what lies beyond
It all began with a pair of odd sounds. The first, reminiscent of an egg cracking, was followed immediately by the second, which was not unlike the wail of rushing wind through the least crack in a window. Both were so faint that, had I been in the next room, I should not have heard them at all. Living, as I was, in a less-than-reputable section of London, I was long accustomed to the occasional strange noise. But none-the-less, as is human nature, I looked up from my desk. It was not until I was lowering my eyes to return to my task that I noticed it; the smallest hole, in the opposite wall.
On examination, it was found to be no larger than a pinhead and, to my eye, perfectly round. The only reason I even bothered with it was that I was positive I had puttied up all the sundry holes and cracks in my shabby little domicile when Id first moved in. But then, there had been the scotch. Quite a good deal of it, actually, in my small circle of friends, since we had lost all that money when the market crashed in The States. As much as Id imbibed that day, just two months prior, it was a wonder that I hadnt missed a great many holes. The only peculiar aspect of this one was its absolute roundness, what with plaster being so notoriously prone to chipping. But once Id gone to the closet, retrieved the leftover putty, plugged the hole good and proper and returned to my work, it was all but forgotten.
A good three days passed before I found myself again in my study, during which I had taken a short sabbatical in the country, and upon sitting down at the desk, my eyes were immediately drawn to the hole. It was a little more than thrice its previous size, and the tiny plug of putty could be seen on the floor, directly beneath it.
My first thought was that someone, most likely a child, destructive little creatures that they are, was poking something through the wall from the adjoining flat. But, I recalled on further rumination, that flat was supposedly empty. Again, the hole showed itself to possess that peculiar perfection of form. More curious, there was a complete absence of any debris on the floor, save for the small plug of putty. Even stranger still, not a single ray of light shone through from the other side. The possibility of vagrants, or perhaps even some nosy squatters lurking there came to mind, and I determined to investigate. So after again puttying the hole, I proceeded to check on the suspect flat.
The outer door proved quite well secured, and on pressing my ear against it, I could discern no sounds of occupancy. Fair enough for now, I decided, but I would keep a close watch in the future.
Upon the next incident, I concluded that it was time to bring in an outside observer. It had been two more days, despite my resolve to be more vigilant, before I had call to return to the study. The hole was yet again larger, near to the diameter of a cigar. Moreover, after making use of the desk lamp to facilitate a more intensive examination, I discovered further attributes that, owing to its previously small size, I had not been able to spot before. It should have, with the additional light, been possible to see well into the hole, if not all the way to the neighboring wall. Yet that was not the case. At best, the first half-inch of the interior of the hole lit up, then rapidly faded to pitch further in, regardless of the angle at which I applied the lamp. Also, the little it did illume was enough to show that the inside surface, quite unnaturally smooth, was also a dull, dark gray, as opposed to the bright white one would expect of plaster. Lastly, the hole sloped inward at an acute angle, much like an elongated funnel, which seemed to suggest that it had originated from my side of the wall. I had never been given to trepidation, having been raised with a disdain for emotional indulgence, but suddenly I found myself ill at ease, and left directly for the club, where my frequent companions could most likely be found.
Out of our usual party of four, I found Will, and since it was yet early in the evening, found him mostly sober. After having assured him that I was neither drunk myself, nor having him on, he agreed to return with me to my flat. We arrived with a good hour of daylight left, and went directly to the study. After a cursory inspection, I was asked to provide a dowel. I was not altogether sure that I had any, but managed to find one, about three feet in length, with a brief search of the closets. I ceded my find to Will, and watched as it was unceremoniously thrust entirely into the hole.
No resistance. Ill wager you theres a hole on the other side, and that you have yourself some species of trespasser over there. I say we go and have a look. he said, confidently.
I dont think well manage to breach the door without alarming most of the tenants. I offered.
What about the fire escape?
While the front door had been attended to, the windows, surprisingly, had been overlooked. In a matter of minutes, we found ourselves in a mirror image of my abode, minus the furnishings. I took the lower half of my cue, in case we should happen upon any interlopers, but after searching the entire place, taking pains to be as quiet as possible, we found not the least sign of habitation. We had saved the room opposite my study for last, and once there, were presented with, scuff marks and a nasty crack notwithstanding, a blank wall.
Where we had expected the hole, there was not so much as a scratch.
This is the right room? Will inquired.
Im certain of it. I returned.
How deep are these walls?
Id estimate anywhere from six inches to a foot.
Will stared past me toward the wall, but his eyes were focused somewhere beyond it.
Curious.
Indeed.
On our return trip, we stopped at my kitchen for a glass of scotch. We had tried to gauge the depth of the wall between the flats on the way back, but as it was an old building, with rather large rooms, the endeavor proved to be fruitless. As I was pouring our second round, my growing apprehension was displaced by a certain suspicion.
Say, havent seen our friend the Grad lately, have you?
Why no, actually, but I was just thinking that we might-what are you smiling about?
He has a key to this place, you know. I said.
I follow. He does love his little pranks, doesnt he?
Yes, he does.
Before I could suggest that we should inquire as to the whereabouts of our jocular associate, Will cut me off.
I believe that, before we make any assumptions, a little more investigation might be in order.
Once back in the study, with the intention of gouging out the rim of the hole, I dug out my pocketknife. It was exceedingly sharp, and should have gone through plaster with a negligible amount of effort, but instead, it was like trying to carve rock with a wooden spoon. On my third attempt, the blade snapped, without having made even a mark. I stepped away, feeling cold sweat trickle down the back of my neck, and told myself that it could still be a hoax. Will ran a finger around the edge of the hole, and a perplexed look came to his face.
It feels raised, as if its not quite-damn!
What? I looked at his hand, where blood had started to course down from his index finger.
Sliced the bloody hell out of my finger! No pun intended.
I looked from his hand, to the hole, and saw a deep red smear on the wall. Shaking my head, I said, Well, this wont do. Must be a short length of pipe, or the like. Wait here for a moment.
