which long, silvery-grey worms
had sequestered themselves. The girl, whom she now recognised as Valerie reached up and taking
hold of one of these worms in her hands proceeded to bite into it. Its blood-filled body burst all over
her mouth and chin, whereupon she began sucking greedily. Clearly this was no ordinary worm, but
rather a giant leech gorged on the blood of some unnamed host. Valerie, having already become de-
pendent on the life force of others and was now reduced to this sorry state of affairs; leeching from
the leeches; a kind of proxy vampirism.
 !197
-
At that moment, with the blood coursing down her chin, she appeared to gain some aware
ness of her vile circumstances and erupted into an even deeper fit of depression. Feeling sorry for
her, she shifted back into her normal form and went to console the sobbing girl.
“Careful…”
“It’s alright Otaktay… I’ve got this…”
“A-Anastasia… What’s happening to me?”
“Valerie,” she said taking the dead leech from her hands and casting it aside. “You have an
unclean spirit inside of you. I’m going to take it out. Now hold still…”
She lay her hands on top of her head and called out the demon Jahbulon. Valerie belched
soma milk and leech blood all over the floor. A silvery grey worm squirmed in the mess of fluids. It
writhed and died under the applied pressure of her boot. “There it’s over… You’re free now.”
The young girl stood up and wiped the blood on her sleeve. “Where am I?” she said looking
around at the foreign cityscape.
She concentrated for a moment and saw Valerie asleep in the dorms back in the camp, in the
Third Density. “Not here…”
“What’s going on?”
“She’s a shade…” said Otaktay. “She’ll wake up soon enough, most likely when we are
nearer the gate. In the mean time, I think we should take her with us, just to be on the safe side…”
“Okay,” she replied. “We’ve got time and Gods to kill…”

It wasn’t long before Minyon reappeared, this time with keys in hand. He only appeared to
look regretful when he neared the door of the cage and saw that he was, against his better judge-
ment, about to open the door. The realisation of what was occurring must have dawned on him,
sometime around then. “Totem thieves,” he spat.
“It’s not thievery when you dropped it on my floor…”
Minyon’s mouth dropped.
“That’s right you shitheel… I know it was you…”
“You won’t get away with this…” he said turning the key in the lock.
“We already have…” he stepped slowly through the door of the cage and grabbed the weedy
drug-dealer by the neck. “Consider this as payback.”
Harmon was still painfully extracting himself from the floor of the cage when Walter landed
the first blow on Minyon’s face. He was reeling back for another, but it was clear that Minyon was
already out cold.
“What are you doing?” he shrieked.
“He’s not dead,” remarked Walter checking the man’s pulse. “I just knocked him out that’s
all…”
“What use is he to us like that? We could have used him to find a way out of here.”
“I see what you mean… I hadn’t thought of that… Well, he might wake up… We’ll just
have to carry him, until then.”
“You carry him, he’s your fuck up…”
“Cut me a break here, kid…” he said.
Just then they could hear shouts coming down the corridor towards them. “Change of plan.
We’re leaving him behind,” he said and dropped the dead weight to the floor.
The noise coming from behind them was truly ferocious and unsettling. “Take the first left
and then the next right,” he said recalling to memory the layout of the building. He was leading
them away from the crowds, but into an area of the building he had absolutely no knowledge of.
This wasn’t really surprising considering the vast, labyrinthine construction of the place; and it
 !198
wasn’t long before they were completely lost. They could hear from the shouts and growls behind
them that the guards were gaining ground. About half way down a corridor, he spotted something
very unusual. It was a metal doorway with a window in it; and next to it, was a keypad. Could it be?
He wondered…
He stopped and started pressing the green flashing buttons… First three… then one…
Walter skidded to a halt a few yards behind him. “Come on will you? We don’t have time
for that shit…”
Then one… Then three…
“Hang on a second,” he told the impatient Walter and pressed the Enter key.
The door slid back revealing a draught of cool air.
“Well, what do you know…”
They both jumped through the portal, even as the sound of the monsters reached the end of
the corridor. He depressed the lock button on the opposite side and the door slid closed. Ducking
down they could still see the passage of the marauding group of aliens with porcupine spins and oc-
topus tentacles slither past.
Walter gave him a relieved smile. “You did it… You’re a genius…”
He shrugged. The numbers he had used were the same ones he had witnessed in the dream
earlier this morning. It was clear that the four digits made more sense in relation to a keypad num-
ber code then they did Einstein’s relativity theory, and for obvious reasons. What he wasn’t so clear
on was whether the dream had told him the code for the door, or if the code had been set to that
number because he had dreamt of it being so. He supposed it didn’t really matter, either way. All
that mattered was that they were safe. But, that begged the next question; where in the Hell were
they? He felt Walter tapping him urgently on the shoulder, which was never a good sign, in these
types of situations.
“Harmon… Look behind you…”
Turning around he saw that they were standing in a large darkened hall. The floor of the hall
appeared to be arranged in some kind of chequer board pattern, with large squares measuring about
a metre in length.
“What do you suppose it is…” he whispered.
“I don’t know…”
Even as the words were out of his mouth, he heard it and the sound itself made the blood
reverse in his veins. Something was moving beyond the pale of light cast by the doorway, just out
of sight. And whatever it was, it was huge…

