Episode 4 - I See You, You See Me

The Narrator:
Oh, uhm, right yes we’re recording, now where were we…shuffle paper of course. H-hello there listeners, I’m the Narrator, yes, yes that’s who I am, and welcome back to Tales Beneath the Surface, a journey into the unknown…yes, our shared journey of discovery. Well I must say some of these plotlines have really caught in my craw, jammed in my grill, but the show must go on, yes, yes the show. Join me now for something a little different, a little longer, an extended trip into the imaginary, yes definitely imaginary, writer’s world. By this time I’d normally be waxing lyrical, pontificating upon the themes of what you’re about to hear but no, not today, time is running short and there is so much to find, so much to lose

---

Scene 1

Carter:
Where’d you say you were from again? It’s slipped my mind

Interviewer:
Mr Carter you know where I’m from, we’ve gone over this on the phone and when I arrived, I’ve a busy day ahead, let’s not retread old ground

Carter:
Ah, okay if you say so. Brightening Well it was autumn, ahhh, I used to love autumn - all the trees changing colours and the crunch of their leaves underfoot, you know the beauty of it. It’s a shifting season, a sort of in between you know? where winter’s cold has just started to bite but there’s still a little bit of summer’s warmth in the sun. I used to love that sense of change in the air, felt, I don’t know, magical. Not any more though. Can’t see the magic in much any more, not after seeing the real thing. Robbed me of any wonder. All I want these days is for nature’s mysteries to remain just that, mysteries.

You mind if I smoke?

Interviewer:
clears throat It’s your life, go ahead

sound of pack getting opened, cig getting pulled out and lit and a breath in

Carter:
Thanks, some people get funny about it

exhales

Well, it was October, couple of years back, I was still a hired snoop, a job a former colleague of mine at the Met sorted once I’d rolled out of there. It was greasy work, following one half of failing marriages, paid for by the other. The worst of it was all the spy shite they got off the telly thinking it’d hide their dull affairs. Only thing is any time you’re hired by someone in the same house it isn’t difficult to get a tracker slipped onto their person, if you know what I mean. Hell most of the time there’s no need for that. Sit around long enough and everyone shows you their guts.

This job was different though, no sifting through the broken pieces of failed relationships, trying not to get cut.

Someone’s wayward kid had gone a while without checking in. Their parents, part of the rich set out maida vale way, finally got worried, probably after one too many backhanded questions from their dinner companions after they’d shared stories of their own kid’s activities.

They were a couple of lawyers, big in the corporate space, hard bastards with soft hands, not the kind of people you wanted to piss off. The mother was distant, preoccupied with her phone, getting called away to deal with an international deal that was threatening to go sour, you know the type. The father was in the room going through the motions of describing their kid in tedious fucking detail, treating it as if it were a list of contract amendments, rather than a discussion of the fate of his son.

Wait there, I’ll dig out my files from the case, I think I’ve got a recording of the interview, either way it’ll be useful to reference

Sound of a chair scraping back footsteps heading away, drawers opening and closing, file cabinet drawers opening and closing

Carter:
further away Ahh, yeah here we go

then footsteps coming back, sound of him putting boxes down on a table

Carter:
Yeah here they are, all my notes and the recordings from the case short pause if I’d known you were coming I could have had all this out already, been a who–

Interviewer:
That’s quite alright Mr Carter, now, please continue

clears his throat

Carter:
Of course, well, its all out now, so no harm done

box opening, sound of sorting through, tape box opening and closing, pulling out a tape

I still prefer tapes, could just be habit I suppose, though tapes fail less often than hard drives and I can always pull the recordings off them, so swings and roundabouts. And, to be honest with you, you can’t beat the feel of it, that and the ritual of getting them out, am I right?

Interviewer:
….I suppose so

Carter:
Right, well sound of lighter and a pull and exhale oh sorry, you mind if I have another?