I went off and scrounged up a clean bandage, as well as a hammer and chisel. It would pain me greatly, after all the bother I had been through to patch up the place to begin with, but I never cared much for jokes, and was ready to put the present one to rest, even if it meant I had to excavate the wall to do so. I proffered him the bandage.
Here, Will. Patch yourself up. Never mind the floor, therell be a larger mess there
momentarily.
Youre not going to-?
Yes, I am. I have putty and paint, and just what this is, I aim to settle here and now.
I started chipping away at the plaster surrounding the hole, and was soon through to the lathing, which was old and dry, and gave way readily. The spacing of wall studs was such that they did not impede my progress, and in short order I could see clear through to the back of the opposite wall, which was indeed only about a foot away. I had taken out a more than sufficient quantity of wall to afford a solid purchase on the pipe, or tube, or whatever it was, and was puzzling over the fact that there appeared to be nothing left to support it, when I heard a sharp intake of breath from my right. I turned, and beheld a face drained of all color.
Will?
Look at it from the side.
I did, and jerked as if Id been slapped. There was no pipe. There was nothing there at all, save for dust and empty space, and the hole, which hung perversely on thin air.
A few minutes later, back in the kitchen, with much larger glasses of scotch, we both babbled nervously, trying our best to fathom the impossibility down the hall, and to calm the agitation we were feeling. We failed on both counts, but did manage to finish the bottle, and come to a consensus on one point; that it was high time we found the Grad.
We all called him the Grad, partly because he was a graduate student at University, but mainly because he had been such for several years. This was not due to sloth, as it was obvious that he took his studies seriously, but to a true love of learning. He also had a singular interest in anything outside of the ordinary, proclaiming himself to be a scholar of the far realms of knowledge. Unfortunately, for us, school was out for the holiday break, and it took three days to track him down. We tried all of his usual haunts first, but when we finally found him it was, of all places, at the University Library.
It took some time, but when at last we convinced him of the veracity of our account, he was quite eager to help. There were some items he wished to employ, which he would need to first secure, so we agreed to convene at my place at 10:00, the next morning.
By that time, the hole had grown to the size of a dinner plate, and its absurd geometry, which mimicked that device of both theater and cinema known as forced perspective, was even more pronounced. While I found that the mere sight of the thing served to further intensify my ample and rising distress, and Will would not get within arms length of it, the Grad was delighted. He immediately set to work chipping out the surrounding plaster; as the constant growth of the hole had managed to conceal my previous effort. He removed far more than was necessary, in my estimation, and I cringed at the thought of having to repair the damage when, and if, the hole finally went away.
When satisfied, he stepped back for a better look. The smooth interior of the hole could be seen to a distance roughly equal to that of its diameter, at which point the light just died out into blurry, depthless shadow. It was quite unnerving enough from head on, but glimpsed from the side, where its lack of support and absence of extension were apparent, it was overwhelming. None of us had said a word for almost half of an hour, and Will and I both jumped when the Grad finally broke the silence.
Id like to make use of your cue, Martin, if you wouldnt mind.
We knew he was as curious as we were, but to judge from his demeanor, one would be led to believe he dealt with the uncanny on a daily basis. I would have preferred to have him use the dowel, but it had gone missing, and since the cue was the most reasonable facsimile, I submitted to his request. He deftly inserted the stick to roughly half its length and then, to my dismay, moved it rapidly top to bottom and side to side, several times in each direction. This did not produce the clattering that I expected; in fact, it made almost no sound at all.
Appearances to the contrary, the diameter is in fact constant. Im going to try a little further in.
Mind the edge of that thing, Will warned, it is rather sharp. Only then did I notice that his finger was still bandaged, and when I inquired after it, was informed that it had developed a nasty infection and, so far, not even begun to heal.
While we were speaking, the Grad fed in the rest of the cue and then, as if on a whim, his arm, almost to the shoulder.
Still no change in diameter, or any resistance; wait . . . say, whats this?
His eyes grew suddenly large, and a look of sheer terror swept over his features.
Its cold! It has my hand! Something has a hold of my hand!
Instantly we were at his side and bracing to wrench him free from the hole, when he burst out laughing.
I say, if you two arent the most gullible! You should see your faces!
We released him, but he might yet have found himself injured, had I not seen the fist being drawn back to cold-cock him, and intervened.
No call for violence, Will! It was only a joke, even if it was in the poorest taste. I said, as I moved to step between them.
Idiot! You damn near gave me a stroke! Will spat.
Dont want him to think that were thin-skinned, do you? Why dont you fetch that new bottle and some glasses from the kitchen? I could do with a drink now, I think.
It took a few moments, but he composed himself, and went for the liquor. I let the Grad have a shot upside the back of his head.
You are an idiot. Do that again, and Ill hold you for him. I said.
He had extracted his arm, and my cue, the last remnant of better days, turned out to be quite undamaged. It took him a while longer to stop laughing.
Sorry, but I couldnt resist. I cant believe that neither of you saw it coming!
A short while later, we were on our third round, all having been forgiven.
The dampening of sound is intriguing. Ill try the light next, and after that well attempt to determine just how far it goes. The Grad explained. He then proceeded to tape a very bright lamp to the thin end of the cue and, once hed contented himself as to its stability, again plunged the cue into the hole. The light, near blinding when out in the open, faded out completely after passing about a foot. The Grad withdrew the cue, and removed the lamp.
It seems to absorb everything; sound, light, even heat. I wasnt jesting about the cold, the inside surface is frigid. He next produced, after a few moments of rummaging in his bag, a billiard ball, and a spool of stout twine. He attached the end of the twine to the ball, securing it with a great deal of sticky tape. Then, after placing the entire spool on the end of my cue, positioning me back ten feet from the hole, and unwinding an appreciable amount of slack, he launched his projectile neatly into the hole. Rather forcefully, at that. All three of us watched intently as the string unwound, fast, and then faster. As the seconds ticked by, it kept picking up speed, to the point that it took an effort just to keep the cue steady. In under half of a minute, it reached the end, which vanished into the hole, leaving the spool empty and spinning.