Walter woke up with someone kicking the back of his leg. He was tired and groggy like he
had been hit over the head with a shovel. Then he remembered the terrible vision he had witnessed
in that chequerboard room. Something huge and insectoidal and incredibly fast. Had that thing been
present in the room with him now, he would have been absolutely scared out of his wits by it. But
that wasn’t the thing that terrified him the most. What terrified him the most was the fact that he
was suspended over a deep, dark and forbidding precipice tied back to back with someone who was
still now kicking his leg.
“Walter?”
“Harmon… Is that you?”
“Oh good… You’re awake… Yes, it’s me…” he said with no small amount of relief. “Listen,
I’ve got to tell you something…”
“You haven’t pissed yourself again have you?”
“No, not exactly…”
 !199
“Oh no, you haven’t?… Jesus, Harmon… I’m right next to you.”
“No, it’s nothing like that… Listen remember I was telling you that I’m not really here and
that I’m just having a drug experience in my living room?”
“Yeah…”
“Well, it’s true…”
“OK, so it’s true… So what about it?”
“Ah, Walt, what I’m trying to tell you is that I’m going to come out of it soon…”
“OK, so what?”
“And… When I do… I’m not going to be around any longer…”
The logistics of the situation were being made clear to him. If Harmon was to all of a sudden
just disappear, then the rope would be too large to support him and he would fall right to his death.
“You can’t be serious…”
“I am…”
“Listen to me… Harmon… Whatever you do… Don’t wake up…”
“Well, it’s not something I can control… My body will metabolise the drug in a set amount
of time, there’s nothing I can do about it…”
“OK, don’t nerd out on me Harmon, OK? I need you to stay focused. How much time you
have left?”
“Well, the drug only takes fifteen minutes or so… I’ve been here at least twice that amount
of time already… So, I don’t know… But it should be really soon, is my point…”
“At least wait until I can get my hands free for fucksake…”
To their right, a small man with a disfigured face and wearing a dark robe had just entered
the room through a set of palatial doors. He walked up to a panel on the floor and stood on it. All of
a sudden the rope from which they were hanging did a little jump. As any sort of movement over
such a deep, dark and dangerous hole was bound to cause alarm, Walter and Harmon — being no
exceptions — screamed and spun around… “Hey, what do you think you’re doing?”
“Don’t worry, Mr. Cullen… You’re quite safe… for now, at least…”
“Why are you doing this? Who are you?”
“Don’t you recognise me?” he said turning his head from side to side.
“My God… I do, it’s Mr. Collins…
“Who’s Mr. Collins?”
“He’s my daughter’s summer camp instructor…”
“Why am I not surprised?”
“What have you done with her, you sick fuck?” he screamed.
“With who?”
“With my daughter… You…” he was running out of insults.
“With Anastasia? Nothing… In fact, she is on her way here right now…”
“She is?”
“Yes…”
“Well you better hope that she’s ok, otherwise I’ll…”
“You’ll what… If you haven’t noticed you’re not in any position to make threats. And in any
case, it is not her you should be worried about… Anastasia has been a consistent thorn in our sides
since she arrived at Camp Calapuyau eight days ago…”
“What do you mean?” he felt like he was involved in the most heated parent teacher meeting
of his entire life.
“Your daughter, Mr. Cullen, has scuppered our plans for planetary invasion, cut off the hive
mind from its nutrient sources of sec and skipped ahead in her reading assignments…”
My God, this was a parent teacher meeting, he thought.
 !200
“Wow, your daughter sounds like a total bad ass…”
Anastasia, a bad ass? They must be talking about someone else… Something seriously
wrong was going on here.

The Old Hag, the Goblin, the Witch, Otaktay’s ghost and the blood-stained girl climbed up
the large triangular staircase leading into the front entrance of the Central Pyramid. There looked to
be some two hundred and fifty steps, and yet this was compounded by the fact that each step had
been built to accommodate the giant feet of the larger of the Darkheim denizens and was therefore
twice the size of an ordinary human staircase. It seemed there was nothing in the Darkheim that was
done without spectacle, as from the top of the steps you could see out over the whole citadel to the
grey smokey mountains and the burning red fire in the sky at the horizon. But Anastasia would not
let them rest long. -
She felt for the pendant on her necklace, or the Merkabah, as her Spiritual Father had re
ferred to it. It was still there and it still made her feel safe, even in the depths of the Darkheim
where nothing penetrated. She felt her mother’s presence by her side; encouraging her to go on
fighting, to never give up, and to open the door.
She pushed against the glass doors, which led to the pyramid reception room. Two ornate
staircases ran up either side of a small water feature to a set of arched doors above. “He’s in there,”
she said; thinking of her father. “I know it…”
Before, she could race up the steps, Otaktay grabbed her by the shoulders. “Wait… It’s a
trap…”
“What do you mean, a trap? He’s up there…”
“No, children,” he said. “Look, whenever you see two symmetrical staircases or paths like
that you must know to be careful…”
“How so Otaktay?”
“Now listen to me, because this is very important… If you, for example go up the right side,
you be sure to come down the same side… Otherwise you risk being stuck here forever, OK?”
“But why do you have to do that, Otaktay?” asked Bruno.
“The geometry of the Darkheim is said to be asymmetrical from a physical perspective, so
seemingly symmetrical objects can land you in trouble…”
“Can we hurry this up?” she urged.
“Hang on, I’m trying to explain this… If you go up the right side,” he said holding out his
right hand. “You come down the same side, which will be your left side, when you come back.” He
turned around holding out his lefthand to demonstrate the return journey. “Got that?”
“OK, we got it,” she cried. “Go up the right side come down the left, can we just get on with
it now?”

