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A Ghost in the Chamber
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Prologue
“Okay, everybody quiet please. Do we have audio and video?”
“Tape’s rolling.”
“Coolant?”
“Green light.”
“Particle chamber lock?”
“Green light.”
“Alright, commence initial sequence... John, how’s the EM tolerance looking?”
“We’re barely touching minus thirty, we are green for go.”
“Preparing for countdown — three, two, one…”
“Dampers off, chamber is showing two bars, rising good.”
“Approaching three bars, prepare the transmission signal, standing-point should be achieved in three, two, one…”
“Transmission signal is going green, we —”
“Oh shit! It can’t be! Stop the system! Shut it down! Shut it down!”
“What is it? What the hell’s going on?”
“Jesus christ! There’s someone in the chamber!...”
“What are you talking about? It’s impossible!”
“Look! On the monitor — there’s a girl in the chamber! For Chrissakes shut it down!”
“Initiating emergency abort, powering down.”
“Pressure should be dropping in — no wait —”
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s not responding — Pressure’s going through the roof — It won’t shut down!”
"Oh my god, what in hell's that?"
Transcript from recordings of standing-point experiment, Hayden Hill.
* * *
The Heavenfield [https://www.ighulme.com/images/Heavenfield-header-005.jpg]
image [https://www.ighulme.com/images/heavenfield-anim-cover-001.webp]
“Darling, fetch me a glass of water while you’re there, would you?” mumbled Mrs. Lambert sleepily from somewhere beneath her duvet. Professor Keith Lambert grunted to himself as he felt his way across the darkness of the bedroom until he found the doorway. He fumbled for the light switch in the bathroom, and with his eyes still half-closed, winced and cursed as his feet touched the cold floor tiles.
Still muttering a tirade of expletives under his breath, he returned from the toilet and groped his way through the bedroom. He shuffled down into the living room and through to the kitchen, negotiating the darkness like some ghostly somnambulist. He passed the door to the hallway, where a faint light from underneath cast dark shadows. The quiet chatter of a radio, and then a muffled cough came from one of his security team outside.
Lambert’s feet found the stone tiles of the kitchen, and he fumbled around until he located a glass; he was determined to remain in darkness so as not to wake himself any more than necessary.
The professor was a sprightly, energetic man, younger-looking than his sixty-eight years, still lean with only a hint of a paunch. Tonight though, his face was more drawn than usual; it had been a long day. He was impatient to get back to sleep, and mechanically filled the glass, spilling icy water over his hand. He made his shuffling progress back into the lounge, taking care to give the low coffee table a wide berth.
He stopped for a second. He thought he had noticed a movement away to his left, beyond the sofa. He opened his eyes fully, rubbing them tiredly as he swapped the glass of water into his other hand. Dark spots of shadows swam around him in the blackness, and he felt a sudden sense of unease. He fancied that he heard a faint sound, like a distant wind, and was about to turn and pay a visit to security when the movement caught his eye again. On the other side of the living room he glimpsed a faint shower of sparks illuminating the darkness. He watched transfixed as the sparks began to trace an outline, and slowly that outline became the shape of a man. With a brief flash and a crackle of electricity, the figure was in the room, moving towards the professor, who stood paralysed with fear, only his eyes darting to and fro as he searched for any means of escape. The figure wore a menacing armoured suit, with a face mask that concealed his features, but the eyes glowed a pale light in the darkness. A thick layer of red dust and corrosion coated the figure’s suit, giving Lambert the impression that the man was drenched in blood. Still holding the glass of water, the professor made a dash towards the hallway, but as he turned he saw another figure blocking his way. He flung himself round again in a hysterical jerky motion, making for the bedroom, but yet another shadow loomed up in front of him. He spun around like a cornered animal, losing his grip on the glass which tumbled on to the carpet with a dull thud. Hands reached out to grasp him as he stumbled to his knees, and a ring of pale, phosphorescent eyes surrounded him, their gaze cold and inhuman. One figure held up a weapon, and there was a muffled retort and a flash in the darkness.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
image [https://www.ighulme.com/images/chapters/ch-001-02a.jpg]
Mrs. Lambert stumbled into the living room, sleepily fastening her robe around her.
“Darling, are you alright? Did you knock something over? Keith, where are you?” She fumbled for the lamp, but couldn’t locate it in the shadows. Her foot struck a glass on the floor, and she swore as she stepped in a pool of water.
“Keith?” She was getting anxious now; there was a strange smell of burning in the air. “Keith, where are you?”
The door opened, letting in a harsh light that temporarily blinded her.
“Is everything alright, Mrs. Lambert? I thought I heard — oh shit!” The security guard stood looking on in horror.
She followed his gaze downwards.
There, at her feet was the professor, slumped next to the coffee table.
Cynthia Lambert screamed.
She was standing in an ever-expanding pool of her husband’s blood.