And that was? Inquired Will, quietly.
Seventy-five yards. The Grad answered.
A few hours later found us at the club and, having met up with the usual fourth member of our group, the Grads brother, Phillip, we filled him in on recent events over a game of snooker. We were all known for pulling pranks on one another, and so he was a tad skeptical. Only the most current of scientific methods being employed, eh? Phillip chided.
I had hoped to borrow some equipment from the lab last night, but theyve gone and changed the locks on me again. The Grad countered, feigning indignance.
Will said, Someone on faculty must have gone past the pawn shop!
The Grad smiled. Funny!
Any theories? Asked Phillip.
Not a one. Never seen, nor heard, of the like.
Gives me the creeps. Said Will.
I had to agree with that. My shot was coming up, as the Grad seemed to be off his game, and as I was chalking up, I noticed that the finish on my stick had changed from smooth and glossy, to the texture of almost raw wood. I watched, enthralled, as the cue slowly swelled, while at the same time cracks were forming all over it, large at first, but then smaller and smaller, until the entire surface was covered. I was so absorbed that the conversation of my friends did not register.
Missed again! The Grad complained.
Whats happening to the sleeve of your shirt? Phillip asked.
The cue slipped from the Grads hand, as he shook his head. I dont know. My whole arms going numb.
Never mind his shirt, said Will look at his hand!
That last remark caught my ear, and I wrenched my eyes from my cue, even as it began to crumble in my hand, to glance toward the Grad. His sleeve had apparently undergone a variation of the same process as the cue, and his entire arm, the one that had been in the hole, was swelling like a balloon. His fingernails were black, and streaks ran from them up his forearm. The skin split, and he looked in horror from his rupturing arm, to the dusty remains of my cue, which were all over my pants and shoes, as well as the floor. He staggered, as his arm collapsed upon itself, and in the time it took for him to fall, it shriveled and contracted, until it was reduced in size by half, the flesh of it left resembling that of a desiccated corpse.
On my way home from the hospital, I decided to forego seeking a logical explanation. At that point, I was giving serious consideration to paying a visit to an occultist of my acquaintance. I had also come to the conclusion that I needed to find another place to live. I could not get the sight of the Grads withered arm out of my head, and my hands would not stop shaking. I had nixed the idea of just boarding over the hole, since I had no way of knowing when, or if, it would cease growing. It could, undoubtedly, stop, or even vanish at any time, just as it had appeared to begin with; but to my mind, it had gone from benign to malevolent, and either it, or I, had to go. For the time being, I would stay at the Grads.
Two days later, after visiting at the Hospital, and being assured by the Grad that he would be thrilled to have me stay with him for as long as necessary, I went home to pack. Not having an inordinate amount of worldly possessions, it would be rather easy for us to share his place without it becoming overly crowded, and after the amputation, he would be in need of assistance. Upon my arrival, I found my front door partly open, and heard voices coming from within. Entering cautiously, I discovered the Grads brother, and his wife, who looked to be on their way out. He apologized profusely, explaining that he had brought his wife over to see the hole, using his brothers key to gain entrance. His face was bright red, as if hed been found with a mistress, rather than his wife. After a second apology, they left. The whole scene gave me an ill feeling, especially the way he had blushed. It was common knowledge that the man utterly despised his wife, and made every effort to be wherever she was not, as she had repeatedly rebuffed his pleas for divorce.
Later that day, I learned that they had gone out dining, at the most exclusive restaurant in town, where there had been some incident, the precise nature of which I was at a loss to determine, as the police had stipulated that all parties on scene not discuss it with anyone, until they were finished with their inquires. This much I gleaned from a server at the establishment, whos only elaboration on the subject was to confide in me his opinion that, after what he had witnessed, he might never sleep again.
The next morning found me back at home. I had yet to accomplish much in the way of packing, and was eager to see the job done. I had planned to save the study for last, having no desire to return to it until necessary, but after an hour, curiosity got the better of me. I went to have a look at the hole.
It was now roughly three feet in diameter. By my calculation, it doubled in size once every twenty-four hours. I decided then that, once Id cleared out all of my effects, I would come back and observe it, to establish whether it altered in size abruptly, or gradually. So far, none of us had watched it close enough to find out. I took a long look at it then, although there really was not much to see. It had grown large enough to cover all of the demolition work that had been done to the wall, and once more appeared as if it were an actual part of it. It did not look menacing, current events notwithstanding, but it was thought provoking. Among the many questions it posed, the one I kept returning to was the one that none of us had voiced: where does it go?
I was ruminating on that when I heard a knock at the door. Upon answering, I came face-to-face with Phillip. He started talking immediately, after taking a couple of steps into the room, about the events of the previous evening, and of my not jumping to any conclusions. I politely informed him that I hadnt the slightest notion of what he was going on about. At that he smiled smugly, then commenced to inform me of the especially gruesome end met by his late wife, whose head had suffered the same hideous transformation as his brothers arm. He added, with a morbid glee, that she had not died on the spot, but had lingered in agony, suffering seizures and convulsions for several hours after.
His confession led me to deduce that he intended either to attempt to intimidate me, or to do me grievous bodily harm, but I was not to have the opportunity to find out which. He returned to his original point about me and my conclusions, and was, I am sure, on the verge of resorting to threats or violence, when he became noticeably distracted. He cocked his head slightly in the direction of the study and asked, What is that whistling?
I had not heard any whistling, as all my attention had been riveted on him, but I did hear the piercing shriek of torn air in the split-second before something punched through the wall between the rooms, at incredible speed, and struck him almost full in the face. It did not stop there, however, but continued on through two more walls, and out of the building. Judging from the size and shape of the holes left in its wake, I am certain that it was in fact the billiard ball wed lost previously. It did not leave behind too much of Phillips face.
