The Atlantis Keystone (7 page)

I
t was the day of the grand opening; or rather the day of the drilling of a tiny hole in the wall which would let technicians insert a small camera into it and for them to have a first peak inside the ‘space in the wall’.

Erik had woken up with a feeling of anticipation and excitement. He was also nervous. Although he didn’t have anything to lose, he felt obliged towards Paul and Emma and hoped that this day would be one of promise and discovery rather than disappointment and regret. It certainly was thrilling. In just a couple of hours they would start drilling and by the end of the day they would hopefully have a clear picture of what was hidden in there more than six hundred years ago. Whether it was the skeleton of a young girl, a treasure of valuables from the middle ages or the stone tablet, Erik knew that the local press would have a field day and have a lot to say either way. The only alternative which he seriously dreaded was if they found absolutely nothing. He started to doubt the whole venture but was immediately overwhelmed by a feeling that Anna was in the room with him, making him believe in a magnificent discovery. He could almost hear how she was trying to convince him. ‘Blocking up a door for no apparent reason just didn’t seem like a feasible thing to do. There simply must have been a reason for why a new wall had been raised.’ Just before she died, Anna had told him that she had been able to work out what was hidden in there. So he knew for definite that she knew something or at least had a theory. But how? Had she read something in the journals? He would never know, unless it became obvious when the contents of the mysterious space was revealed. He knew he couldn’t possibly be communicating with his deceased wife, not even subconsciously. She was dead. She would never come back. No, Erik decided, he was letting his imagination run riot. Even so, the Torpa owner in question simply must have wanted to hide something. He knew it.

As he came down to the breakfast room, both Paul, Emma, his parents and Britt-Marie were already there, enjoying the fresh buns baked by the housekeeper that morning, with accompanying treats and hot chocolate.

“Good morning Erik”, his father said. “You will know this better than me. Emma was asking whether anyone had ever seen the supposed ghost of the girl who was buried alive in the wall.”

Erik responded with an amused smile: “Well, that is a matter of debate but the legend must have started somehow and several people over the years have claimed to have seen someone wandering the halls of the old house like a lost spirit and some say they have heard her cry.”

Erik’s mother who had grown up in the house continued: “Folklore also tells of other ghosts. Apparently, just before the owner of Torpa dies, they will see four beautiful white horses pulling a magnificent carriage decorated in the family’s colours. This could of course never be proven as by the time they would see it they would be as good as dead. But there were reports of owners who had seen actual white horses and thought they had taken their last breath. The amount of misunderstandings this legend has caused over the years is amusing. There is also talk of a ghost referred to as the ‘grey lady’. You know, Torpa had a dungeon in its basement where prisoners used to be housed hundreds of years ago. Apparently, a daughter fell in love with one of the prisoners and when he was decapitated, she was overtaken by grief to such an extent that she fell ill and died. She is supposed to have been haunting the house ever since. I was sure I saw her once when I was a child. I refused to go near the house for at least a week.”

For some reason Emma seemed less amused by the stories than the rest: “Has anyone else you know ever seen anything?” she asked.

“Well, even if they had they probably wouldn’t admit it”, Erik’s mother said laughing, giving Emma a jokingly mysterious look. Emma smiled back but Erik detected an element of hesitation in her forced grin. She glanced up through the large windows of the breakfast room at the imposing building next door, as if she was looking for something. Could it be, Erik thought, that Emma could somehow have been affected by the mysterious ambiance and secluded setting of Torpa. He was amused at the thought, although surprised as he had rarely met a more down to earth person than her. As he looked at her that morning he had to admit that she had grown on him. His first impression of her was that she was rather boring; plain looks and dry manners. With new colour in her face she was pretty in a natural sort of way; her eyes clear and her lips redder than normal, her dark blond hair streaked by the sun and tied back in a pony tail. A few days away from the hustle and bustle and in the sun had done her good. She also had a good sense of humour; most of the time. Other times he just didn’t understand her.

