Fear of the Dark - Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

The next morning, a groggy Rae wandered out in to the living area that she shared with Rafferty, fingertips rubbing her temples. She couldn’t remember how much she had drunk the night before but it was taking its toll, giving her a slight headache and making her eyes sensitive. Walking past Rafferty’s room, she slid the strip she had written the night before under his door. He could get to work on it later before they got another annoyed phone call from the magazine. Without thinking, she automatically picked up her cigarettes off the dining room table. Her eyes came to rest on the finished comic strip, still clipped to Rafferty’s drawing board.
‘Shit,’ she whispered to herself, remembering that she needed to take it to the magazine before the end of the day. She made the mental note to do it as soon as she was dressed and motivated.
Running a finger over her forehead, she walked into the kitchen and started her morning ritual of coffee and a cigarette. Lighting up a cigarette, she pulled herself up onto the worktop to await the coffee machine. Looking up she found herself looking at a sleeping Rafferty, sprawled out on the sofa, a book spread out across his chest. Sliding down from the Formica surface, she walked over to her comatose flatmate and gently removed the book from its resting place, being careful not to disturb him. The big black volume weighed down her hands and she struggled to carry it to the dining table. Quietly, she put it down, determined not to wake Rafferty. He obviously had not made it as far as his room the previous night. Just by the look of the big book she could tell that whatever was enclosed within the aged pages probably wasn’t intended for her eyes. There was something about it that she didn’t like, something about the smell and feel of it. Slowly, she opened it, the aging black parchment pages rough to her touch. In the background, the coffee machine beeped, heralding the ending of its task but Rae found herself drawn in and engrossed by the book, its strange power taking her over. The book opened at a random page. The page was covered in writing and, at the centre of it was an image depicting some kind of strange and, to Rae’s eyes, obscene ritual. It showed someone restrained on an altar surrounded by black robed people. Another black robed person stood at the feet of the bound one, watching over them. Surrounding the image were strange, indecipherable glyphs. She tried to draw herself away but found that she was engrossed, involved in the event that was unfolding across the aged page.
‘Put that down,’ Rafferty’s voice pierced her thoughts.
She let go of the book, it closing with a resounding thump.
‘I was only looking,’ she protested, not daring to turn round, feeling Rafferty’s eyes boring into the back of her head.
Rafferty reached over her shoulder and picked it up, secreting it away into the book bag that hung from his shoulder.
‘There’s things in there I don’t want you to see,’ he replied, ‘I’m only protecting you.’
Rae sighed and stared at her longhaired friend.
‘I think I’m old enough to look after myself.’
Rather than reply to her, Rafferty turned and walked into his room. Rae inadvertently shivered. He was definitely acting weirder than normal.

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Rae sat on a crowded tube train, the portfolio containing the strip trapped between her legs. A multitude of languages graced her ears as tourists from a hundred different countries jostled around her. It was the peak of the tourist season and, like any time of the year, the tube was hot, smelly and crowded. Rae had always had a soft spot for the London Underground. There seemed to be something romantic about going deep under the crowded city and finding another, equally crowded London below the surface. Everything from the trains to the station names to the abandoned tunnels and stations invoked a longing in Rae. She felt almost safe, wandering the intertwining lines of the system.
That had been a few years ago. Now, after having experienced life in the capital, she could understand why so many people complained about it. Hordes of tourists with their oversized bags and suitcases which blocked doors, carriages and walkways. The people that ignored the signs by the escalators telling them to stand to the right. The LCD boards that lied about the times of the next train. The people who repeatedly tried to get the ticket barriers to work despite their best efforts, delaying everyone behind them.
The electrical whir of the train slowed as it pulled into Camden Town station, Rae’s stop. Battling with tourists and the portfolio, she managed to exit the train without losing any limbs. She knew that she was breaking one of the tube rules of etiquette by carrying the portfolio. It wasn’t big but it could be a pain, especially when combined with getting on and off of trains.
Exiting the station, she blinked in the bright sunlight, her eyes slowly regaining their sight. She had decided, as she was in the area, to pay a visit to the bookshop that Rafferty had brought the strange book from. The address had been written on a business card, which had slipped from the front of the book. Unbeknown to Rafferty the business card had slipped out and into Rae’s hands. Even it looked old and faded, much like the book. Checking on a map, Rae had found a little back street of Camden that she had never seen before.
