Weird Detectives: Recent Investigations

THE BEAST OF GLAMIS William Meikle

I arrived in Cheyne Walk that Friday evening in response to a very welcome card from Carnacki. It had been several weeks since our last supper together, and I knew that Carnacki had not been at home for a fortnight at least. Such an absence told of an adventure and I admit to a certain degree of anticipation as he showed me in.

“So what is it this time, old chap?” I asked as he took my overcoat. “A haunt or just another gang of criminals bent on deception?”

He smiled.

“Oh, there was certainly a degree of deception involved,” he said. “But never fear . . . it is a fine tale that will be a whole evening in the telling. I hope you have a full pouch of tobacco at hand.”

It was not long before Carnacki, Arkwright, Jessop, Taylor, and I were all seated at Carnacki’s ample dining table. As ever he brooked no discussion as to why we had been asked to supper, and we all knew from long experience that he would not say a single word until the meal was over and he was good and ready.

At table we exchanged cordialities, and Arkwright entertained us with his tales of the goings on in the corridors of Westminster. Carnacki kept us waiting until we retired to the parlour and charged our glasses with some of his fine Scotch.

Jessop’s palate was the first to notice a new addition to Carnacki’s drinks cabinet.

“I say old man, isn’t this the Auld Fettercairn?”

Carnacki smiled.

“Indeed it is, old chap. And thirty-five years old at that, one of only twenty bottles in existence. It was part of my payment for my recent sojourn. If you will all be seated, I shall tell you the tale as to how it was procured.”

“It begins with a letter,” he started as we fell quiet. “It was delivered on the Monday three weeks past, delivered by hand from those same Westminster corridors that Arkwright has so successfully lampooned. It was a simple note, requesting my attendance for lunch with a certain Claude Bowes-Lyon. Of course I knew the chap, knew his family history, and his reputation. I wondered what a Scottish lord from one of the old families would want with me.

“I did not have to wait long to find out. Lunch was served on the terrace, a fine breast of duck and an even finer Chablis. The lord, although he looked to be in rude good health, took none of it. But he had the good manners to wait until the meal was over before getting to the reason I had been brought here.

“ ‘There are two things in this world I love above all others,’ he said by way of preamble. ‘My castle at Glamis, and my youngest daughter. To have both under threat at the same time is almost more than I can bear.’

“I lit a pipe and waited. I knew when a proud man needs to talk, and this was one of those occasions.

“ ‘I have heard the stories of course,’ he continued. ‘All of us who live in and around the estate have lived with them all our lives; about the beast in the hidden room or the card game being played with Auld Nick for the player’s souls. I put no credence in such matters. I have seen men dead . . . and they stay that way. The dead do not come back.

“ ‘At least that is what I have always believed, and I continued to believe it right up until the birth of my youngest, Lisabet. Our troubles started on the night she came into the world.’

“He must have seen my shock, and was quick to allay any fears I might have shown.

“ ‘Oh no. You misunderstand me. There is nothing wrong with Lisabet. A more even-tempered girl you will never find. No. The problems arose within the walls of the old castle itself. At first it was merely knockings in the night, doors opening and closing, that sort of thing. I tried to write it off as merely the old stone itself settling and aging. But soon the servants began to rebel, refusing to go to the second floor, and I had a mutiny on my hands when I tried to force the issue.

“ ‘We took to ignoring the second floor completely, and that was that for several years. But we came to notice that things got worse when Lisabet was around. Matters came to a head just last month. I woke to the child’s screams, and when I got to her room she was almost hysterical. It tooks us hours to calm her down. All she could tell us was that the bogle had tried to take her.

“ ‘I have brought the girl to London in the meantime, but I need your help, Carnacki. I understand you have experience of this kind of thing, and I will not be forced from my own home. I need you to find out what this dashed thing is . . . and rid my family of it once and for all.’ ”

Carnacki paused to re-light his pipe before continuing.

“I could not with all conscience refuse,” he said. “There was the fact that he was a lord, of course. But more interesting to me than that was the opportunity it gave me. I had a chance to get to the bottom of an age-old mystery, and by Jove, I meant to take it.