After the shock wore off, and the trembling in my legs subsided, I cleansed myself of as much blood and gore as possible, and covered the body with a blanket. As to my next course of action, I was at an utter loss. Although we had all so far kept the anomaly a secret, I had no doubt that the Authorities would eventually become involved. The papers were already making hay of the bizarre wasting of the Grads arm, and once they got wind of the demise of his sister-in-law would, assuredly, surmise a connection. Though neither of these events pointed towards me, a dead body in my foyer certainly would. I resigned myself to finish packing, hurriedly, for a start, and as I did so, shuddered to think that, had the dead murderer not knocked when he did, I might be in a heap on the floor of my study, with precious little left of my own head.
I managed to finish packing, and began lugging the boxes down to the street. I thought that I might just leave the body, keep my peace, and hope that it would be concluded that whatever happened, happened after I had moved out. After removing all the boxes, I hailed a cab, and returned to the Grads, swearing to never again step foot in my former residence.
I broke my oath in less than a day. At the Grads insistence, I returned, resigned to notifying the police of the strange events of the past week. The body had already started to reek, and the appalling stench only aggravated the nausea I was already experiencing. Before I made the call, I went to the study for what would likely be my last look at the hole. Though the mere thought of it caused my hands to shake furiously, it had come to provoke in me a morose fascination, as well as a mounting sense of what could only be described as anticipation.
Again, it had doubled in size, to reach almost six feet across. I stood off to one side, as a precaution, looking for anything that might give me a clue as to what its purpose could be. Aside from its size, it looked no different than before, just a dark, empty, featureless cavity. I thought for a moment that I heard a slight sound coming from it, but after listening closely for a brief time, concluded I had been mistaken. I returned to the front room, and there made my call, not going into detail, but giving assurances that it was imperative that someone be dispatched without delay. I then went to the kitchen, where I could watch the street below from the window.
After a couple of minutes, I began hearing strange sounds that I was certain could only be coming from the study. The hair on the back of my neck stood up, and though I tried to persuade myself that it was simply my imagination again, I at last relented. I crept down the hall, then paused at the door, where I was hit with a feotid odor, as of old rotten milk, which overpowered even that of the corpse further up the hall. There was no denying that the noises I had heard were, indeed, coming from within. Among the other sounds, which can only be described as sloshing, or liquid, was that of splintering wood. I did not want to look, as I was terrified, but I knew that a culmination was at hand, and I had to. I had to see. Had to know.
I flung open the door, and I saw . . .
I know not what. Whether it was one thing, or many, I could not discern, but the room was awash in it. What looked to be many thousands, if not hundreds of thousands, of long, thin tendrils surged out from the hole. They were as fine as wire, with a loathsome, sickly, ochre color, and I could not detect a break in any of the individual strands, as if each and every one were immeasurably long. They covered half of the room to a depth of perhaps three feet, and continued to flow from the hole in a torrent. They were articulate; I saw the ends touching, exploring, every surface in the room. They were also incredibly strong, one single strand being capable of wrenching a leg off of the desk, and they destroyed everything they touched, as if to measure that strength. But the single worst feature of that glistening, writhing mass was its eyes.
There were hundreds of them, everywhere, with no rhyme or reason to their placement. Some rested on the surface, others were covered by filaments, and a few even floated in the air, or so I believed, until I saw that each eye was affixed to a small clump of tendrils. They were all about the size of a lime, black as onyx, and betrayed a purposeful intelligence. When I first opened the door, they appeared to be surveying the room, more or less at random. But once one came to rest its gaze on me, the others all followed suit, even those that were just then pouring out into the room. I slammed the door shut, more out of reflex than from any conscious decision, and as I shakily turned the key in the lock, became aware of an insistent knocking at the front door. I faintly heard the announcement of, Police, coming in now. over the clamor of destruction in the study. Before I could reach it, the door swung open, and a Bobbie stepped inside. After taking in the body on the floor, the study door, which had started to rattle loudly, and my pallid appearance, he drew his nightstick.
So you werent entirely having us on, at that. Mind telling me just what in blazes is going on here?
He stepped around the body, and motioned me back with the stick. I did not want him to get near the door, much less to open it, but for the life of me, I could not speak. The best I could manage was to look from him, to the door, and back, and shake my head fiercely. He was not at all deterred, and the closer we drew to the door, the more violent the rattling became. Whatever else it was, it was certainly a quick study; it was trying to manipulate the doorknob.
Whos in there?
I continued to shake my head. He was reaching for the key, while trying to keep an eye on me, when the knob snapped off inside. The one outside fell to the floor, and the rattling ceased.
This is Constable Mills; whos in there? Are you hurt?
A swarm of tendrils snaked rapidly all around the edges of the door, seized it, and collapsed it inwards in splinters. The Bobbie managed half a step backwards before a multitude more shot out and took hold of him, then yanked him in and proceeded to do to him what had been done to the furniture. A great many single strands flowed over him, at first gently, but after a minute or so wrapping around him in various places so tightly that they cut through his clothes
and into his flesh like a garrote. Others then twined about themselves in groups, to form thicker, rope-like appendages, which in turn tore off his limbs, joint by joint. I watched all of this, frozen in horror, incapable of moving or even crying out, until the last, when dozens upon dozens of threads plunged into his mouth and down his throat, and rent what was left of him into shreds from the inside out. At that I fled, screaming so loud and long that two days hence, my voice was still lost.
When I regained my senses, I went forthwith to the station, and took the first train out. I have not stopped moving since, but I know there is nowhere I can go that is ever likely to be far enough away. While I cannot speak to what has happened back home since my departure, I have no doubts as to what is to come.
I had never before noticed, but now with so little as a knot in a board or an open drain being enough to give me pause, have become acutely aware, of the astronomical number of holes there are in our world. And I could not help but notice, as of late, that among all these holes, everywhere I go, and more and more each day, are many that bear in common a dreadful trait; that of being undeniably, unnaturally, flawlessly round.