Now it was true that Walter was hooked like a fish and dangling on a string over the void,
but he this did nothing to cow his anger. He railed and hounded his captor; hurling abuse at him like
funeral confetti. It got so bad that even Baal himself, who “allegedly” delighted in eating babies on
of an evening and drinking their blood, was finding offence in his some of his comments. “Are you
quite finished?” he asked.
He admitted he was.
“Good, because here’s your daughter now…”
He swung back around in the direction of the door on the opposite side, just in time to see an
old crone, a goblin, a seven foot tall Native American and a girl covered in blood walk into the
 !201
room. But no where in this rag tag group of Rock’nRoll Hallowe’en trick or treaters could he find
any sign of his own beloved daughter. “What the fuck do you call this?” he started up again; swing-
ing back into his pre-eminent tirade. “You promised me my daughter and all I see are more of your
freaky Goth offspring…”
“Ah Anastasia,” cried Baal; clearly relieved by the distraction. “So glad you could make
it…”
“I see you’ve met my father…” she said.
“Yes, I have… Delightful man, I can see why you’re so fond of him anyway…”
“Yeah, well greatness runs in the family…” she said taking a step closer.
“Actually, I wouldn’t if I were you,” he said lifting up his black robe an inch to reveal his
sandalled foot resting on a pressure switch below. “This switch is finely calibrated to my weight. If
for any reason I should be displaced your father and his idiot friend will spend the rest of eternity at
the bottom of my Royal Oubliette…” -
Who was he talking too? Why was that old woman pretending to be Anastasia, he won
dered? A voice from behind him interrupted his thoughts. “Walter…”
“Shut up, Harmon…”
“No, Walter… It’s happening…”
“What’s happening?”
“I’m coming out of it I can feel it…”
“What now? You’re not serious?”
“I am…”
“Oh God, Harmon… I never thought I’d say this to anyone of your age group, but what ever
you do, don’t sober up…”
“Too late… I’m sorry Walter… Good bye…”
In an instant, he felt the warmth and weight of Harmon’s body vanish from behind him and
then he was falling, falling helpless through the air. He reached out for the rope and caught it with
one hand. A second later however, he was yanked up by the pressure being exerted upon the rope.
Evidently the system had been calibrated to their combined weight. Now with one of them missing,
the rope was yanked from his hands and a moment later he was falling again back into the oppres-
sive black abyss.
All of a sudden, he looked up and found that he was lying in the arms of his daughter who,
apparently, was able to fly. He had been wrong about that summer camp business after all, maybe it
had been worth the money. She set him down on the ground safely. “Are you OK?”
“Anastasia… Yes I’m OK, I’m so glad to see you…” He turned back around just in time to
see his black robed assailant disappear behind the doors again. “Hey, look he’s getting away…”
A sharp pain in his side made him sit back down again.
“Careful,” she said. “You’ve been through a lot…”
She was right, he had. “Oh Anastasia, you wouldn’t believe the kind of day I’ve had so
far… between the funerals and the…” he was about to mention Sylvia’s passing to her when he saw
the goblin with lighted eyes, and a man carrying an axe making their way towards them. “Oh my
God, Anastasia… Look out…”
“It’s alright Dad, these are my friends…” she smiled. -
“Friends?” he took one look at the girl covered in blood and the axe-yielding Native Ameri
can and said. “You’ve got some explaining to do missy…”
“As do you…” she rallied. “Like who was that boy you were with and where did he go?”
“Is that your father?” asked Wendy. -
“That boy was on a cocktail of weird drugs… and if I ever catch you doing something simi
lar I ground you for the rest of your life…”
 !202
“It definitely is her father…” said Valerie nodding.
“OK then,” she slapped her hands together in front of her. “Good talk… Wendy, Bruno,
Otaktay, I want you to bring my father back to the Third Density…”
“Back through the toolshed?”
“That’s right…”
He didn’t understand. “But, where’re you going?” he asked.
“There’s something I have to finish first but I can’t do it with you here, you’ll just get in the
way…”
He couldn’t believe how quickly his little girl had grown up, it seemed like only yesterday
she was asking him to tie her shoelaces up and now she was threatening to overthrow the ruling
elite on some distant alien world.
“You take care of yourself, angel…”
“I will…” she said and then he gave her one last embrace.