Interviewer:
It’s fine Mr Carter, like I said, it’s your life and your home, smoke as much as you want

Carter:
Cheers, well let’s get to it

---

Click of a tape recorder starting

Carter:
Tuesday 18th October, 2012, preliminary interview with Mr and Mrs Prendergast, ah you don’t mind the recorder, do you? It’s so I’ve something to refer to later, down the line

Pause

Mr Prendergast:
Of course not, continue Mr. Carter

Carter:
Right you are, and do you mind if I smoke?

Mr Prendergast:
Yes, I do mind, filthy habit

Carter:
No problem, so how long has your son been missing?

Mr Prendergast:
Oh, well, must be…Gloria..Gloria! When was the last time you saw Crispin?

Shout from distance - 2 weeks

Mr Prendergast:
There you are, it has been at 2 weeks since I saw him last

pause

Carter:
riiiight, is there a reason you’ve come to my firm rather than the police? They have departments for this kind of thing

Mr Prendergast:
Well, Mr Carter, he has pulled stunts like this before, and I have always found the long arm of the law to be a little clumsy. It cannot help but draw attention to itself whenever the victims are of a somewhat higher status. No, we would much rather something more subtle, discrete if you will.

Carter:
Of course, well our firm’s reputation is–

Mr Prendergast:
Yes, yes Mr. Carter, I would not have called if that was not the case

Carter:
Right, so, your son, I’ll need a description, his age, his name, any known associates and any places he likes to hang around

Mr Prendergast:
The name is Crispin, he is 22 years old, around my height, sandy brown hair, normally messy, oh why don’t you just take a picture, there should be one around here somewhere, wait there, do not smoke

Sound of footsteps moving away then coming back after a minute or two

Mr Prendergast:
Well it is a little out of date but you get the general feel for him

Carter:
Well any picture’s better than none, I’ve a decent imagination, could probably chart out what he looks like from this alone, so does he work? Has he got his own place?

Longer pause

Mr Prendergast:
I will be honest with you Mr Carter. We are not close. I do not know if he works or where he is living. He receives a stipend from me each month to live on, whether he supplements that is his business. Last I knew he was spending his time in Stoke Newington, with a bunch of reprobates no doubt

Carter:
Ok, not to push but have you got anything more recent, any more to go on

Short pause then irate

Mr Prendergast:
Look Mr Carter, if I knew any more I would not be calling you, this is your field of expertise is it not?

Carter:
…alright of course, can you tell me who he banks with - would give me a potential avenue to find the address its registered to

Mr Prendergast:
Seems a little pedestrian but fine, he holds this account at Coutts we set it up for him when he was a child. I will contact the account manager and tell him to expect your visit, mention our names at the desk, that should open things up for you Mr Carter

Carter:
Great, well if there’s nothing else I’ll be on my way. I’ll keep you updated as the investigation goes along, for payment ther–

Mr Prendergast:
We have paid your rate for the month up front, another month is pending regardless if you finish it quicker, you know where the door is, good day

Sound of a chair scraping, footsteps walking out

Low whistle

Carter:
Jesus, be seeing you

Click

Scene 2

Carter:
Pretty cold right? Anyway a job’s a job is what I thought, their money was good so who cares about their parenting. At the end of the day they cared just enough to pay me and money talks.

I didn’t have much to start and the picture was ten years out of date, who fucking knew if he’d still look the same. Still, I’ve got, well, had a lot of contacts, people who owed me a favour for one reason or another, if you know what I mean. So it didn’t take long to flesh out the sketch his parents gave me. It was a familiar sad story of a rich kid spiralling out of normal life with enough money to keep going but no one who cared enough to stop him falling.

He’d been kicked out of a couple of private schools round the city, ended up in a more serious sort of place out in the sticks then off to uni, three of them, and yet still no degree, then back to London close to Mummy and Daddy but living worlds apart.

There were a few arrests, possession raps mostly and a couple of disorderly conducts, all ending with cautions or quashed files, help from ma and pa no doubt. They gave me a few places to follow up on, things to look into till I could get more concrete information from power companies and bank statements.

