Elsewhere

Here follows an extract of a story from the casebook of The Unnatural History Museum set during Dr Germader Speedwell's teaching post at Fellows College Oxford, prior to his posting in London. We join student Charlotte Anning as she seeks help following the rather disturbing turn her vacation job has just taken. Please do enjoy:

The lull of the museum seemed suddenly to die away as she contemplated the old wooden door. She stood for a moment, heart thudding.

Above the Gothic archway chizzled letters were picked out in faded red: Professor of Experimental Philosophy. A shiver ran right through her and for a second she was overwhelmed by a massive sense of deja vu – as if she had been bought here for the most important appointment of her life.

She cleared her throat, readying her knuckles, mind racing as she considered the eccentric man she had met only the day before – and yet it seemed a lifetime ago, for in those twenty four hours her life had changed entirely and forever. She swallowed. And somehow he had been right … almost as if he had known. Her breathing became quick and unsteady – beyond the door lay either answers or … or what? Ridicule and madness – mortal embarrassment at voicing such a crazy idea - or worse? Had it all been a dream – an hallucination? She hesitated, suddenly doubting the soundness of her own memories – yet the visceral terror of the horrible experience was so real. With a flood of conviction she screwed up her courage, certain of what she had seen: her friend had been there one minute but was gone the next - sucked right out of reality – and to all-intents-and-purposes Neve King had never even existed, save for inside her own imagination – her last resting place.

She took a breath and knocked loudly.

‘Come!’ said a sonorous voice, clearly a little frustrated at being interrupted.

She hesitated, glancing back along the fossil lined walkway feeling suddenly unsure if she were doing the right thing – but she was committed – and knowing there was no going back pushed open the door.

‘Ah – Miss Anning!’

She flinched – Dr Speedwell was stood just inside the door as if he had been waiting for her. His cool blue gaze flicked to the carved lintel above them as if reading her thoughts.

‘Acting Chair of Experimental Philosophy,’ he said a little tersely, ‘they do like to promote me to these obscure out-of-the-way things as it seems I’m a little too theatrical for mainstream academic teaching – but at least I get to see the dinosaurs on a regular basis …’ His gaze flitted past

her to the bustle of the echoing hall. She hesitated, unsure how to respond, then nodded awkwardly.

‘Well – ah, yes – you must come in,’ he continued briskly, ‘how remiss of me – now take a seat Miss Anning – move those papers - so, what would seem to be the problem: you look a little out of sorts, if it isn’t chivalrousness of me to say so.’

She floundered as she took the seat he indicated, slipping her bag off her shoulder to place it by her chair - the bag Neve had grabbed for that split second before … ‘Miss Anning?’

She swallowed hard. ‘I … erm …’ How could she tell him - what on earth would he think?

‘Miss Anning?’

She took another breath, her heart racing as her mind whirred over the impossibility of what she had witnessed – torn between the sheer incredulity of the tale and her desperately churning feelings – and then she told him – everything – the words rushing out of her more quickly than she could ever have anticipated, flooding out with a brisk but breathless eloquence which took her by surprise. As if she had said them all before. And then she was silent, feeling awkward and red faced – and Speedwell said nothing for a very long time.

‘... And now,’ she swallowed, ‘it’s like there’s no trace of her – no one seems to have heard of her, not even the students in her college – and there’s’ nothing on the web …’

She realised she was wringing her hands. What on earth would he think? ‘It’s … it’s … like …’

‘Like she never even existed.’ Dr Speedwell concluded. She looked at him for a moment then nodded, feeling her cheeks begin to colour afresh. It sounded ridiculous – absolutely crazy.

The academic regarded her for a moment, then turned his attention to a gilded letter opener which lay by an untidy pile of mail.

‘And this is all you are worried about, Miss Anning?’

She gawped. Like, was that not enough? ‘Such experiences are far from abnormal, Miss Anning, I can assure you of that.’

She leapt at the hope he offered. ‘So you remember the conversation we had about Neve at lunch yesterday– you remember she existed?’

Speedwell looked at her thoughtfully. ‘Not in the slightest, Miss Anning – and though we spoke yesterday you made no mention of Miss Neve King whatsoever.’