The magazine office was just down the road from the shop, so she decided to drop the strip in first. Walking up Camden Road, she enjoyed the feel of the sun on her face. It was rare that she spent any length of time in the sun, not being a big fan of the heat. Mixed with the grime of London’s streets, she hated feeling sweaty and dirty and, during the summer, regularly took three or four showers a day. The constant blanket of smog, which lingered above the city during the summer months didn’t seem to help, just causing more irritation to Rae and many other Londoners. Turning into the glass fronted building of the magazine’s building, she approached the marble topped desk. Behind the desk, a morose looking secretary stared at Rae like she dirt. Slamming the portfolio onto the smooth marble surface, Rae gave the receptionist a wide, fake smile. Unzipping it, Rae pulled out a plastic wallet that held the strip.
‘Can you give this to Mr. Lloyd please?’ Rae politely asked in a mock sing song voice.
The receptionist returned Rae’s fake smile and took the plastic wallet from the desk, sliding it into a pigeonhole on the wall behind her.
‘Thank you so much,’ Rae said, before turning on her heel and walking out. She hated dealing with Metal Mayhem’s receptionists. The staff seemed rude, especially their front end staff. Rae had gotten used to the fake smiles and fake voices that they all seemed to put on. It didn’t bother her anymore that they looked down on her like she was scum. Rae knew that, inside the pitiful secretaries and receptionists were hearts of solid stone and lives as cold and boring to match. At least, she had concluded, she had some kind of life and personality, at least she could be who she wanted to be and not conform to whatever the current fashion is. Rae knew she didn’t hate these people but just wished that they would try and be a little more individual instead of just following the media like a pack of sheep. The world, she believed, was made up of individuals not of gangs of identical people, all dressed alike and acting alike. Rafferty had likened these people, especially the women, as Stepford Workers, a reference to the film. Putting the thoughts to the back of her mind, Rae carried on looking for the street.
Finding the street proved difficult, as it was off the beaten track. The streets of London twisted and turned like a giant labyrinth. London changed from street to street. Sometimes wide and busy, other times narrow, dark and hidden from view. London was a city of buildings with a fair mix from all architectural periods. Victorian, medieval, modern, all jostled for attention on the cramped streets of the city.
Rae cautiously looked down the dark street. It was narrow and cobbled, flowers decorated wooden window boxes as Victorian buildings lined both sides. Old fashioned gas lamps hung off the buildings. High on one wall hung a slightly rusted metal sign with the name of the street written on it. Looking up at it, Rae could just make out the name. Camden Place. Rae had never seen this street and wondered why. It looked like something from a film or a set up for the tourists. Her eyes swept from side to side, looking for any evidence of a film crew or typical tourist trappings. Not finding any, she carefully stepped onto the street, her shoes clicking on the cobbles, the echoes bouncing off the buildings.
There didn’t seem to be anyone other than herself on the street. It was eerily quiet, almost like a ghost town. Taking the business card from her pocket, she glanced at it. Number 23, Camden Place was the address she was looking for. Her eyes scanned the names and numbers of the shop fronts. There was a pawnbrokers, a newsagent, an auction house and a pub. Very few seemed to be still in business or even open, cobwebs and dust cluttering the windows. Eventually, she found it, reaching out a hand to push the door open. ‘Dionysus Apothecary and Occult Book Supplier’ a faded wooden sign read. A bay window jutted out into the street, the paint on its wooden frame peeling. Inside, Rae could see various occult paraphernalia ; books, ceremonial knives and swords, faded clocks and some more sinister looking bits which Rae didn’t want to identify. There was a silver chalice, engraved with incantations and set with precious stones. A human skull stood on a velvet draped pedestal, forever staring out into the street. A mummified hand of glory, pointed its bony, white fingers towards whoever was looking in through the window, gesturing for them to go in. Hanging in the window was a faded sign which caught her eyes.
‘Closed.’
