I examined Maya earlier. The fear I had that there could be long-term consequences to her lying motionless for so long proved ungrounded. There was no stiffness in her joints, and when I rolled her onto her side I found no pressure marks or bedsores on her back or legs. There was no urine leakage either. Whatever’s holding her in that state is being gentle. She looks perfect in every way: no sweating, no flaking skin, no hair or nail growth.

I changed her clothes anyway, dressed her in some heavier winter gear just in case she feels cold when she wakes.

I’ve decided not to enter the jungle just yet. I’ll just keep a watch out tonight and see if anything comes nosing around the exit.

That’s if there is anything out there. One part of me is hoping there isn’t. Another part, the most logical part, is screaming that there is something out there. There has to be. Yeah. A whole new world. I’ve seen it from the slope. It goes on forever. That’s where Keyes went, and If he says there’s a world out there, who am I a to argue. He’s been right about everything so far.

Passed another milestone this morning. I climbed up the hill, configured one of the bridges, and secured it up there on a wooden frame I made last night from some planks I found in the basement. Got a great view of the forest, too. It was sadly beautiful. The vast expanse of drooping treetops stretched off as far as I could see.

Did I cause all this damage? I can’t shake the question. It’s lodged firmly in my mind now like some brutal, mental splinter. At least the forest didn’t look all black and dead, though. In the distance the trees looked taller, greener.

I need binoculars. Must add them to my wish list.

Anyway, the second bridge, the one I’ll take with me, received the wireless signal clearly. I’m posting this from a position at the edge of the jungle. I’ve got the Sky News website open. So Dominique Cottrez had other children apart from the eight she killed. Bizarre. It’s stuff like that that makes me wonder if Keyes did the right thing disappearing into the Parawerthan. I’m so happy my network works I feel like mailing Sky with my big news. Would they believe it? Hard to know. They put some pretty weird stories up there every now and then. Probably better not to tempt fate.

In an oddly comforting way, having the laptop out here is like having Maya by my side. It’s a huge relief to see her face. So what if the cameras don’t work properly out here. It makes little difference. The webcam trained on her works, and that‘s all that matters. ‘Line of sight’ is my next problem. If ‘my’ bridge doesn’t ‘see’ the home bridge, I’ll get no signal in the jungle. I guess I’ll just have to climb a tree.

That’s if I can find a tree that’s not dying.

Right now I’m so buoyed up I feel like exploring deeper into the vegetation. I won’t. I’ve got to take this slowly. Things could change here at night. Come alive, I mean. Before I go anywhere, I’ve got to spend some time out here in the dark.

Just got back. Spent last night in a B&B because it took longer than expected to buy everything. I got paranoid, too. Kept thinking I’d run into someone I knew and they’d start asking about Maya.

Got most of the gear. Oddly enough the machete was easy to buy. Worryingly easy. I found an old style panga in a shop that sold everything from Conan swords to catapults. The guy who sold it to me seemed more bothered trying to sell me a US Marine combat knife than worrying about what I wanted the machete for. He was good. I ended up buying the knife, too.

Exhausted now. I couldn’t stop thinking about Maya since I left. Painful, I know. But good practice. At least now I know I can leave her for a while. Besides, I looked in on her last night. I logged in from an Internet Café and the webcam is working fine. It was heartbreaking to look at her knowing she was so far away.

Yes, it was good practice to be away from her. It was also a hard reminder of what’s at stake. I’ve got to enter the jungle soon and try and find a cure before her condition worsens. I’ve no excuses left. I even bought a set of second hand night goggles to help me along. Cost a fortune.

Must rest. Can’t stop thinking about that knife shop. There were a lot of kids in there. And that salesman was good. Really, really good.

I’ve decided to go to Dublin tomorrow and buy supplies. I’ll get the Cisco stuff, too, and try it. The camera is a good idea. I’ll buy a few more, set one up at the tunnel entrance to keep an eye out there. One last problem to think about before bed. Where the hell am I going to get a machete in Dublin?

The problem of leaving Maya behind when I enter the jungle bothered me all day. Even going up top is hard. How am I ever going to leave her here on her own without some kind of contact between us? A mini computer network, that’s how. It’s the only solution I can think of.

If I take her laptop down here, hook it up to the Internet, and configure the webcam she uses to talk to her family in Argentina, I can connect in from anywhere online to see her. Basic stuff. But how about when I’m in the jungle? How can I see her from there? Tricky, but not impossible. Some Cisco wireless kit should do it. With a few good lengths of network cable and some repeaters I can extend the network right up to the exit. From there I can hook it up to a Cisco access point and run a second cable to a Cisco bridge. I’ve configured this setup before. The last time I visited my brother in Cork, we hooked up a couple of Aironet 1400’s so he could have Internet access in his fishing cabin a half mile from his house. I’ll have to carry a second bridge and access point with me, of course. And the bridges will requrie line of sight to connect. But if I set the home bridge high enough up the slope I should be able to connect from quite a distance. That’s if I can get line of sight to the home bridge. Hell. I’ll climb a tree if I have to. Yes. The highest tree around.