“I set off the next morning, taking the Flying Scotsman as far as Edinburgh then another train on to Dundee where I had telegraphed ahead to have a carriage waiting. I needed one, you see, as I had ensured that I took a great deal of equipment with me, not knowing what might be required at the other end. A further twenty miles of rough road later and I arrived at the castle itself. It sits in a beautiful position with a wide, open aspect but, although it was still only late afternoon, a chill seemed to emanate from the very walls.

“The feeling of oppression only grew stronger as I was shown inside. The lord, or laird as they knew him here, had given me a letter of introduction to show to his housekeeper. The woman seemed to have been built from the same stuff as the castle itself, and indeed gave off a similar chill. She perused the laird’s letter twice before she deigned to allow me over the threshold. Even then she was at pains to inform me that I would be spending my nights in the servant’s quarters, being clearly, in her eyes, a mere tradesman in the laird’s employ.

“I was so enthused at the mere prospect ahead of me that I did not put up an argument. She showed me to a back room that was little bigger than a closet, and contained no more than a camp bed, a sink, and a bedside cabinet.

“ ‘I shall make you some breakfast in the morning,’ she said. “But only the once. After that you can do for yourself.’

“Again I did no more than agree. So far she had only showed me an icy coldness, but I am afraid I shattered that bastion completely with my next, and last, question.

“ ‘Can you show me to the room please?’ I asked. “The child Lisabet’s room? I need to find the bogle.’

“At the merest mention of the word she went as white as a sheet. She made a quick movement with her right hand, warding off the evil eye.

“ ‘ ’Tis on the second floor,’ she said, already leaving the room. I could see she was trying hard not to appear to be hurrying. ‘You can find your own way there I am sure, a fine gentleman such as yourself.’

“And with that I was left to my own devices. The first order of business was to inventory what I had brought with me. I had, of course, a copy of the Sigsand MS at hand, along with my defense kit. I checked the vials of holy water, the bulbs of garlic, the chalk, and the string—all were present and correct. As the castle fell quiet around me I also checked the apparatus of the electric pentacle. All the valves had remained intact despite the rattling of the carriage over the hard roads of Tayside. Satisfied that I had everything at hand if the need should arise, I headed forth into the castle proper.

“My first surprise came when I had barely gone ten yards. I walked up a staircase, intent on reaching the second floor when I realized the import of the window directly ahead of me. It was at least fifteen feet tall, and the glass glowed where moonlight hit it, like silver melted in a furnace. The leaded glass was imprinted with the finest of mosaics, and showed a figure standing on a border. On the left hand side of the window was a winter scene, a snow-covered landscape that twinkled with frost and reflected harsh moonlight in dark shadows that seemed to creep across the view.

“On the right-hand side it was summer. Children played in a field of green with lambs and foals. A glorious sun lit everything in deep gold that seemed almost warm against my face.

“The watcher himself had two faces. An old wrinkled visage watched the summer scene, while a fresh faced youth watched the snowfall in winter.”

Carnacki paused again, this time to pack fresh tobacco in his pipe. The rest of us took our cue from him and did likewise.

“Here is a fact for you chaps to ponder,” he said. “Did you know that in the eighth century, the Arab chemist Jabir ibn Hayyan described forty-six original recipes for producing colored glass in The Book of the Hidden Pearl? It is directly from him that the whole history of stained glass windows, from then to now, descends. His name was also Latinized as Geber. He wrote in a mangled verse that was so convoluted and strange that it coined a new word, gibberish. And since him, alchemists have always hidden their secrets in code.”

“Alchemy?” Jessop said, and guffawed. “Fairy tales and hokum.”

Carnacki merely smiled.

“We shall see,” was all he said.

He waited until we were settled again, then continued.

“That window had given me pause, for I had not thought to find something so arcane decorating the hallway of the staid lord I had met in London.

“The second floor of the castle intrigued me further. The floor, unlike the others I had traversed, was uncarpeted and my footsteps echoed on old wooden boards. And it did not take me long to pinpoint the young girl’s room. It was the only one on the whole floor that looked as if it had been recently occupied, and it was decorated as if the occupant wished to be a princess straight from the days of chivalry; all satin drapes and lush tapestries.