It was dated 22nd June 1863. A shiver ran down Rae’s spine. A strange feeling descended over her and she stepped away from the door. Suddenly, she didn’t want to be there anymore, Stuffing the business card in her pocket, she turned and left the street as fast as possible, returning to the normality of modern day London.

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Rae sat at her laptop, page after page of information passing before her. During her trip back to the flat, Camden Place had run over and over in her mind. Something about it was bugging her, something that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Desperate to find something on it, she had sat down to conduct a search online. But any search on the mysterious Camden Place seemed to be in vein. There seemed to be no official record of it and any links that did come up were dead, bringing up the none too informative ‘404 File Not Found’. The sound of a key turning in the door dragged her attention from the flickering screen. A black clothed Rafferty swept into the room, looking none too good after his rush hour journey across London.
‘Evening,’ Rae greeted him.
He completely ignored her, instead going straight to his room, the cloth book bag he carried bouncing off his hip.
Shrugging, Rae turned back to the computer.
‘Bad day at the office?’ she asked herself, her fingers brushing the keys as she carried on her search.

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The light of the setting sun failed to penetrate the heavy material of Rafferty’s curtains. Rafferty’s room was very like Rae’s. Against the wall that divided his room from Rae’s was his big double bed. A window looked out over the same Victorian houses that Rae’s looked out of. Pushed up against the opposite wall was a table, which housed all of Rafferty’s computers and the various parts that went with them. A printer, a docking station, various cables, a digital camera. Under the window were a row of three sets of drawers, all filled with clothes in various shades of black and grey. A few shelves, fixed to the wall with industrial super glue, contained bits and pieces that Rafferty couldn’t find room for in the main body of the flat: books, priceless DVD’s and numerable other objects cluttered the shelves. Hanging above his bed was Rafferty’s pride and joy: an H R Giger original, a work of art of futuristic machines and beings that could only have jumped from the imagination of another technophile. It had cost him the best part of six months wages but it had been worth every penny. Rafferty adored H R Giger’s work with a passion, a passion that made him want to discover the possibilities of technology. A passion that seared through him and caused him to buy expensive computers and laptops that he couldn’t afford without the help of a credit card.
Rafferty sat cross-legged on the bed, the contents of the bag strewn in front of him. A few black candles of various sizes, an ornate dagger and a velvet pouch were among the usual pens, cigarettes and tube tickets that normally cluttered Rafferty’s bag and pockets.
Carefully he picked up the dagger, his long fingers resting at each end. The handle was carved from ebony and was etched with ornate and deadly looking images. He slowly turned it over, his fingers stroking and exploring the handle. The blade was fashioned from pure steel and inlayed with silver, the edge sharpened with diamond precision. Symbols were etched all along the silver inlay, giving it a mysterious air. He ran a finger along it and gasped silently as it sliced into his skin. Pulling his hand away, he smiled as the blood welled up from the wound and slowly formed a teardrop at the end of his finger. Fascinated, he watched as it dropped, slowly, silently, and hit the floor, staining the carpet with a tiny blotch of crimson.
Forgetting about the bleeding wound, Rafferty opened a drawer in his desk. Gathering up the ominous objects, he placed them carefully inside, hiding them away from prying eyes. He knew that Rae was getting suspicious and that sooner or later she was going to come looking for evidence. He wanted to give her as little as possible, making sure that she didn’t know about his little secret. Normally, he hated keeping secrets from Rae but, on this occasion, he decided it was necessary. There was no need for her to know about what he was doing.

