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.