Christopher Priest - The Prestige

All the corpses had their eyes open.

Most of them were smiling, showing their teeth. The left upper molar in each mouth had a chip missing from the corner.

The corpses all lay in different positions. Some were straight, others were twisted or bent over. None of the bodies was arranged as if lying down; most of them had one foot placed in front of the other, so that in being laid on the rack this leg was now raised above the other.

Every corpse had one foot in the air.

The arms too were in varying positions. Some were raised above the head, some were stretched forward like those of a sleepwalker, others lay straight beside the body.

There was no sign of decay in any of the corpses. It was as if each one had been frozen in life, made inert without being made dead.

There was no dust on them, no smell from them.

#############

A piece of white card had been attached to the front edge of each shelf. It was handwritten, and mounted in a plastic holder that was clipped ingeniously to the underside of the shelf. The first one I looked at said this:

Dominion Theatre, Kidderminster

14/4/01

3.15p.m. [M]

2359/23

25g

On the shelf above it, the card was almost identical:

Dominion Theatre, Kidderminster

14/4/01

8.30p.m. [E]

2360/23

25g

Above that, the third corpse was labelled:

Dominion Theatre, Kidderminster

15/4/01

3.15 p.m. [M]

2361/23

25g

On the next rack there were three more corpses, all labelled and dated similarly. They were laid out in date order. By the following week, there was a change of theatre: the Fortune, in Northampton. Six performances there. Then there was a break of about two weeks, followed by a series of single appearances, about three days apart, in a number of provincial theatres. Twelve corpses were thus labelled, in sequence. A season at the Palace Pier Theatre, Brighton, occupied half of May (six racks, eighteen corpses).

I moved on, squeezing down the narrow central aisle to the far end of the cavern. Here, on the top shelf of the final rack, I came across the body of a little boy.

#############

He had died in a frenzy of struggling. His head was tilted back, and turned to the right. His mouth was open, with the corners of his lips turned down. His eyes were wide open, and looking up. His hair was flying. All his limbs were tensed, as if he had been fighting to be free. He was wearing a maroon sweatshirt with characters from The Magic Roundabout , a small pair of blue jeans with the bottoms turned up, and blue canvas shoes.

His label was also handwritten, and it said:

Caldlow House

17/12/70

7.45 p.m.

0000/23

0g

On the top was the boy's name: Nicholas Julius Borden.

I took the label and shoved it into my pocket, then reached forward and pulled him towards me. I scooped him up and held him in my arms. At the moment I touched him, the constant background presence of my brother faded away and died.

I was aware of his absence for the first time ever.

Looking down at him in my arms, I tried to shape him into a more comfortable position for carrying. His limbs, neck and torso were stiffly pliant, as if made of strong rubber. I could change their position, but the moment I released them they swung back into the shape in which I had found him.

When I tried to smooth his hair, that too moved intransigently back to its former position.

I held him tightly against me. He was neither cold nor warm. One of his outstretched hands, clenched in fear, was touching the side of my face. The relief of finding him at last overwhelmed everything — everything except the fear of this place. I wanted to turn around so that I could head back towards the exit, but to do so involved moving backwards out of the gangway. I held my past life in my arms, but I no longer knew what might be standing behind me.

Something was, though.

I eased myself backwards, not looking. As I reached the main aisle, and turned slowly around, Nicky's head brushed against the raised foot of the nearest corpse. A patent-leather shoe swung slowly to and fro. I ducked away from it, horrified.

I saw that at this end of the hall there was another chamber, just five or six feet away from where I was standing. It was from here that the sound of the generator's engine was emerging. I went towards it. The entrance to the cavity was slanting and low, and there had been no effort made to widen it or to make access to it easier.

The sound of the generator was now loud, and I could smell the petrol fumes being emitted from it. There were several more lights within the chamber, beyond the entrance. Their radiance spilled across the uneven floor of the main hall. I could not go through the gap without putting down Nicky's body, so I bent over to try to see what might be within.

I stared across the short stretch of the rocky floor I could see, then I straightened.

I wished to see no more. A chill ran through me.

I had seen nothing. Any sounds there might have been were drowned by the mechanical clattering of the generator. Nothing moved within.

I took a step back, then another, as quietly as possible.

There had been someone standing inside that chamber, silently, motionlessly, just beyond my line of sight, waiting for me either to enter or retreat.

I continued to step back down the shadowy narrow aisle between the racks, easing my body to and fro so as not to scrape Nicky's head or feet against the bodies on the shelves. Terror was draining strength from my body. My knees were juddering, and my arm muscles, already strained by Nicky's weight, were aching and twitching.

A male voice said, from within the chamber, reverberating around the hall, "You're a Borden, aren't you?"

I said nothing, paralysed by fear.

"I thought you'd come for him in the end." The voice was thin, tired, not much more than a whisper, but the cavern gave it an echoing resonance. "He is you, Borden, and these are all me. Are you going to leave with him? Or are you going to stay?"

I saw a vestige of a shadow moving beyond that rough-hewn entrance, and then to my horror the sound of the generator faded quickly away.

The lightbulbs died down: yellow, amber, dull red, black.

I was in impenetrable darkness. The torch was in my pocket. I shifted the weight of the little boy, and managed to get a grip on the torch.

With my hand shaking, I switched it on. The beam angled crazily around as I tried to get a good grip on the torch and keep Nicky's body held tightly in my arms. I twisted around.

Shadows of raised legs whirled about me on the cavern walls.

With the crook of my arm clumsily shielding Nicky's exposed head I shoved my way along the rest of the aisle through the racks, my shoulders and arms colliding with the shelves, and dislodging several of the plastic labels.

I dared not look behind me. The man was following! My legs had no strength, I knew I could fall at any moment.

As I mounted the crooked steps out of the hail, my head collided with a spar of rock in the roof, and it hurt so much I almost dropped Nicky's body. I kept going, staggering and hunching, not even trying to keep the torch beam steady. It was all uphill, now, and Nicky's deadweight seemed heavier with every step. I turned my foot, fell against the tunnel wall, recovered, kept lurching on. Fear drove me.

The inner door appeared before me at last. Barely pausing, I pulled it open with my booted foot and forced my way through.

Behind me, on the stone-laid floor of the tunnel, I could hear the footsteps following, pacing steadily over the loose stones.

I ran up the stairs to the surface, but snow had blown in and was covering the top four or five steps. I slipped, fell forward, and the little boy rolled out of my arms! I lunged forward, pushed the door open with all my weight.