ANTITHESIS - Entry 4 - The Boy with the Book

Alex begins his analysis of the wider tales of the mysterious book in his possession and finds himself enthralled with a mysterious tale of an Oxford Professor and a seemingly prophetic student.

Transcript

SPEAKER_00 1:14

Nineteen oh four.

SPEAKER_01 1:19

No, no, no, it's too early. I need I need something more recent, something newer. Okay. Um nineteen sixty four.

SPEAKER_00 1:37

Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. Okay, okay. Um yeah. I can work with that. Okay. Um right. That must go. Uh yes, right.

SPEAKER_01 1:58

Right. Hello, hello, hi. It's it's me, it's it's Alex. It's been um I I've stopped counting how long it's been, but that's beside the point. Right now, what matters is this. This book, right? It's it it it's it it's impossible. I I I don't I don't think I quite acknowledge that fact when I finished up uh Lawrence's entries, but it it's impossible. There are there are so many pages. I mean it it's seemingly infinite. Every time I scroll to what I think should be the end of the book, it just keeps going. It's as if pages just appear out of thin air. And but then they're not all the same either. There are millions of stories in here, millions, billions even, letters, memoirs, journals, news reports, what whatever I want to see it it shows me. I I I I simply need to think about it, and it's it's there. It's it's like a a collection of just stories. There's so much in here. And seemingly from every person, well ever. And yet somehow there there are there are pages that are missing. Like the the last part of Lawrence's journal is gone. Entire sections of the late 1800s are just missing. It's everything after 2025 is just jumbled. It doesn't make sense, but at the same time I just I don't know where those pages are. And i it's not like I can go and find them. But it's clear to me that someone wanted me to have this book. I don't know who or if they're even listening, but it's my only chance. I at first I thought it was just a a chaotic mess of stories, but no, no, it it has order, it's chronological. Closer to the front of the book, the earlier the story, closer to the end, the later. And I I I don't really know how to say this, but last I checked it was 2026, and yet the book details things as far as forward as the the twenty-fifth millennium. See what I mean? It's it's impossible. There's a a lot to cover here, probably too much for one person, but I I don't have a choice. I I've spent the past however long trying to build up some semblance of a timeline of linked events, and yet it just blossoms outwards like a like a tree. Stories going in different directions and at different times. But I think I'm getting somewhere. But look, Lawrence mentioned several names in his journal, and the the book itself responds to those names, those queries like a search engine, too. So I started looking. The Briathorns seemingly brought up nothing. So did the Principium. It's almost like they never existed at all. Or rather, they do not want to be seen at all. It's clear to me now, at least, that if I want to get to the truth of this matter, I I can't go straight to it. Lawrence figured out that much the hard way. So I'll have to take the scenic route, in a sense, I guess. Winding my way through what the book shows me until something of interest comes up. Which brought me to this latest piece. It looks like it's a letter from Professor Robert Brandon of Oxford University, sent in 1964 to his friend in Brighton. I I don't know why this particular tale caught my interest, similar to how I felt when first reading Lawrence's, but I mean, I guess it's better than nowhere, right? So I guess for some semblance of sanity I should do the old spiel. So ladies and gentlemen, if you're still listening, I present to you the writings of Robert Brandon regarding an encounter with a prophetic student and their mysterious family. This is Alex Stake of Dead Man Radio Searching for Truth in the Darkness. To my dear friend Josiah, apologies for not writing to you sooner, old friend. As luck would have it, getting settled into a new position in Oxford has turned out to be a far more exhausting experience than my wife and I had anticipated. You see it has taken us several months and many nail biting waits for all the relevant paperwork to come through. But at last I can safely say that we are settled, and I have officially begun my tenure as professor of ancient and modern history at Oxford University. I must say it is hard to believe things have progressed this far to be honest. I still think back to our rambunctious days crawling the pubs of the south coast when we were but boys just a decade ago. How time flies when the wind catches you, hmm? Speaking of the old horns, news caught my ear that you've left your detective position with East Sussex to go private. Graham, from the old hunting group, is one of my contacts down there at the pavilion. He told me that you'd felt disillusioned with the force. I knew about that frightful murder case you