It all began with a pair of odd sounds. The first, reminiscent of an egg cracking, was followed immediately by the second, which was not unlike the wail of rushing wind through the least crack in a window. Both were so faint that, had I been in the next room, I should not have heard them at all. Living, as I was, in a less-than-reputable section of London, I was long accustomed to the occasional strange noise. But none-the-less, as is human nature, I looked up from my desk. It was not until I was lowering my eyes to return to my task that I noticed it; the smallest hole, in the opposite wall.
On examination, it was found to be no larger than a pinhead and, to my eye, perfectly round. The only reason I even bothered with it was that I was positive I had puttied up all the sundry holes and cracks in my shabby little domicile when Id first moved in. But then, there had been the scotch. Quite a good deal of it, actually, in my small circle of friends, since we had lost all that money when the market crashed in The States. As much as Id imbibed that day, just two months prior, it was a wonder that I hadnt missed a great many holes. The only peculiar aspect of this one was its absolute roundness, what with plaster being so notoriously prone to chipping. But once Id gone to the closet, retrieved the leftover putty, plugged the hole good and proper and returned to my work, it was all but forgotten.
A good three days passed before I found myself again in my study, during which I had taken a short sabbatical in the country, and upon sitting down at the desk, my eyes were immediately drawn to the hole. It was a little more than thrice its previous size, and the tiny plug of putty could be seen on the floor, directly beneath it.
My first thought was that someone, most likely a child, destructive little creatures that they are, was poking something through the wall from the adjoining flat. But, I recalled on further rumination, that flat was supposedly empty. Again, the hole showed itself to possess that peculiar perfection of form. More curious, there was a complete absence of any debris on the floor, save for the small plug of putty. Even stranger still, not a single ray of light shone through from the other side. The possibility of vagrants, or perhaps even some nosy squatters lurking there came to mind, and I determined to investigate. So after again puttying the hole, I proceeded to check on the suspect flat.
The outer door proved quite well secured, and on pressing my ear against it, I could discern no sounds of occupancy. Fair enough for now, I decided, but I would keep a close watch in the future.
Upon the next incident, I concluded that it was time to bring in an outside observer. It had been two more days, despite my resolve to be more vigilant, before I had call to return to the study. The hole was yet again larger, near to the diameter of a cigar. Moreover, after making use of the desk lamp to facilitate a more intensive examination, I discovered further attributes that, owing to its previously small size, I had not been able to spot before. It should have, with the additional light, been possible to see well into the hole, if not all the way to the neighboring wall. Yet that was not the case. At best, the first half-inch of the interior of the hole lit up, then rapidly faded to pitch further in, regardless of the angle at which I applied the lamp. Also, the little it did illume was enough to show that the inside surface, quite unnaturally smooth, was also a dull, dark gray, as opposed to the bright white one would expect of plaster. Lastly, the hole sloped inward at an acute angle, much like an elongated funnel, which seemed to suggest that it had originated from my side of the wall. I had never been given to trepidation, having been raised with a disdain for emotional indulgence, but suddenly I found myself ill at ease, and left directly for the club, where my frequent companions could most likely be found.
Out of our usual party of four, I found Will, and since it was yet early in the evening, found him mostly sober. After having assured him that I was neither drunk myself, nor having him on, he agreed to return with me to my flat. We arrived with a good hour of daylight left, and went directly to the study. After a cursory inspection, I was asked to provide a dowel. I was not altogether sure that I had any, but managed to find one, about three feet in length, with a brief search of the closets. I ceded my find to Will, and watched as it was unceremoniously thrust entirely into the hole.
No resistance. Ill wager you theres a hole on the other side, and that you have yourself some species of trespasser over there. I say we go and have a look. he said, confidently.
I dont think well manage to breach the door without alarming most of the tenants. I offered.
What about the fire escape?
While the front door had been attended to, the windows, surprisingly, had been overlooked. In a matter of minutes, we found ourselves in a mirror image of my abode, minus the furnishings. I took the lower half of my cue, in case we should happen upon any interlopers, but after searching the entire place, taking pains to be as quiet as possible, we found not the least sign of habitation. We had saved the room opposite my study for last, and once there, were presented with, scuff marks and a nasty crack notwithstanding, a blank wall.
Where we had expected the hole, there was not so much as a scratch.
This is the right room? Will inquired.
Im certain of it. I returned.
How deep are these walls?
Id estimate anywhere from six inches to a foot.
Will stared past me toward the wall, but his eyes were focused somewhere beyond it.
Curious.
Indeed.
On our return trip, we stopped at my kitchen for a glass of scotch. We had tried to gauge the depth of the wall between the flats on the way back, but as it was an old building, with rather large rooms, the endeavor proved to be fruitless. As I was pouring our second round, my growing apprehension was displaced by a certain suspicion.
Say, havent seen our friend the Grad lately, have you?
Why no, actually, but I was just thinking that we might-what are you smiling about?
He has a key to this place, you know. I said.
I follow. He does love his little pranks, doesnt he?
Yes, he does.
Before I could suggest that we should inquire as to the whereabouts of our jocular associate, Will cut me off.
I believe that, before we make any assumptions, a little more investigation might be in order.
Once back in the study, with the intention of gouging out the rim of the hole, I dug out my pocketknife. It was exceedingly sharp, and should have gone through plaster with a negligible amount of effort, but instead, it was like trying to carve rock with a wooden spoon. On my third attempt, the blade snapped, without having made even a mark. I stepped away, feeling cold sweat trickle down the back of my neck, and told myself that it could still be a hoax. Will ran a finger around the edge of the hole, and a perplexed look came to his face.
It feels raised, as if its not quite-damn!
What? I looked at his hand, where blood had started to course down from his index finger.
Sliced the bloody hell out of my finger! No pun intended.
I looked from his hand, to the hole, and saw a deep red smear on the wall. Shaking my head, I said, Well, this wont do. Must be a short length of pipe, or the like. Wait here for a moment.
