The Monocle Man Read online

  Reynolds walked from the office and stopped near Dori, who leaned against the wall outside. Dori dropped his phone back in his pocket.

  “I warned you, didn’t I?” The sound in Dori’s voice was almost too smug. It pushed Reynolds over the threshold of his patience. Reynolds turned on the man, grabbing him by the collar, and shoving his forearm up under Dori’s chin, pinning him to the wall.

  “What the hell are you playing at Dori?”

  “Go fuck yourself rook!”

  “Tell me damn it!”

  “Get your god-damned hands off of me Rey!” Dori wriggled from Reynold’s grasp, taking a few steps to his right, nearer the office.

  “I saw you Dori! What the hell were you doing to those girls in there?”

  “My you’ve got an active imagination rook.”

  “Cut the bullshit!”

  “Cut the-“

  “I saw you!”

  “I don’t know what you think you saw. But I’ll tell you this,” Dori stepped closer to Reynolds, his finger pointing in accusation. “Your days are numbered kid! You crossed the line tonight. Fumbled the whole thing by kicking shit around down there in the dark, scaring away the perp. Then accusing me of what, exactly? Doing my job? Then assaulting me! You’re finished rook! You hear me? Finished!”

  Reynolds hung his head a little, not in disgust or shame, but because he knew Dori might be right. He may have crossed the line. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t tell his side of things. He turned to go before looking back at Dori. Nodded in his direction and said, “You’ve got a little something on your chin you sicko.”

  As Reynolds turned away and started down the stairs, Dori ran the back of his hand over his mouth and chin. He furrowed his brow at the smear of blood on his hand.

  CHAPTER SIX

  ENGLAND, 1919

  ENGLAND, 1919

  “Intriguing my young friend. A wondrously fiendish thing, indeed!” Crowley offered Jakob a devilish smile.

  “Mr. Crowley, I do not-“

  “Tut, tut! Calm yourself. I can see the consternation upon your brow. And I do not mean to disrupt any sense of hope you might cling to. But I can only be honest in my response as this is wondrous. There are many, far too many, dark corners of this universe that have yet to be unveiled. Though yours is more common than one might think. Or so it appears.”

  “So then,” leaning in. “You in fact know what haunts my poor sister?”

  “Know? This, I cannot concede without further investigation. Some sense of the matter? Quite possibly. You see, there are phantoms run rampant everywhere. Some we can witness, some we cannot. Some lurk beneath the veil upon which we live. And occasionally, a few come through. But alas, it is believed their souls are bound to darker places, and so, must rely on the corporeal existence of us, to come into being, of a sort.”

  “Then what are we to do?”

  “We, my young friend, must make a small but necessary journey.”

  “A journey?”

  “Why yes. As there is a man I must confer with in the matter. A man who may have more insight into the flavor of fiend which has taken over your sister’s body.”

  “When do we leave?”

  “Why, at this very moment.”

  For the first time in recent days Jakob felt a sense of hope. He had been all but lost following that first encounter with the sister-thing which now resided in his apartment on Albion. His poor mother left the tenement soon after he escaped the bedroom, taking up residence with a friend a few blocks away. What she told this friend, her reasoning for needing a place to stay, eluded Jakob, and he didn’t press the matter. She hadn’t mentioned what transpired. For surely no one would believe her. He at first begged her to stay. As he wanted someone to keep an eye on the young girl, whilst he scoured University, the books therein, and the city wide, hoping to find a solution. But she couldn’t stay. He knew she’d be of little help even if she did. Something was now missing from his mother. She’d been hollowed out. A ghost of a thing. One which wore his mother’s face and hair, her clothes, though no longer her smile or warm eyes. He feared if he couldn’t come up with a conclusion, both his sister, and mother were lost to him.