I had a list of past addresses scattered across a couple of boroughs inside the M25 - would take an afternoon to whip round them all. I didn’t think I’d run into him so it wouldn’t hurt just to head straight up to the door and give it a knock, if he was there then that was a couple of months pay for an easy half day’s work.

Well, as I’m sure you’d guessed, he wasn’t.

A waif of a girl opened the door, couldn’t have been more than 20. Her eyes were wide as saucers with dark rings stamped around them. Looked like she’d been awake for a while, a couple days at least, probably drugs, well, that or disturbed sleep.

She said she didn’t know Crispin and wasn’t sure who owned the place - she hadn’t been there long. I could hear the sound of music playing and smell the shit weed they were smoking and didn’t fancy heading in to confirm that he wasn’t there since I had a list of other places to go. I gave her my card, told her to let Crispin know I’d like to speak to him and went on my way.

As I was walking down the stairs back to the street she called out, “He’s not right, be careful’ then slammed the door. Thought twice about heading back up to get some more answers but didn’t think it was worth the aggro.

The rest of the day and the two following were much the same - knocking on doors all over a couple of boroughs and getting told either “no he didn’t live here” , “no not sure when he did”, “I don’t know him”, “I’ve never seen him”, “who’s that then?” “Who are you then?” “What do you want then?” - well I’m sure you know the drill, you hear enough of the right kind of denials and after a while you know you’re on the right track.

Quiet sound of throat clearing, chair creaking

Interviewer:
Mr Carter, please, how did you find him?

Carter:
Right, you are, well, I’ll cut right to the quick

Interviewer:
Thank you

Carter:
It was about two weeks before I got a sniff of where Crispin had been. I’d given out my cards everywhere, been back to the printers 3 times to get extra stacks, and, if you can believe it, earned myself a loyalty card out of all of that haaha.

Well one of them turned up trumps.

I got the call on Saturday morning

rustling papers

On the……5th, Saturday 5th
It was a man’s voice and he sounded winded, like he’d gone for a run or had a shock. Well you can hear for yourself, I had a recorder setup on the number on the card. Most of the time I would’ve reused the tape but, well you’ll hear soon enough

Sound of him rummaging around in the box

Carter:
Here we go, if you’d let me know you were coming I could’ve had this all prepa–

Interviewer:
Mr Carter, I’m here now, please continue

Carter:
Right you are, right you are

---

Tape player opening, closing then playing then scrolling around a bit to find it

Carter:
Carter speaking, how can I help?

Caller:
Sound of heavy breathing, throat clearing etc

Carter:
Hello? I can hear you, if you’ve something to say, say

Caller:
You’re looking for Crispin, Crispin Prendergast right?

Carter:
Yeah, guess you..

Caller:
Shut up, shut up! I don’t have time for this noise, look, you want to see him, be down by the Garman Road industrial park, near the Banbury Reservoir, at the crossroads, leading to the Lee, any time from 8, once dark’s settled in, you’ll see him there… yeah you’ll fucking see him

Carter:
Right, anything else I should

Click, sound of static on the line, tape cassette hiss

---

Carter:
I mean I could hardly resist that now could I? Still the call made a little leery you know, the voice and the delivery was a bit much. I’ve got a few bits and bobs to cover my back so I headed out there with the full kit. Course best protection’s decent cardio and I am well, was, fighting fit.

I had a few hours to kill before dark and spent it digging up everything I could about the crossroads. It had a long history as a meeting point for traders and there was even an executioner’s block there back in the day. Goes all the way back to Roman times a place right at the edge of the city and–

Interviewer:
Does this have a point?

Carter:
Well just that before it was paved over and all these beautiful metal boxes were built there used to be a place with quite the storied history

Interviewer:
Mr Carter, if I wanted to know more about London’s past I would go to a museum, please talk about the case

Pause

Carter:
Fine, it all feeds together, you’ll see.

I got there an hour early and left the car nearby. Gave me time to have a nose around, make sure I wasn’t going to get jumped. Well, there was nothing there. Kinda what you’d expect for an industrial estate on a saturday night - pretty fucking empty.