were tracking. Everyone did. It was all over the news. Horrific case. But to think it would force you to leave your position is something else entirely. I do hope you are keeping well and looking after yourself. Perhaps a transition to private work would suit you after all. And perfect segue if you ask me, because I believe I have a case that might pique your interest for something a little bit more on the strange side. If you don't mind a trip to see your old college chum, that is. I can pay you well enough. A life like this affords me the luxury of disposable income, and if I can help an old friend stay afloat, it's a double win in my eyes. That being said, I should warn you that what I am about to tell you is bizarre, to say the least. My wife and I have been on edge for days, weeks even, and the comfort of an investigator like yourself would certainly bring us some comfort and ease. It is a difficult topic, and a strange one to say the least, so please bear with me in my narration. You see, Josiah, I have my suspicions that one of my students, or rather his family, might be engaged in something nefarious, and I believe they might be plotting to kill me. A bold accusation, I am aware, to point a finger at one's own student and their family is a difficult decision, but the past few weeks have left me with no choice but to confront the possibility that I might have a target on my bag. Please allow me to explain. A few weeks ago, following a rather brief lecture on the Germanic faiths, in which a grand total of four students attended, a wonderfully successful class, don't you think? I was approached by one of the more attentive of the bunch, a very bright boy by the name of Latimer, one of my most active students, wonderful, always asking just the right questions, always listening intently. He's not too tall, scruffy brown hair, and a pair of blue eyes that seemed endlessly excited and yet so strangely vacant as if he's looking past you. The type of boy who would have most likely done well during the war. That's for sure. We could have used boys like him. He'd waited for me at the end of the session after all the other students had left and approached me at my desk as I was packing my things for lunch. Usually I don't think much of it. My students rarely ask questions and think more about getting out into the local canteen or down to the pub without actually thinking about what it is that they just learned. But Latimer was different. And his question was the start of all of this, so please pay attention, dear boy. He looked at me with strange eyes, cautious ones, careful ones. And then he simply asked the following apologies, sir, I don't wish to intrude. I I just wanted to ask how your leg was. Is it healing all right? I looked at the boy perplexed. Leg? I queried, glancing down at my two very much functioning ones. As long as I could remember, I hadn't suffered any severe injuries in my legs or any part of my body whatsoever, not for a long time even. So when this boy came to me with such a question I couldn't help but chuckle. I explained to him that he must be mistaken and that my health was perfectly fine. I hadn't injured my leg since I was but a boy. I thanked him for his concern, however, but perhaps he was mistaking me for the other history professor, Dr. Hagen. He had just taken some time off following his expedition north, and had come back with quite severe injuries. It was quite an emotional experience from what I understand. Latimer simply shook his head, looking at me with a rather bewildered expression. Oh, um my apologies, sir. My my mind isn't quite where it should be. I I could have sworn I'd seen you being helped off the road a few days ago by some kind souls after your leg gave out. I must confess, Josiah, that I'd taken quite a liking to young Latimer by this point. He was aloof in the ways he conducted himself, but he was a model student, always asking the correct questions, and a consummate expert on the Norse faiths. When I'd pressed him on this before, about his knowledge, that is, he'd told me that he had family up in Scandinavia, and so he'd grown up around the stories. It was good to have someone native to those lands to bounce my understanding off. Perhaps I should have been more perceptive in this moment. Looking back on it, this behaviour was strangely out of character for the young lad. He'd never asked something like this before, and well, as you will see, it was the beginning of a disturbing pattern of events. But nevertheless, in that moment, I dispelled his concerns and finished up my packing without hurry. Now, this is where I need your attention, Josiah. Knowing you, you're probably sipping whatever tipple it is that has taken your fancy. If I remember right, you are always fond of the old brandy. I'll see if I can't dig up something special if you do decide to come up. I believe we will need a drink after discussing matters further. But I hadn't thought much about Latam's questions after that day. It had written it off as something a simple case