I went off and scrounged up a clean bandage, as well as a hammer and chisel. It would pain me greatly, after all the bother I had been through to patch up the place to begin with, but I never cared much for jokes, and was ready to put the present one to rest, even if it meant I had to excavate the wall to do so. I proffered him the bandage.
Here, Will. Patch yourself up. Never mind the floor, therell be a larger mess there
momentarily.
Youre not going to-?
Yes, I am. I have putty and paint, and just what this is, I aim to settle here and now.
I started chipping away at the plaster surrounding the hole, and was soon through to the lathing, which was old and dry, and gave way readily. The spacing of wall studs was such that they did not impede my progress, and in short order I could see clear through to the back of the opposite wall, which was indeed only about a foot away. I had taken out a more than sufficient quantity of wall to afford a solid purchase on the pipe, or tube, or whatever it was, and was puzzling over the fact that there appeared to be nothing left to support it, when I heard a sharp intake of breath from my right. I turned, and beheld a face drained of all color.
Will?
Look at it from the side.
I did, and jerked as if Id been slapped. There was no pipe. There was nothing there at all, save for dust and empty space, and the hole, which hung perversely on thin air.
A few minutes later, back in the kitchen, with much larger glasses of scotch, we both babbled nervously, trying our best to fathom the impossibility down the hall, and to calm the agitation we were feeling. We failed on both counts, but did manage to finish the bottle, and come to a consensus on one point; that it was high time we found the Grad.
We all called him the Grad, partly because he was a graduate student at University, but mainly because he had been such for several years. This was not due to sloth, as it was obvious that he took his studies seriously, but to a true love of learning. He also had a singular interest in anything outside of the ordinary, proclaiming himself to be a scholar of the far realms of knowledge. Unfortunately, for us, school was out for the holiday break, and it took three days to track him down. We tried all of his usual haunts first, but when we finally found him it was, of all places, at the University Library.
It took some time, but when at last we convinced him of the veracity of our account, he was quite eager to help. There were some items he wished to employ, which he would need to first secure, so we agreed to convene at my place at 10:00, the next morning.
By that time, the hole had grown to the size of a dinner plate, and its absurd geometry, which mimicked that device of both theater and cinema known as forced perspective, was even more pronounced. While I found that the mere sight of the thing served to further intensify my ample and rising distress, and Will would not get within arms length of it, the Grad was delighted. He immediately set to work chipping out the surrounding plaster; as the constant growth of the hole had managed to conceal my previous effort. He removed far more than was necessary, in my estimation, and I cringed at the thought of having to repair the damage when, and if, the hole finally went away.
When satisfied, he stepped back for a better look. The smooth interior of the hole could be seen to a distance roughly equal to that of its diameter, at which point the light just died out into blurry, depthless shadow. It was quite unnerving enough from head on, but glimpsed from the side, where its lack of support and absence of extension were apparent, it was overwhelming. None of us had said a word for almost half of an hour, and Will and I both jumped when the Grad finally broke the silence.
Id like to make use of your cue, Martin, if you wouldnt mind.
We knew he was as curious as we were, but to judge from his demeanor, one would be led to believe he dealt with the uncanny on a daily basis. I would have preferred to have him use the dowel, but it had gone missing, and since the cue was the most reasonable facsimile, I submitted to his request. He deftly inserted the stick to roughly half its length and then, to my dismay, moved it rapidly top to bottom and side to side, several times in each direction. This did not produce the clattering that I expected; in fact, it made almost no sound at all.
Appearances to the contrary, the diameter is in fact constant. Im going to try a little further in.
Mind the edge of that thing, Will warned, it is rather sharp. Only then did I notice that his finger was still bandaged, and when I inquired after it, was informed that it had developed a nasty infection and, so far, not even begun to heal.
While we were speaking, the Grad fed in the rest of the cue and then, as if on a whim, his arm, almost to the shoulder.
Still no change in diameter, or any resistance; wait . . . say, whats this?
His eyes grew suddenly large, and a look of sheer terror swept over his features.
Its cold! It has my hand! Something has a hold of my hand!
Instantly we were at his side and bracing to wrench him free from the hole, when he burst out laughing.
I say, if you two arent the most gullible! You should see your faces!
We released him, but he might yet have found himself injured, had I not seen the fist being drawn back to cold-cock him, and intervened.
No call for violence, Will! It was only a joke, even if it was in the poorest taste. I said, as I moved to step between them.
Idiot! You damn near gave me a stroke! Will spat.
Dont want him to think that were thin-skinned, do you? Why dont you fetch that new bottle and some glasses from the kitchen? I could do with a drink now, I think.
It took a few moments, but he composed himself, and went for the liquor. I let the Grad have a shot upside the back of his head.
You are an idiot. Do that again, and Ill hold you for him. I said.
He had extracted his arm, and my cue, the last remnant of better days, turned out to be quite undamaged. It took him a while longer to stop laughing.
Sorry, but I couldnt resist. I cant believe that neither of you saw it coming!
A short while later, we were on our third round, all having been forgiven.
The dampening of sound is intriguing. Ill try the light next, and after that well attempt to determine just how far it goes. The Grad explained. He then proceeded to tape a very bright lamp to the thin end of the cue and, once hed contented himself as to its stability, again plunged the cue into the hole. The light, near blinding when out in the open, faded out completely after passing about a foot. The Grad withdrew the cue, and removed the lamp.
It seems to absorb everything; sound, light, even heat. I wasnt jesting about the cold, the inside surface is frigid. He next produced, after a few moments of rummaging in his bag, a billiard ball, and a spool of stout twine. He attached the end of the twine to the ball, securing it with a great deal of sticky tape. Then, after placing the entire spool on the end of my cue, positioning me back ten feet from the hole, and unwinding an appreciable amount of slack, he launched his projectile neatly into the hole. Rather forcefully, at that. All three of us watched intently as the string unwound, fast, and then faster. As the seconds ticked by, it kept picking up speed, to the point that it took an effort just to keep the cue steady. In under half of a minute, it reached the end, which vanished into the hole, leaving the spool empty and spinning.