  The knowledge of Crowley came to him in whispers. His name was offered in voices hushed, nearly secret, almost something not to be spoken aloud. As if the very name might conjure things from the dark. Rumors were all they were. But such things traveled through the city like wildfire, especially in learned places. Jakob himself dabbled in the occult. Folklore mostly, and ancient tales. These things he often brought alight in the classroom. He found the regular curriculum, even as a teacher, very tedious and undemanding. Or rather, it demanded. It demanded of him to make the mundane seem exciting. Demanded only effort and patience of his students. What it lacked, was imagination. And imagination is what he sought to inject into their lives. Moments that not only made one ponder but also, dream. He wished to open their minds to new, wondrous, and sometimes frightful possibilities.

  He heard Crowley’s name spoken a few times here and there. A man of perpetual darkness. Crude, and often unruly. A man who dared toy with the lines of heaven and hell. One who once entered the pyramids of Egypt a man, returned a prophet. Some said he’d lost his sanity. Others referred to him as genius. Most labeled him the wickedest man on earth.

  But how much could one really believe?

  Were the stories true?

  It seemed unlikely to Jakob. As some stories seemed beyond improbable. Crowley may have just been a man who walked to the beat of his own drum, not really caring what opinions might flourish. Stories were often just that… stories. But improbable or not, Jakob crossed his fingers that at least a few of the whispers held merit. That was why he contacted Crowley in the first place. Who better to resolve the issue with his sister-thing, than a man who lived his life in the dark? And there was definitely something dark about the man.

  Jakob not only saw it, but sensed it. He watched the man as he told him the tale of the previous days. Crowley not only listened, but seemed to devour his words, as if the darkness within might nourish and sustain his own existence. His smile remained unwavering. Uncomfortable. Why, it rarely left his face as Jakob talked on. The man seemed as amused, as intrigued. He wondered if he’d done the right thing, approaching Crowley. Jakob, in truth, expected something much different from the man who sat across from him, sipping tea. He thought the man would somehow seem more scholarly. More refined. Within the rumors which surfaced about Crowley, others existed as well. Those told of a man schooled, excelled even, in learned circles. But he was in fact as regular as he was eerie. A brusk image seated before him, a little short on manners as he preferred his sleeve to a napkin when wiping hs mouth. Crowley seemed one not inspired to impress others. Still, the man might prove his worth.

  “That carriage there, my boy,” Crowley stated, tilting his head toward the vehicle waiting across the street. A man sat atop the front seat, a dark woolen jacket pulled tight around him, his feet propped up on the footboard. The man’s topcoat sat at his side, while his black-gloved hands held loosely the reigns to the several horses tethered to the carriage. “I took the liberty of having the man wait, in the event your story would prove fruitful, and we would need transport. So firstly, take me to your sister. This is something I must see with my own eyes.”

  “I… I-“

  “Don’t fear my friend. You are in good company. I dare say it would take the evilest of fiends to frighten yours truly. And rest assured. All doors which have been opened, can again be closed. Now, let’s make haste.”

  2

  2.

  Crowley leaned against the wall outside the bedroom door, catching his breath. Beads of sweat accumulated on his bald head, which he patted nervously with a handkerchief. His skin had drawn a lighter shade of pale. Jakob secured the door, struggling a moment to pull it tight, gripping the handle while sliding the key into the lock and turning it. He fell backward against the second floor railing, s
teadying himself with a hand on the rail, haunched over. He tilted his head and looked up at Crowley, who met his gaze.

  “I warned you.”

  “Yes… yes, indeed. That you did. I just… I never… well…-“

  “Yeah, exactly.”

  “Give me a moment boy!” Crowley snapped. “A moment,” he trailed, his voice softening. “This is, to say the least, remarkable.”

  “Remarkable?”

  “Yes! Astoundingly remarkable. This is real contact.”

  “Of course it’s real! I told you it was real! Did you think I was lying?”

  “Well, I could not be certain at first. Your tale was… as implausible as it was compelling.”

  “But who would make up such a thing?”

