Contents of the journal follow.

Oct 15th 1849

Subject: Blue glass bottle. (bought from thrift store in town centre). Door - Pisces

It is very dark, with a faint shifting glimmer high above. Vision seems somewhat distorted and there is a tremendous sense of pressure. I believe I am deep beneath the sea. The bottle is before me – drifting gently downwards. Beneath me, great reeds – thick and grey, with a triangular cross-section, species unfamiliar to me. They appear to have nodules on the underside of each. A great whale rises toward the bottle as it drift down. The head looks unfamiliar – it is more like a claw.

Addendum. I am writing this the next day. I left the chamber just after finishing the observation above. The machine is faulty. Today I will fix it.

Oct 17th 1849

Subject: Glass bottle Door: Sagittarius

On stepping through the door my vision took some minutes to acclimatise, and now I can write. Despite the darkness I have some small amount of suffused light enabling me to see my journal, and once more I am struck by the idea that all seems to be working for my good, enabling me to continue my study of this machine. This light does not seem to emanate form any discernible source, but it suffices. Surroundings cavernous – great sense of space and I see now not a natural cavern as at first thought, but evidence in the distance of columns, a gabled roof above, though very far above. I wish to examine the columns more closely, I move, a gliding, not ambulatory movement. I find this movement surprisingly easy, though slow, and it is taking me some minutes to reach the edge of this edifice. Darkness still oppressive, yet of a reddish tinge, if any hue must be assigned. Columns set into rough rock face, in a later Roman style, no apparent stucco, possibly painted as different colour to rock face. I no longer have free movement, though still able to write – being pulled towards what I now see as source of reddish light – some distance yet, estimate three hundred yards. It seems I must go this way, I cannot arrest my progress, nor change my course. To my left and right identical columns to previously inspected specimen. I have risen some 40 feet higher gradually, I jut begin to notice now, as scale of surroundings make estimation difficult. Creatures – a veritable sea of creatures on ground below, rapid movement, though in curious formation, rectangular and precise, no creature outside geometric bounds of shape. Reminiscent – military, though not in lines, rather a writhing serpentine mass, creatures seem to be moving in all directions yet rapid precise progress in same direction as I. I see a structure, now only 100 yards distant – rectilinear, impossible to accurately guess dimensions, must be closer. Now see eyes – many pairs on left and right, malevolent in aspect, no forms visible behind them. Creatures below now stop in front of structure – they have reached it before me. Constant swarming movement make it impossible to deduce creature species. I still drift on, now though on a gentle arc towards the ground, am I to be taken into the sea of creatures? It appears not, I have stopped, a throbbing has begun in my ears, I am unsure at this point if it is my bloodflow or from an external source. It builds, must be external, have checked pulse and does not correspond. I seem to be hearing this noise with my bones – unusual phenomena, of course illusory. More shapes – larger than creatures below, I see humanoid aspects. Arms and legs, at least, darkness too great to discern facial features, perhaps two feet taller than top of structure. Light flares! Still red light, I see carvings of immense size behind rectilineal structure, I find it hard to look away from carvings (subject of carvings unclear, impression remains of great complexity). Light has come from structure – it appears a lid has been removed, and within a dazzling glow, not like fire, more like liquid. Many colours burst on the surface and are gone. Creatures have been thrown into deep shadow, light from structure cast only on carvings, impossibly the bursting colours appear to illuminate parts of carvings, in a discernable pattern? The optical illusion is that carving moves. A dark shape appears, apparently violently thrust, into the light cast, it’s shadow rudely cast across the carving like spilled black ink – the edges so sharp! It is standing motionless – I see now as I strain my eyes that it is held there by others, by many hands. Have just seen a glinting flash – knife? Confirmed – blood has arced from the standing figure, into the structure and over the writhing creatures on the floor. Now much activity – light source brighter, humanoids nearby display much activity – a large implement, reminiscent of soup ladle, looks dull as gunmetal. Figure in light now limp – can see hands holding it up, it seems he must not fall. Cannot see ladle as it has been dipped in structure, just as a ladle in soup. Can now see large humanoid, face in shadow, holding the implement above own head, light comes from the bowl of ladle– he pours contents onto limp figure. A great noise comes from creatures below – I can see limp figure clearly, he is encased now entirely in solidifying liquid, in molten glass! It cools before my eyes, the now stiff figure is removed – the carvings behind are blank on the spaces where the figure had cast his shadow. But now it seems they move and begin to encroach on the space left. What can this mean? The tableau repeats and it seems to be from the exact point I entered, I do not wish to see this again, I must leave.