And that was? Inquired Will, quietly.
Seventy-five yards. The Grad answered.
A few hours later found us at the club and, having met up with the usual fourth member of our group, the Grads brother, Phillip, we filled him in on recent events over a game of snooker. We were all known for pulling pranks on one another, and so he was a tad skeptical. Only the most current of scientific methods being employed, eh? Phillip chided.
I had hoped to borrow some equipment from the lab last night, but theyve gone and changed the locks on me again. The Grad countered, feigning indignance.
Will said, Someone on faculty must have gone past the pawn shop!
The Grad smiled. Funny!
Any theories? Asked Phillip.
Not a one. Never seen, nor heard, of the like.
Gives me the creeps. Said Will.
I had to agree with that. My shot was coming up, as the Grad seemed to be off his game, and as I was chalking up, I noticed that the finish on my stick had changed from smooth and glossy, to the texture of almost raw wood. I watched, enthralled, as the cue slowly swelled, while at the same time cracks were forming all over it, large at first, but then smaller and smaller, until the entire surface was covered. I was so absorbed that the conversation of my friends did not register.
Missed again! The Grad complained.
Whats happening to the sleeve of your shirt? Phillip asked.
The cue slipped from the Grads hand, as he shook his head. I dont know. My whole arms going numb.
Never mind his shirt, said Will look at his hand!
That last remark caught my ear, and I wrenched my eyes from my cue, even as it began to crumble in my hand, to glance toward the Grad. His sleeve had apparently undergone a variation of the same process as the cue, and his entire arm, the one that had been in the hole, was swelling like a balloon. His fingernails were black, and streaks ran from them up his forearm. The skin split, and he looked in horror from his rupturing arm, to the dusty remains of my cue, which were all over my pants and shoes, as well as the floor. He staggered, as his arm collapsed upon itself, and in the time it took for him to fall, it shriveled and contracted, until it was reduced in size by half, the flesh of it left resembling that of a desiccated corpse.
On my way home from the hospital, I decided to forego seeking a logical explanation. At that point, I was giving serious consideration to paying a visit to an occultist of my acquaintance. I had also come to the conclusion that I needed to find another place to live. I could not get the sight of the Grads withered arm out of my head, and my hands would not stop shaking. I had nixed the idea of just boarding over the hole, since I had no way of knowing when, or if, it would cease growing. It could, undoubtedly, stop, or even vanish at any time, just as it had appeared to begin with; but to my mind, it had gone from benign to malevolent, and either it, or I, had to go. For the time being, I would stay at the Grads.
Two days later, after visiting at the Hospital, and being assured by the Grad that he would be thrilled to have me stay with him for as long as necessary, I went home to pack. Not having an inordinate amount of worldly possessions, it would be rather easy for us to share his place without it becoming overly crowded, and after the amputation, he would be in need of assistance. Upon my arrival, I found my front door partly open, and heard voices coming from within. Entering cautiously, I discovered the Grads brother, and his wife, who looked to be on their way out. He apologized profusely, explaining that he had brought his wife over to see the hole, using his brothers key to gain entrance. His face was bright red, as if hed been found with a mistress, rather than his wife. After a second apology, they left. The whole scene gave me an ill feeling, especially the way he had blushed. It was common knowledge that the man utterly despised his wife, and made every effort to be wherever she was not, as she had repeatedly rebuffed his pleas for divorce.
Later that day, I learned that they had gone out dining, at the most exclusive restaurant in town, where there had been some incident, the precise nature of which I was at a loss to determine, as the police had stipulated that all parties on scene not discuss it with anyone, until they were finished with their inquires. This much I gleaned from a server at the establishment, whos only elaboration on the subject was to confide in me his opinion that, after what he had witnessed, he might never sleep again.
The next morning found me back at home. I had yet to accomplish much in the way of packing, and was eager to see the job done. I had planned to save the study for last, having no desire to return to it until necessary, but after an hour, curiosity got the better of me. I went to have a look at the hole.
It was now roughly three feet in diameter. By my calculation, it doubled in size once every twenty-four hours. I decided then that, once Id cleared out all of my effects, I would come back and observe it, to establish whether it altered in size abruptly, or gradually. So far, none of us had watched it close enough to find out. I took a long look at it then, although there really was not much to see. It had grown large enough to cover all of the demolition work that had been done to the wall, and once more appeared as if it were an actual part of it. It did not look menacing, current events notwithstanding, but it was thought provoking. Among the many questions it posed, the one I kept returning to was the one that none of us had voiced: where does it go?
I was ruminating on that when I heard a knock at the door. Upon answering, I came face-to-face with Phillip. He started talking immediately, after taking a couple of steps into the room, about the events of the previous evening, and of my not jumping to any conclusions. I politely informed him that I hadnt the slightest notion of what he was going on about. At that he smiled smugly, then commenced to inform me of the especially gruesome end met by his late wife, whose head had suffered the same hideous transformation as his brothers arm. He added, with a morbid glee, that she had not died on the spot, but had lingered in agony, suffering seizures and convulsions for several hours after.
His confession led me to deduce that he intended either to attempt to intimidate me, or to do me grievous bodily harm, but I was not to have the opportunity to find out which. He returned to his original point about me and my conclusions, and was, I am sure, on the verge of resorting to threats or violence, when he became noticeably distracted. He cocked his head slightly in the direction of the study and asked, What is that whistling?
I had not heard any whistling, as all my attention had been riveted on him, but I did hear the piercing shriek of torn air in the split-second before something punched through the wall between the rooms, at incredible speed, and struck him almost full in the face. It did not stop there, however, but continued on through two more walls, and out of the building. Judging from the size and shape of the holes left in its wake, I am certain that it was in fact the billiard ball wed lost previously. It did not leave behind too much of Phillips face.
