Songit_Sarker

That accursed book had the ability not only to
pervert and warp the fabric of space and time but to
bend the very mind itself, to twist the psyche to
breaking point and then go beyond. It was something
not meant for this world.
Exiting the motorway we quickly came to the large
town of Dungannon, a town that had grown rapidly
over the last decade as it had seen an influx of
foreign nationals disproportionate to the rest of
the country, who brought with them a diverse range
of strange theologies and mysticisms. Some of these
I knew as off-shoots of more mainstream theologies,
others I knew to be cults new or old that barely
clung to existence in the world as we know it, and
one or two I had heard of only in legend and existed
here as anywhere else in rumour.
Parapsychology bore little interest to my erstwhile
driver who guided us into the car park of some
quaint local shopping mall that had served as a
linen mill during the industrial revolution an age
ago.
A surprisingly modern bistro sat on a corner unit of
the mall, all glass front with trendy chrome chairs
and dark wood throughout and soon we were guided to
a table and upon ordering we returned to our
conversation about the unusual Valjean. That
conversation did not last a great deal of time
however as we had discussed at length during the
journey the details of my entire communication with
the musician and changing tact Professor Davids
enquired as to how I was adjusting to life in
Belfast after my time spent in Arkham. I confessed
that at times I was still caught out by the quirks
of European life compared to those of Americans, in
the United States life and people were generally
simpler in manner but at a faster pace than in
European nations. The best descriptor I could think
of was that in America politics was an occupation,
in Europe it was a lifestyle choice.
As the waitress arrived with our food I came to
realise that I no longer had the attention of
Professor Davids, indeed nothing seemed to be holding his gaze, as if his mind were absent from
his body.
“It’s the music,
” explained the waitress in answer
to the question I had not asked and I then noticed
the crackling warble filtering in that I had come to
recognise as the work of my reclusive penpal,
“AJ
Valjean, some people seem to space out listening to
his stuff, it really speaks to them.”
“That could prove dangerous,
” I said snapping my
fingers in the face of my colleague breaking his
trance,
“it’s like some form of hypnosis.”
“I’ve never seen the harm in it,
” the waitress left
our food and returned to the kitchen area, passing a
waiter who I saw to be moving in an almost robotic
fashion, and after that had caught my eye I came to
realise that maybe half a dozen of the thirty or so
in the room also behaved in the same trance state.
“That was quite an unusual experience,
” the
Professor spoke,
“I felt as though my mind were
slowly draining, it was peaceful, very calming. Your
friend certainly makes music for the soul.”
“It certainly is strange,
” I commented, I found it
unsettling how powerful an effect such music could
have on a receptive psyche. Clearly there was some
subliminal waveform or message in the music that
whether intentional or not was at the very least a
hazard to drivers and pedestrians, at the worst I
would dread to think. I ate my meal in uncomfortable
silence, knowing what I know of the interests of AJ
Valjean I doubted that the trance state was
unintentional and could only hope that it did not
exist to serve some hitherto unknown malign purpose.
My eyes followed those who had been under the
effect, watching to see any peculiarities or
behavioural quirks beyond the generally accepted
norm of human activity, indeed I kept one eye on my
companion for having known academically for some
time now he could best serve as a control group.

Table of THE BEST MUSIC

Table of contents

Volume 1