Oct 22nd

Subject: bottle Door: Gemini

On stepping through the door it takes me some time to makes sense of my surroundings. Dripping, glutinous crimson and purple hues, chaotic and pulsating. Globular and repulsive, yet so smooth and a lulling rhythmn fills the space around me.It is all around, there does not appear to be any access in or out, save the Gemini door. I am feeling a sense of rising panic. I must return to analysi (stops abruptly)

Addendum: I ceased recording as panic overwhelmed me. I now believe the door transported me into the core of some massive beast – into it’s very heart. Half of my faculties were lulled by the rhythm, wanted to remain, but the rising panic, to my shame, led me to flee and now I cannot gain access to the Gemini door again, I will not know the sequence of events fully.

Addendum: Could perhaps the whole sequence have consisted of one of the massive heartbeats? Was I in fact reviewing the same sequence, only several times? I cannot tell – I defy sleep to take me while I try to determine what I have missed, if I have missed it.

Oct 29th

Subject: Glove (from mother’s closet) Door: Leo

I am going to step through a door once more. Suddenly there was a dizzying lurch and from the pressure at my back I thought that someone pushed me. There was no crisis, no landing, just a cessation of a falling sensation and I was sprawled, gasping on the first-floor roof of an extension to the alley-side of a building, I know not what kind. There is a rustling noise - luxurious, almost indecent sound and I think – purring? It seems to reach down within me and grab my vitals, squeezing out my breath but it was only an illusion after all - at the sound I had held my breath and was becoming faint. I must be scientific, and stick to the facts, but it was such a feeling, as if my presence was known by something not exactly malevolent, but proud and merciless. The rustling continues, and I must see what is making it. I see from my elevated position - fur on fur, of all colours I could tell, but all grey in the dark miasma of alleyway. Writhing, grey fur, as if the very ground is rising up in protest or in joy! I cannot tell which. A man! Burst from within the mass, I see his gun. I am now hiding as best I can, what is happening? I hear one shot, and before it ceased ringing in my ears, another sound, so much more subtle. A slow, almost whistling escape of air, as a child may sigh in its sleep. I must see, I must but I lack the courage to look. I’m lying on my back on a flat roof in an alley and I know I am writing to delay what I must do. I must look now. The writhing mass has gone, all that is discernible in the dim light is a man, the same man I saw with the gun, I can tell from his clothing, but his throat has been sliced with incredible precision, in three, regularly spaced lesions. His gun is on the ground beside him, scythed in two. Also on the ground a sack, next to a water butt, from which movement issues - I watch, suspense - what will come from that sack? It seems to be more than one creature – they are kittens. They are shambling their way into the light, while I breathe more freely. They had been bound in some way, for they are shaking off string from their legs and paws, which have been neatly cut. Are these connected to the subject glove? I cannot tell. The scene now repeats – I will leave.

Nov 5th

I am finding it increasingly difficult to understand the visitations (as I am fond of calling them, though I be the visitor) and am considering terminating my investigations, at least until I can do some thorough book research, though where to start? I have no wish to study the glove and bottle further. How does one best select an object for study? The vast possibilities are overwhelming, and though I tend to random selection currently, this makes is even harder to trace a consistent narrative. I am sure one exists for each object and I am simply missing something vital. I fear that selecting an object with a well-known history, perhaps a the very habit I wear, that was simple Indian Muslin, the cloth I selected at the dry goods counter myself, that was cut out and made by my own plain-work woman – this could surely not hold any surprises. But I fear for the effect of studying personal objects – it could well be a distraction I can do without, so confused am I already. Doctors are advised not to treat their own families – if I continue, I shall try to select impartial, random objects to further my understanding.