of mistaken identity, and left it at that. It wasn't until a few days later, a particularly cold one, slippery too, by all accounts, that I'd been out for a stroll through Oxford Centre and search of a particular bookstore that Latimer himself had recommended to me. When suddenly my feet gave out from underneath me, and I was sent unceremoniously catapulting across the floor. I must have slipped on an icy puddle or something, which, well, given the time of year, it made most sense, I suppose. But the problem was not the puddle nor the fall. It was the angle, you see. I had fallen at such an angle that was severe enough that the curb offered no solace, and as such, as I tried to stand a moment later, I found myself unable to do so without support. I couldn't extend my leg further than about thirty degrees, maybe more. My knee had, as I found out later, pretty much shattered upon impact, leaving me with severe pain for quite some time even now. Luckily, given my location, it was a busy day, and a kind gentleman rushed to my aid and helped me to my feet as best he could, asking me if I was all right. I could still barely stand, and when I caught the man's eye it was clear my pain was obvious. I remember him looking at me concerned, before turning to well, I assumed it was his wife, telling her swiftly to go and fetch the constable from down the way and find a phone to contact the local hospital. They were awfully kind souls these two. The woman she rushed off without a second thought, dashing down the road with such speed that I well maybe I was one of her family who had fallen, not just some stranger on the street. And the gentleman he stayed with me the entire time. He couldn't have been older than thirty. He was dressed in all black and sporting a quite impressive head of hair. It was only later that I thought back on his appearance and reckoned that he only had one good eye from the looks of it. To be half blind in his thirties must be a tragedy. He couldn't have been much younger than me. Well in my mind, of course. He sat with me for a time, making sure I was comfortable until the ambulance turned up. And I tell you, Josiah, it was bloody cold out there that day, so much so that I was practically shivering even in my fur coat. So when the man offered me a drink from his flask, I couldn't decline. But believe me, my astonishment when he showed me his flask, and it was in fact an ornate drinking horn, decorated in beautiful runes, of the Norse variety, of course. I couldn't help but chuckle at the irony of it, and when the man looked at me with strange eyes, I explained to him that I was currently teaching classes on Germanic history at the university. He smiled brightly at me and offered the flask out to me. He then said a few words, and the way he spoke, Josiah, it was so strange. It was almost calming. Familiar on a level I can't explain, welcoming, but also strangely all knowing in a way. I know it sounds strange, but just the way he spoke, he said 'tis good to see that some still care for the old faiths. We sat for a while, drinking, keeping warm, assuring passers by that everything was handled until finally the ambulance arrived, and I was swiftly taken into care for a good few days. The doctor told me I had actually been rather lucky. If I had been put a step further across, I might have done irreparable damage to my leg beyond repair. My wife was as getting as I expected her to be in her own way, telling me that I was a callous imbecile in the most loving way I could possibly ask for. You'll have to meet her when you come up. She's delightful company, I assure you. But it was in that hospital that I began to think on how best to deal with my situation. After all, I was going to be in crutches for some time, and I started to think back to Latimer's question, and realized with strange thoughts that I had lived out exactly what he was asking about. He'd asked about my leg, and here I was, with one leg suspended in the air, in a great deal of pain. In a way I had lived out his prophecy in a sense. A strange coincidence, to be sure, full of mysticism, if you truly believe in it, but highly probable that it had just been a case of the terrible weather we'd been having. But even so I couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more to it. Perhaps it was just being around mystic mythologies for my students that well I had begun to consider the possibility. But thankfully, since the damage was not as severe as I had made it out to be, I was relieved from hospital, with a cane by my side and several painkillers in my disposal. I returned to work with enthusiasm and a desire for understanding of exactly what it is that had happened to me. But there was an itch that simply wished for me to move away from the topic at hand. At first I could, I pulled Latimer aside after class for a routine check-in, and jokingly brought up the fact that he had mentioned such an encounter a few weeks prior. He looked at me in surprise and swiftly brought out a small black book and raven feather