There were a couple of cars of kids getting high, one or two diligent types keeping an evening trade going and that was about it. I was back in the car with 20 minutes to spare, more than enough time to pull it up in a nice shady corner under a streetlamp with a blown bulb. Good place to keep an eye on the meet without being spotted myself, at least, that’s what I thought. Well, you can hear for yourself, I’ve got the recording I made in the car somewhere in here.

Chairs scraping, boxes opening, rummaging around, sound of a cigarette being lit

Carter:
Ach I know it’s here somewhere

Sound of him getting up and walking away then

Carter:
You know, you really should’ve told me you were coming, I would have had -

Interviewer:
Mr. Carter, you know why this visit was unexpected, we’ve gone over it. Why do you keep bringing it up

• Intake of breath other side of the room *

Carter:
Ahh, well of course, of course, anyway here it is

footsteps coming back across, sound of him sitting down, breathing then tap of a cigarette

Tape replaced then playing, bit of static at the start

Car Scene

Saturday 18th, Crispin Prendergast case, following up on the phone call received this morning. Up here on Garman Road Estate, arrived an hour ago, had a look around, not much on. Been in the car about 20 minutes a couple hundred metres away from where the tip said to be, got my binoculars here and the spot is under a streetlight so visibility is good.

It’s two minutes past 8 so kickoff should be any time now.

Little pause

Say his name and he will appear. Two men approaching, one tall, about 6 foot, wrapped up well, hat, scarf, big woollen trenchcoat, all dark, the other a bit shorter but broad, fuck he looks like the side of a barn, dressed in dark clothes, the broader ones smoking, took a drag, not Crispin, no surprise there, haven’t got a good look at the other yet.

They’re approaching the crossroads coming towards me, they’ll reach the point in a couple minutes.

I’m guessing these are the guys…. right yes they’re waiting both looking impatient, stamping their feet and looking around, the tall one’s got his back to me….turn around my bosom chum, come on you prick show me your……

Yeeesss, look at you, you fucking beauty. That’s Crispin, no doubt in my mind, still got the same sharp face he had in the photo, haaha 10 years old but that’s him…. no idea who the other guy is

…looks like they’ve seen someone coming from the other direction, fucking warehouses blocking my view…see soon enough though…neither of them look particularly pleased…alright looks like they’re talking…ok and there we go

They’ve been joined by three other men, can’t see any of their faces, they’ve got hoods up and over their heads, damn looks like they’re wearing robes, weird getup even for London..though not like I’m keeping up with the looks

They’re talking and Crispin’s handed something over to the head of the trio..fuck didn’t catch what it was…talking, Crispin’s mates getting animated…wait, what the fuck?

One of the other 2 hooded dudes is looking around..wait…he’s looking right at me….gotta be chance..there’s no way he can see from here…I can only just pick them out with binoc..can’t see their face….fuuucking hell he has..how in the fuck?

He’s turned back to the rest…interrupted..wait…he’s pointing over here…jesus christ they’re all looking over now…they coming over?

Sound of engine starting

Can move sharpish if they do….wait…they’re just standing there staring……what’s that coming in…looks like smoke..can’t see their feet anymore…what the fuuuck … .is that fog?! … there’s none anywhere else…shouldn’t be cold enough for this..right I can’t see them any more..fog’s thick as fuck..doesn’t come much closer to me than the crossroads…that’s bizarre…gonna give it a minute then….no way….it’s cleared, they’re gone…right how the fuck’s that possible….get over there see where they’ve run to

Engine gunning

No sign of them…fuck…will do a quick lap then i’m getting out and having a look. Calling this here

Scene 3

Click of tape recorder getting turned off … moment of silence … exasperated sigh

Interviewer:
What happened next Mr Carter

Carter:
Jesus, not one for drama are you.

I drove straight to the crossroads, didn’t think gunning the engine mattered since it seemed like they’d made me. Pulled up and couldn’t see any sign of anyone down either road, gave both a quick scope with my binocs and nothing. If they’d left in a straight line I should’ve been able to see them down one of the streets, there weren’t any turn offs for a good half mile so they would have to have been sprinting to make it before I got there.

