Christopher Fowler - The Mammoth Book of Best New Horror. Volume 10

Nobody left.

“All right, here we go, at the count of three: one. two. three. ”

The image on the screen was very blurred and only gradually became clear. Very clear. The photograph was actually two photographs, side by side on one slide. Fore. The mouth seemed fallen open. One eye looked right at them, one eye was rolled up. One clawed hand was at chest-level. The other seemed to gesture from alongside the ear. Only shreds of clothing were left and in some places only shreds of paper, with here and there-only a patch of it adhering to a skin which clung to the bones like crepe paper.

Aft. There was more paper on the backside, and, along the backbone this seemed deeply depressed on either side. The skin on the lower extremities seemed more tightly fitted, though the left leg and buttock appeared much torn; it was not evident, how.

“Well. Had enough? Too bad.” The screen went blank, Branch moved to another projector. “All those who now know that they are faint of heart may now leave. What we are now about to show purports to be the only moving picture of a Boss in the Wall.” Evidently somebody wanted to; there was a scuffle of a chair being pushed back, the dimness was relieved for an odd moment as a door opened, shut. “Here we go, at the count of three. ”

The film was badly made. It was jerky and dim and it flickered. It was, also, totally and horribly convincing. In a voice which, low as it was, carried, Branch said, “I’m not allowed to tell you where, when, how it was shot.” The lights came on again.

Elbaum spoke up after a moment. “My question now is: is there anybody here, anyone amongst us, who still doubts the actual and physical, factual, tangible existence of the creature known as the Paper-Man or The Boss in the Wall?”

A massive black man with an immense face opened his massive mouth and spoke in an immense bass organ note, “Let the record state that Bishop Burton Blankenship has no doubt and never had. I now yield.”

“. don’t know how anybody could. . any longer. after that movie. ”

Hughes of the Criminology Lab, dapper, calm, seeming not in the least worried or upset, Hughes said, “Ah yes, that movie. Impressive. How do we know it’s the real thing?”

“. well. ”

Hughes lightly stroked his mustache, slightly smiled; then said, “I trust that no one trained in a scientific discipline is going to say to anyone else trained in a scientific discipline, ‘You’ll just have to take my word for it.’ You, Dr Dave Branch, have declared that there are things about the film which you can’t or won’t tell us. How can you really expect us to bring in any other verdict except the Scottish one, ‘Not proven?’ “

“. well. ”

“How can you be certain that you yourself have not been hoaxed? You can’t, I think. After all, what are generally called ‘special effects’ have been around a pretty long time. Isn’t that so? Not all hoaxes are done for money. Or notoriety. Or this. Or that. I believe, and it’s an educated belief, that most hoaxes are done because the hoaxer liked that particular hoax. People whom I trust, as I trust you, have been known to be taken in by doctored evidence. So I say I have to withhold my judgment. I, don’t, know.”

The pause after he concluded was punctuated by a small sub-vocal sound from a middle-aged man in — despite the summer’s heat — a dark suit and white shirt. He now looked up and with slightly raised eyebrows looked around, not as if he were waiting for others, but as though the others were waiting for him. The technique worked, and Dr Darnell Frost began to speak. There was something in his manner which reminded Vlad of certain members of the clergy; of those few denominations which do not have a paid ministry, and thus have to earn their income by worldly means. When they served in the marketplace there was nevertheless a touch of the pulpit in their manner; and, when they served in the pulpit, a touch of the marketplace.

He spoke in a manner both rapid and clear; his sparse hair was reddish-gold, and he wore gold-rimmed eyeglasses. “Perhaps we have been too much carried away by the unpleasant aspects of our subject. Is this possible? Our subject is not really a damned soul, after all, he’s a very — a most unfortunate human being. But nonetheless a human being. He is the victim, it seems likely, of a dread, a very dread disease. Like old Tithonus, he has been cursed with eternal life without eternal youth. We don’t know how many he may be, but he is not a demon cast out of a herd of swine; he is simply an unfortunate human being to whom something extraordinary has happened. He is our fellow countryman, and in at least one instance he has fought in our country’s wars, wearing the indigo uniform. We all know there was an old farmhouse right in the middle of the battle of Bull Run, and an old woman died there during the battle. How can we know who else crawled into that house to die — or to not die? How can we not have compassion for him, as our brother?”

Vlad saw Bagnell and Branch match eyes. Whatever Darnell Frost was up to, it was something a vast deal different from what the others had been up to.

Frost went on in his rapid way, one word almost overtaking the other. “Is his disease — let’s call it Paper-Man’s Disease — is it worse than leprosy? At one time the unfortunate victims of leprosy were isolated from society forever. We winced when we saw their dreadful deformities and heard their warning bells. If they did not submit, they were hunted down. But that is mercifully a thing of the past, and oh what a good thing that it is. They aren’t even called lepers now, they are victims of Hansen’s Bacillus. We don’t cast them out,” Frost declared, shaking his head. “We beckon them in and treat them. Yes we do. Am I not also a man and a brother ? Is not the victim of Paper-Man’s Disease a man and a brother like the victim of Hansen’s Disease? Why, yes he is. I appeal to us all to rise to the incredible challenge which this study presents. I am speaking not only of compassion, but of profit. You ask — What? Profit ? You wonder how I can be so bold, but I say that we must not feel afraid but hopeful. For this wretched and unfortunate creature has, I truly believe, a precious secret locked within his body, the most precious secret any creature may have. The secret that every living being desires; my friends and colleagues. What secret is that? Why it is so obvious, why haven’t I heard it from anyone gathered here? The precious secret which, like the ugly and venomous toad, the Paper-Man bears in his body — why of course that secret is life’“

By now all eyes were on Dr Darnell Frost.

“That secret, my friends, my colleagues, is life! Oh I don’t dare say eternal life, no I don’t, but is a life span prolonged for let’s say a century and a half, is such a life span nothing?”

Vlad rose to his feet, as the bile rose in his mouth. “My god, man, such a life is worse than nothing,” he shouted.

Frost waved him gently down. “Be patient with me, dear sir, and then it will be your turn. I’ve been patient with all of you. The Paper-Man’s life has been sad and terrible, true, but I say it need not be! I say why weepest thou? Arise, now, and gird up thy loins! We are men and women. people of science ! We do not take the past for granted. We must not tarry. We have tasks of the topmost priority, friends and colleagues. We must track the Paper-Man in every hidden wall and closet and doorway, in every wretched building and slum that he inhabits. We must take hold of him gently and lead him to refuge, where he may be studied with every merciful consideration, like every other victim of a baffling disease. After full-scale research which will surely discover his secret, we will share this secret with our fellow men and women. My dearest friends, we have no choice, it’s not a thing which permits of hesitation, and we must share it with all humankind — and we will share the glory and the profit among ourselves. There.” He slapped his neat stack of notes on the table and looked around the room. Dr Darnell Frost had staked his claim.