  “Many, my dear friend. Many.” Crowley stood and ushered toward Jakob. He set a hand on the young man’s shoulder, gripping with reassurance. “Yours was not the first calling I’ve attended. But it is in fact, the first legitimate case of possession I’ve actually witnessed.”

  “Your first?”

  “Yes. My first. But fear not Jakob. I have a sense of what to do.”

  “And that is?”

  “Well first… we must visit a colleague of mine. Not only might he have an understanding of what we’re dealing with, but I may need to petition his help.”

  Crowley and Jakob exited the tenement on shaky legs, both breathing in the chill air of early evening. Jakob hadn’t realized how terrible his home smelled. The fresh air alerted him to it. He wondered if his neighbors noticed anything in regard to odor. He had been away for nearly twenty-four hours, and in that time, his home seemed to fall into decay.

  Hours before, when he opened the door, both he and Crowley were assaulted by an ever-present stench, like burnt butter and raw fish. It clung to the air; coated the walls, the stairs and banisters. The wallpaper had peeled as well. Having gone moist, and fetid, it fell from the corners of the walls in long strips, as if the adhesive let go. The wood looked faded, almost charred. And the stairs and banisters were covered in a slight dusting, what looked like tiny particles of ash. The house had a deserted feeling. That, and the stench of something rotting.

  Jakob wavered at the first landing, a step inside the front door, Crowley bowling into him as he stepped over the threshold.

  “My dear God,” Crowley whispered. Though Jakob doubted very much, if the rumors were true, a man like Crowley believed in such things, that of God. He thought back on the rumors spread concerning the man. Remembered the man did believe. If not in a singular, all-powerful God, he at least believed in gods, plural. The old ones. Crowley continued, pulling Jakob from his reverie. “If something is not dead in here, it’s clearly on its way.”

  Jakob had nearly turned on heel and strangled the man. The final comment struck a chord within. That was his sister he was talking about! But when he turned to face Crowley, he noticed for the first time, something upon the man’s countenance which he hadn’t yet observed. A touch of fear.

  The carriage ride took the two men across town. Neither Crowley nor Jakob said much, seated in the front and rear seats of the carriage. Crowley leaned upon his cane, his brow furrowed in deep consternation, while Jakob kept his head turned, eyes pinned to the moving landscape outside the vehicle’s window, removing his monocle on occasion to clean the glass with hot breath a wipe of his handkerchief.

  It was an odd place, Jakob thought at once, when they stepped out into the day. He followed Crowley up the cobblestone walk, to the squat building with the fading facade and bent and broken shutters. It’s creamy, textured face seemed at odds with the rest of the neighborhood. The structure looked almost cottage-like, save that it stood two stories high and just as wide. The home of Samuel Mathers sat between two towering red brick tenements, each a lever higher, with clean white window boxes, and bright, kept fronts. His though, was an eyesore on the neighborhood.

  Seeing Jakob’s expression, Crowley lent, “It suits his needs. That, and the needs of the organization. Don’t let appearances fool you, it is much more elaborate inside.”

  “Organization?”

  “Yes. That of The Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn.”

  “Yes, I believe I’ve heard some whispers of such an organization.”

  “As well you should. Many a learned man has joined the Order. And their pursuits are nothing short of ambitious.”

  “And their pursuits are… of the occult nature?”

  “Their pursuits my good fellow, are of nature itself! But yes, we do place great emphasis on metaphysics. As well as paranormal and occult activities. We are devoted to both theurgy and spiritual development.”

  “Theurgy? I’m afraid I’m not familiar with that?”

  “Theurgy is a practice of rituals. Magical in nature, of course. Typically to evoke and solicit the assistance of gods, or, occasionally… demons.”

  “Sounds frightfully foolish!”

  “Foolish you say? Ha! We dare to stare into the real fabric of life!”

  “But to what end?”