It was fucking strange. That and the mist were truly bizarre.

I had a look around on the ground where they’d been standing, there wasn’t much, they hadn’t been kind enough to drop their birth certificates or diaries but I did find a card, all in black, a name etched in white across it - ABRAXAS - and ENTRY on the other side.

I gave the evening up as a loss but there was a surprise waiting for me when I got back home. I came through the door a little hacked off, wanting a whisky then bed, but noticed the answering machine light on my work line blinking.

Don’t worry it’s on the tape I just played, I don’t have to get up anywhere.

---

Sound of tape swapping out again - plays then the sound of a call connecting and an empty line

I’m looking right at you. Hello Mr. Carter. I can see you and you can see me. If you’d like to know more, meet us at 51 degrees 36 minutes 14.29 seconds North by 0 degrees 0 minutes 10.1 seconds East in 2 days time. Come after dark. We’ll be waiting

Laughter weird sounds - tape clicking off

---

Carter:
I checked the log on the machine and the call lined up with when that prick in the hood made me, strange right? I couldn’t believe it at first, must’ve checked it a dozen times. I was certain that someone was pulling some strange fucking joke. I mean what else could it be, right?

Interviewer:
…right, did you follow up on this Mr Carter?

Carter:
You need to work on your interviewing skills damn * overly jovial chuckle *, where was it you sai..-

Interviewer:
Mr Carter we’ve been over this…sigh…I apologise for my brusqueness, please continue

Carter:
No problem, more of a note for the future you know - you get more with honey than salt, tip between pros sort of thing.

Well I was pretty shaken up by all this, double checked all the locks were bolted, then had that whisky. By the time the deadline came round though my curiosity overcame my fear, I was going to follow up. I’d spent the two days in between finding out everything I could about ABRAXAS to see if there were any groups, companies or events that had used the name any time in London.

There wasn’t much, well nothing useful to me at least. Found a whole bunch of shite about it being one of the gnostic gods but the people writing about it were either bone dry historians or woo-woo new age types, you know hippy dippy dickheads you get running crystal shops round Camden. But yeah, nothing concrete, and nothing that sounded like the people Crispin had fallen in with.

When I came out of my house Monday morning, there was an envelope leaning against the door. It was thick heavy black paper with a white wax seal over the joins, you know, like a royal summons from some medieval drama. The opposite side was blank. Inside was an invitation, the name ABRAXAS carved in white around the border like the card. There was a crest embossed in its centre of a man wearing Roman armour holding a shield and whip, his head that of a crowing rooster and twin snake tails instead of legs.

It matched the carvings I’d seen on Abraxas stones while digging through the internet. The reverse had my name written, well, arranged, in cut out newspaper letters like a ransom note. The contrast was stark and the glue was peeling, my guess is they have a huge amount of the cards made but can’t get names done custom. Either that or they didn’t want to give themselves away with their handwriting

Interviewer:
Do you have the card?

Carter:
No, unfortunately not. I took it with me in case I needed it to get into wherever this gathering was happening.

Interviewer:
Seems a little foolhardy

Carter:
Well, I’d let some people know where I was headed and setup a dead man’s phone - if I didn’t call or send a text to a number every two hours then people would have been alerted. As you can see I didn’t need it in the end but I did lose track of the invite somewhere along the way, a lot more pulling my attention away than the thought of holding onto that particular thing.

Interviewer:
Such as…?

Laughter, genuine this time

Carter:
Well, I was just getting to that.

So, I had one personal invitation, a set of coordinates and a couple of hours to kill before sundown. I packed myself out with heavy duty gear this time round; stab vest, steel toed boots, biker gloves and a couple of surprises I hold back for risky jobs. It took me an hour to get over to the part of town where they’d pointed me too - a couple miles further north east than where the first meet had been - near the border of Chingford and Walthamstow. Only left me an hour or so to do some snooping before the evening rolled in.

