There were times when he tried to talk to his old friend, to apologise for what he had done and to find out where he now was. And, more importantly, if he was stuck here.
Robert’s answers ranged from muddled and vague, to entirely non-existent. One thing Templeton found strange was that Wilson seemed to harbour no ill will towards Templeton for what he had done. For, in truth, it was because of Templeton that Robert Wilson was here.
But Robert’s concentration seemed focused purely on getting them both to where they needed to be.
Wherever that was.
And so they continued, and Templeton’s raw body was ravaged further over the harsh ground as he was forced to crawl—the exposed nerves and muscles becoming coated in black dirt as the flesh started to puss, then scab.
The pain of it all never left him for a moment.
Templeton’s body was ruined, and he was exhausted, but Robert still dragged him on, telling him that the Great God had the answers Templeton searched for. When Templeton grew tired of not knowing, he threatened to stop completely.
Robert simply shrugged. ‘Then you will be left alone to torture and damnation here.’
That was enough to get the terrified and confused Templeton moving again.
Eventually, after cutting through yet another deep ravine—where he saw something unholy emerge from a wall and pull in a group of skinless people—they started an ascent. High above, towering in the sky at the head of the climb, Templeton saw a titanic monolith—the top of which was impossible to discern.
The massive object was too wide to know for sure, but Templeton sensed it was cylindrical in shape. As they grew closer, he was able to make out details on the surface.
While it had looked smooth and black from a distance, and indeed the material of which it was formed was of an obsidian appearance, other characteristics could be seen here too.
For one, behind the glass-like structure, Templeton could see shards of red light trapped within swirling pools of black. There were also alien markings and depictions on the surface.
But those details paled in significance to what Templeton saw lining the structure.
People!
Fused to the surface, they writhed and screamed in agony. Most were misshapen and melted, almost to the point of being unrecognisable, but some features could be made out—a sobbing face, the odd limb, a trail of intestines. A few seemed more whole, perhaps newly grafted to this thing.
These poor souls stretched all the way up into the distance.
Robert kept dragging Templeton closer, but now Templeton resisted.
‘What is it?’ he asked.
‘Ashklaar,’ Robert said, with a sense of reverence. ‘This is the god that wishes to speak to you.’
‘I don’t want to,’ Templeton said, feeling a further swell of dread bubble up inside of him.
‘No choice,’ Robert replied. ‘He has summoned you, and he will give you the answers you need. There is a way to survive in this place, and he will give it to you.’
‘I’m scared,’ Templeton admitted, and began pulling against Robert. The man let go of Templeton’s wrist and turned to him.
‘You cannot disobey the will of the god. You learned of The Great Ailing one, correct? The thing beneath the boiling sea? Well Ashklaar is feeding on that god, slowly digesting its very existence. The thing under the boiling sea. You believed that was a powerful being? Ashklaar burrows deep within the bowels of this place and it will continue to grow in strength, perhaps one day gaining enough power to eventually ascend, to reach the heights of the eternal nightmare Vao!’
Robert pointed to the sky above, to that impossible, swirling mass of stars. And to that great, terrifying, cosmic eye.
‘What will happen to me?’ Templeton asked.
‘Whatever Ashklaar wishes. But now is your only chance. You can see what happens to those who attempt to turn away from its knowledge.’
Robert gestured to the poor souls fused to the surface of the tower.
Of Ashklaar.
Templeton’s head dropped. He had no idea what to do and was completely overwhelmed.
He felt like he was in a nightmare, only he knew better.
This was real.
Robert grabbed his arm again and pulled. Templeton submitted, not knowing what else to do, and allowed himself to be dragged onwards again, up to the base of this gigantic thing. The red light inside was mesmerising to him, every bit as much as the melted, eviscerated bodies that still lived were terrifying.
‘What do we do now?’ Templeton asked.
In response, Robert pushed him from behind.
Templeton let out a shriek as his body made contact with the scorching surface. He tried to pull away… but could not.
He felt himself pulled into the smooth face of the tower, and a white-hot pain shot through him.
‘Robert!’ Templeton screamed. ‘What have you done?’
Pain engulfed him, and Robert began to laugh as Templeton’s body moved upwards—dragged along the surface, sliding between the other poor souls stuck here.