quill from his pocket, and started taking notes down on the pages. I looked at him curiously and inquired as to what it was he was doing. His face went bright red, and he explained that it was a custom that his father had asked him to keep to help with his memory. Something about getting everything jumbled up in the wrong order. I inquired further, asking if it was a medical condition that I could help with. He shook his head, telling me that simply that it ran in the family, before asking if he may be excused to go home. I nodded, not wanting my personal intrigue to intrude. But before he left, he remarked once more with a strange statement. Oh, and thank you for the lesson, sir. It's it's very fortunate that we got out all right, isn't it? I smiled softly, not quite sure how to react to such a strange off the cuff statement. Now you must understand that as a teacher, I cannot pry too heavily into the lives of my students. But Latimer's distress was evident. So after letting him leave for the day, I went to speak with the faculty to see if there was anything on record about Latimer's hereditary condition. There was nothing. But the boy's record was exemplary beyond comparison. Full marks on one paper would be reason for celebration, but in his studies before this he had accomplished a full sweep of his classes. By certification standards he should be a genius, and yet something was definitely troubling the boy. Guilt, perhaps? Or something else. Something that only he understood. I wonder if this boy, queer as he may seem, may have been roped into some bizarre prank set up by the other students. They were always far less enthused than him, and perhaps they were taking that out on me through him. I it still wouldn't explain how on earth. on earth they could be so accurate with their prophecies, I suppose. Unless they had specifically set everything up to try and drive me loopy. In the end, I thought it best to have a proper one to one with Latimer. Not like the one before, a proper one to one intervention, to make sure that he wasn't being taken advantage of by some untoward, jaded students who weren't happy with my marking. I remember that day perfectly. It was during that cold snap we dealt with last month, when half the bloody country came to a standstill over some ruddy snow. Honestly, I'm quite surprised they even kept the university open, but alas, the day continued as normal. More students didn't make it in as expected, but to my surprise, as I entered the lecture hall that day I found a single student sitting in the front row. It was Latimer. I was shocked, but not so pleasantly surprised in a way. I had expected and somewhat hoped that no one would have arrived so that I may spend my day in my office working on marking and paperwork, but alas, fate seemingly had other plans, and it is here that I started to resent its mischievous hand. You see, Latimer was awfully tense that day. I had explained to him that it might be better for us if we continued on a day where other students could actively participate, but he insisted the lesson go ahead as planned. I use the word insisted with great emphasis here, Josiah, because the boy seemed truly well scared of something. I inquired further, asking the boy if everything was all right, and made it clear to him that if students were putting him up to anything he didn't have to do what they said, and if there was something happening at home the faculty could look into support for him if he needed it. His eyes kept glancing upwards at the ceiling, and he fidgeted excessively. He was keeping something from me I could tell, and the more I looked the more I realized something I'd overlooked. The book he'd kept in his possession, the one that he had scribbled in excessively was gone. I asked him cautiously if he'd lost it and he shook his head, his eyes darting upwards once more as if transfixed on something hanging from the ceiling above me. I glanced upwards and found nothing, and my eyes fell on the boy again. Lackima, dear boy, whatever had you don't try to fix are you well? I I'm terribly sorry I I I promise it's not my fault. The boy's eyes had filled with fear, glancing between myself and the ceiling above us. Had my attention been less on the boy and more on the room itself, perhaps I would have understood earlier what had so captivated the boy. Perhaps I would have heard the creaking of the roof sooner. The old building where my classroom was located was not built for such weather you see and the roofs were thin, metallic and designed for rain, not the dense snow and harsh cold air that buffeted us at the time which made the sudden collapse a moment later all the more obvious in hindsight but no less terrifying at the time one moment the roof stood groaning. The next it buckled with an almighty crack at the weight of the weapon descended to the roof, bringing the structure with it. Leg be damned, I made a quick decision in a split second and grabbed Latima, diving off to the side of the room and out of the path of the debris. The room turned