Anastasia pushed against the heavy wooden door to reveal a colossal throne room whose
bounds were shrouded in darkness. But what was there to see, was nevertheless clearly visible; the
floor was covered in a black and white tracer board pattern, and at the back of the room was a podi-
um with three ornate golden chairs, upholstered with a plush blue fabric. The giant form of the Jah-
bulon stepped onto the stage from the shadows. She had never seen Jahbulon in his true form be-
fore, and it was horrid to look upon. A giant cat’s head on the right hand shoulder; a toad’s head on
the other and in the middle was the breathy, slightly glum and apathetic countenance of Jasper
Collins. As she had dreamt, the three appeared wrapped in a single black cloak and protruding out
from under it were eight hairy spider’s legs.
“Welcome to the Inner Sanctum,” boomed Mr. Collin’s voice. “Welcome to the
Darkheim…”
“Tell me where my sister is…”
“You mean the original Anastasia?” purred Ms. Lytton.
“She’s in a stasis chamber on another level, but you’ll never reach her alive…” -
“Well, we’ll see about that…” She stepped out onto the tracer board floor. She unconscious
ly selected a white square and unhooked the Merkabah from around her neck.
With his left hand, Jahbulon threw a number of small objects onto the floor. She recognised
them as the personal totems of the camp directors; Ms. Lytton’s rabbit’s foot, Mr. Bulwark’s brass
turtle and the iron wasp of Mr. Collins.
The totems grew rapidly in size and came to life. The rabbit’s foot grew a torso, legs, arms
and a head. It did not resemble the kind of rabbit you might see in the wild, rather it looked like a
very large man wearing an Energiser bunny suit. Mr. Collins’ wasp totem grew into a three-foot
long flying machine and hovered several feet above the ground on two transparent-mesh wings. The
little bronze turtle expanded to a diameter of five feet, as it did so, it developed correct skin tones of
that of a turtle in the wild, but it still had an unreal, animatronic quality to it.
“If I defeat your totems, will you tell me where my sister is?”
“I’ll tell you what, I’m so confident that you won’t that I’ll let you know in advance. How’s
that?”
She accepted the offer and received a telepathic image of the precise location of Anastasia’s
stasis chamber in relation to the rest of the pyramids labyrinthine interior. Satisfied with this, she
cast her own totem of the tracer board. As the rings bounced across the floor, they spun and as they
spun they grew in size and went one inside the other. The scintillating metallic object rose up to a
height of twenty feet above the floor. Each of its three concentrically embedded rings rotated along
 !203
different axes and at its centre glowed a core of pure, white Vril energy. Along the outside edge of
each ring, she noticed a strange alien script. The glyphs mainly consisted of a confluence of trian-
gles, squares and dot shapes, but were impossible to decipher owing to them being part of some lost
language.
As per the rules of the game, black went first. The wasp and the white rabbit were on a dual
offensive. The rabbit sent two continuous bursts of powerful blue-white energy from the round pads
of its paws. One passed through the rings of the Merkabah and struck its core, sending a shower of
sparks and causing the whole apparatus to rock unsteadily. The second beam was aimed in her di-
rection. It required all of her energy to generate a beam of Vril just powerful enough to stave off one
of the rabbit’s energy pulses, she dreaded to think what it would be like with two.
Meanwhile, the wasp was on the offensive, volleying short staccato bursts of Vril energy
from its rapier like stinger towards her. Unable to block the incoming fire, she had to stay out of its
way by lifting off into the air. Sensing that she was in difficulty, the rabbit focused all of his energy
on her and was beating back her defences inch by agonising inch. There was no way, she could ever
hope to withstand the full force of Ms. Lytton’s rabbit totem, let alone a sustained attack from the
wasp as well. By now the Merkabah had regained its rotational equilibrium and sent out a series of
short intense energy pulses to weaken the encroaching rabbit. But it was limited to what it could do,
because the rings were involved in a complex series of manoeuvres deflecting the barrage of fire
from the mechanical wasp. Many of these deflected blasts ricochetted wildly about the room, mak-
ing the situation even more dangerous for her.
“Watch it,” she cried, as one of the wayward white daggers came close to lacerated her
cheek.
In response, Merkabah shifted its position and redirected one of the wasp’s parried blasts
direct to the rabbit’s chest. A direct hit burnt a hole through its heart, causing it to collapse into a
smoking heap on the floor. With the rabbit permanently out of action, the Merkabah advanced on
the wasp, taking it up inside of itself. The internal rings contracted violently and began to grind up
any and all parts of the wasp that got caught between the narrowing intersections of its blade-like
rings. There were bright sparks and a loud reverberating noise like that of a buzzsaw, as the brittle
metallic body-mass of the wasp was eroded into smaller and smaller pieces. The Merkabah, it ap-
peared, had an efficient internal filtering system, as it deposited the pulverised scrap-metal remains
into a neat little pile on the floor.
At the sight of this, Jahbulon grew visibly nervous and began to scuttle in the direction of
the anamorphic gateway at the side of the stage, but he did not depart just then. The Merkabah re-
treated back from the centre of the room, as the turtle was slowly advancing on its position, from
the right.
“Look out…”
It shot several sustained pulses at the reptile’s shell, but they were absorbed entirely, leaving
it apparently unharmed. She tried her hand next, but it was useless; there was no way to get through
that thick armour-plating of that creature. Before she could instruct the Merkabah to shoot at its legs
and head, the turtle retracted them.
“Is that the best you have?” she shouted. “A cowering reptile?”
As if in response to this, the turtle reappeared and in one fluid twisting motion it flipped it-
self over onto its back. It began to spin round and round increasing its angular momentum by draw-
ing its appendages inward again. A split-second later, four thick beams of light erupted from the
openings left in the shell. Jahbulon had completely vanished by now, and immediately, she knew
her hesitation had cost them the battle. She should have taken the shot when she had the chance.
Now the slow reptile had beaten them to the finish line.
 !204
As the creature continued its frenzied spin on the black and white floor, its legs reemerged,
and at the same time showing them to be the sole source of the Vril energy beams. The resulting
spectacle reminded her of some kind 70s disco dancer combined with that of a spinning disco ball
and laser light all in one. She knew exactly what was to come next. It raised the angle of attack on
its energy beams. It was going to trap them in an ever narrowing circle of death rays from which
there was no escape. The Merkabah somehow had managed to get on the other side of the beams
closer to the floor, but it did not appear content to remain there.
It hurtled around the room in the same direction of the turtle, until it matched its speed and
then slipped through the gaps in the energy beams with ease. Then it descended on the flat exposed
underbelly of the turtle in an ever-tightening spiral arch. It came down on the defenceless turtle with
all three of its rings racing around at speed, filling the room with a deafening noise. She closed her
eyes and covered her ears to scream, as the energy beams singed the edges of her clothes. There was
a loud crack as the turtle’s shell gave way under the weight of the alien device. In that very instant
the turtle’s strength gave out and its reserves of sec shut off. The Merkabah continued to drill down
into the turtle’s shell, scooping out it’s innards, like a hungry dog licking the bowl. When it was fin-
ished, all that was left of it was the still smouldering husk of its shell and the smell of burning carti-
lage

