The Clutter Box Read online

Chapter 8

  We didn’t speak much for the rest of the journey. I got the impression we both thought each other crazy, and were both irritated that the other thought of us as crazy.

  The car pulled up on the road outside the facility. From this point I was on my own. Leaving my phone on the back seat, as required, and with the request form from Dr Thorn in hand, I headed to the gate. The guards made me walk through the scanner. A compulsory procedure they’d often overlook with me.

  I walked through into the psi-clinic and to the reception desk. Holding up the request form to show it to the man there.

  He shrugged saying, “The data transfer will be done when it’s done. I’m afraid these things take time.”

  I told him I’d come all the way from London and asked if there was someone I could talk to about it. As I spoke, I could sense him seizing up before me. There would be little chance of reasoning with this man.

  He just shook his head resolutely and said, “Sorry there’s nothing we can do.”

  I walked back outside and through the gate, to the car. Bruce asked, “Any luck.” I just grabbed my phone from the back seat and rang Dr Thorn. As soon as I heard her voice, I said, “They refused. They just stonewalled me.”

  “Typical,” she replied, “Go to the psi-clinic and find a terminal. I’ve already upgraded your clearance so you can access the data. Transmit all the relevant files to us.”

  “And this is all above board?”

  “Don’t worry about that. You have the request form from me, and I’m giving you any authority required. I only wish I had the authority to sack the guy who’s stalling us. You’ll find there’s a lot of rivalry between our departments. This kind of thing is starting to become all too common. Consider this a test of your interpersonal skills. Get back in there and don’t take any nonsense from anyone. Log on to any of the terminals littering the psi labs. From there you should be able to get access.”

  I agreed and put the phone away. Exiting the car I hit a new obstacle. The gates were now closed and two security guards stood on the other side, looking through. A young man in his twenties with muddy black shoes and a rounder older man, who I estimated to be in his fifties, wearing similar black shoes though his were considerably cleaner. They were both armed with sizable guns, as was the norm for guards manning the front gate. Probably just for show.

  “We’ve received orders not to let you back in,” said the older of the two guards.

  “What? Why? I work here.”

  “We couldn’t tell you why, Sir, we’re just following orders.”

  “Who gave you these orders?”

  “I’m sorry. We’re not allowed to say.”

  I felt a sudden dread about what I was getting myself into. “Ask Tethra Collins whether I’m allowed in,” I demanded.

  The man placed his hands on his hips and said, “We don’t have to contact anybody, Sir. Our orders are to keep you out.”

  “Fine,” I moaned, “I’ll phone her.”

  His eyes flickered, “No, that’s ok, Sir, we’ll contact her.”

  He turned and wandered into the guardhouse. A moment later he came back.

  “She says she’s on her way down.”

  I’m reminded of a short story by Tethra Collins. She wrote it for a competition for the Halloween edition of the company’s newsletter. She didn’t win, but when Haggis visited me, many years later, he told me that she wrote a series of moderately successful novels.

  They were about a group of teenage angels who were trying to keep the universe running after the death of God. By then I’d long stopped reading any books. Still, I was pleased for her and I liked to hear how people were doing.

  Collins short story began in a house, with a small girl and her fears, in Dorset.

  It was a story about shadows. Humans would think nothing of them, but they were always watching - whispering. The shadows were always there, but once dark they’d become invisible and unbound. They met up in conferences to discuss the human problem.

  If you were to turn the light on they’d be back by your side, as though nothing was wrong, but they were plotting. In the daytime their communication was limited and brief; the cold flinch, when one shadow crossed the path of an other.

  Mavis, like everyone else, was clueless about the shadows, but on some instinctive level she feared them. This wasn’t uncommon in children but they’d normally grow out of it.

  Older people thought they understand so much about the nature of the world. A shadow, after all, is just a place where the light doesn't go. That’s what the shadows whisper in your ear as you sleep and over the years people learn to believe it.

  One winter's evening, after school, Mavis had got it into her head that, as grown ups aren’t scared of shadows, the best way for her to grow up would be to confront her fears. This was very brave as she was only seven. I wonder if she was given the idea by her shadow, or perhaps they were merely lucky opportunists.

  She switched on a desk lamp in her bedroom and shone it at the wall. Then, dimming the lights, she knelt down on the floor before her shadow on the wall and stared at it.

  “I don’t see why I should be afraid of you,” she said, “I think we're going to be friends.”

  She proceeded to pick up a small plastic toy cup and held it to the face of the shadow.

  “Here’s your cup of tea.”

  It knew her well. It followed her throughout her life, forced to ape her every waking gesture. Even in the dark, released from such restrictions, it barely broke character. It would just lean forward as she slept and whisper into her ear.

  “One day, I’m going to take everything from you and make it all mine.”

  It watched with envy as she laughed and cried and played. Now, she was rubbing it all in - toying with it. She forced it to form different bird shapes with subtle gestures from her hand. It obeyed, as it had to. The bird fluttered around the walls. But how the shadow wished - stared at her happy little face and wished, even if it was just for a night, it could have control.

  That was the moment it happened. The birds wings fell apart and formed two little hands. There was fear behind the girls eyes. It could see that. It rose to its feet and the girl did the same. She smiled, but only because it made her smile. It walked her down the stairs to mommy and daddy. It would make them hug her, as though it was still their own little girl.

  Their hug was warm and soft, maybe Mavis really did need a hug, but her shadow didn’t feel warmth. This was just an exercise. A means to gauge its control over its human puppet.

  What happens next depends on which version you read. In the original version, the version Collins asked me for my opinion on, the shadow made Mavis play outside and explore the icy winter world. But it has no notion of cold and it made little Mavis freeze to death, and so, the shadows newly found freedom was cut short.

  I thought it was too dark and suggested she tried a happier ending. So, she went off to have think about it. I probably wouldn’t have given that advice if I’d known whose side, in the story, she had taken.

  In the version she submitted to the competition, Collins made the shadow’s newly found power, contagious. It would spread from person to person, shadow to shadow, like an invisible zombie apocalypse. The whole world would quickly succumb to it. Then life would simply carry on as normal. Different masters - different slaves, but basicly, nothing changed. Maybe Collins had some intuitive awareness of telepathic contagions.

  Tethra Collins Walked across the grounds, accompanied by security guard Carl, and stood by the fence. I was staring in longingly from the other side.

  “What’s going on here?” she asked.

  “They’re not letting me back in.”

  “Why?” She turns to one of the guards. “Has his security been revoked?”

  The guard replied, “Mr Ward has instructed us to deny him access to the site until further notice.”

  She seemed to scowl at the mention of his name. “I see. Did he give any reason?”


  “No, he just gave instructions.”

  She reached for her phone. Then hesitating, she said, “You better let him in. I’ll get this sorted out.”

  One of the guards hit a button and the gate opened.

  She said, “Don’t go around provoking people, Ernum. Don’t make me regret letting you back in here.”

  I professed my innocence and she seemed to accept it.