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Rae sat on the balcony, watching the sun turn the sky a beautiful shade of red. Her feet rested on the metal patio table, pushing herself onto the back two legs of the chair she sat on. Her laptop and mobile phone sat on the table, a glass of water beside them and an overflowing ashtray behind them. The computer crunched away, still looking for information on the history of the mysterious street. The hard-drive rumbled and whirred, lines of information flowing across the screen. She breathed deeply, her eyes occasionally flicking to the computer monitor, much preferring the twilight hours of the summer months. The summer days in London were too hot and dusty but the evenings were the perfect temperature, not too hot, not too cold with the mid-day haze settling around them. Looking over the wrought iron railing that surrounded the balcony, she watched people coming and going. Their little square of London tended to be quiet, a few bed and breakfasts were situated across the little patch of grass and trees. Rae loved to sit and watch the different people coming and going, all visiting London for a few days. They all came with big rucksacks or suitcases, armed and dangerous as tourists in the Big Smoke. Cameras dangled in from their necks, tiny maps of London scrunched into their hands. Every tourist, no matter what, seemed to ooze money. They weren’t scared to spend and spend they did. The tourists spent money on tours and restaurants and museums and traditional London tat. They rammed themselves onto tubes trains and buses, forever commenting on how quaint London was before they were hurried onto a coach and onto the next tourist trap that London had to offer. And at night, they would all crawl back into their hotels while they stressed and underpaid of London partied into the small hours. What the tourists didn’t see was the other side of London, the people who slaved day in day out to keep the city running and to make their short visits perfect. The people that worked in the pubs, clubs, shops and coffee houses for minimum wage. The people that felt tied to the jobs and felt that they couldn’t escape. The people that daily took abuse from customers and management alike. She was glad that those days were now over for her, the days of worrying whether she still had a job or where she would find a new one. Sighing, she turned back to the computer. It was still crunching away, no definite answer having been found. Out of the corner of her eye, inside the flat, something caught her attention. Rafferty, a long flowing cloak thrown around his shoulders, was sweeping through the flat. Standing up, she peered through the French doors into the living room.
‘Rafferty?’
Again, he ignored her, choosing to walk straight out. The door slammed shut behind him. Walking back out onto the balcony, Rae leaned over and watched as Rafferty walked out of the building.
‘Rafferty?’ she called down into the street.
He didn’t respond, didn’t even look up, instead he just kept walking, head down, determined. Rae was confused. This wasn’t normal behaviour for her best friend. Walking back inside, she picked up the cordless phone and dialled a number that she knew off by heart, her fingers jabbing at the little plastic buttons. She listened as the phone exchange dialled the number, clicking and beeping as it passed through cables and pipes, sending her electronic SOS to another part of the known universe. Waiting for it to be answered, she wandered back out into the dying rays of the sun. Finally, it started ringing and after a few moments, it was answered but it wasn’t the answer that Rae was expecting.
‘Hi, you have reached the voicemail of Kristjan. Please leave a message and I’ll get back to you.’
Taking the phone from her ear, she hung up. Quickly she dialledthe number of a mobile phone, hoping that this one would take her to the person she was hoping for.
‘Hello?’ a Dutch accented voice said.
‘Kristjan, it’s Rae.’
‘Rae, how are you?’ the voice asked.
Rae sighed and changed the phone over to the other ear, trapping between her head and her shoulder as she reached out to tap the computer keyboard. Her attention was divided between the information that scrolled across her screen and the conversation she was having.
‘It’s your brother,’ she replied.
‘What’s up?’
‘He’s been acting strangely over the past few days. First he brought home a strange book on the occult. Then he dumped his girlfriend. Now he’s not talking to me.’
She heard Kristjan take a breath and exhale.
‘He’s always been strange,’ came the reply.
‘Yes, but this is a different kind of strange.’
Rae paused, taking a cigarette out of packet and putting it into her mouth.
‘When are you coming back over to visit?’ she asked, quickly changing the subject.
There was a crackle of silence before Kristjan spoke again.
‘Didn’t Rafferty tell you? I’m living over here for the summer. Some work came up so I’m renting an apartment over here.’
Rae took a drag on the cigarette and sighed. Rafferty’s memory also seemed to be failing. ‘No, he failed to tell me that.’
‘I can come over if you want?’ Kristjan’s voice sounded like honey, ‘Talk to you, help settle your mind?’
‘Sure,’ she said, ‘I’d appreciate that. You know where I live don’t you?’
‘As long as you haven’t moved without telling me,’ came the reply, ‘I know where you live.’
‘No, we’re still in the same place,’ Rae stretched, easing her joints back into place.
‘Ok, I’ll be round in a bit. I’ll tell you about why I’m over here when I get there.’