“This was where the child had apparently seen the bogle, and this was where my investigations must begin. I did not, in that first instance, set up any protections at all, for I was unsure as yet as to what I was dealing with, and I did not want to show my own hand until it was absolutely necessary. I sat on a chair that was several sizes too small to accommodate me comfortably, lit a pipe, and waited to see what the night might bring.

“By now, the castle had fallen completely silent around me, and the only sound was the soft whistling of the wind outside. I began to consider that I might be dealing with a bhean sidhe, a portent of doom for the clan chieftain. But the very involvement of the child had me confused, for a banshee would not make a corporeal appearance such as that reported by Lisabet.

“I was not left wondering for very long.

“The first intimation I had was a sudden lowering of temperature—not in itself an unusual occurrence of a Scottish evening, but what set this one apart was the tracing of frost that ran across the inside of the window as if laid there by some manic spider. Light footsteps came towards the room from out in the corridor. I stood, thinking myself ready for whatever would enter.

“I expected a person, but what entered was little more than a pale shadow, as insubstantial as the infamous Scotch mist. It hovered in the doorway then came forward, looming over the empty bed where the child would have lain. Then, with no sound other than more accompanying footsteps, the mist left the room and returned to the corridor, paying no heed whatsoever to my presence. I followed, several yards behind at first, then closer when I realized there was no threat to my person.

“I was led to the furthest reaches of the second floor, to a back corridor where there was only a single gas lamp flickering wanly on one wall. The mist went through a closed door as if it wasn’t there. If I wanted my answers, I had no option but to follow.

“The door handle near froze to my palm, and the cold took my breath away as I pushed my way into a small unlit room no more than eight feet square, and with only a single table for furniture. The mist hovered over the table for a second, then faded to nothingness, leaving not even a patch of dampness behind.

“There was something lying on the table, a thin journal bound in brown calfskin with raised letters on the surface. I tried to read the title but it was too dark in the room to make it out. Besides, although the spectre, if that it what it had been, had gone, yet the chill remained. I took the book with me and returned to my Spartan, but relatively warm, quarters.

“I studied the volume at my leisure over another very welcome pipe of tobacco.

“The book was no more than eight inches in length, and was a slim volume. As I have said, it was bound in dark brown calf over wooden boards, heavily ornamented and gold tooled. The frontispiece inscription read as follows:

“Once again I had a reference to the Great Work. Somehow my bogle was intimately connected with a work of alchemy.

“Inside, the book was an illuminated manuscript on parchment, some thirty leaves or so. Each page contained a drawing in a high degree of precision and a commentary done in a neat tidy hand.

“The first caught my eye immediately.

“The accompanying picture was titled MALAGMA, and showed a fiery red serpent eating the world which was depicted as a shining golden disc.

“Strictly speaking of course, this wasn’t part of the process at all, rather, this picture was a symbolic representation of the whole process. As you chaps are aware malagma is Latin, meaning amalgamation. And the whole process of alchemy, the quest if you like, is to amalgamate the soul, the microcosm, with the universe, the macrocosm.”

Carnacki paused.

“Would you like to recharge your glasses?” he said. “The tale is a long one, and we have a ways to go yet.”

As we helped ourselves to more of the fine Scotch, Jessop cornered Carnacki by the fireplace.

“I’m sorry, old chap,” he said. “You’ve lost me already. What was that about amalgamation?”

Carnacki laughed.

“I thought that might confuse matters. The symbolism was obscure even when it was written. But all we need to concern ourselves with is the larger picture. We all exist together in one huge womb that is the universe, the macrocosm, while we inhabit the lower regions, this Earth, in our daily lives, the microcosm. Alchemists were convinced that they could transcend both states, both above and below, both life and death. It came to symbolize the transformation required to reach illumination and eternal life.”

“Illumination?” Jessop asked, clearly perplexed.

“Let us not get ahead of ourselves,” Carnacki said smiling. “I just wanted you to get some idea what I was getting into. As I have already said, the tale has only just begun to unravel.”

He allowed us time to light fresh smokes then, settled in his chair once more, he continued his tale.

“I found another picture I recognized in the book. Solutio, the heading above the picture read. It showed a tall figure with two faces, one old, one young. The young one looked over a winter scene, the old one over summer. The bottom half of the figure seemed to be melting into a deep black pool, but both faces were smiling.