Harmon stepped down from the Darkheim, back into his room. How long had he been gone
for? He looked at the clock on his phone; fifteen minutes. That couldn’t be right, he had been in
there for several hours at least. What had just happened? Was that real? It felt real. Really real, but it
couldn’t have been. Minyon, Walter, Anastasia… Was it possible he had really met them all in an-
other reality? But if so why was Anastasia so such a powerful force there? He checked his pockets
and found the plastic figurine he had used to summon Minyon. It was still there… Then it wasn’t a
dream. More to the point, he now knew he had the power of life or death over one of primary drug-
dealers in his neighbourhood. Was this really such a good thing, he wondered? He threw the totem
down on the table, stood up and pulled his hair back from his face.
There was the definite possibility that his mind was becoming unhinged… There is no way
this is happening. He looked again at the plastic figurine sitting on the table. You’re not there, you
can’t be. He remembered the tubes, the sleeping chambers filled with thousands upon thousands of
souls. He recalled how he was likely asleep in one of those chambers. What if that is the real reality
and this is the dream, or hallucination? We are all being kept in storage containers being drained of
our energies, believing ourselves to be free human beings. But does that even make sense? He had
to know for sure and there was only one way to find out. He picked back up the plastic figurine;
“Minyon… If you’re still alive and you can hear me… I want you to come here…”
When he was finished he felt a little stupid. Would he come? No, he thought, placing the
figurine back in his pocket. Not a hope in Hell.