In theory this should work. If it doesn’t then…

Maybe it’s best not to think about that right now.

Doorbell’s ringing. I’ll bet it’s O’Heir. Screw him. Let him ring away.

First post from the outer tunnel. Couldn’t sleep a wink last night so I ran some network and power cables down here and hooked up the laptop. Now the place resembles some kind of crazy base camp. I’ve stockpiled food, water, and bedding. And my whiskey of course. God it’s quiet. Even the hum from the laptop is barely audible. I’m tempted to play a bit of music, just to hear how that would sound. Probably not a good idea. Besides, there’s a song replaying through my mind all night. Black Sabbath’s Heaven and Hell. The lyrics seem so appropriate.

‘Sing me a song you’re the singer. Do me no wrong, you’re the bringer of evil.’

It’s the last line of the song that makes me wonder. Did I cause that sickness on the far side? Did opening that gateway release something from our side, some poison that’s destroying it?

Kept thinking about the jungle and what I’ll need to go deeper into it. I did some research online and made up a list: food, water, machete, functional clothes, rope, water purification system, lots and lots of ammunition, compass, torch, insect repellent. The list is endless. I’ll never be able to carry the half of it. And there’s the problem of inoculations, too. There’s a whole boatload of them mentioned: Typhus, Cholera, and Hepatitis, to name but a few. I had a Hep A shot and booster a few years ago so I guess I’m okay with that. But I don’t know about the rest. Maybe there’s no disease in there. After all, Keyes survived and didn’t bring anything back. I’ll just have to risk it. I’ll risk anything to bring Maya back from wherever she is. There’s one problem. How can I keep an eye on her when I’m gone? Do I even have the strength to leave her?

I guess that last question will test me soon enough.

I hope that’s not a copyright breach posting the Sabbath stuff here. Big deal if it is. Sue me.

Resting today, and I need it. Every muscle in my body is aching. It’s unsettling. It almost feels like I’ve returned from a month long hike through the mountains. Then again, what did I expect? I entered a completely new environment yesterday. My body’s got to adjust.

The crazy notion’s been dogging me since I woke that I should get the dust from that plant analysed, see if it had any curative properties. Yeah. Sure. It was that kind of thinking that caused this disaster in the first place. I’ll show it to nobody. Nevertheless, we can’t blame everyone else for this. Not really. The hand would have led us here eventually whether we’d called to the vet or not. We were ‘taken by the hand’ you could say. Sorry. Bad joke. Whiskey joke. A few shots help me forget for a while and think about other things. I will admit, though, that the more I think about that place, the more I’m fascinated by it. What lies beyond that jungle? Where did Keyes go? Is he somehow still alive?

Once Maya’s better, can we follow him?

She’s always been more adventurous than me. I think she’ll like it in there.

Well I’ve been back in there. Bit of an anticlimax really. There was no whispering wind or glowing pass. And this time when I looked outside the jungle didn’t seem as threatening. Okay, so I still don’t recognise anything. But it’s so still, so quiet. A death scene, almost. That rotting smell seems much worse than I remembered it. It’s so thick on the air you could probably bottle it. I must have watched from the tunnel for a good hour before my legs cramped. I saw nothing. I heard nothing. Apart from the thump of my own heartbeat, there wasn’t as much as a breath of air moving through the trees. I guess if anything had lived there it had moved on when the sickness came.

At least I hoped it had.

My first step through the exit was no ‘giant step’ for mankind. It was more of a shuffle to test the ground. I didn’t go far, just a few yards. The tunnel does exit from a small, steep hill. The slope is mostly bare rock with scattered patches of vegetation sprouting up here and there. It doesn’t look too high, a few hundred feet perhaps, but I guess I’d get a good view over the jungle if I climb up there. The jungle itself is deep. Not impenetrable, though. With a good blade I could probably cut my way through it okay. Besides, at the rate it’s dying, I’d probably need rubber boots instead if I want to go farther. To step through the mush, I mean. I didn’t linger out there. I just grabbed a single leaf, stuffed it in a plastic bag, and left.

By the time I got back the leaf had shrivelled and turned partly to dust.

Barely slept last night. Kept thinking about what to do. Should I bring Maya with me next time? Do I have the strength to carry her along the tunnel? Would I have the strength to carry her back if anything bad happens?

Memories of that whispering wind and how the tattoo pass glowed so fiercely filled my mind. At one point I fell into a doze and those memories followed me into my dreams. I dreamed that wind came again, and tested Maya, and sucked her soul into its innards when it discovered she had no pass. I awoke sweating and panting, but strangely content in what I must do. It’s almost like that nightmare was a warning. I can’t bring her any deeper into the tunnel. She’s got to stay here for now. But it’s okay, I think. She’s just sleeping. Or maybe ‘suspended’ is a better word. Her pulse and breathing are still strong and the blood pressure tester we bought a few years ago gives a normal reading every time I use it on her.