“It was the same as I had seen in the stained glass, only this time the figure looked thinner, more feminine. But I knew something of its import. This was one of the main steps in the great journey. The active principals from the microcosm are subsumed and dissolved by oil of mercury, the last vestiges of the old removed, preparing the way for the rise to the new beginning in the macrocosm.”

“The remainder of the folio was as I have already described, a series of pictures describing the steps of alchemy. I do not pretend to understand it all, but even so, I failed to see how it helped in any way with my investigation. I tossed the book aside in disgust. It hit the side of my cramped bed and fell to the floor. As it did so, the spine of the folio split, revealing a folded sheet of paper cunningly hidden inside. I removed it as carefully as I was able. It was a short note, undated and unsigned.

“As you can imagine, that did not enlighten me to any great extent. An examination of the paper showed it to be of a similar date to the Concordances, but more than that I could not ascertain.

“By now it was well into the reaches of the night and I had more than enough to think on. I spent the hours through until morning in fitful sleep on a bed that was scarcely worthy of the name. As soon as the sun came up I rose, made what ablutions I could, and went in search of some breakfast.

“The housekeeper was in the kitchen, and proved as irascible as before. I was unceremoniously served with a thick porridge that looked like gray paste but was surprisingly tasty, and a pair of smoked kippers that were as divine as anything ever served in any fine hotel in town.

“I thanked her profusely, but still she did not soften . . . not until I mentioned the child, Lisabet.

“ ‘I have no time for you poking around in the lady’s room,’ she said. ‘That girl is the only reason I stay in this godforsaken place. A sweeter child you will never meet.’

“And at that I do believe I saw a tear in the housekeeper’s eye. But when I looked again, the steely glint had returned. I tried to ask about the back room on the second floor, and the calf-bound journal, but she brooked no discussion of either that, or the bogle.

“ ‘It is the laird’s place to tell any stories, not mine.’

“She would say no more, and as I moved around the lower floors of the castle I realized there were no other servants there for me to question. I resolved that I would put my questions to the source, the bogle itself, that very night.

“That left me with a day to fill. I took myself off for a walk around the castle grounds. The laird kept a fine garden, full of plants drawn from all quarters of the globe, and the views across the valley were clear and bright on a fine sunny day such as this. Later I left the castle itself and wandered into the small town that butted up against the main exterior wall of the grounds. Several locals eyed me warily, but I managed to loosen tongues in the local inn when I spent a guinea buying those present some ale and whisky.

“Yet again my attempt to find information was to be foiled. All present had indeed heard of the bogle in the castle, but theories about its origins were as many as the number of flagons I had bought. There was only one statement that stayed with me as I returned to my small billet. It was something the landlord of the inn said as I left.

“ ‘ ’Tis a shame we only have the laird and the bairn,’ he said. ‘For yon castle is fit for bigger than that. ’Tis fit for royalty.’

Carnacki stopped, tapped out the pipe in the grate and refilled it.

“I wonder if any of you are beginning to understand what was ahead of me?”

Arkwright raised a hand, like a boy in a schoolroom, but Carnacki waved him down.

“No. Let us save theories and explanations until the story is done.

“Let me just say that as I waited for night to fall, I was starting to have an inkling as to the nature of the bogle.”

“I began the evening by setting up the pentagram in the child’s bedroom. I was by no means sure that any such defenses were necessary but discretion is usually the better part of valor. I overlaid the electric pentacle on the pentagram, attached it to the battery, and settled down to wait, eschewing the child’s chair this time, preferring to sit inside the pentagram on the hard wood floor.

“And once again I did not have to wait long. I was still on my first pipe when the air chilled and soft footsteps echoed in the corridor outside. I do not know whether it was the presence of the pentagram or not, but this time the mist that came through the doorway seemed more solid, more in a shape representing a human figure. And there was something more—the faintest hint of a high heady perfume.

“The mist entered and again paid no heed to me. As it drifted over to the child’s bed the azure valve brightened slightly, but there was none of the blazing intensity I would have expected had the apparition been less than benign.

“The odor of the perfume grew stronger still, and beneath that, something else I recognized; the dank dead smell of the grave.

“Whispers came from within the mist as it loomed over the bed, and I had to strain to make out the words.