  “Ah, my dear boy. Our goals are simply an attempt to perfect one’s self. To achieve Henosis with those which we call upon. We wish, in relative terms, to join our souls with theirs. To glimpse into the divine!”

  “But, how can you join a god? Or a demon for that matter?”

  “That, Jakob, is why we study. Why we pursue those rituals which may help us engage such an outcome! And you see, it may not be so difficult. For what rituals did your sister perform to allow such a creature into her?”

  “I should think no such ritual!”

  “Nor I Jakob! Nor I. But alas, he is there. He is in her. Whether she welcomed him, he found a way. If she performed no such ritual, how did such a thing come to be? I wager those unseen things which lie in the great beyond, behind the fabrics of our world, are stronger indeed! Much stronger than we give them credit for!”

  “And you think you can extract this thing from her?”

  “I am not all that sure my boy. But I am willing to try!”

  Clapping Jakob on the back, Crowley stepped toward the small set of stairs leading to the front door. Without knocking, he turned the handle and walked in.

  Crowley’s assessment of the interior had been accurate enough, thought Jakob. Brightly lit, a shimmering polished sheen coated the floors with not a spec of dust floating about as they walked down the hallway. Jakob followed at Crowley’s heels, but his head swiveled upon his shoulders, taking in the great works of art that hung along the walls. Grand depictions of men doing miraculous things. Some seemed crude in nature, verging on sexually explicit, while others were simple portraits of individual men.

  “Those are the men who founded this society,” Crowley noted without turning his head.

  “And the others?”

  “The others are mere depictions. Or rather, interpretations of some rituals that are well described within the tomes this society possesses.”

  “Some are… well…”

  “Yes Jakob. Some are! Not all real magic is done over cauldrons or with wands. In fact, little magic is practiced that way. And some require great energy and focus. Those which you allude to are an honest representation. For there may be no greater force in the world; no greater concentration of energy than that of the coupling of man and woman.” Crowley paused a moment, turning to face Jakob. And seeing the innocent look upon the young man’s face added, “Surely you’ve coupled with a woman before?” Jakob’s face went a few shades red.

  “I uh… well… I guess I’ve not found the time.”

  “With a man, perhaps?” Crowley questioned slyly.

  “No sir!” Jakob spat. He couldn’t be sure at first if Crowley’s prodding held water. But one look and Jakob understood there were a great many things Crowley indulged in. “Neither.”

  “Such a pity! Such a tragic, terrible pity! Disappointing,” Crowley stated. He turned again, continuing down the hall. “But very well,” he spoke to no one in particular.
r />   At the end of the hall they came to a richly decorated door. It had been hand carved, adorned with leafy patterns. Clouds strayed across the wooden canvas while stars dotted the nighttime sky beneath a full moon glowing over the entire landscape carved beneath. A landscape rich with trees and meadows. Even a lake. The waters in the painting lapped a rocky beach, and just yards away to the left, a small gazebo sat near the water’s edge. The indistinguishable portrait of a young woman stood leaning against the gazebo railing, looking out across the water.

  Was it glowing?

  Jakob leaned in. It sure looked like it. But how could that be? It was merely a wooden door. He reached a hand up to touch it, and asked Crowley, but the man swatted his hand away and pushed the door open wide.

  The darkness beyond startled Jakob. He took a deep breath, the lack of light a contrast to the hall outside. As Crowley took the first step, it was as if the man were stepping through a black curtain. He crossed the threshold and the dark swallowed him. Crowley became a figure fading from the light. Jakob reached out, putting a hand to the air, testing it, as if it might swallow the appendage. But no such thing happened. It was just a doorway. However, the peculiarity of the situation was not lost on him. It wasn’t only the darkness, but something else, which tugged at his very core. A sense of something amiss. Nervous, Jakob stepped through.

  He followed close at Crowley heels, not wanting to lose himself in the shadows, nearly reaching for the other man’s coat tails as something to hold on to. But soon he witnessed a glint of light. It stood like a beacon in the vast darkness.