Nov 12th

A pipe, empty and a little faded with age, was found in the yard behind the club – I was overcome with my work, I had been at the machine cudgelling my brains for 18 hours or more, and I felt faint. I had thought myself safe from observation in the door-yard, we are not overlooked, and I had loosened my stays, noting my hunger for the first time in some days. As I did so, my foot knocked a clay pipe, of the sort used for hundreds of years, and still in place today. ‘Why not?’ thought I, and I have determined to use this pipe as my next subject.

Subject: pipe Door: Virgo

I have stepped through the door once more – it is like simply passing from one room to another, in a usual way. Furnishings antique – poss. 17th Cent. Occupants: 1 female. Female elderly, rocking, though with an energy that belies age, smoking a pipe I recognise as poss. subject pipe. Noise outside, cries, shouts. I can see the outlines of torches through the small window, glazed not with glass but with some form of membrane. I believe this was common in crude dwellings at one point. The door behind me is now being hammered down! Occupant keeps her place. There is a creature scuffling in the opposite corner of room. The woman makes a noise in her throat and stands, and the creature, I see now a rat, moves toward her. The hammering is deafening. The woman does something I cannot see – she is moving her hands I think, I can just see her mouth moving. The rat does not run as I expected but stays close. In this light I could almost imagine it has a human face, but this must be fancy. A flash blinds me for a few seconds – the tumult without ceases. As my sight returns I see the woman and rat have gone, only the pipe remains. Silence within and without – have the people outside gone, frightened by the light? The door is opening slowly, ominously, I see as many members of a mob as the door will admit stare straight through me – I thought they saw me for one horrible moment. But it is at the empty cottage they stare, and at the pipe. The scene repeats. I will leave.

Addendum: I am in a state of excitement about the last visitation – I feel I am close to an illuminating truth – I must grasp it. I will not wait, I shall go through another door tonight.

Subject: Pipe Door: Scorpio

Once through the door I am in a London Street – I know because I can see the famous dome of St Paul’s and from my position I must be in Bankside – the stews. I see nothing but leering desperation, I am repelled, but I must keep going and I walk on through. Now I have found myself a niche, hidden in deep shadow, I know I cannot be seen but I shrink from the degredation of this place. It is night, I see nothing in the grimy light that I wanted to see. I may leave. A woman appears – she crouches near me, possibly pursued. She is frightened – her face contorted, grotesquely painted with rouge and reddened from haste, or disease. All I hear is her rasping breathing – now footsteps closer. I can see the woman grasp a handful of the filthy soil, full of debris. A shape looms and she has flung the handful towards their face, it must have been effective, she has gone, and after a spate of unknowable cursing, so has the other. I saw clearly the clay pipe I found tumble through the air and disappear into the darkness, whether flung on purpose or lost was unclear. Repeats – I am happy to leave.

Addendum: I should, I suppose, feel gladness that the wretched creature eluded whoever pursued it. But I feel nothing but fatigue and gnawing frustration.

Nov 15th Subject: Miniature – of the Prince of Wales, gift from my father. Door: Virgo

On stepping through the door I see lavish furnishings, but in a subdued fitful candlelight. It is a chamber – I see a great bed and a figure, male, within it. Others in the room are whispering, this whispering makes the oppressive room feel smaller and more populated – it is in fact a commodious room furnished in a grand style, and the attendants number four.

I see through the window it is night – it is snowing fitfully and though I feel no cold I can see the attendants in the room are dressed warmly. I am close to one pairing of men, in deep discussion. They appear in dispute – the older man says ‘There are no unfavourable symptoms’ but the younger is not satisfied – he is shaking his head. He call the elder ‘Sir William’ and also says that ‘his temperature has reached 104 degrees, and we must not discount the effect of superstition – as long as the world lasts there will be superstition in it, and however foolish the feeling, there is real anxiety. We must notify the Earl to be ready should Scarborough be the place it happens.’

The man on the bed is so still, he is draped in cloths and a slop bowl at his elbow collects the blood let. He might have once been a fine man, but now the figure I see is a ruin.