“Some people have claimed to see a young man walking the grounds”, Erik’s father added. He paused for effect. “I have reassured them that it is Erik sleepwalking again!” He laughed a thundery laugh at his own joke and they all joined in. Erik could tell Emma’s laugh was genuine and that it came from the heart. This pleased him.

It had been agreed that the technicians would join them at around 11am. Therefore, following breakfast they all rushed to get ready and agreed to meet outside the entrance to the old house at half past ten. It was another sunny day with temperatures reaching twenty five degrees in the shade. When Erik stepped outside he was surprised at the number of people who had gathered in front of the house, including locals, tourists and members of the press. A group of four locals appeared to be conducting a small demonstration carrying homemade posters with messages such as ‘leave the Torpa ghost alone’. He noticed that the press-presence was wider than it had been previously, with at least two national newspapers there, evident from their marked cars. He was sure that this was his mother’s doing. She was already in the midst of a group of journalists answering questions in her fake Stockholm accent. Sometimes he really could not stand her. She was such a selfish person, only interested in raising her own and her business’ profile. Erik didn’t have any inclination to answer any questions and deliberately stayed in the background, waiting for Paul and Emma to appear. They did only minutes later, both surprised that the events of the day had been made public.

“I will ensure that none other than us and the technicians will be allowed to enter the house. This is outrageous. Fruktansvärt,” Erik said with distain.

“Yes, god help us if we don’t find anything and equally god help us if we do! The press will eat us alive.” Paul was concerned but Erik laughed at the thought of the local or even national press being bullish.

“Luckily enough the press here is not as persistent as they are in England. Here they might slaughter us before they eat us!” Erik said jokingly and as they all glanced in the direction of the small group of local journalists questioning his mother they all laughed at the evident exaggeration. Only three now remained listening to what Mrs Stenbock had to say. One of them had wandered off in another direction taking pictures of the old house and another was busy on his mobile phone a few meters away. Very eager members of the press indeed…

It was nearly 11.15 by the time a van arrived with the technicians and their equipment. Erik laughed to himself as they stepped out looking serious and self important, carrying aluminium boxes and meters of wire. For some reason he got the Mission Impossible tune in his head. Their behaviour would have suited a part in the TV series very well. He hoped that their mission wasn’t impossible.

For the first time that morning, Erik’s mother went up to the Torpa entrance and unlocked the massive doors. Standing on the stairs looking out over the twenty or so people populating the drive-way, she said with a loud voice, again in her adopted Stockholm accent: “I’m afraid you will all have to stay out here whilst the work is being done. We would advise you to go home. I suspect it will take the best part of the day. We will announce any findings in due course. The house will be closed for visitors all day.”

Erik was glad his mother had agreed with him in this matter. The two of them agreeing on anything was a rare event. She took the lead into the house, closely followed by Paul, Emma and the five technicians. Erik’s father would join them later in the afternoon. Erik went in last, locking the door behind them. Erik had always avoided the house as a child, feeling ill at ease inside it. He had the same feeling now, particularly bearing in mind his more recent nightmare. Its walls were bare and much of its former glory had been washed away by the hundreds of years which had gone by. It was still an impressive building but it didn’t invite modern habitation. The rooms were surprisingly dark in spite of the sunny day and the large number of windows all around the house. Erik was about to suggest that they light some of the gas lamps attached to the wall, when one of the technicians made a comment about powering the florescent lighting which they had brought. Due to its bare stone floors and walls, the rooms were colder than outside. One of the funny things with this house was that although it was completely rectangular in shape, except for the front tower, one could easily get lost in its maze of rooms. Its construction wasn’t very logical, probably as a consequence of the many additions to the original building over the years. There were also many secret passages of stairs which had been used by servants and as escape routes. Adding to the chilling experience, the prison in the basement was still intact and some of the passage ways led there.

