Herbert van Thal: The Seventh Pan Book of Horror Stories

'After death we will coalesce and fuse together once more into that one Being. I believe, too, that that Being is what we speak of as God but that, beyond Him, there are other Gods ad infinitum. In other words the Experimenter I speak of is, in turn, part of some even greater, even more incomprehensible Experiment. There is no Supreme Being since we are speaking of Infinity and the Infinite has no beginning and no end, no top and no bottom.'

'You have put it well, Charles, and you seem to have given the matter much thought, as I was sure you had. I am not sure that I agree with your conception of the Infinite: any mathematician could define for you a series that is infinite yet has both definite beginning and end. But that is by the way and, in general terms, I go along with your ideas. You say that, eventually, we shall all be joined in some super-Intellect. This means that, four-dimensionally, we are one now but, living in a three-dimensional world, can only perceive ourselves as discrete entities. The prongs of a three-dimensional fork thrust into a two-dimensional surface show up only as separate points. Therefore, in a sense, I am you and every other living thing, or will be.

'Personally I believe in reincarnation or, if you prefer the technical term, metempsychosis. Such belief is as old as the hills and can be found in the religions of every race. Now how on earth did they all come to the same conclusion, long before they could communicate with each other?'

'You sound very positive, Hugo, but what proof have you?'

'Proof? Evidence abounds, but let me tell you of a case which occurred in India and of which I have some first-hand knowledge. Names and places do not matter but the whole affair is recorded and attested.'

'A young girl of eight or nine, who had always been quiet and somewhat morose, began increasingly to pester her mother to let her go "home" and to speak of her "real" family. The mother, uncomprehending, ascribed this to some complicated game of make-believe. Nevertheless the girl insisted that she was really a married woman with two children and lived many miles away. Her parents could only shake their heads and sigh.

'One day a man called at the house who had business with the father and was admitted by this girl who, at sight of him, claimed that he was her "real" cousin — though he, of course, laughed at such fancy. Finally, to quiet the girl once and for all, her parents agreed to make the journey to this distant village (which none of them had ever visited before) where the girl claimed her "home" to be. Accompanied by the doctor and two learned men who had become interested in the case, they set out.

'On reaching the village the girl became excited and lively, directing them all without hesitation to a certain house outside which three children were playing. She rushed to the two older children, kissing and hugging them and calling them by their names — which proved to be correct.

'Hearing of these strange visitors, the children's father soon arrived. The girl, to his astonishment, embraced him with tears in her eyes. This man told the amazed onlookers that his wife had died some eight or nine years previously when giving birth to their third child — a child that she, of course, never saw.'

'And what of the alleged cousin?'

'Oh yes, he really was the cousin of the dead wife.

'Of course the experts tried to avoid drawing the obvious conclusion, claiming that everything could be attributed to mind-reading or something like that, quite forgetting that mind-reading was something they would deny was possible at any other time.

'Anyway that is but one instance. He broke off abruptly and reached out for a fly-swatter that lay near his chair.

'If there's one thing I can't stand,' he said, lunging wildly after a lone fly that, surprisingly, had not settled in some warm, dark spot for the winter, 'it's flies. Carriers of disease and filth, they are an abomination on the face of the earth. There, got him!

'As I was saying, that was but one instance of the many, many true stories that have been checked and verified. Reincarnation is a fact. After death we live again — not necessarily as another human being or even in the same place — but death is not the end.'

We argued the subject a good deal after that and it was gone eleven before either of us realised that the hour was so late. Transport back to Horsham was now impossible so I accepted Hugo's kind offer of a bed for the night.

The next morning was bright and sunny, full of browns and golds and crisp fallen leaves underfoot. I decided to catch the first bus back to Horsham — there are no trains on a Sunday — in order to prepare the house for Anita's homecoming. I must confess that I had not done even the minimum of housekeeping.

As we parted Hugo said, 'Somehow, Charles, if the power is granted to me, I will prove my beliefs of which I spoke last night.' The words, and the look in his eyes as he spoke them, have haunted me ever since.

Two weeks later Hugo was dead. His solicitors told me the sad news the day before the funeral and also informed me that it was Hugo's wish that I should take as many of his books as might be of interest to me, the remainder of his estate going to a distant cousin who was his only surviving relative.

I naturally attended the funeral — as did quite a number of the school staff. Afterwards I was introduced to the cousin and we went to the cottage — he to view the property that was now his and I to select the books which would then be crated up and sent on to me.

Hugo's library was not large but comprised many rare and valuable books on what, I suppose, most people call the occult. Each was lovingly inscribed with his initials 'HL' and the date.

I reached up for one of the volumes and, as I did so, a huge spider was dislodged on to my shoulder. With revulsion I flicked it off on to the floor and trod on it.

Then I looked up and noticed the web it had been spinning. In the middle, like a delicate piece of embroidery, were the initials HL.

I looked again at the still twitching remains of the spider. As realisation came flooding in I was violently and horribly sick.

The bar was not very full the evening being but middle-aged, that is to say it was too early for the after-theatre crowd, and too late for the 'a quick one for the road' school. This, in my humble opinion, is the time for civilised drinking, not that I've ever minded drinking at an uncivilised time, but its nice to be able to spread your elbows and bath your tonsils with Scotch in reasonable comfort. There are those people who go into a bar for social intercourse, at least so they say, but I being above all else an honest man must confess I go into a bar for only one reason; I like to drink. Now let us get one thing straight, I'm not an educated drinker; fancy names on dusty bottles don't mean a thing to me; as the man said when he was asked if he preferred beef to mutton: It's all meat'. Old fashioned whiskey was good enough for my father, and he died a drunkard's death at eighty-two, which was twenty years longer than his teetotal brother lived, who was knocked down by a bus in the Fulham Road after speaking at a temperance dinner on how strong drink shortens life. There must be a moral there somewhere, but frankly I've never quite seen what it is, unless it be stay quietly sozzled at home, then you won't be knocked down by a 17' bus.

But all this is by the way; digression is one of my many weaknesses, for I often find that the soup is much more tasty than the main dish, and perhaps when you have heard the rest of my story you will agree with me. However, as I said, the room was not very full so I went straight up to the bar and ordered six double whiskeys, and the smart young barman looked at me, for he could see I was by myself. So I took a deep breath and explained the facts of life to him.