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The Spiral Labyrinth and the Memento Box – Part 01

—ghost machine 3—

December 9, 1914, Beelzebub’s Skull.

Day after day, the wounded were brought in, some drawing their last breath inside, others barely surviving, only to be sent somewhere again.

Every morning the gravediggers dug graves in the cemetery behind the monastery, burying young soldiers and digging new ones again. White-robed nurses sang hymns in their young, angelic voices. They sang the wrong lyrics, stuttered, and sometimes chuckled to get rid of the gloomy atmosphere.

One evening.

Brian Roscoe was leaning against the window, looking down on the ever-growing cemetery. His cat-like, green eyes were dark. His red hair fluttered out the window like flames in the wind.

“Stupid. All of this,” he muttered. “The fighting, the killing. But that’s—”

He stopped when he noticed a silhouette stirring in the cemetery. A closer look revealed an elderly woman with gray hair praying alone. Wearing a nurse’s white robe, she was thin, her hair, its original color indiscernible, glistening white and billowing ominously in the evening breeze.

She was one of the nurses working at the monastery. Many of them were young girls, but some were older. Sensing a gaze on her, the old woman looked and saw Brian leaning against the window. She gave a small nod and stood up.

Brian nodded in response, when he heard a knock at the door. He turned around.

A nurse entered. “Uncle Jupiter wants to see you,” she said timidly.

“Okay. I’m on my way.”

Brian pulled himself away from the window.

---

They walked down the long, winding, seemingly-endless corridor.

Brian stopped in front of a room. Several young Academy of Science employees were working inside. Gears, springs, and huge mechanisms made eerie noises. He glimpsed a large wall clock.

“What is this room?” he asked.

The nurse cocked her head. “I believe it’s the room that operates the sluice gate outside the monastery. If we leave the gate open at high tide, most of the rooms will be underwater. They say that the monastery was built that way on purpose. To prevent break-ins at night.”

“I see.”

“But since it makes living here impossible, they built a sluice gate. You can’t touch any of the mechanisms inside, for obvious reasons.” The nurse smiled. “No one tries to, though.” She resumed walking.

---

Jupiter Roget waited impatiently in the room with the scarlet door.

When Brian finally arrived, he turned and said, “The Germans are invading.”

Brian gave a low grunt.

“From the air. They must have learned from somewhere that this isn’t just a field hospital, but a fortress of some sort. There are rumors of enemy spies infiltrating our ranks. Either Germans or from our own kingdom’s Ministry of the Occult.”

“I see. From the sky, huh? Then we can use that.” Brian smiled thinly.

“What are you referring to?”

“The magic lantern. You wanted a man who could spy using illusions. This machine is, in a sense, all-powerful. It’s perfect for the coming age of machine warfare.”

Brian approached the machine sitting in a corner of the room. He removed the cloth covering it, revealing a square machine with a cannon-like lens protruding from it—a magic lantern.

Jupiter studied it grimly. “How does it work?”

“It’s a ghost machine, so to speak. A machine that artificially creates apparitions. What’s with that look? It’s an object made by science. I’ll show you.”

Brian opened the door and called for Michelle loudly. A number of doors in the distance opened, and girls in white came peeking out.

“I heard Michelle.”

“He’s calling for Michelle.”

“Brian is calling for Michelle.”

They passed the message along, and soon after, Michelle came running down the corridor. She looked up at Brian, her black eyes wide open.

“What is it?” she asked.

“I need lots of paper to make smoke.”

“You called me for that? I’m busy.”

“Unfortunately, yours is the only name I know around here.”

Michelle nodded. She shuffled away and returned with a bunch of papers.

Brian took them and closed the door. Light footsteps receded into the distance down the corridor.

He tossed the bundle of papers into the fireplace, causing flames and white smoke to rise. He then rushed to the magic lantern, inserted a transparent board into the machine, and flipped the switch.

Jupiter gasped. Brian’s thin lips lifted into a grin. Slowly, he turned around.

An image of the Virgin Mary appeared vaguely in the white smoke rising from the fireplace.

Jupiter shuddered as he watched the scene with wide-open eyes. The Virgin Mary was carrying a baby in her arms, her long hair hanging down to the floor, staring back at them with sad eyes. It was as tall as Brian and Jupiter, standing silently amidst the smoke, as if it were really there.

Jupiter yelped and made the sign of the cross repeatedly, taking several steps back. Brian inserted another plate into the machine.

Jupiter shrieked as he pulled his body back. The image of the Virgin Mary began weeping silently.

Retreating up to the wall, Jupiter looked at Brian. “What is this?”

“I told you, it’s a ghost. Made by this machine. Now, then.”

The papers burned up completely, and the smoke gradually cleared. The image of Mary faded, from her head, her chest, to her hips, until eventually there were only feet, which soon vanished as well.

“It’s nothing to be scared about,” Brian said with a grin. “This is how you use a magic lantern. The picture on the board is projected through the lens and onto the smoke. Look.”

He showed the board to Jupiter. The man finally stopped shaking, and he examined it.

On the transparent board was an image of Mary that he had just seen moments ago. It looked exactly the same. On another board were images of tears only.

“Projection…”

“Yes. This machine is popular among magicians. It makes dancing skeletons, giant human heads, and wandering ghosts appear on stage. It’s not a common illusion at the moment, but perhaps later, as technology develops, it’ll attract more people. Soon it will be far from uncommon.”

“Unbelievable…”

“Images will move, voices will be added, and it will become casual entertainment for people. The new power that is science, which you’re researching for the development of the world and your country, will be used not only for conflicts, but above all for people’s entertainment. The common people will enjoy the life of recreation that is currently the privilege of the aristocracy, and science will bring them both pleasures only nobles could feel, and at the same time, excruciating monotony. I have a hunch that the magic lantern is the first step toward science for entertainment and science for the lives of the common people. Only time will tell, though.” Brian chuckled.