There was a click as Kristjan disconnected the call. Walking back inside, Rae placed the phone back on its cradle and wandered back out to the balcony to catch the last of the dying sun. Turning back to the laptop, she saw an icon flashing on the bottom bar. Moving the mouse over it, she clicked, a web page opening across her screen.

CAMDEN PLACE, it started, is one of the many lost and hidden streets in cities around the world.
Camden Place, Camden. LONDON, was, up until the mid-1800’s, a bustling, bohemian area. Shops sold a variety of items while public houses served absinthe. Mysteriously, Camden Place doesn’t appear on any records after 1864.

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Rafferty’s red car sped along the streets of London heading further northwards. He was heading towards a clearing among the trees of Hadley Wood. Hadley Wood lay to the north of London outside of the main area and away from the prying eyes that Rafferty and his followers were keen to avoid. There would be few tourists there and even fewer Londoners. No-one to disturb them or their macabre activities.
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Somewhere, outside of the main city, Kristjan snapped an expensive mobile phone shut and secreted it away into a pocket. He smiled to himself. He was dressed all in black, a long heavy black cloak wrapped around his shoulders. The wind ruffled his hair and swept the hem of the cloak away from his ankles. Trees surrounded him, hiding him from prying dog walkers and locals. Freeing his hands from the confines of the cloak, he walked forward to join his brother. Rafferty was standing by a roaring bonfire, his hair untied and flowing down his back in thick waves. Behind him, just within the trees, stood the car that he’d just exited from, it’s driver’s door still open top the evening air. Rafferty had arrived as Kristjan was finishing the call and had only been among his loyal followers for a few moments. A group of similarly black-cloaked figures, all of their faces hidden by hoods, surrounded him, listening intently to what he was saying. The large black book was in his hands, opened to a page that he was obviously consulting. Kristjan quietly stood behind his brother, arms clasped behind his back, waiting for him to finish talking. Eventually, his brother snapped the book shut and the group of people dispersed quietly into the trees.
‘Rae called,’ Kristjan said, addressing his brother’s back.
Rafferty slowly turned, eyes peering out from a few strands of hair that streaked his face.
‘I’m going to go and see her. She’s getting suspicious.’
Rafferty nodded slowly, thinking about.
‘Go. Talk to her. Get all of this out of her mind.’
Kristjan nodded and turned, heading into the thick forest and his car. Even though he was the older of them, Kristjan had started to discover that he was losing control of his brother. In their younger years, Kristjan had practically dictated what Rafferty did, where Rafferty went and with whom Rafferty associated with. Now Kristjan was finding himself becoming more and more wrapped up in Rafferty’s world, being dragged, almost forced, into the strange rituals that would, if Rafferty was right, make their lives better. Kristjan wanted to escape, but couldn’t bring himself to do it, fearing his brother’s wrath if he did. Until such a time, he had decided, he would carry on with the charade, subduing Rae’s fears and keeping her from knowing what her flat-mate was up to. Because Kristjan knew that if he didn’t keep everything a secret, Rafferty would find some way to wreak his vengeance with him.

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Rae leaned on the railings of the balcony, staring at the setting sun. Kristjan was in London. Kristjan was in London on work. Rae seemed to find that odd, wondering what could have brought him to London. She knew that he had been studying for some kind of fancy degree. Had he finished? Had he been kicked off the course? It all seemed convenient, him being over here at the same time that Rafferty had started acting oddly. Rae wondered if it all was related, Rafferty acting oddly and Kristjan being over. She knew, in her heart of hearts, that Kristjan wouldn’t lie to her but she knew that there was the possibility that he may start.

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‘So what’s bothering you about Rafferty?’
They were sitting out on the balcony, watching the night sky and listening to the sounds of the city around them. High above them specks of light fought their way through the dusky smog. Some of the specks, lights on planes, moved silently through the night on route to exotic destinations.
‘Books with strange inscriptions, black cloaks and bottles of strange substances in the fridge.’
Kristjan sat and pondered what she had just said.
‘Research?’ he replied.
‘No,’ Rae said, ‘his behaviour says something more than research.’
She sipped from the glass of red wine that was clutched in her hand.
‘Relax,’ said Kristjan, nothing her hand, ‘it’s going to be ok.’