The dispute between the two doctors (for that they must be) seems to have reached a head – the elder man called Sir William calls for the valet ‘tell the stableman to ready Dr William Gull’s carriage – he will depart tonight.’ I see the younger man cast a long look at the figure on the bed, bow low, and depart.

The picture shimmers a little – I am still in the same room but, it seems, a little later – the three attendants are still here and dressed identically to before. But the man on the bed is surely dead – I see Sir William taking a pulse, bending low over the man’s face to discern any breath. But his colour and repose cannot be anything other than that of the final rest – it is obvious this man’s struggle is over.

I see the Doctor straighten up, his face is contorted, whether with grief or some other emotion, I cannot tell. He says to the man at his elbow: ‘We must inform the Queen at Osborne House, take a telegram.’ And as I see him turn away I also hear ‘the same day – the same day I lost his father. Can she forgive me?

The scene repeats.

18th Nov

There can be no object without a past, whatever the future touches it with. What is here, must go back, however small and insignificant. I could not stop thinking on how I could explore this, my machine being the ultimate tool for it. What a comfort to know that nothing, however small, is forgotten by the past! And the future waits quietly for it, waits with open arms of many hues and strengths, to grasp and bear away to…What hope then for us! I set myself the task of finding the most anonymous, innocuous, drearily functional object I could conceive, and today, at length I believe I found it. I determined that such an object must come to me quite randomly, not be bought or sought to closely, for that would presume too much of its importance. I have sat motionless in many places around the city, never resting, but watching. I could not put my hand out to grasp anything that took my eye, I must wait. I had drawn some glances by crouching motionless at the gutter on 11th and 5th, I pretended that I had lost something of indeterminate origin. But I was beginning to realise that I had no need of such disguise, it merely distracted me from watching. I digress. A small, bent, rusted metal valve bounced quite merrily from the back of a passing scrap cart – many small pieces of metal littered that corner turn towards the scrap yards, and ragged children darted round me, collecting the pieces as I have seen them do before, they may well sell them to the yard when they have enough, for some pennies, I know not. Maybe they see them as playthings, scattered from the back of a bountiful cart in the manner of St Nicholas? Maybe they are looking, like me, for the piece they need that fits the hole that has appeared in my understanding. (crossed heavily but can still read) The valve came to rest under my skirts – I stood motionless lest any of the children could discover my prize, for it must be the object I was searching for, or why would it have come to me and only me so accurately? When they had ceased I reached down deftly, and sealed the valve in my reticule. Despite the unseasonable time of day I must return to the machine, there is no time to lose on this object.

Subject: metal valve Door: Cancer

I have prepared the object, recorded above. Cancer door is the choice, and I step through. Bleak – I am in a wasteland. Scrub, straggling fauna in this clearing – bare spruces surround – flat land, no nearby mountains or hills of note. My limited geography tells me this could possibly be Patagonia, though far colder than I would expect for daylight hours. Greenland? Siberia?

A creaking noise – a cart approaches, having trouble with ground surface, slow progress. It has reached the clearing, now sky darkens. How long have I been here? Occupants of cart two males, dressed warmly in furs, of a style I do not recognize, possibly European. Males heavily muffled so hard to discern features. Also cart driver, smoking pipe, muffled against cold. I do not feel any cold. A machine is being transported also, about the size of a hogshead, many valves and protuberances. Could this be where my own valve originated? Speculation.

I am growing impatient – this is the longest time I have spent in the machine and I am eager to know why the valve has brought me here. I move freely on the landscape, I am unseen but still cannot bring myself yet to walk out brazenly into the centre of the clearing. I find a spruce to lean against – I can feel it indistinctly but it provides some support. What are they doing?

The machine is now laid in the centre, the cart has been driven away, but how are the others to return? Mystery. The two remaining men are filling the machine with some liquid. They are moving away – they are sharing a cigarette on the opposite side of the clearing. The light fails. Does this have a meaning? They point to the sky, about 30 degrees above the horizon. They seem to be arguing. Now they are finished, and are back at the machine. It is now quite dark, and under cover of this darkness I am emboldened to move forward, or I will not be able to see what they are doing – I cannot see well to write.