After she made her way through the gateway, she paused for a moment to get her bearings.
She was standing in a giant cargo bay. Just how big was this place? She was still inside the pyramid,
she knew that much and based on the mental map she had in her head not far from the cryo-cham-
ber where her half sister lay sleeping. The walls of the cargo bay were made of huge orange bulk-
heads that stretched upwards to the ceiling some sixty foot over head. Around the edge of the stor-
age facility, piled up in a hap-hazard manner against the walls, she saw mountains of totems. All
around her, huge yellow excavators dug into these mounds and deposited them in the backs of mas-
sive dump trucks. She wondered what they were all doing, but she didn’t have time to find out.
 !205
Up ahead, she saw Jahbulon running through a giant doorway into the next cargo bay, his
dark cloak trailing him. No doubt, he was going to try and make it to his sleeping half-sister before
she could and kill her. She could not let that happen.
Even as she started after him, Jahbulon split into his three separate individual forms. Possi-
bly the most impressive part of this was how the cloak was divided up among them into three pieces
without tearing or reducing in size. She started after them, but almost instantly lost sight of them as
two giant dump trucks passed in front of her and both travelling in opposite directions. As soon as
the two trucks parted ways, Kat pounced on her, pinning her to the ground.
“Nice try Anastasia… You were a good student, but I didn’t teach you everything.”
The destruction of Ms. Lytton’s lucky rabbit’s foot had made her considerably weaker and
she flipped her over onto her back. Pressing down into the warm soft fur of her belly, she unleashed
a burst of pure energy, the result of which had her thrown twenty feet in the air. Ms. Lytton writhed
and wailed in agony on the dry yellow earth, but still managed to move out of the way, before her
assailant could land back down on top of her with the killing blow. She was fast, she thought.
Ms. Lytton had shot a round of Vril energy scythes at her. They cut into her arms and legs,
tearing her clothes and searing flesh. Her knees weakened and she bent down. No Anastasia don’t
give up… keep fighting. She went deep and gathered her remaining sec; one last energy blast ought
to do it. But before she could deliver it, something extremely large and moving very fast hit her
from behind; mashing her into the ground.
The dump truck came to a stop overhead. She could her the engine ticking over, which
meant that she was still alive. Ms. Lytton had obviously formulated the opposite opinion. She was
limping off in the other direction to lick her wounds. Time to finish this, she thought. She punched
through the base of the truck and pulled herself up into the cabin. This systems were all automated,
but it was easy to override them, like she did with the others in the Dark Locale, and take control.
She gunned the accelerator and barrelled down on her former tutor. Ms. Lytton began limping away
more quickly, but there was no chance of escape from the six-wheeled dump truck.
The truck slammed into her at full speed, pulling her into the wheel well. The large threaded
tyres went into a spin; catching the skin on her head and shearing the flesh from her skull. It was all
over in seconds. She left the dump truck teetering on top of her fresh kill, steam billowing from her
exposed remains. -
When she finally made it into the next storage bay, she saw a strange sight. Motorised vehi
cles were feeding cart loads of totems into giant blast furnaces set into the walls. Why were they
destroying their totems? Were they getting rid of evidence? This didn’t seem very likely, but before
she could come to any satisfactory conclusions on the matter, she was hit from behind by an energy
blast and sent her to the floor. A second later Mr. Bulwark was on top of her. “Oh, Anastasia,” he
said. “You don’t know how long I’ve waited for this moment…”
His dextrous tongue wrapped itself around her body and she was reminded of what he had
done to Wilma, up at the spring. “You’re still a pervert, Mr. Bulwark,” she screamed and unleashed
her remain reserves of sec through every pore on her body. The spherical shockwave singed Bul-
wark’s tongue. He stumbled about, waving his hands and mumbling inanities, with his tongue hang-
ing out like a spent party streamer. In his obvious state of confusion, he wandered too close to one
of the open blast furnaces. -
A giant earth moving truck was moving in his direction, but already it was breaking. Its on
board sensor must have detected the obstacle in its path, she thought. She couldn’t let that happen
and took control of its systems; kicking them into overdrive. The front of the truck slammed into
Mr. Bulwark, cutting him in half and depositing the top half into the blast furnace. The truck had
badly damaged the outer wall of the furnace and molten rock and metal were leaking out every-
 !206
where, melting the front of the truck and causing it to burst into a ball of orange flames and black
smoke. Maybe that wasn’t such a good idea after all, she thought.
But at least Mr. Bulwark was dead; one less pervert to worry about.
The only other way out of the storage facility was through the large cargo bay doors behind
her. Her half-sister was on the other side of that door, somewhere, so that must be where Baal went.
At this point, she could tell that her reserves of sec were running dangerously low. So whatever she
had left, she would have to make count. Stepping through the door she saw a darkened room filled
with illuminated glass cabinets going from floor to ceiling. In the cabinets, she saw more of the
totems on display. As she moved through the surreal museum, she saw that one of totems was miss-
ing from its place. It didn’t take long for her to discover where it had gone to.
It looked like a kind of plastic figurine you might get inside a box of breakfast cereal and it
was in the passage way up ahead, just floating in air. No not floating, she thought, it was being held
like that leaf she had seen outside the shower block, by the power of an invisible hand. Baal’s
hand… A hefty smack hit her full force in the nose sending her collapsing back onto the ground.
Before she was able to right herself, she felt a kick to the base of her spine, followed by a second
even more vicious blow to her face. -
“How do you like that? Not as easy as you though it would be, eh?” came the loud, disem
bodied voice of Mr. Collins.
She tried to stand up, thinking that maybe she would be able to get a fix on him better if she
were standing up, but her legs were swept out from under her and she went down hard onto the
metal floor again.
“Ah-ah-ah, I never told you to get up…”
She spat blood, but she didn’t rise to the bait again. Instead she lay there listening, listening
for any little sound that he might make, any slip up that might give his position away. He was be-
hind her. She jumped up and threw a volley of punches and kicks, but none of them hit their mark.
A stabbing pain to her side was his response and it was a good one. It sent her collapsing to the
floor in wild, blind agony.
“That ought to cut you down to size…”
The word cut was meant to foreshadow something more deadly, she understood, and at the
same moment she heard the sharp, thin sound of a sword being drawn. Think Anastasia, she admon-
ished herself, there had to be a way. Then she remembered what had enabled her to see the Fifth
Density in the first place; crossing her eyes in a dream. Surely this was an important step in the de-
velopment of a Nargual and yet it was forbidden to learn it. Why was it forbidden to learn? Could it
be that in it lay the key to defeating Jahbulon once and for all? It was her only hope.
She forced herself to look up in the direction of the scintillating blade and crossed her eyes.
There, in her skewed vision she could see the diffuse spectral image of the Pale Monarch. He was
standing with his arms raised over his head, ready to strike at her head with a scimitar. It was appar-
ent from the look of shock on his face that he was aware that she could see him. He brought the
blade down quickly, but not fast enough. She struck his belly first and when his mouth opened she
stuffed her totem inside. He swallowed out of fear and by doing so, took his own demise deep in-
side of him. He let out a final scream of rage, as the Merkabah travelled down into his oesophagus
into his stomach. Then, all at once, it expanded to its full size again, gyrating like a huge multi-di-
mension food processor; and sending bits of bloody bone, all over the museum’s interior.