After the shock wore off, and the trembling in my legs subsided, I cleansed myself of as much blood and gore as possible, and covered the body with a blanket. As to my next course of action, I was at an utter loss. Although we had all so far kept the anomaly a secret, I had no doubt that the Authorities would eventually become involved. The papers were already making hay of the bizarre wasting of the Grads arm, and once they got wind of the demise of his sister-in-law would, assuredly, surmise a connection. Though neither of these events pointed towards me, a dead body in my foyer certainly would. I resigned myself to finish packing, hurriedly, for a start, and as I did so, shuddered to think that, had the dead murderer not knocked when he did, I might be in a heap on the floor of my study, with precious little left of my own head.
I managed to finish packing, and began lugging the boxes down to the street. I thought that I might just leave the body, keep my peace, and hope that it would be concluded that whatever happened, happened after I had moved out. After removing all the boxes, I hailed a cab, and returned to the Grads, swearing to never again step foot in my former residence.
I broke my oath in less than a day. At the Grads insistence, I returned, resigned to notifying the police of the strange events of the past week. The body had already started to reek, and the appalling stench only aggravated the nausea I was already experiencing. Before I made the call, I went to the study for what would likely be my last look at the hole. Though the mere thought of it caused my hands to shake furiously, it had come to provoke in me a morose fascination, as well as a mounting sense of what could only be described as anticipation.
Again, it had doubled in size, to reach almost six feet across. I stood off to one side, as a precaution, looking for anything that might give me a clue as to what its purpose could be. Aside from its size, it looked no different than before, just a dark, empty, featureless cavity. I thought for a moment that I heard a slight sound coming from it, but after listening closely for a brief time, concluded I had been mistaken. I returned to the front room, and there made my call, not going into detail, but giving assurances that it was imperative that someone be dispatched without delay. I then went to the kitchen, where I could watch the street below from the window.
After a couple of minutes, I began hearing strange sounds that I was certain could only be coming from the study. The hair on the back of my neck stood up, and though I tried to persuade myself that it was simply my imagination again, I at last relented. I crept down the hall, then paused at the door, where I was hit with a feotid odor, as of old rotten milk, which overpowered even that of the corpse further up the hall. There was no denying that the noises I had heard were, indeed, coming from within. Among the other sounds, which can only be described as sloshing, or liquid, was that of splintering wood. I did not want to look, as I was terrified, but I knew that a culmination was at hand, and I had to. I had to see. Had to know.
I flung open the door, and I saw . . .
I know not what. Whether it was one thing, or many, I could not discern, but the room was awash in it. What looked to be many thousands, if not hundreds of thousands, of long, thin tendrils surged out from the hole. They were as fine as wire, with a loathsome, sickly, ochre color, and I could not detect a break in any of the individual strands, as if each and every one were immeasurably long. They covered half of the room to a depth of perhaps three feet, and continued to flow from the hole in a torrent. They were articulate; I saw the ends touching, exploring, every surface in the room. They were also incredibly strong, one single strand being capable of wrenching a leg off of the desk, and they destroyed everything they touched, as if to measure that strength. But the single worst feature of that glistening, writhing mass was its eyes.
There were hundreds of them, everywhere, with no rhyme or reason to their placement. Some rested on the surface, others were covered by filaments, and a few even floated in the air, or so I believed, until I saw that each eye was affixed to a small clump of tendrils. They were all about the size of a lime, black as onyx, and betrayed a purposeful intelligence. When I first opened the door, they appeared to be surveying the room, more or less at random. But once one came to rest its gaze on me, the others all followed suit, even those that were just then pouring out into the room. I slammed the door shut, more out of reflex than from any conscious decision, and as I shakily turned the key in the lock, became aware of an insistent knocking at the front door. I faintly heard the announcement of, Police, coming in now. over the clamor of destruction in the study. Before I could reach it, the door swung open, and a Bobbie stepped inside. After taking in the body on the floor, the study door, which had started to rattle loudly, and my pallid appearance, he drew his nightstick.
So you werent entirely having us on, at that. Mind telling me just what in blazes is going on here?
He stepped around the body, and motioned me back with the stick. I did not want him to get near the door, much less to open it, but for the life of me, I could not speak. The best I could manage was to look from him, to the door, and back, and shake my head fiercely. He was not at all deterred, and the closer we drew to the door, the more violent the rattling became. Whatever else it was, it was certainly a quick study; it was trying to manipulate the doorknob.
Whos in there?
I continued to shake my head. He was reaching for the key, while trying to keep an eye on me, when the knob snapped off inside. The one outside fell to the floor, and the rattling ceased.
This is Constable Mills; whos in there? Are you hurt?
A swarm of tendrils snaked rapidly all around the edges of the door, seized it, and collapsed it inwards in splinters. The Bobbie managed half a step backwards before a multitude more shot out and took hold of him, then yanked him in and proceeded to do to him what had been done to the furniture. A great many single strands flowed over him, at first gently, but after a minute or so wrapping around him in various places so tightly that they cut through his clothes
and into his flesh like a garrote. Others then twined about themselves in groups, to form thicker, rope-like appendages, which in turn tore off his limbs, joint by joint. I watched all of this, frozen in horror, incapable of moving or even crying out, until the last, when dozens upon dozens of threads plunged into his mouth and down his throat, and rent what was left of him into shreds from the inside out. At that I fled, screaming so loud and long that two days hence, my voice was still lost.
When I regained my senses, I went forthwith to the station, and took the first train out. I have not stopped moving since, but I know there is nowhere I can go that is ever likely to be far enough away. While I cannot speak to what has happened back home since my departure, I have no doubts as to what is to come.
I had never before noticed, but now with so little as a knot in a board or an open drain being enough to give me pause, have become acutely aware, of the astronomical number of holes there are in our world. And I could not help but notice, as of late, that among all these holes, everywhere I go, and more and more each day, are many that bear in common a dreadful trait; that of being undeniably, unnaturally, flawlessly round.