to chaos. The chandelier had collapsed right where I had been standing and taken out most of the raised seating in the room, as well as my desk. Had I been standing there as I was a moment ago it would have been truly the end of us both. But it hadn't it was as Lattimer had told me a few days prior it was indeed lucky that we got out alright. I turned to the boy, checking him for injuries and found him startled but unharmed. A relief washed over me as we caught our breath and in that moment I couldn't help but ask him the obvious question How had he known what was going to happen? But just like last time he simply looked at me confused as if the previous encounter had never happened. In fact I dare say the boy looked different not completely but his eyes looked different as if he'd not expected anything to happen either. At this point I did not know what else to think or do and before long the two of us were found by the faculty who swiftly evacuated us to safety out in the central courtyard. The local services arrived soon after the lads from the local fire station, the police as well and the ambulance. They took our statements, checked us for injuries and secured the structure as best they could. In fact, a short while later were giving a statement with Latimer to the constable on site, I was informed that the roof should have been perfectly secure and that there was no way for such an incident to occur naturally. I was bewildered beyond belief but once again that dark feeling in my mind returned the fear and confusion I had felt in that hospital room Latimer's precognition had it truly been mystical or was someone playing a foul game on me? As I stood there, shuddering in the late afternoon snow, I considered informing the officers of my suspicions but tell me Josiah how would you even begin to explain such a phenomenon an accusation without sounding like a paranoid man experiencing a traumatic experience and so I stayed silent and let my mind wander alone And then Josiah I bring you to my final point a fear that continues to follow me to this day. A coincidence that I had not anticipated but one that you can surely see the connection of as we finished giving our statements Latimer informed me that the faculty had contacted his parents and that they should be arriving to take him home shortly a boom I thought a chance to converse with the family and maybe understand a greater deal about the boy. So imagine my surprise then when an all black Aston Martin crawled its way into the courtyard. As it passed I tried to get a peek through the window but found that whoever owned the vehicle had fitted shaded windows to prevent curious eyes. But it didn't stop my understanding for long, as Latimer's concerned and nervous expression made it very clear who the occupants were and then they stepped into view and everything fell into place. Stepping out of the car, dressed in a long black coat, accompanied by a woman in a starkly white dress and wide brimmed veiled hat, was the man and woman from the street a cane extended out from the interior of the car, a raven's head topper gripped with thick leather driving gloves. With some force the base of the cane clicked to the ground, impacting the stone with such force that the snow seemed to slow on command, as if time itself warped around this moment. My eyes were transfixed on the man. His frame seemed so young and yet his presence so unbelievably ancient smoke travelled from the end of a long cigarette as the man glanced around the environment and smiled before walking in our direction. Given Latimer's age I could not conceive of the possibility that this man was his father, nor the woman that accompanied him to be Latimer's mother to compose myself as best I could you remember the old money types, don't you Josiah? The ones we used to get into scraps with the the boys from Eton and their fathers who could buy your own life from you with Nariad tear this man this thing made those fossils look like young men. The weight of this man's presence was colossal as was his wife's I felt almost insignificant in their presence as if their eyes gazing upon me was a blessing that I did not deserve and seemingly so did Latimer. I expressed my surprise in kind to him and both of us shared pleasantries regarding my recovery. I'd also realized that I'd never asked the man's name, nor that of his wife to which he was sorely apologetical, simply suggesting that he thought I should have known it anyway from Latimer's records, of course Einwald and Freda Linden that was the name they gave me I don't think I need to tell you that this was quite on the nose. Looking back on it the names should have stood out to me immediately. Perhaps they realized it too given that Einwald smirked as my eyebrow raised but all was polite and both mother and father were kind enough to give me respect despite that, making it painfully obvious that questions would not be right for this moment. But then their eyes turned to Latimer. At first they asked if he was all right, doting on him as