THE END



 !207

14
Epilogue

Anastasia ran her fingers across the glass and wiped the condensation away. Somewhere
huddled in that mass of wires and heat exchangers was her half-sister, her true self and the legiti-
mate daughter of Walter Cullen. Did she really want to do this? How would her father react to such
news? Would he embrace his lost daughter as his own? And if so, would he still have space left in
his heart for her? What would they call the new Anastasia? Her half-sister could be Ana and her
Stasia, or the other way around might work better… But there were other more far-reaching consid-
erations too. Like, social security… Would she get citizenship? Would she be able to lead a normal
life? So many questions… And that was only for one person. There were pods numbering in the
hundreds of millions here, each one enclosing their own unknown quantity. She couldn’t realistical-
ly release them all upon the Earth. But then again, neither could she let them stay here. She opened
up her sisters pod and when the mist cleared she saw that something had gone horribly, horribly
wrong. There in place of her own likeness was a purple, shrivelled up mass.
It took her a while to realise that what she was seeing was a baby; and not just any baby. It
was her at about the age of about six months. The bone structure was unmistakable. What had hap-
pened? Was it possible that the pod had malfunctioned and instead of preserving the body in stasis
had somehow managed to reverse the ageing process? It wasn’t inconceivable.
In any case, it was lucky that she had arrived when she did. A little bit longer and baby
Anastasia would have reverted back into an foetus and shortly after that… Well, who knows? She
lifted the baby out of the sleeping chamber and patted her on the back to get the remaining fluid out
of her lungs. “There, there, little one,” she said. “I’ve got you now…”
She looked around at the others, asleep in their chambers. She had got what she came for.
They would have to wait, for another time.

There was a knock on the door and Harmon got up to answer it, but he stopped short of the
door. What if it was Minyon? If it was Minyon then that meant his entire world view would be shat-
tered and turned upside down forever. But, then again, not necessarily; What if Minyon had just
called over coincidentally. It could happen… The odds were astronomical, but — Oh who was he
kidding: If he opened the door and saw Minyon standing there he would be convinced that his en-
counter with him in the Salvia dimension was real. And this in itself was very dangerous territory,
because if he was delusional in his convictions and Minyon caught onto this fact, he could wind up
under Minyon’s control. He had to be careful not to let that happen. He opened the door. Standing
there looking disheveled and hung over, in a green Parka was Darrel Minyon.
“You should come in…”
“I’ll come in then,” he said.
Harmon moved some stuff out of the way, so he could sit down. “Can I get you anything?
Some toast?”
“Cut the bullshit, Harmon… You have my totem… And I want it back. Now…” His tone
was harsh and abrasive.
“It is true then…”
“Give it back to me, before I box your head into bits…”
“I have control over everything you say and do… Isn’t that right?”
“Yes, more or less…”
 !208
He looked around his messy sink and found a glass filled with dirty dish water. “Here, drink
this…”
He set the glass down in front of him. It even had a few cigarette butts floating around in it,
he noticed. A look of disgust came over Minyon’s face, but nevertheless he picked up the glass and
drank from it. But only a sip…
“All of it…”
Minyon started chugging, and when the glass was empty he set it back down on the table.
“Good boy…”
“When I get free of this I’m going to kill you…”
“No more of that kind of talk… Do you hear me?” he said, cutting him short. “You are to be
polite and respectful to me from now on… You’ll call me, sir… And I don’t want you to be muti-
nous or to disobey me either, is that understood?”
Minyon shuddered as though a frequency beam had reprogrammed his cells at the molecular
level. “Yes, sir…” -
“That’s better… It’s not like you have any moral high ground anyway, when you were satis
fied to feed me to the wolves… I on the other hand will be a decent and fair master, whenever I can
be… Now, tell me… Who are the people in the pods?”
“They are us…”
“So we are just dreaming all of this?” he looked around.
“We are using you as a source of sec.”
“Sec?” He recognised the term from Egyptology.
“The body’s life force…”
“But that doesn’t make sense… Why bother with the nightmares, with this reality, if all you
want is energy?”
“The truth is I don’t know…”
He was telling the truth; He had to be. “Who does?”
“Nobody, as far as I’m aware…” he shrugged.
“What about that creature?”
“Jahbulon?”
“Yeah, him…”
“He might…”
“But… But you must have a theory…”
“You want my opinion?”
“Yes.”
“In my opinion, there is no answer to the question you seek. Where one reality connects to
another, a breakdown in logic often occurs. Things simply don’t make sense on the edge of know-
ing.”

Anastasia left the cryo-chamber room and headed back through the museum. As soon as the
door opened into the cargo bay, she saw the giant inferno that threatened to engulf the entire struc-
ture. Under ordinary circumstances this would have been enough to catapult her into a full-blown
panic, but these were not ordinary circumstances, because she also saw rearing up in front of it like
an angry Hellspawn none other than the Berserker itself. She recalled how Otaktay had said that the
Berserker would survive. But that was a joke, no one actually thought he would.
“You took it from me…” he hissed.
“What?” she said clutching her baby sister closer to her chest.
“My… vengence…” came the response.
 !209
“You mean… you were planning to kill Jahbulon?”
“I am Jolon. Jahbulon killed my family… Now I will kill yours…” -
“Wait… we have to put this fire out, otherwise it will consume the whole building, us in
cluded.”
“I am already consumed… by hatred… blood… branch, break, bone, black, blood, branch,
break, blood, bone…”
The monster seemed to have gone into some kind of manic mantra consisting of only the
most default horrible and painful imagery. She reached out with her mind to extinguish the inferno
behind him, then she reached inside the Berserker’s mind to extinguish the fire in his soul. At first
she repeated the words with him; “Blood, bone, branch, black, break…” and then she started to in-
troduce more neutral words like; “beach, ball, kite, train…” and finally positive words like; “love,
kindness, forgiveness and friendship.”
This seemed to have the appropriate response. The monster was more subdued and got down
on his knees. She picked up the embers of the still burning totems and set them as a flaming crown
around his head. “Arise, Jolon… You were a Calapuyau warrior in your last life, but you will be
Berserker; King of the Darkheim in this one…”
The Berserker stood up and although sightless looked up to the sky, there to pronounce his
destiny to the Heavens and its dominion over all of the Darkheim.