As the security team went to work, they quickly established that there were no signs of entry or egress. The only physical evidence was a scattering of fine red sand around the body. This was confined solely to the living room, and showed up the track marks of three sets of heavy boots. These footprints didn’t lead to or from any of the available entrances or exits. The security team all swore they had seen and heard nothing unusual, before a muffled thud in the living room, and then Mrs. Lambert’s voice calling for her husband.
It was as if the killers of Professor Keith Lambert had simply appeared and then vanished into thin air.
* * *
Pattie dressed early and took time to drink her cup of strong coffee. She sat on the end of the bed watching Alex as he slept. Her head pounded from her hangover, but she was so excited she hardly noticed. She gazed over his beautiful body, biting her lip to suppress a giggle, and lightly traced her hand over his stomach where the sheet was thrown back. He sighed quietly and Pattie grinned, knowing he was awake now, pretending to sleep on.
“Morning, my love,” she chirped. “I’m afraid some of us have work to go to.”
“Surely it’s not that time already?” smiled Alex sleepily, slowly opening his eyes. “And how are you feeling today, my beautiful Miss Patricia?” He sat up and slid down the bed to her, taking her coffee and placing it on a chair nearby.
“Only my mother calls me Patricia,” Pattie squealed as he kissed her.
“You could always take the day off couldn’t you?” he whispered.
“Oh, Alex, I — really, no I can’t. Alex.”
He was kissing her neck now, and playfully unbuttoning her blouse.
“What is it you do that can possibly be more important than this anyway?” The hint of an East European accent sent shivers down her spine.
“If you’d have been paying attention when you asked me that yesterday, you’d have remembered,” she giggled, half-heartedly attempting to push him away.
“Ah, but of course, you work at the Maunsworth military base, you are very important; in fact the place will cease to operate without your presence,” he teased, laughing as he tickled her.
“I am not important in the least,” she laughed. “But if I’m not back for eight-thirty, I’ll probably be shot by firing squad, or locked away forever, or —”
“Eight-thirty?” smiled Alex. “But, Pattie my little soldier, my watch says six-fifteen. That means plenty of time before the firing squad.”
She shrieked with excitement as he pulled her back into bed.
image [https://www.ighulme.com/images/chapters/ch-001-04.jpg]
When Pattie finally signed in at the security desk, she was nearly twenty minutes late. It was the first time in seven years she had been late for work but she felt secretly exhilarated, like a naughty child. She walked down towards the labs, passing familiar faces, and giving her usual ‘good mornings’, but today she felt sure that everybody could tell what she had been doing only an hour ago. She stared at her feet, grinning again.
“Morning, Pattie, I was beginning to think you’d run off to the circus — or a different one at any rate.” It was the familiar animated chatter of Grace Palmer, striding energetically across the concourse towards her.
“Morning, Grace, sorry I’m a little late,” began Pattie in a fluster. “I er, had trouble with the buses, you know that connection from Eastfield up to —”
“Well, what happened?” Grace’s eager tone was conspiratorial and light-hearted.
“What? The, er, buses?” Pattie looked up at Grace, who was grinning from ear to ear, and promptly felt her cheeks burning.
“No point trying to deny anything you dark horse. Dean saw you in the Red Dragon, so just give me the gory details.” Grace laughed hoarsely. She was always forthright — and Pattie painfully shy, but Pattie was bursting to tell somebody all about Alex. She paused for a moment.
“The Red Dragon? I was in there last night?” she asked, a little perplexed.
“Jesus, Pattie, I didn’t think you drank! You must have been enjoying yourself; Dean saw you in there on Friday,” laughed Grace.
“I don’t remember drinking much — but, oh Grace, I’m so happy. He’s such a wonderfully lovely man, he’s —” she stopped herself in embarrassment. “It’s just nothing like this has ever happened to me before.”
Grace put her arm around Pattie’s shoulder and gave her a hug. “Well, it’s about time then; you deserve it.”
“It’s just with the Field going so well, and now this; I just think I’m going to burst.” She grinned sheepishly.
“Enjoy it while you’ve got it kid,” joked Grace whilst searching for a cigarette. “Now come on, let’s go and explore a bit more of paradise. Are you sure you can keep your mind on the job, or am I going to have to send you home sick, or rather lovesick?”
“Oh, I’ll be fine, believe me,” beamed Pattie. “Although I could do with another cup of coffee. I think I must have a bit of a hangover from last night. Funny I can’t remember...” She trailed off with a slight concerned look on her face.
“Is everything alright, Pattie?” asked Grace.
“Yes, yes,” said Pattie, snapping once again into her smile. “It’s just been a whirlwind of a weekend. I must have drunk a little more than I thought I had; it’s all a little hazy.” She laughed and walked with Grace to the coffee machine.
Grace lit her cigarette. She was happy for Pattie. Poor plain Pattie, as she had heard someone speak of her once. But now, as they walked down to the locker rooms together, there was something nagging in the back of her mind.
image [https://www.ighulme.com/images/chapters/ch-001-03.jpg]