She looked at him, her face deadly serious.
‘That’s easy for you to say. You don’t have to live with him.’
Kristjan smiled a smile that Rae decided was supposed to comfort her.
‘I grew up with him. He went through enough strange phases then.’
He reached out and touched her hand. Rae felt herself start to recoil but stopped. She didn’t know why the uncomfortable feeling had washed over her but it had. Something wasn’t right about Kristjan, something that she couldn’t put her finger on.
‘We all through strange phases,’ he said.
Rae looked at him, a confused look on her face.
‘Strange phases? He’s thirty Kristjan, he should have grown out of strange phases a long time ago. I suspect that there’s something else.’
Kristjan picked up us his glass of wine and sipped from it, looking over the glass straight into Rae’s eyes. Shivers spiraled down her spine.
‘Are you ok?’ he asked, his eyes still piercing into hers.
Rae nodded.
‘Yes,’ she replied, ‘just a slight chill I think.’
‘Look, at the end of the day, nothing’s happening with Rafferty. Trust me, I’m his brother.’
Rae looked down and played with the glass of wine, swirling the red liquid round.
‘You’re right. I shouldn’t worry.’
‘That’s my girl,’ she heard Kristjan say.
An overwhelming desire washed over Rae and she looked up at Kristjan, to find him looking straight at her. A little smile played on his lips. Rae slowly returned the smile.
‘So what are you doing over here?’ she asked.
She watched as Kristjan pushed himself back into his chair, letting it tilt back on to two legs.
‘I’m on a sabbatical from my studies. There’s some interesting auctions and flea markets I’d like to visit while I have the time.’
Resting her elbows on the table, Rae stared straight at him. Kristjan took the hint.
‘I suppose you want to know where the money comes from,’ he smiled, ‘well, I found an employer, a man who deals in antiques and he’s paying for my trip over here. I’m funding part of it by selling on some of the pieces I find to shops.’
‘Remind me what you’re studying again?’ she enquired.
‘A PhD in archaeology and theology,’ he replied.
Kristjan had spent what seemed like the best part of his life studying. He was doing a PHD in archaeology and theology. An opportunity for him to carry on his studies in London had come up and he was spending the long summer days scouring antique fairs and flea markets in search of rare and beautiful artifacts. Along the way, he had been ordered to pick up various bits and pieces for Rafferty; a lecturn, church candle holders etc. Kristjan was wondering how much of his trip to London had been orchestrated by Rafferty in order to give him a hand. He found it very convenient that Rafferty was planning something big that required old items from churches at the exact same time that Kristjan was in London.
‘So why the flea markets?’ Rae pierced Kristjan’s thoughts, determined to get to the bottom of why he was in London.
Kristjan lent on the table, his eyes level with Rae’s. They sparkled in the in the starlight and Rae smiled, feeling a warmth radiating from him.
‘I specialize in bits and pieces, the nick-nacs that most people throw out,’ he said.
‘Interesting,’ Rae replied.
She relaxed, her questions answered and fear dashed. Kristjan was just taking a break from it all and doing a bit of work on the side. She breathed deeply and relaxed, a tiny smile on her face, happy to discover that he wasn’t lying to her. She knew he wouldn’t, he had no reason to. It was Rafferty that was acting odd, not him. Kristjan pushed himself back up, Rae’s eyes still locked onto his.
‘Why don’t you come round for dinner one night?’
Slowly Rae nodded.
‘I’d like that,’ she said.
‘Well, give me a call one day and we‘ll get together.’
As Kristjan stood up, Rae swept her eyes over him, taking him in. He was, undoubtedly, a handsome specimen of a man. She had never felt anything towards him before but suddenly and unexplainably, she felt a desire towards him. She looked at his face, the chiseled cheekbones, deep blue eyes and soft, dark hair. She watched as he took his coat from the back of the chair and draped it round his shoulders.
‘I have to go,’ Kristjan said as he checked his watch, ‘give me a call. I’ll let myself out.’
Rae couldn’t take her eyes off him, constantly staring up at him.
‘Ok. I’ll see you soon.’
He brushed her shoulder and gently kissed the top of her head as he swept off the balcony and through the flat.