Walter was lying in bed half asleep, trying to remember the dream he had been having, when
he heard the door of his room open beside him. Light footsteps tripped around the edge of bed and
companied by the intermittent crack of plastic, which signified a bottle being drained of water. At
first, Walter thought it was Julia come back from her run in the park, but then he remembered his
wife was dead. Who was it then that he could here padding around by the end of his bed? He knew
it wasn’t Anastasia, who had been missing for over a week now. Instead, he got the distinct mental
image of a women in her mid-twenties with dark hair tied up loose in a bun. How he could perceive
this with his eyes closed was a mystery to him, but he felt sure that he was correct in this assertion.
Furthermore, he could tell that she was wearing grey yoga pants, a tank top and appeared to be very
athletic. The unknown woman went around to the far side of the bed and without so much as saying
a word, she lifted the sheets and slid in behind him. Was she a ghost? Some kind of spatial memory,
perhaps? Yes, he remembered that theory that place had memory.
Somehow, he got the feeling that this woman knew him well, or thought she did. In her
mind, they were lovers. What could account for it? A hand stretched out towards him under the cov-
ers. He remembered the old hag and watching her morph into his beautiful daughter. What if the
same thing happened here, only in reverse? What if he turned around and instead of being in bed
with a beautiful women he found himself face to face with that toothless old hag again? The idea
terrified him more than anything else. The cold hand clutched around his belly.
“Breathe…” she said.

Anastasia left the Central Pyramid and carried her baby sister in her arms, back through the
deserted city. When she neared the toolshed she could see something was not right. Somehow the
portal had sealed up in her absence. It no longer led back to the green forested hills of the Fifth
Density, but to the same hollow bleakness of the Darkheim. Panic gripped her insides, as she re-
called the journey out of the pyramid.
What had Otaktay said about the asymmetry of five dimensional systems again? She hadn’t
really been paying attention. Go up right, come down on the left… Something like that… But what
 !210
if she had gotten it wrong? If she had then she was stuck here forever. Perhaps, she could go back
and ask the Berserker for help. But something prevented her from doing so. Why did she always
have to do things the hard way? Stupid, stupid, stupid, Anastasia.
“Don’t call yourself that,” said a voice from behind her.
Turning around she saw the spectre of a woman wearing a white gown floating above the
dunes. “Mom?” she gasped. “Is that really you?…” Her smile said it was so. “I don’t suppose
there’s a way out of this, is there?”
“You still have the Merkabah don’t you?”
“Of course…”
“Then all is not lost… To get out of the Fifth Density, you need to use the gravitational field
of a massive body…”
“I’m not sure I understand…”
“Remember the time you first left the Fifth Density, you had to go around the great oak
tree?”
“Yes, I remember. But I don’t see any oak trees around here…”
“You have ventured deeper into the Darkheim than anyone else before you… To get out you
will need something much larger than just an oak tree.” -
The first rays of sunshine were hitting the tops of the buildings and she thought she under
stood. “You mean?”
“Yes…” she nodded.
“I’m scared…”
“Don’t be… The Merkabah is a Lightship, it will take you back home.”
She threw the amulet back onto the ground and it expanded into the formidable rotating
form of the Merkabah. “Mother?” A wind rose up around her and when she looked again her mother
was gone, she didn’t even have time to ask about her Spiritual Father and why he had abandoned
the two of them on Earth. It didn’t matter now anyway. All that mattered now was getting herself
and her sister home safely.
She grabbed hold of one of the slowly revolving rings and pulled herself in side. She took
up the position of the bright solar core, but it did not hurt or burn her, instead it produced a warm
ticklish feeling in her belly, before slowly fading away. Once again, the outer rings began to rotate
rapidly and they took off, this time towards the sky. Beneath her, she could see the severe, grey ar-
chitecture of the Darkheim getting smaller and then they were out into the cold reaches of space.
For a moment, she became concerned for her sleeping baby sister that she might not be able to
breathe. But it was clear that the interplay of the Merkabah’s rings was generating a force field
around them, protecting them from the harmful radiation, whilst keeping their small bubble of oxy-
gen in place.
Within minutes the grey and yellow orb of the Darkheim world was but a distant speck in
the sky hidden amongst thousands of other stars and nebulae. She looked down at her sleeping self.
She noticed her skin was dusky and dry looking, no doubt a side effect of such a prolonged sleep
cycle… They would have to sort that out when they got back home, but right now they were ap-
proaching the star and she had to get ready. Beneath she could see the broiling mass of red and yel-
low filaments of the Darkheim main sequence star. The blades of the Merkabah were spinning so
fast they appeared invisible, but they still acted to filter out the light and heat radiation of the star
below. The flying machine sped round the back of the star, drifting within several hundred kilome-
tres of the surface, before slingshotting back out into space, back in the direction of the Third Den-
sity and home.