Submersion by Guy A Johnson Read Free Book Online Page B

there were three doors leading off the landing, one was a cupboard housing a jumble of tools, tins, jars and little storage boxes. Of the remaining doors, one led to a small study, occupied by a stout, oak desk, littered with papers, and various grey, metal cabinets that I guessed contained even more paperwork. We didn’t get to confirm this, as the drawers were locked. The final room on this floor, like the small library on the second floor, was home to another pair of plumped, comfortable armchairs.
    ‘Sit down,’ Elinor instructed and I did as I was told, instantly swallowed up by the enveloping comfort the chair provided. ‘And listen,’ she added, heading towards one of two dark wooden cabinets opposite the chairs. Turning a small key, she unlocked and opened the doors to one and revealed a stack of black electrical equipment. After pressing a few buttons, she withdrew, joining me in the second chair. In her hand, she held a remote control, similar to that which had operated the televisions on the ground storey. Pressing a button, the purpose of this exercise was revealed: recorded music filled the room, a surround sound that I couldn’t locate the source of. ‘Hidden speakers,’ Elinor explained, although she had no idea where they were. More magic from Old Merlin.
    Elinor pressed a further button on the control and the music changed, and then changed again. I didn’t recognise the music, although I had heard similar on our small radio in the kitchen, on the days when limited music was transmitted. It was a composition of guitars, drums and a male voice, but not one I found pleasant. Elinor grinned and pressed the control again and the pace of the next piece was very different: strings, no drums or vocals. Classical, I thought to myself, recognising the style from a radio program Grandad Ronan listened to on occasion, late at night.
    ‘What’s the other cabinet?’ I asked, as Elinor switched the music again: this last arrangement was a violent mess of guitars crashing into each other.
    Elinor shrugged. ‘Dunno. It’s locked, no key. I’ve never asked. Come on, follow me.’ With that, Elinor led me out of the room and up a further floor. But the second locked cabinet stayed with me and, on one of my first visits without Elinor, I asked Old Man Merlin about it. To my surprise and delight, he fetched the key and revealed the wonder concealed within.
    The fourth level was less exciting that the previous three. Comprised of two rooms, one locked, the second occupied by a series of desks with fat, bold computer terminals perched upon them. I pressed a button on one of them that looked as if it would start the machine up, but the screen remained blank. I tried another, with the same result.
    ‘They’re all dead,’ Elinor explained, beckoning me with a finger, luring me away from this technical graveyard to the apex of the house.
    The fifth was simply an open plan attic room. Scanning the room, I was instantly aware that we shouldn’t have come this far. This final room was Old Merlin’s personal quarters. In truth, the whole house was his personal quarters, but the other floors had the cross-purpose feel of a museum and a workshop - a laboratory examining things from a distant past. The final storey was quite the opposite. Whilst only a single room, it was clearly divided into sub-rooms, just without dividing walls. One area was home to a bed, wardrobe and chest of drawers, indicating his sleeping arrangements. Two armchairs, a small coffee table and a rusting, grey fan heater created a cosy lounge area. In one corner, a dividing curtain was loosely hung up; a peak behind that revealed a bath, sink and lavatory, in white porcelain. A tiny stove, a kettle and a cardboard box of jars and tins was the only sign of a kitchen, so I assumed there were proper facilities below, at the very back of the house.
    ‘I don’t think we should be in here,’ I informed Elinor, who grinned, enjoying the discomforting