Jupiter was still wearing a dubious look. “But how are you going to use this entertainment machine to fight?”

“You’d know if you saw the look of surprise on your face, Jupiter Roget.” Brian smiled and pointed to the ceiling. His green, upturned eyes glinted. “The Germans are coming from the sky.”

“It’s what the intel said.”

“We’ll make a ghost appear in the night sky.”

“What?!”

“We have a soft spot for the Holy Mary. Seeing her weep would surely rattle the young Germans. Even more so when they’re flying through the night sky to kill. Though we are entering a new age of science, we are still, after all, pious men of the Old World.”

The grin never left Brian’s face. Fear and disgust crept on Jupiter’s visage.

“Impersonating the divine? We can’t possibly…”

“You seem to be a pious man of the Old World yourself. I hate to break it to you, but there was never a God. If there was, there would be no large-scale wars like this. I believe that the people of the new era, the people of the New World, will not believe in God. They will live much more rationally, hedonistically, than you do. But they will also live more fleeting, meaningless lives.”

“How can you tell?”

“Gray Wolves, with the power of wisdom, can sometimes see the future. That’s why the Ministry of the Occult covets their power. I doubt the young pup is aware of this, though. Same with the handful of wolves who escaped to the cities. So what now, Jupiter? Will you play this trump card? It will protect you, for the mere price of your faith. I call it: Operation Weeping Virgin Mary. Now, then. What’s your move?”

Jupiter stared at Brian in horror. He seemed to have aged several years in just a few minutes. His lips were quivering.

The sun was setting outside.

Moments later, Jupiter nodded slowly with a pale face.

“Do it.”

---

Jupiter left, white as a sheet, leaving Brian alone in the room with the magic lantern. The dark room was faintly illuminated by the orange flames of the fireplace. Brian carefully inspected the complex machine, adjusted the scaling, and tested it repeatedly.

A little past midnight.

Brian was leaning against the machine, dozing off, when the scarlet door opened soundlessly. Sensing someone quietly enter the room, Brian opened his eyes softly.

The dying fire in the hearth crackled as it flickered, its feeble, orange light illuminating the intruder’s white coat. Their long hair glimmered.

Brian watched with half-open eyes. The intruder’s large, blue eyes snapped open, and the dagger in their hand glinted.

Brian bolted upright and flicked the woman’s hand away. There was a yelp. The woman staggered, but she kept her grip on the dagger. Brian grabbed her arm. She swung the blade around, grazing her own cheek in the process. Red blood trickled down the shallow laceration.

The woman—Michelle—let out a yelp.

“Are you the Ministry spy that Jupiter was talking about?” Brian muttered. “You don’t want the Academy of Science showing up in the war? I must say, I’m surprised. I never thought you were a spy, considering your age.”

“Let me go!”

“Even if I did, you’re not going anywhere.”

Brian let her go momentarily, and Michelle took off with beastlike agility. She opened the door and darted out into the corridor.

Clicking his tongue, Brian followed her.

He stepped out onto the corridor and went in pursuit. A door closed in the distance. Making a guess, Brian flung a door open.

It was an infirmary.

Countless injured lay in crude beds. There was an ominous smell in the air, a mixture of blood and medicine. Brian frowned. Nurses in white coats were hard at work.

A young boy with a bandaged face was lying on a bed at the far end of the room. He was holding the hand of a nurse sitting beside him. Startled by the door slamming open, the nurse glanced up.

Her gaze met Brian’s, and she smiled.

Brian’s lips parted to say something, but he shut it tight.

The nurse sitting there was the long-haired Michelle. Her bright, black eyes were staring back at him.

“Is there something wrong?” she asked with an inquisitive tilt of the head.

“Michelle,” Brian groaned. “You were just…”

“What’s the matter, Brian?”

“You came into the room…”

He tottered along the narrow aisle separating the beds, past the busy nurses and the groans of the injured. As he got closer, Brian noticed something odd.

The wounded boy was holding Michelle’s hand. His face was wrapped in a bandage; only his ears and closed eyes were visible. Michelle was holding a small book in her other hand. It was a collection of Heine’s poems. And on her pale cheek…

“What’s going on here?” Brian blurted out.

Silence descended in the infirmary, and everyone turned their attention to Brian. Nurses and the injured. Boys and girls. The nauseating smell of blood and medicine.

“What’s wrong, Brian?”

“Why…” Brian pointed at Michelle’s cheek with a trembling finger. There was not a scratch on it. “Why aren’t you hurt? The wound on your cheek is already healed. But it all happened just now. How did the wound just disappear? Normally it would take at least several weeks for it to heal. It was a huge cut, and there was blood. Who in the world are you, Michelle? A ministry spy at your age…”

“What are you talking about?”

“What the hell is going on here? Such healing ability can’t possibly be human. Is it another ancient power? Who are you? Answer me, Michelle!”

“What?”

“You were in the room just now…”

“Uhm…” Michelle looked confused.

The other nurses gathered around.

“Michelle was here the whole time,” one said.

“For over an hour now,” another added.

“He doesn’t let go of her hand.”

“She never left.”

Brian regarded them with a frown.

“She was with me the whole time,” the injured boy murmured weakly. “You must have been seeing things.”

Brian looked at Michelle.

“I’ve been here all along,” she said. “I was reading a Heine poem. He said he wanted to listen.” She recited a stanza with her angelic voice.

“I everywhere am thinking
Of thy blue eyes’ sweet smile;
A sea of blue thoughts is spreading
Over my heart the while.”