Voodoo Holmes Stories

night:
     
    X!
    X.
    1.
    1.
    X!.
    (Pause)
    3.
    (Sleep)
     
    I wrote down the code on a piece of paper, puzzling. What immediately struck my mind was that the X! Convulsion was a sign of initiation. An awareness of the brain that sleep would enfold the mind with darkness. A kind of revulsion, perhaps. Next, there was the fact that no night showed the same pattern. At first look, this hardly seems remarkable, because we consider these kinds of patterns coincidental. Mathematicians tell us, however, that there is nothing coincidental about natural phenomena. They do follow a pattern which can be described in a formula. I was trying to look for a formula. The patterns of the following nights aided me.
     
     
    The fourth night:
     
    X!
    (Pause)
    2..
    2!
    (Pause)
    3.
    (Sleep)
     
    The fifth night:
     
    X!!
    X.
    1!
    (Pause)
    X!
    (Pause)
    3..
    (Sleep)
     
    When I wrote this down the following morning, I was struck. I could not believe my eyes. The fifth night was identical to the first night – down to a T! What was the statistical likelihood of this occurring within a week? I would have to ask a mathematician. Also, it was apparent, that the beginning of falling asleep would always be marked with a whole body thrust, sometimes occurring once, sometimes twice. And the last movement before falling asleep was always reserved for the right leg. What was the significance of that? Stepping into sleep with this leg – or actually dragging it behind oneself into the darkness?
     
    ¥
     
    I was dozing in one of the more comfortable chairs in the Shay Club when I heard the melodious voice of Dr. Watson. He was complaining to the waiter about a drink, I suppose (The word "tepid" rose to my consciousness) as he perceived my crumpled form in the twilight of the corner and cried: "Holmes!"
    I closed my eyes like an ostrich, hoping not to be seen when not seeing. I could hear eager steps approaching.
"Good to see you, old boy!"
    I opened my eyes and smiled. Then, I struggled to my feet and we shook hands.
    "What!" He exclaimed, "quite extraordinary to see you again! Haunting the old lair like in the old days, are you? I think that sofa must remember you even though it's been years since you carved your contours into its cushions."
    "I suppose I do seek to renew our acquaintance", I said, patting the top of the armchair. "Lovely old girl. I find her soft and comforting as ever. And you, Watson, up to your old tricks?"
    He fixed me with sodden eyes. "Shirking the day light again, mangy old vampire."
    "Well, I guess I am batty", I conceded.
    "Ha! Indeed you are, indeed you are. Seriously though, Holmes, I am surprised to see you. I thought you had gone to America. Have you seen your brother?"
    "No, I haven't. But I may - eventually. And it is good to see you, Watson, for two reasons. But first: Can I buy you a drink?"
    After I had explained to him my theory of falling asleep morse, I asked him about his experiences with dying patients. Where there convulsions before their souls fled? Where they actually kicking the bucket or was that an unfounded metaphor?
    "Can't really say, Holmes", he mused. "Sometimes, there is an element of surprise. They are seeing something we can't. Maybe it's nothing. You know, when I was in India there were occasional skirmishes where a lad would get hit by a bullet and look a certain way before expiring. That would be the kind of hesitation you are calling "X!" Convulsion is too strong a word, it is a tensing. And there are jerky movements when life drains out of a body."
    "I don't care about those. What I am wanting are indications of a sign language, sent not from the person dying but from beyond."
    "Well, that's all speculation", Watson said, scratching his head, " and you know that my business are the facts. I think you are different in this respect, which makes you fancy Holmes as some people are wont to call you. I am not saying that there aren't situations or even cases where that kind of thinking doesn't apply, but I suppose I am the wrong person to do it. I am simply not capable."
"The question is", I continued, looking at the lovely colour of absinthe in my glass, "if it is a sign language, who is transmitting, and what and why? There's got to be a reason it is happening. And in the case of a person falling asleep, it is not anything addressed to the person, but a third party, an observer. So I was thinking it might be a comment on the sleeper. Death saying: Look! She's ... etc. That is what the "X!"