James Herbert - Fluke

‘And there are many more, Fluke, many, many more creatures below the earth’s surface. Beings that no human ever laid eyes on; bugs who live in fires near the earth’s core. What evil have they done to earn such an existence? Have you ever wondered why humans think of hell as an inferno, why its direction is always "down there"? And why do we look skywards when we speak of "Heaven"? Do we have an instinct born in us about such things?

‘Why do many fear death, while others welcome it? Do we already know it’s only an enforced hibernation, that we live on in another form, that our wrongdoings have to be accounted for? No wonder those who have lived peaceful lives are less afraid.’

The badger paused at that point, either to regain his breath or to give me time to catch up with him.

‘How do you explain ghosts, then? I know they exist, I’ve seen them — I keep seeing them,’ I said. ‘Why haven’t they been born again as animals, or have they passed that stage? Is that the level we’re reaching for? If it is, I’m not so sure I want it.’

‘No, no. They haven’t even reached our stage of development, I’m afraid, Fluke. They’re closer to our world though than their previous one — that’s why it’s easier for us to see them — but they’re lost, you see. That’s why there’s such an aura of sadness about them. Confused and lost. They find their way eventually with a little help. They get born again.’

Born again. The words struck me. Was this why my vision, the colours I could see, was so incredible? Was this why I could appreciate scents — the most delicate and the most pungent — so fully? Was it because I’d been born again yet still retained vague memories? I had past senses to compare with the new! A newborn baby sees freshly but quickly learns to adapt his vision, to mute colours, to organise shapes — he learns not to accept. That’s why you’re nearly blind at birth; it would be too much for you otherwise. Your brain has to sort things out first, then let you in on it gradually. My own sight was now nowhere as clear or unprejudiced as it had been when I was a young pup. Nor was my hearing. My brain which had been born with the ability to appreciate my senses was now organising them so they were acceptable to it, so they no longer dazzled it as much as before.

I shook the train of thought from my head and said, ‘But why can’t others remember? Why aren’t they the same as me?’

‘I can’t answer that, Fluke. You’re different and I don’t know why. Perhaps you’re the first of a new development. An evolvement. I’ve met others similar, but none quite like you. Perhaps you are only a fluke after all. I wish I knew.’

‘Aren’t you the same as me? Wasn’t Rumbo almost? And a rat we met once, he seemed like us.’

‘Yes, we’re a little like you. I suppose me more so than your friend Rumbo and the rat. But you’re special, Fluke. I’m special too, but in a different way, as I told you: I’m here to help. Rumbo and the rat may have been similar, but I doubt they were the same. I think perhaps you’re a kind of forerunner; everything may be about to go through a change.’

‘But why do I only remember fragments? Why can’t I remember it all?’

‘You’re not supposed to remember anything. Many creatures carry the characteristics of their past personalities, many may even have vague memories j but they don’t think as you do, not in human terms. There’s a struggle going on inside you — man versus canine — but I think it will eventually resolve itself. You’ll either become a dog completely, or a balance between the two will be reached. I hope it’s the latter — that could mean a development for all of us is taking place. But listen to me: you’ll never be a man again physically in this life.’

Despair gripped me. What had I expected? That some day, by some miracle, I might return to my old body? That I would live a normal life again? I howled into the night and wept as never before.

Finally, and with no hope in my voice, I said to the badger, ‘What do I do now? How can I live like this?’

He moved closer to me and spoke very quietly. ‘You accept now. Accept you’re a dog, accept you are a fluke — or perhaps not a fluke. You must live as a dog now.’

‘But I have to know who I was!’

‘No, it won’t help you. Forget your past, your family — they’re nothing to do with you now.’

‘They need me!’

‘There’s nothing you can do!’

I rose to my feet and glowered down at him. ‘You don’t understand. There’s someone evil near them. They need protection from him. I think he killed me!’

The badger shook his head wearily. ‘It doesn’t matter, Fluke. You can’t help any more. You have to forget your past, you might regret it if you go back.’

‘No!’ I growled. ‘Maybe this is why I can remember, why I’m different. They need my help! It stayed with me when I died! I’ve got to go to them!’

I ran from the badger then, afraid he would make me stay, afraid to hear more, but when I was a safe distance away, I turned and called back.

‘Who are you badger? What are you?’

There was no reply. And I could no longer see him in the darkness.

Pretty heavy stuff, right? A bit frightening? Well, it scared me. But do you see the sense of it? If there is this great goal we’re all reaching for — call it perfection, happiness, ultimate peace of mind, whatever you like — then it seems right that it doesn’t come easily; we have to earn it. I don’t know why and I’m still not sure I believe it myself (and I’m a dog who was once a man), so I don’t blame you for doubting. But, like I keep saying: keep an open mind.

I found myself in Edenbridge High Street a day or so later. I’m not sure just how long it took me to get there because, as you can imagine, my mind was in a turmoil after my meeting with the badger. I had to accept that, as a man, I was dead (if I were to believe the badger revelations), and there would be no return to normality for me. But if I were dead, then how did I die? Old age? Somehow, I doubted it. My wife seemed fairly young in my memories of her, and my daughter could have been no more than five or six. Illness? Possibly. Yet why did I feel so strongly against this mysterious man? Why was he so evil to me? Had he killed me?

I felt sure this was the answer, otherwise why should I feel such hate for him? I was determined to find the truth. First, though, I had to find my family.

The High Street was fairly busy with shoppers and delivery vans and the scene was vaguely familiar to me. I must have lived here, I told myself, or why else would I have been drawn to the little town? It wouldn’t click though, it just wouldn’t click.

The shoppers must have been puzzled by the thoughtful-looking mongrel who paced up and down that street, peering up at passing faces, snooping into shop doorways. I ignored all enticements, for I had more serious things on my mind than playing games.

By late afternoon I was still no better off. I just couldn’t remember clearly any of the shops, pubs or people, although everything appeared too frustratingly familiar! That old teaser hunger reminded me he was still around and had no intention of letting me off the hook just because I had problems. The shopkeepers shooed me away as soon as I put my sniffing nose through their doorways, and a sudden jaw-snapping thrust at an overloaded shopping-basket earned me a sharp smack on the snout and a lot of abuse.

Not wanting to cause a fuss (I didn’t want to be picked up by the police since I needed to stay around that town until something happened to restore my memory) I left the main street and wandered on to what looked like a vast council estate. Then something did click, although it wasn’t particularly helpful to me: many South Londoners had been moved down to Edenbridge over the last twenty or so years, away from their slums into modern estates surrounded by good countryside. Many had taken to their new environment, while others (like Lenny, the Guvnor’s man) had still yearned for their old surroundings and spent much of their time to-ing and fro-ing from the two vastly different communities. I was conscious of all this because I’d obviously lived in the town and knew of its history, but where had I lived? On one of those estates? No, it didn’t click; it didn’t feel right.