“ ‘It was mine by right,’ a soft voice said. ‘Mine by birth. She shall not have it again.’

“As the figure turned away from the bedside it brushed against the outer edge of my electric pentacle. The azure valve brightened and at the same instant the mist thickened until it had taken the form of a tall, painfully thin figure. A woman stood looking sadly back at the small bed. She was dressed in a long black robe of a thick velvet, and a hood partly obscured her features so that all I could see was a flash of white at her cheek and a thin, aquiline nose. As she turned further the robe encroached on my defenses. She jolted as if struck, the hood fell back, and by Jove I took one heck of a fright I can tell you.

“It was not the empty stare from the eyes that shocked me, nor the cold gray tongue that looked like a piece of old stone. No, the thing that took me aback and near robbed me of my senses was the red scar that ran clear round her neck just above the shoulders . . . a scar that still wept blood down her chest.

“I shuffled backwards across the pentacle, but she showed no sign of approaching me, nor of trying to breach the defenses. She had one last look at the bed, and whispered again.

“ ‘Mine by birth. She shall not have it.’ ”

Carnacki sat back in his chair and smiled.

“I do believe I have given you quite enough clues now,” he said. “But please, let me finish the story. It is time now for you chaps to recharge your glasses for the final push.”

By this time I was also coming to some conclusions as to the nature of Carnacki’s bogle, and I was keen to see if I had guessed correctly. I believe everyone present felt the same, for we refilled our snifters in record time and were soon ready for Carnacki to continue.

“She left the room, footsteps fading along the corridor. Silence fell but I sat there a while longer before rising, pondering my next move. I knew it would cause consternation in the household, but the way ahead was clear to me. I had to persuade the laird to return to the house, and to bring his daughter with him. For only by direct confrontation could this business be finished once and for all.

“Getting the man back to the castle was easier said than done. It required a series of terse telegrams between the post office in Forfar and London which caused a great deal of chatter in the town and cost me several guineas in bills for a carriage to and from Glamis itself. Finally we reached agreement, and all I could do was wait for their return.

“That was to take more than a week, during which time I took in a trip around the Perthshire Hills and met an adversary who was much less benign. But that is a tale for another evening. Suffice to say I spent the time fruitfully and on the day the laird arrived from London with his retinue I was at the door of the castle waiting for him.

“A child I guessed was Lisabet held him tightly by the hand, but as they approached the door she let go and ran past me, heading inside.

“ ‘She seems to have forgotten all about the bogle,’ the Laird said as he shook my hand. ‘Perhaps it is best to keep it that way?’

“ ‘I doubt that very much sir,’ I replied. ‘I have some questions I need you to answer, then you will have a decision to make.’

“He nodded curtly and went inside.

“It was my turn to mind my manners, and I held my peace through a fine supper of salmon and pheasant, washed down with some excellent port. I waited until everyone else had retired, and we were sat in armchairs around a fireplace before I broached the matter at hand.

“The laird seemed surprised at the questions I put to him, but not as much as I would have thought. He poured us a snifter of brandy each, and it seemed he was buying time to muster his thoughts, as if deciding what to reveal to me.

“ ‘There were rumors,’ he finally said. ‘Tales that an attempt such as you describe had been made. You have seen the window . . . you know already that this place has a history in such matters?’

“I nodded in reply.

“ ‘But what in Jesu’s name is my daughter’s part in all of this?’ he asked me. ‘She is only a child, and innocent of any hurts done in centuries past.’

“ ‘The coincidence of the names at least is obvious,’ I replied. ‘But answers may only become clear in time. It may be something in the child’s future that has brought this attention on her.’

“The laird looked pensive at that, but said nothing.

“ ‘With your permission,’ I said softly. ‘I would like to give the lady some rest. I think you will agree that she deserves that at least?’

“It was his turn to nod in agreement.

“We made our way to Lisabet’s room and found the child examining the chalk markings I had made on the floor. She was most excited when I brought out the electric pentacle. Her father gave her a stern warning to haud her wheesht and she fell quiet as I first repaired the defenses, then set the pentacle to work.

“The three of us sat, pressed close together

“ ‘What is it we are waiting for?’ Lisabet asked.

Her father replied for me.

“ ‘A princess,’ he said. ‘Just like you.’