A noise – a flame! Eight foot high at least, illuminating the clearing, casting erratic, swaying shadows of the trees and I am standing sharp against the brilliant light – they do not see me, I have no shadow. I feel powerful, I am unobserved in this tableau that seems only for my benefit. The two men are both talking, I cannot hear through the roar of the flame, dancing here and there, so beautiful and terrifying.

The gesticulations of the men pulled my attention from the flame – above, a comet, or meteor approaches – I have been watching it these ten minutes, the men are becoming wilder and despite my apparent incorporeality I have drawn back, alarmed by their flailings. They have cast off their furs, and gyrate half naked in the merciless light. I stand waiting, approximately 30 feet from them and the flame machine.

The comet is nearer. I am aware that these bodies from space pass near to earth – this seems to be coming towards us, which of course is an optical illusion common to these phenomena.

The comet is so close – it dominates the bowl of the sky – foreign bodies from space almost invariably break up on entering the upper atmosphere. Men now exhausted and prone, staring up at the comet – I wonder they can look at it directly – it sears like the sun. It is here – almost here – the ball of flame as large as the building at 122, or larger, I cannot tell, I cannot look at it, I can only write with my back to it. Small fragments of flame surround me – they pass around and through me, it frightened me at first but now I realise they are unaware of me. The first of these fragments swarmed the two prone men and now all that is left of them is ash. The flame from the machine still flares, though it is almost impossible to see against the brighter lights all around. I am still here – what next?”

Addendum: I could not write during the crisis of this last visitation. I will describe it now as an enormous explosion – I stood for a brief second amidst a conflagration I could never have imagined. I still shake as I write, I saw the ground shudder and ripple beneath me as the fiery ball touched the flame of the machine – I instinctively shielded my eyes and crouched, though I was, of course, unhurt. The shock wave (for that it must have been) ebbed and on opening my eyes I caught a glimpse of my single metal valve, not yet rusted but white-hot, hanging at the apex of it’s trajectory in front of my eyes, like a beckoning, shimmering jewel I longed to touch, I still long to devour. I could see in the periphery of my vision that the scene was beginning again – I could not stand the longing and I stumbled blindly through the door, unthinking.

19th Nov

I cannot sleep for dreaming about the last visitation. The valve I now hold in my hand – how did it arrive here? It does not matter. I have decided to try this object again, I long so for another glimpse of the shimmering jewel I saw before.

Subject: valve Door: Cancer Cancer door will not open again. I cannot do anything. Why am I so thwarted? What have I done? What have I not done? Just a small time again with the white-hot jewel, not lying rusty and repellent, covered in it’s own history I long to strip away. No.

25th Nov

All I have wanted to do is write, I have filled countless pages these last few days with records, I think I went through some doors, but I am now past my endurance and am filled with a hatred and revulsion for my writings, my scrawls. I must record this here, but the writings from this week have gone in the fire, I had to. This journal must not be destroyed, I shall lock it in my bureau, I must go home and rest.

1st December

My ramblings now seem unreal, as if another were here acting as me these last weeks. I know this to be impossible, but regardless I am now fully restored. If anything I feel better than before – my mind clear and focussed and I awoke this morning with a renewed zest to study. The machine is an avatar of enlightenment, I cannot go on wasting precious time like this. I have chosen another subject. A deceased dog, stiffened and somewhat mangled lay in the road outside my lodgings, presumably the weaker in a struggle with a hansom. I immediately saw this would make an excellent subject, I carried it directly to the Unity Society. I did not, of course, forget my manners even in scientific zeal – I have the dog’s full permission, I spent some time ascertaining this in the road. One must never let one’s standard’s slip.

Subject: Dog (deceased) Door: Taurus

On entering the door I perceive a desert, vast but the light is mercifully dim, it must be twilight. It cannot be dawn. My dog – he looks younger, but rigor mortis can make appearances deceptive. I cannot tell if this is past or future – no landmarks, only the vast black gulf over which I hover. My dog must have smelled something interesting – his nose to the ground, he looks young and happy like Robert and I must have looked before we too found(stops) He’s gone! A hand, a claw it was furred and it appeared from within, the dog is gone, - who took him? But now he’s back as he is again coming into view, no landmarks, only the vast black gulf over which I hover, he has smelled something, looks like Robert – gone – back, looks like me and looks like Robert. I go.

