‘I can’t tell. It’s moving about all the time.’ Her voice was shrill. ‘But it can’t be an animal. It’s much too big for that.’
‘Too big? How big?’
‘It fills the whole place.’ She reached out a hand towards me, but for some reason I couldn’t identify I pulled back from her, not wanting her to touch me. She must have felt something of the same, because in the same instant she snatched her hand back. ‘It’s like an immense coil. Round and round. Against the walls, or inside them somehow.’
Not far from where we were standing was one of the gaps in the masonry at ground level. Through this it was possible to see some of the way inside. I could see a mass of broken stone, brickwork and rotting pieces of timber. Nothing alive was in there, or nothing visibly alive. No coil of anything.
Just then the interpreter completed its run, emitting a brief musical note, and we both turned with a feeling of relief. Alvasund grabbed the laptop.
‘Torm, look at this.’ She turned the screen around for me to see. ‘You can see it now. It’s there!’
The sunlight was too bright and I could see hardly anything at all on the monitor. Alvasund kept moving it around, first to put the thing where I could see it, then to move it back so she could. I stood beside her and raised part of my coat to throw a shadow on the display.
What was on the screen looked to me like an ultrasound scan: a monochrome image, slightly blurred, with no guide as to left or right, up or down.
‘That’s a trace of the wall,’ Alvasund said, indicating a large grey patch. ‘That jagged line is the broken bit there.’ I glanced up and could see how the display matched it. It was a kind of three dimensional X-ray of the interior of the tower ruin.
I looked more closely. There was a ghostly image behind the wall, grey and indistinct, but it was clearly moving. It rippled, a peristaltic thrusting from one side to another, a sort of immense pliable tube, compressing and expanding. There were several such movements, some higher up and only just visible at the top of the screen. The largest area of this horrific movement was close to the ground.
‘It’s a snake, a serpent!’ Alvasund cried. ‘Coiled around. In there!’
‘But there’s nothing. We can see that. It’s full of old rubble.’
‘No . . . it’s definitely in there! An immense snake!’
‘Something wrong with the software, then?’
‘This is what the program does — it picks up traces of viability. It’s detecting something viable in there. Look — the thing’s moving!’
She took a step back, suddenly, knocking the laptop against me. The trace had moved, upwards and across. I imagined a vast reptilian head, eyes and tongue and long fangs, rearing up to strike. I stepped back too, but there was still nothing visible through the small gap in the wall. Nothing there we could confirm with our eyes. Nothing visible, nothing real. My terror of it remained.
I was trying to think of an explanation: perhaps there was a cavity wall with something trapped inside. I was scared that if there was something in there that it would break out and come at us.
I took the laptop from Alvasund, turned away to get the best look I could get. I glanced back at her, but discovered that she was no longer standing beside me. Somehow she had moved away. I looked around, but I was alone.
‘Alvasund?’
‘Torm!’
Her voice sounded faint, all but carried away on the wind. Then I saw her. She was inside the tower!
I could see her dimly through the gap at ground level. She was facing me, calling my name. But no time had passed. Had I blacked out for a few seconds?
I put the laptop roughly on the ground and scrambled across towards her, fighting back the intense feeling of fear. In a few seconds I was there by the gap. I went down on my haunches to squeeze through so I could reach the interior.
The way was blocked. Something hard, transparent, cold, like a pane of thick glass, had been placed over the aperture. Alvasund was there, an arm’s length away from me, but she was trapped behind this invisible barrier, inside the tower. She kept shouting my name. I pushed and banged against the glass, uselessly.
She kept on shouting. She had raised her arms, was shaking her head from side to side, and her mouth was turned down in a horrid inverse rictus of fear and pain.
As I watched helplessly, a swift and horrible transformation came over her.
She grew old. She aged before my eyes.
She lost height, gained weight. Instead of her lithe figure contained in bulky winter clothes I saw Alvasund overweight, sagging, unhealthy, thinly clad in some kind of shapeless nightgown. Her hair became grey, lank, greasy, pulled into an untidy plait that rested over one shoulder. Her face became pallid and swollen, with a rash across one cheek. Her eyes were sunk into their sockets, dark-surrounded. Her lips were blue with cyanosis. Saliva smeared her chin, blood ran unabated from a nostril.
She was being held aloft by unseen hands. Her legs were dangling beneath her. She wore black stockings. They had slipped down to reveal blue bulging tangles of varicose veins on her scrawny, pallid calves.
Not understanding, I stumbled back from the gap in the stonework, tripped over one of the half-buried rocks, rolled to recover, then dived across to where the laptop lay on the ground. Almost not caring what happened, what the consequences might be, I pulled every cable out of it, then fumbled underneath, found the battery, snatched it out of its housing. The instrument died. No image remained on its screen.
I turned to disconnect the interpreter, but as I moved towards it Alvasund was already there! She was outside the tower again, frantically disconnecting cables from the device. I saw her familiar face, the thick windcheater, her warm trousers.
She turned and she saw me.
It was impossible to think of driving but we reached the car somehow, hauling the equipment any way we could. We threw the stuff carelessly on the rear seat, then scrambled in at the front, slamming and locking the doors. We held each other, shaking and trembling. Alvasund’s hair fell about her face, hiding her. I could still feel, almost taste, the terrible menace of whatever there was in that ruin.
Alvasund was crying, or so I thought, but when I looked closely at her I realized she was still shaking with fear, her breath coming in shallow gasps, her hands and arms and head trembling constantly. I put my arms around her, pulled her close to me and for a long time we were just there together, bulky and awkward in our outdoor clothes, trying to recover from whatever it was that had happened to us.
Through it all the constancy of the dark tower, the dead tower, looming over us.
At last I felt able to start the car’s engine, backed away slowly down the track until we were at a safe distance. The tower was out of sight beyond a spur of land.
‘What happened to you?’ Alvasund said. ‘You just vanished suddenly!’ Her voice still had the shrill edge I had heard earlier. ‘We were there together, and the next thing I knew was that you had somehow moved into the tower itself. I was left outside! I couldn’t reach you, or make you hear me!’
‘But it was you inside the tower,’ I said.
‘Don’t say that! You were in there. I thought you had died.’
The mountain wind was blustering against the side of the car.
Eventually I was able to tell her what I had seen. Eventually she told me what she had seen.
We had had identical but opposite experiences. Each of us had seemed to appear before the other, transported somehow into the broken tower interior.
Alvasund said, ‘You suddenly looked old and ill, and — I couldn’t get to you.’
‘How old, how ill?’
‘I saw — I can’t say!’
Remembering her, remembering the image of her inside the tower, I said, ‘You thought I was about to die.’