The place looked like a closed pub, one of those grand Victorian places built on the corner of a crossroads..god…fucking crossroads again, Jesus * lets out a sigh *

Interviewer:
clears throat Mr Carter

Carter:
What? Oh, right, yes..the pub…well it looked old, you know the kind, probably served weary travellers in their horse drawn carriages before cars were on the roads and the M25 was wrapped round London proper. Aahh wistful sigh I would’ve liked to have seen that…well..it didn’t obviously look like a squat, but then again that can sometimes be difficult to tell from the outside, if you know what I mean.

There was a chippy over the road so I posted up there, got some dinner and waited. The building came alive as the sun set. By the time all the streetlamps were up there was a red glow like a strip club’s lights coming from under the eaves of the roof. I asked the people working in the chippie about it but it was strange, like they hadn’t noticed it was there even though it must’ve been around longer than their takeaway.

I finished my food and waited another half hour drinking down a cup of sugary tea. Hadn’t seen anyone going in or out the whole time I’d been there. There were lights shining through some of the windows, sickly looking blues and greens staining the pavement. No one who walked past seemed to notice anything.

Out on the street I could hear rumbling through my feet. The tube didn’t come out this far so I thought it must be some bass kicking out from the basement of the pub across the way. Didn’t seem like much else to do so I shook myself, crossed the road and walked round the side of the building to a tunnel I’d seen earlier.

Crossing over into the light cast out from the building felt like crossing a threshold, a bit like the resistance cling film gives your thumb when you tear through it after the microwave dings. When I looked back at the road it was like there was misted glass between us, the road looked washed out, kind of blurry. Turning back I saw a door had opened onto a dark hallway, the shadow was almost solid. Two figures slipped out and stood there silent. The one on the left held out their hand, waiting. I pulled my pritt stick invitation out which brought a smile to their faces as they ushered me inside.

I could hear the music now, rolling drums with synths screaming over the top. There was the burble of conversation and laughter creeping up from under the doors off the corridor. The two from the door walked past me, choosing a pair of doors opposite each other to go through. I felt a little lost then braced myself and headed deeper.

There was a staircase at the end of the corridor spiralling out of sight, most of the noise was coming from there so I followed it down. It went through to the basement then down again, deeper, deep enough that I felt the pressure change - teeming into my ear canals and crushing down on my shoulders.

At the bottom was a rusted iron door, deep orange and brown accretions scabbing over the heavy metal. I knocked and waited. Nothing happened, more than a little anticlimactic.

I stood there feeling silly for a moment then something drew my hand to my pocket, a heat I could feel through my coat. The card they’d dropped at the industrial park was in it though I couldn’t remember putting it there. It felt heavier than cardboard should, heavier than I remembered and the edges were sharper somehow. I’d nicked myself pulling it from my pocket and watched as the drop of blood was sucked into the card and the cut closed as if it had had the time to heal. The embossed symbol glowed and the door swung open. There was a half circle of people both hooded and bare-headed waiting on the other side of the door.

I’ll be honest with you I was shitting bricks by now, all this strange shit got my back up, it was worse than that disappearing trick they pulled in the fog. Then one of them spoke and welcomed me in. I recognised the voice from the second phone message.

---

I’ve got a recording of what happened next, I’d had a mic tucked inside my coat recording since I’d gone in through the front door, it’s a little rough and, to be honest with you, even though I was there and I’ve listened back to it more than once there’s still bits I can’t make sense of, well..you can hear for yourself.

picking out another tape, put in the player etc tape plays

Carter:
pained gasp The fuck?! How’d it cut–

sound of power activating or something and the door clunking then swinging open

Caller 2:
You came! Oh what a treat we have a treat for you. You get to see something few outside of our little group has witnessed. Our friend Crispin here is about to reach his apotheosis. He’s going to join the ranks of our little band.