“He ruffled her hair, and at that very same moment the soft footsteps echoed in the corridor outside. We smelled the heady perfume even before she walked through the doorway.

“This time she was almost fully formed. The black velvet robe looked like a hole in the very fabric of space itself, her pale face hovering like a moon above it. The dead eyes turned and stared at the child.

“ ‘You took it,’ she whispered. ‘It is mine by right, and you took it from me.’

Lisabet stiffened but did not cry out, merely stared back at the thing before her.

“ ‘I do not know you, madam,’ she said, so prim and proper that I had to stifle a laugh. ‘Kindly be so good as to introduce yourself.’

The robed figure loomed over us. Once again the only activity from the pentacle was a slight brightening of the azure valve.

“ ‘Madam,’ I said softly. ‘This is not your sister. She has been dead these three centuries and more. There is no place for you here.’

“The darkness thickened slightly and the blank eyes turned towards me. Bloody tears ran from them.

“ ‘Go?’ she whispered. ‘That is my dearest wish. But I know not how.’

“ ‘Let me help,’ I said softly, and uttered the prayer of passing.

“ ‘Adjuro ergo te, omnis immundíssime spiritus, omne phantasma, omnis incursio satanæ, in nomine Jesu Christi.’

“She broke apart, like smoke taken by wind. At the last, a wispy tendril reached towards the child.

“ ‘Lisabet,’ came a whisper.

“Then she was gone.

“ ‘What did that lady want with me?’ the girl asked as I packed away the pentacle and cleaned the chalk from the floor.’

“ ‘She was dead, but did not know it,’ I replied. ‘And she thought you were someone she knew a long time ago.’

“ ‘Well I’m not going to die,’ Lisabet said loudly. ‘I shall live till I’m a hundred.’

“And do you know something, chaps? I do believe she might just do it.”

Carnacki sat back in his chair, a wide grin on his face.

“Before we get to who the apparition might have been, I suppose I had better tell you how it came about.

“You chaps all know that I do not believe in the soul as such,” he continued. “And at first, this bogle almost made me doubt my own convictions. But having thought long and hard, I believe I may have the truth of it.

“It starts in the late sixteenth century, with an attempt by a Scottish alchemist to revive a dead lady. Now I have studied the Great Work to some degree, and have already this evening commented on the amalgamation of the microcosm with the macrocosm. What no one, not the alchemist, nor I, had considered, was what effect the transformation would have on a body already dead. What was transformed was not capable of ascension to the Outer Realms, the macrocosm. It was forced to remain, rooted to its earthly plane, doomed for eternity to roam, seeking something it could never find.

“And you came along and freed it?” Jessop piped up.

“Freed her,” Carnacki said softly. “For there was still something there of the lady she had once been.”

“And who was she exactly, Carnacki?” Arkwright said. “Lady Macbeth?”

Carnacki laughed loudly at that.

“No. Not that one, but the lady I sent to her rest was also of noble birth. Come, chaps. Have I not given you enough clues? The date of the journal alone should give you some idea? And the place, the seat of an ancient Scottish family? If you have not the wit to work it out for yourself then I have not the inclination to enlighten you. All I shall say is we should look out for the name Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon in the years ahead, for I believe she has a destiny that the whole country will come to understand in time.”

At that Carnacki rose from his chair, the time honored signal that our evening was over.

“Out you go,” he said jovially at the door.

As we left Carnacki whispered just one word in my ear, but it was enough for me to consider on the way back along the Embankment. By the time I reached home I had confirmed my own earlier guess as to the identity of the Beast of Glamis.

Carnacki’s whispered word stayed in my mind even as I drifted to sleep.

Fotheringay.

William Meikle is a Scottish writer now resident in Canada. He has fifteen novels published in the genre press and over two hundred and fifty short story credits in thirteen countries. More of his stories featuring William Hope Hodgson’s Carnacki have been collected in Heaven and Hell. His work appears in many professional magazines and anthologies and he has recent short story sales to Nature’s science-fiction section Futures, Penumbra, and Daily Science Fiction among others. He now lives in a remote corner of Newfoundland with icebergs, whales, and bald eagles for company. In the winters he gets warm vicariously through the lives of others in cyberspace, so please check him out at www.williammeikle.com.