Belfast Strangler Novels & Stories

THE BEST MUSIC

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.

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Belfast Strangler

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