The Sea of Ash by Scott Thomas Read Free Book Online Page B

jockeying for escape. The chamber around me is
clanging and banging, the gears rotating, the pistons stomping like the feet of
Frankenstein's creation.
    Are the faces only partly formed,
or is it the sickly glow of their interring space that keeps them indistinct?
They are mournful things, no matter, the eyes smudged or bandaged, the woeful
mouths biting at the air. One moves closer to the window than the rest, and a
thin arm slides out and paws at the steam that is now blurring the dark room.
    I dive forward and pull both
remaining levers at once. One is stuck, rusted and resistant, but I persist,
and they both slide toward me at last.
    The entire room jolts -- a
hurtling vehicle impacting against something stationary. The lights flicker and
fade, but I see a trace of movement before they are blinded entirely. The
puppet figure flops back down in its seat, the book-like chest closing as the
chair retracts into blackness, emitting a shrill metallic screech.
    I find myself in total darkness,
and, after a few clinks and rattles, in silence.

    "You broke it!" Vincent
Banchini screeches like a little girl when he enters the Spirit Machine.
    Steam in the air accentuates the
beam of his flashlight as it sweeps about the room. Next, it is blazing in my
face and I am being interrogated.
    "What did you do?"
    I can hardly think at this time. I
point at the levers.
    "The bad door opened -- there
were faces -- something was climbing out -- I pulled one lever but nothing
happened, so I pulled the other two."
    "Simultaneously?"
Vincent's voice remains high as if he has been enraged into a second puberty.
    I nod, and the man covers his face
with a hand and groans. When he drops his hand he swivels and aims the light at
the right door.
      "Nothing got out, I hope?"
    "I don't think so. The metal
figure retracted, and the door shut."
    Vincent skulks about the room and
peers into the clutter of components, looks up and down and behind things. I
apologize repeatedly, but the man is too busy muttering to himself to take
note.
    "Thousands," he's
saying, "it will cost me thousands to fix this thing."
    I find my way to the door and step
out into the little hall. Such a relief to be out of that room! Vincent exits
right behind me and calls over my shoulder, "Tabina!"
    The being in the burka appears
presently. Vincent has replaced his flashlight with a cigarette. He gestures
with it.
    "Show this man the
door."

    This is a dreadful motel room, but
it suits my mood. I almost embrace it as a punishment, though I'm afraid to
touch anything lest I catch some dreaded disease. The crooked pictures are
uglier for their crookedness, and the pulsing music from the adjacent chamber
reflects the baseness and lack of aesthetics that typifies this modern culture,
despite its glorious technological sophistication. (Ironic how we seem to be
becoming a more stupid lot as our technology advances...perhaps, in some way, it is culpable).
    I am confused and disheartened. I
honestly don't know what to make of my experience at the Banchini House. While
I am stung by Vincent's rage, I am also angry with him for coercing me to try
out the machine after I had made it clear that I did not want to. Certainly I'm
guilty for causing injury to a unique piece of Victorian technology, or, worse
yet, a metaphysical device.
    But is it really the mystical
machine that it is made out to be? Pond believed it was, and didn't his
experience bear out that opinion? How can I distinguish whether the things I
saw were more than a magician's stunt? What did I really see? Was there
a hidden projector painting faces on the steam?
    More irony...for one who had set
out to retrace a trail of supernatural exploration, the thought that keeps me
from falling asleep is this... What if the things I saw were indeed real? And
on that note, what if I did not shut the machine down in time to stop that
ghastly creature from getting out into this realm?

 
     
     
    5. BRINKLOW'S DISAPPEARANCE
     
    Eunice Rice