5th Dec

I have not forgotten my valve, it lays on my bureau. I have decided to attempt a visitation one more time, I must know more of the valve and its secrets.

Subject: valve Door: Libra

Pressure, like the very first visitation, but more so – then I was underwater and there was more shifting, fluidity to the pressure. Then I felt it in my ears, my head, this time in my lungs, I have no energy to move my limbs. Writing is difficult, but by relaxing my body and ‘floating’ where the visitation wishes I find I can manage. I must record. I must record. All I see around me are strata – I discern they are rock strata, I can even identify some of the types – basalt, granite. All igneous samples so far. Am I then suspended like a fossil or oil deposit?

A beam of light has erupted from behind my head – as I slowly drift around more pin-pricks of light come to me from the rocks. Sickly light, flickering. I am looking into a man’s face, so black I could not see it at first – he holds a candle, and behind him I see more, it is the candles that give the sickly light. They cannot be there for me, though I feel I am being dug out of the rock.

I am free – they have worked past me, I can walk again. I can do no other but follow as they inch through a face that never guessed it would look on theirs.

Some disturbance – the miners are agitated. I can see them peering through a hole in the face. A piece of metal ore has been removed, which was blocking the hole. Nothing is happening. The ore is passed up, I suppose to be processed.

Panic – I feel rumbling - the miners are streaming past – they are gone. I am alone in the mine shaft, the rumbling continues – a cave in? I will examine the hole. Movement – stealthy in the darkness, but the few candles left cast some light – I see eyes small, red. Legs – some translucent grey fibres, I see now that they are everywhere in the chasm before me. A blast of air from the hole does not affect me, but puts out the candles. I am in darkness, I feel the passage must collapse any moment, the rumbling is louder. It will - there is blackness for a brief moment. I am again imprisoned in the rock – I must wait here until I am once more dug out, then I may leave with greater ease. It may be possible to move myself but I am so tired, I can write but that is all, I feel all I am is a seeing eye and recording hand…

20th Dec

I cannot piece together the message my visitations are giving , I know it is all there, locked away with a key I cannot find or a word I cannot decipher. There is meaning to this, all of this and the machine is the centre and augur and prophet. It records, as I record, but it knows as I know not. I think of my state in the last visitation with envy now – no need for thought of the body, all I need do is record, through eye and hand, eye and hand, I feel as I record now some of the blissful state revisiting me. The sound of pen on paper as a martial thump, regular and whirling, like a waltz. My dog begins to smell more offensive, and as a woman of science this phenomena would not affect my studies – but I do wish to avoid any chance of discovery. I will study it one more time, then send it home.

Subject Dog (deceased): Door: Scorpio

I am stepping through now. A pantheon it seems – gods ranged on a dais? Or only men? Dazzled, cannot see. Weary. A small piece of matting is beneath my feet, I want to take it with me and study it like the dog. I cannot pick it up, though I can feel the edges if I concentrate. I cannot pick it up! I will try more. I’ve done everything I can – distractions from around me, some sounds like battle, robes flit past my eyes. Not important. I cannot stop my crying, how can I? I must write it away but I need to take the piece of mat with me. Quiet again, I think the tableau is once more beginning. Same as before. I care not.

Addendum: After several hours, I had to relinquish my quest, I could not bring with me the matting I needed. Now where will I sleep?

6th January

I have another subject, and the journal must now guess what I have found – it is mine, yet not and I know it will give me the answer to crown my dispassionate, and measured study, which I hope to publish soon in the leading periodicals. I’m sure they will call on me today to ask that I release this manuscript.

7th January

They didn’t come I have discarded my subject it was not what I imagined Why must I imagine This is SCIENCE

13th January

Everything. Everything devoured and destroyed. I cannot bear it. I must know how this ends, Tonight I will study myself.

UnityWiki: TheBurkeLabJournal (last edited 2008-01-20 00:02:47 by tack)