Carter:
Why the fuck is he chained up?! What have you done to him?? He’s bleedin–

Caller 2:
The bindings are for our safety you understand and the blood, well, that will have to remain a surprise, now that you have finally arrived we can finish our little uhmm performance

sound of chanting getting faster coming to a crescendo

whooshing sound of fires / small explosions

Caller 2:
ARISE ABRAAXZAASS!!!

sound of knife cutting flesh – blood spraying on the floor – people shouting in ecstasy

Carter:
Ohh God! You’ve killed him!

bigger explosion – rumbling growl – sound of cloth hitting the ground

Crispin:
Hail Abraxas! Accept my sacrifice!

deep rumbling voice speaking incomprehensibly – high scared human scream – sound of meat getting crushed – massive explosion

silence for a bit

Carter:
scared panting breathing Wha-wh-whaat the fuck was th-th-that?

laughter from a lot of people

Mystery Man:
Whatever do you mean? Just a little misdirection, a sprinkling of smoke and mirrors

Carter:
angry & scared Piss off, you smug prick

Mystery Man:
laughing Oh! Come on now you cannot be telling us that we scared you, you, the big bad detective

Carter:
You can both get fucked that’s what you can do

Crispin:
amused Mr Carter, Mr Carter..my apologies, it seems our little joke went a bit too far…When I realised you had been sent by my dear old progenitors, well, I could hardly pass up the chance for a little mischief. Well now, you have seen me alive and well…do let them know I am quite alright and that their investment has paid off, yes, it has paid off quite..magnificently laughs Now off you pop, I am afraid the rest of the evening is an invite only sort of thing and yours has, well, expired

running footsteps, slamming door, cruel laughter, Carter cursing under his breath

sound of tape getting turned off

Carter:
As I’m sure you can imagine I didn’t need telling twice. I left as fast as I fucking could, got up and out of there didn’t see a soul on the stairs or on the street as I basically ran to the car. The drive home was unpleasant. Once I got back home though and sat down with a whisky and all the doors and windows locked I calmed down a bit. Could convince myself that it had been a projection or something. Damn, it still sticks with me though.

Interviewer:
What did you see Mr Carter, if it’s not too difficult? Like you said the tape is a little..uhh..unclear

Carter:
No..no, it’s fine, enough times passed so it’s not as raw, don’t worry though * weak laugh * its etched in my head

breathes out

Carter:
Well, when I got in there, there was a half naked hooded figure chained up in the centre of the floor with a half moon of people ringed around him at the edge of some symbol carved on the floor…wait..it matched the symbol on the card..fuck…of course..

Interviewer:
Mr Carter…Mr Carter

Carter:
What? Sorry, yes, they, well Crispin I guess, was fucked up - there was blood pouring from his back mixed with ink, maybe from the drawings showing where to cut. He should’ve been unconscious with that much blood loss or at the very least visibly in pain but, the thing is he wasn’t, his breathing was calm and steady and he was holding the weight of the chains without trembling

Carter:
What happened next was horrifying, as you heard. It happened too quick for me to do anything to stop it. The people ringing him threw some sort of powder down at their feet which burst into multicoloured flames then a guy stepped up to Crispin and ripped his throat open with a nasty serrated blade. Blood sprayed everywhere and, here’s the fucked up thing, all the people around were screaming but they sounded happy, you know, dirty fucking grins plastered across their faces.

It gets a little hazy here but it seemed like there was an explosion of flame and smoke in the middle of the room just behind Crispin bleeding out then I saw, I swear I saw it, a-a-a giant scaled arm reach out of the smoke and pull the hood off his head. He shouted an invitation then the arm plunged in through the tear in his throat and came out covered in gore with his beating heart clenched in its fist.

It held it for a moment then crushed in a shower of blood, more blood than a fucking heart could hold and there was an explosion of light, smoke and sound. It took a minute for my sight to come back and my ears to stop ringing. When it did the room was empty apart from Crispin with his throat whole again and the mystery man you heard on the tape. Everyone else was gone and the floor was clean - there wasn’t any blood and the carvings had disappeared. I didn’t know what to make of it, still don’t to be perfectly honest and, well, you’ve heard the recording * pause - then to himself * It must’ve been a trick, he was standing right there…I spoke to him..