They all ventured upstairs to the first floor and then to the second, where the ‘wall’ was in full view just opposite the landing. The stairs were narrow and the landing was not large but not as cramped as they had been in his dream. Erik wondered how on earth the technicians would be able to fit all their equipment in the small space in front of where they would drill the hole.

They all had a quiet moment in front of the wall, each contemplating their own individual issues. Erik’s thoughts turned to Anna. She would have loved to be there, waiting for her theories to be confirmed or dismissed. Somehow, he knew that although she wasn’t there in person, she was in spirit, at least in his own mind. Once again his thoughts wandered over to Thailand and that unfortunate morning. If only he had been there next to her on the patio, he could have helped her to find a safe place, to swim to safety. But he knew from the stories told in the counselling group which he had joined shortly after the event back in Sweden, that even if he had been there, he would have been unlikely to have been able to do anything to save her. He would probably have added to the statistics of missing persons himself. Given the location of their hut – right on the beach –they probably would have been the first to die. The fact that Anna’s body had never been recovered still bothered him. Even now, over eight months on, his heart jumped every time he saw anyone looking remotely like her. Emma was a good example. Her eyes got Erik’s heart beating faster. Erik glanced over at her. She was standing next to Paul looking a little bit cold. She seemed excited but kept glancing over her shoulder as if she was expecting one of the Torpa ghosts to appear. Erik laughed to himself and took a few steps towards them. Emma suggested that maybe they should wait outside for everything to be properly set up and leave the technicians more space. They all agreed and started to walk out.

“But please ensure that you let us know when you start drilling”, Paul said to one of the technicians before leaving the room. As they came outside they noticed that most of the small crowd had left. There were only three persistent reporters left, still with their cameras at the ready, as if there might be an amazing photo opportunity at any time. One of them actually photographed them as they were leaving the old house.

His mother had briefed the technicians well. She had given them all the measurements in advance and Erik’s initial concern about the limited space turned out to be unfounded. Everything they had brought had been fitted to the size of the room. Despite this it took them a very long time to set it all up. Erik and the others had already had lunch and afternoon coffee by the time it was ready and the technicians had had their delayed lunch break.

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The excitement was mounting. They were standing on the landing next to the wall a safe but short distance away from the action. The unfortunate technician who had the unenviable task of drilling the hole in the more than six hundred year old wall was already kitted out in a protective suit and face shield, with the drill at the ready in a tight grip in his hand. All that remained now was for him to start drilling. Emma was sure she could detect an expression of fear in the technician’s face. She guessed he was worried about the ancient myth which dictated that he would die the instant the drill entered the surface. Although somehow she didn’t think so; he was probably merely concerned that the wall would crack and crumble down in front of them. Or was he not the only one who was in danger of the curse; could they all be in peril? She didn’t believe in the folklore about the deaths of those who had tried to break the wall; there was no feasible explanation for such an event to occur, even assuming that a similar thing as the disputed Tutankhamen’s curse would have effected this remote Swedish wall. It was a ridiculous thought. She thought back at her sighting the other evening. She was sure she had seen something but the memory had faded in significance over the past few days. She had felt foolish asking all those questions that morning but she needed to know whether there was any way that what she had seen may have been something other than the hallucinations of a person intoxicated by wine. The fact that her sighting had been in the window in the room next to where they were standing now sent shivers down her spine. Had the weeping girl made a chilling appearance to prevent them from opening the wall? It had happened the same day they had got the planning permission. ‘Don’t be silly’, she thought to herself. She was supposed to be a sensible person, unaffected by mere village scare tactics. She had really allowed it to get to her, she thought with regret. She looked around the room and noticed that the expression on everyone’s faces was a mixture of anticipation and something resembling fear, for varying reasons she assumed. Erik’s mother was the exception. She was extremely relaxed, calmly gazing at the scene in front of them with a light smile touching her lips.