‘But …’ it felt as if her world had just crumbled, the horror of it making her feel suddenly hot all over – she was going mad! Speedwell, turned over the letter opener absent-mindedly.

‘And what if I did have this theoretical conversation about this friend of yours who does not exist yesterday – of which I have absolutely no recollection? Isn’t it conceivable – even if incredibly unlikely – that your version of events is the correct one and that the conversation did happen – despite my absolute lack of recollection of it?’

‘What,’ she frowned uneasily, suddenly wondering if he was playing some kind of psychological game with her, ‘you mean that I’m not hallucinating – that I’m not going mad?’

He shrugged. ‘As I said, though highly unlikely, that hypothesis is by no means utterly impossible – stranger things have happened … and perhaps it is I who am hallucinating or suffering from some form of mental aberration.’

She hesitated, a frown creasing her brow. ‘But that’s …’

‘Ridiculous? Surely not Miss Anning – it is merely a logical conclusion, and despite the emotional nature of what you are experiencing, if we apply cold hard logic to the situation you have described we must come to three possible conclusions: A, that you are suffering from some kind of psychological breakdown – which seems most unlikely based on my admittedly limited conversations with you ...' he ticked the options off on his raised fingers, '– B, that I am the one who is at fault … and that the entire world around us is also suffering from some form of mass hallucination that Miss King never existed – or C …’

He held his index finger almost triumphantly high.

‘That Neve King was pulled right out of reality and it’s as if she never existed at all.’ She could hardly believe she had said it.

Dr Speedwell looked at her thoughtfully. ‘And seeing as you are by far one of the brightest people I have ever met, I would have to discount hypothesis A – that you are as crazy as a bag of spanners …’ She felt her eyes begin to sting, blinking as her vision began to blur. The academic looked away awkwardly. 'Thus we are left with hypothesis B and C,’ he continued briskly, ‘- and seeing as I am a man who trusts my proverbial gut – and therefore your judgement – I would have to conclude that the young lady you are concerned about was indeed sucked right out of reality as you put it.’ He paused to pass her a paper handkerchief from a box on his desk.

‘But that’s impossible!’

‘Is it?’ there was an odd look in his eye, ‘whatever makes you think that Miss Anning.’

She frowned. ‘But people don’t just …’

‘Don’t they?' he wore an unsettlingly knowing expression, 'What of the Bermuda Triangle, the Marie Celeste? Then there’s Wharram Percy, the inexplicably deserted Medieval Village in Yorkshire …’

She hesitated as she dried her eyes, her mind once again racing.

‘But Dr Speedwell …’

‘Thus we must conclude that this young lady you are sure you remember …’

‘I spent eight hours with her!’ she blurted before she could stop herself, ‘I grabbed on to her before she …’

‘Yes, yes of course,’ said the academic, raising his hands placatingly, ‘we must conclude that Miss King’s disappearance can be put down to an entirely natural phenomenon.

‘What?’ she frowned.

‘It is my belief that like electricity and magnetism such disappearances can be ascribed to a perfectly natural force – it simply has not been studied and quantified … nor indeed proven,’ he added a little awkwardly, ‘though perhaps that is about to change.’

She frowned at him skeptically. ‘A natural phenomenon?’

‘Why not?’ Speedwell reposted casually, ‘there are gaps between the protons, neutrons and electrons which make up the molecular building blocks of our universe – why not bigger gaps?’

‘But ..?’ The small room seemed suddenly airless.

‘The ancients saw no divide between what we term natural and supernatural – science and magic ... to them all was both miraculous and inexplicable: the workings of the season and the planets, the growth of a mighty oak from a tiny acorn … they sought only to answer one question …’

She felt suddenly light-headed, utterly out of her depth. ‘Which was?’

‘Why the source of the power behind the phenomena Miss Anning – was it good or was it evil?’

She felt a thrill of something she could not quite gasp run down her spine.

For more tales from the time traveling world of Dr Speedwell and the Unnatural History Museum keep your eyes on #TheWardobeDoor - or why not dip into the achronological world in which he operates and read 'A Most Extraordinary Form of Animal,' featuring Speedwell's future assistant Polly Nightingale, available in Kindle format from Amazon.