Interviewer:
What happened next Mr. Carter

Carter:
Well, I saw the parents, passed on the message and collected. They were good on the offer of the bonus even though I hadn’t brought him back with me, they were more than satisfied.

Interviewer:
Anything else you’d like to share, Mr Carter?

Carter:
Not really, no, I mean I think that’s more than enough hahaa, though, it is still the strangest thing I’ve experienced

Interviewer:
Ok then well–

Carter:
Actually, just one thing

Interviewer:
What?

Carter:
I’m still sure the whole thing must have been some sort of trick…but there was something else - it’s just come back - just as they sent me away

Interviewer:
What was it Mr Carter, think hard now

Carter:
His eyes, yes..there was something about his eyes

Interviewer:
His eyes? What about his eyes Mr Carter

Carter:
It was like there was foil or something over them, they flashed silver when he was giving his little speech

Interviewer:
Are you certain of that Mr. Carter

Carter:
….yes…actually yes completely

Interviewer:
Well…that is unfortunate

Sound of the bell

Carter:
Who’s that?

Interviewer:
My colleague, one moment

Carter:
Wait you can’t just bring people in, in fact I don’t remember invi-

Interviewer:
Stay quiet, Mr. Carter, quiet as the grave

footsteps then door opening and closing then 2 sets of footsteps coming back

Colleague:
This him? A quick wipe or…?

Interviewer:
He can remember the eyes

Colleague:
Ah…shame…Mr. Carter, Mr. Carter look at me Mr. Carter, right in the eyes if you please….Now, you’re feeling a little tense Mr. Carter

sound of chair scraping as Carter stands up

Carter:
You what? Understandable when there’s some prick barging into my–

Colleague:
Sit. Down..

sound of him sitting down fast

Colleague:
Now, your heart rate is elevating..it’s pounding Mr. Carter…I can see it in the vein throbbing on your forehead and…yes, that’s it..

Carter:
scared Wh-whaat?!

Colleague:
You’re sweating Mr Carter and your visions blurring Mr. Carter…can you see my face?

Carter:
No, no I can’t, what’s happen–

Colleague:
You’re getting double, triple, multiple vision and the rooms spinning faster and faster Mr. Carter…you’re confused Mr. Carter you don’t know where you are..where are you Mr. Carter..where..are…you?

Carter:
Hmmnnermnaphffeerrrnn

sound of falling chair and breaking glass

Colleague:
Very good Mr. Carter…there’s a terrible pressure building in your head..it feels like your going to explode….all you need is a little burst to relieve the pressure…just…a..little..prick…and..he’s gone

Interviewer:
What did you do?

Colleague:
ICH

Interviewer:
What?

Colleague:
A stroke, big one too

Interviewer:
Good. I think this is all of his pertinent files, there might be a couple more in those drawers over there. Have a quick rummage then set a fire, that’ll get anything we don’t find. No one will know we were here

Colleague:
Right you are

Interviewer:
Sometimes I think the Abraxans do this just to give us more work, ahh, I hate cleaning up after their sloppy fucking excesses

Colleague:
Yeah, we’re going to have to roll them up, gonna be a fucking mess

Interviewer:
Another day’s problem. You good? Right set the gas, leave a cigarette in his hand, should burn any trace we were here. Let’s go

Carter:
I watched them gather their things and leave without a backwards glance. From where I was slumped on floor, blood dribbling from my nose and gathering on my lip, my house filling with gas, the tape recorder in my filing cabinet still running…

---

The Narrator
Who were those 2 men, they seem too vivid, too real. No I don’t like it, I don’t like it at all, meddling in people’s lives like that, it’s wrong, there’s no excuse for it. He invited them in! They were guests! [mic fumble] Oh, oh you’re still here, well what a fascinating excursion that was, I’m simply beside myself with…well to see what our writers come up with next. Such solidity! Such..such…such…well look at me stuck for words, how ridiculous a narrator without a story to sell haha but who am I to intervene, after all reality writes itself