any father and mother would, and Latimer assured them that he was fine, and that if it wasn't for my actions he would have been crushed beneath the weight of the collapsing ceiling. But then Einwald said something that caught my attention He asked if Latimer had been keeping notes like he told him to, helping the bad thoughts stay out of his head. Latimer sighed and nodded, but then looked up at his father with guilt in his eyes and told him that he'd forgotten the book somewhere on campus and was unable to find it. Einwald's face shifted in an instant, turning to concern as he glanced up to Freder, who gave him a knowing look. He then patted his son on the shoulder and glanced up at me with a smile, apologizing to me for all the disturbance but informing me that they would have to depart soon with Latimer, as this was a family matter that couldn't be left without resolution. I attempted to ask about the book but the words seemed almost foreign to me as if asking about it was forbidden. I felt my throat tighten as if well as if there was a noose hanging around it. So once again I stayed silent even if every part of me screamed to ask for details I suppose that Einval sensed that and so after sending the two others back to the car, he pulled me aside for one last moment. I must say I appreciate all you have done for the boy in the such door but there is unfortunately a chance that now we might have to withdraw him from your class after this clear that it is too dangerous. Someone could get hurt I tilted my head in confusion. To take a student out of one of the most prestigious schools in England over a collapsed roof seemed like a bit of an overreaction but I knew that at the end of the day it was not my decision to make but still something definitely felt off by this point. All these moments all these little things all connected together by this one boy and this one family and this book why? The moment the book went missing everything started to change why I didn't have much time to think in that moment you see Einwald was preparing to leave he placed a hand on my shoulder and gave me a simple farewell at least it seemed that way but it stuck with me with the words they just seemed so wrong. Farewell Robert I'm sure everyone will miss you And with that the family left driving out of the courtyard in that same black car and the snow began to fall normally once again as if nothing had ever happened. In fact most of the people that I was with didn't even seem to notice that they had arrived or left in fact none of them seemed to even ask about Latimer as if they didn't know who he was fill me with fear. Between Latimer's prophecies and Einvalde's dark words I fear that I may have become the target of something wicked in the months since my wife has sought to distract me. We took a trip down your way to Brighton to see some old friends. Carlyle was there and he asked about you but we didn't know what to tell him. And we couldn't find any information about you either I do hope you were well I've taken up golfing and writing as a hobby to move on from the experience but nothing helps. Not where and everywhere I go I I feel like I'm being watched from just out of you or that the ravens and crows in the trees are whispering dark words to me. There is something frightfully wrong with this whole affair and part of me wishes I'd never entertained it. I haven't seen Latimer since and the faculty have informed me that there is no record of such a family ever existing. Someone suggests that I simply was well thinking of someone else. Or perhaps one of my students had simply returned back to their homeland. But I still feel those eyes on me every day. And daily I search for that book on campus, looking for any semblance of confirmation that my experience with Latimer was real. I wonder if that book will have the answers I seek. I still search for it as if my life depends on it.

SPEAKER_00 39:48

Perhaps it does another book another strange happening doesn't sound like this book though. It sounds different strange.

SPEAKER_01 40:08

I wonder if anyone did find it after all You see one thing stands out to me that might be of use here other than the book that is and it's not it's not the family. It's not the weird prophetic kid it's no, it's it's who this letter is addressed to Josiah I I know that name a bit of a legend down here in well down in Brighton some detective who went a bit nuts and started hunting serial killers before seemingly becoming one himself. But that that that was that was in the nineties this this letter is from the sixties so that that doesn't add up still uh anything is possible I guess. I'll do some more digging maybe the book can lead me in the direction it wants me to go maybe a way out of this room perhaps I don't know what is going on but I know I have power and I know that the recording equipment is still running and hasn't run into any issues yet so it must be broadcasting to someone I guess we just keep moving forward. This is Alex Dake of Dead Man Radio signing off again