I’ve rigged up some lights down there. She looks so peaceful. Truly a sleeping beauty.

Went outside for the first time in days.

I’d almost forgotten what summer is like in Ireland. I think it rained again last night. Typical. But it left a wonderful cool freshness on the air that cleared my mind. The apple tree in the back garden is blooming. The skirt of furze bushes on the northern shore of the lake is a blaze of yellows. The lawn has shot up in the past few days. It needs to be cut. But not today. A bumblebee landed on my arm and stayed for a few moments. It was a delicious thrill, a connection to the world I hadn’t felt since, well, since the doorway opened. I’ve got to return through there. I accept that now. If I ever want to cure my wife I’ve got to go back through that tunnel.

First, though, I need a drink.

Slept with Maya again last night and dreamed about the whispering wind. When I awoke a strong part of me almost convinced myself the wind had been all a dream. That’s why this diary is so important. It helps me unconvince myself about those things. I’ve got to be wary about that, wary about slipping into some kind of denial. It would be so easy to convince myself all this was a dream and the real Maya and me were off somewhere else, doing our thing, living our lives in normality like we’re supposed to.

Yes. This diary is vital. It’s grounding me to reality. I need to stay grounded, need to stay sane. Otherwise I’ll never help her.

Spent the day telling Maya what I saw. Partly, I guess, to help understand it myself. I built a crude barricade of planks and broken furniture at the exit and set up an alarm. It’s just a few empty tin cans connected with fishing line trip wires. Primitive, I know. But it could give me the edge if anything comes. At least I hope it does.

I reconnected the telephone this morning. Don’t know why. I guess it’s some primitive desire for contact or a personal connection. Either that, or my subconscious is trying to tell me I should call 999. If so, it’s an odd desire because the phone’s been ringing all day, yet I’ve no desire to answer it. Nor will I call anyone. It’s just Maya and me. We’ll sort this out.

Back again. Fresher now, fit to write. I didn’t sleep much last night, but I guess it’s a miracle I could sleep at all -especially in the tunnel, especially now I now what lies at the other end. But I couldn’t leave Maya. I’ve been talking to her again this morning, telling her more about what I saw.

It was all so easy, you see. To go to the Parawerthan, I mean.

After the bones, the tunnel meandered on for another three hundred and sixteen steps. I counted every one of them. It’s only about two hundred and fifty yards, but it could have been a billion miles, or a trillion miles, or a… well, I don’t know. It’s a gateway, a door to another world. It’s impossible to gauge the distance. I doubt the known laws of physics could explain it. Perhaps there should be a new law. Ha ha. Yes. Keyes’ Law. A fitting memorial for him. Much better than any fake crypt.

There was nothing on the ground, not the faintest scrap of debris or speck of dust. The tunnel was spotlessly, sterilely clean. It was probably a good thing there was no dust because if I’d seen any tracks I’d have fled. I marked the walls with chalk every twenty paces. There were no offshoot tunnels. I made the marks for my own peace of mind. And how long and silent that journey was. So very silent. There was no echo from my steps, no sounds whatsoever apart from my breathing. A dream walk. That’s how I’d describe it. Or maybe nightmare’s a better word.

About an hour after I left Maya, I saw a glow of daylight ahead. That’s when the whispering wind came. Hell, I don’t what it was. I’ll call it a whispering wind because it made a whispering, rustling sound as it rushed along the tunnel. I didn’t run. Somehow I managed to stay perfectly still and fight the instinct to use the gun. Even when the tattoo pass on my chest began to glow with a faint bluish tinge, I didn’t budge. The wind curled around me. Up and down it went, top to toe, around and around. That unintelligible whispering was so angry, so spiteful, so intense, and yet so incredibly sad. Crazy. Then, as quickly as it had arrived, it was gone.

Buoyed up by a sense that I’d passed some test, I trotted towards the exit. Oh what a sight. About thirty feet beyond the entrance, a wall of jungle sprouted up from the dry, red earth. It looked tropical. Every leaf and stem on every bush and tree was so wide and fat it reminded me of our trip to Borneo two years ago. I didn’t leave the tunnel. I doubted my legs would have carried me out there anyway.

I couldn’t recognise a single plant. All the colours, the different shades of greens, browns, yellows, and reds, seemed faded and dead, like the colours on a painting left too many years in the sun. The atmosphere felt wrong, too. It was hot and heavy and damp, a thing that wrapped around my face like a damp cloth.

And how it stank.

Even after showering and changing clothes, the stink of rotting vegetation is still clogging my senses. A compost smell, dank and mouldy. (An expert on smells would have called it complex.) Everywhere I looked the trees were sagging, their boughs dipping, their leaves blotched and mottled black and dark grey in places. Everything was so beautiful, yet so bad. There was another frame machine out there. It was fixed solidly into the wall to the right of the exit. It was a few minutes before I noticed it. It’s so encrusted with a grey lichen type growth it’s almost perfectly camouflaged with the rock wall.

I think the tunnel empties out of a hill. I’m not sure. I didn’t dare look.