‘Getting my revenge!’ Robert shouted from below. ‘It was you that cast me out here, and Ashklaar promised me this moment. Enjoy your eternal damnation, Isaac. You have earned it!’ The man started to bellow out a mad laugh as Templeton was pulled farther and farther up.
Finally, when he was miles into the sky and could look out over the hellscape before him, he felt his body drawn deeper into the tower. His flesh started to dissolve and split painfully, and his insides ran along the searing surface, held fast by some unknown force.
The pain was unimaginable, but he did not die.
He never died, even as his body lost most of its form, becoming little more than pools of smeared gore as he was slowly melded into the form of Ashklaar. Time had no meaning for him because his existence like this would never end.
There was no respite.
Only eternal torment.
THE NETHERWELL HORROR
Chapter 1
He was scared. Terrified.
Just what the hell have I gotten myself into?
The air was cold, even though the cave at the base of the cliff offered some protection from the lashing rain outside. Waves from the sea crashed and roared, and the wind howled into the large natural chamber. Flickering flames of torchlight illuminated the area, which was both high and wide, and had stalagmites and stalactites spearing through the ground and ceiling. The rocky walls were sparsely decorated with spray-painted graffiti, a sign that youths used this cave as a place to congregate, and the litter on the ground—food wrappers, empty bottles of alcohol, and even, disgustingly, used condoms—were also a testament to that.
The man could smell salt from the sea and worried that the water would soon come rushing inside and start to flood the cave. Thankfully, however, the tide levels seemed low enough not to pose any danger, and the waves simply hit the sloping beach outside before gradually drifting back out. Another swell of seawater crashed onto the pebbles, and then the chaotic process repeated itself over and over again.
It was almost loud enough to drown out the sound of chanting from the man’s brethren, as well as the terrified cries of those who were to be sacrificed.
Almost drowned out their screams… but not quite. And it turned his stomach.
The man hadn’t meant for any of this to happen. He certainly hadn’t intended to join a fucking cult! He’d just wanted to find a place to finally lay down some roots and meet a girl to fall in love with.
He wanted to put his life back together.
And here, in this strange town, the man thought he’d found all of those things. But then it had all changed. The woman he loved—at least he thought he loved—opened his eyes to something new. Something strange. At first, it was intriguing, even if part of him knew that getting involved was a mistake. The whole thing was just so life-changing that he couldn’t help himself. He was resistant and sceptical at first, of course, but the things he’d see
n in such a short space of time had changed his outlook in short order. Then, he found himself begging to be a part of it all, to learn more.
In doing so, he’d never realised what would be demanded of him.
The man then felt a hand on his shoulder. It was her: the siren that had brought him into this new and terrifying world in the first place.
‘It’s time,’ she whispered, just loudly enough for him to hear over the waves and sobbing.
The three people who were bound and kneeling on the floor of the cave looked absolutely terror stricken. As well they should. They knew what was coming. They begged, which was only natural, but knew what was coming. The two men and lone woman who now pleaded were all members of the Order, but none were willing to give up their lives for it. Their loyalty didn’t quite stretch that far. In the end, though, that choice had not been theirs to make
‘Please,’ the woman begged. Her voice was quiet, almost inaudible as a savage wave crashed to the pebbled beach outside.
No one would listen to her, the man knew.
His throat felt dry. This girl’s face was a picture of fear. And seeing one so young—early twenties at best—look so scared was an upsetting thing.
But there was something else to her expression, as well. The realisation that an unpreventable death was only moments away. Not acceptance, because how could one accept something like that? No, this was more like a terrible understanding that nothing would save her now.
Nothing.
Her death, and the death of the two men with her, would take place tonight. And it would be the start of something both horrifying and incredible.
A strong wind blew through the cave again, and the dark robes of the gathered members of the Order all billowed and flapped. All of these people were completely covered and hidden by the heavy material they wore. The man’s own garment, like that of most of the other members, was a thick robe of a dark grey colour. Dull and unremarkable, it was woven of itchy fabric that irritated the skin. He felt like he was wearing an old burlap sack with a large hood that covered most of his face.
Only a handful of those present had different robes. Theirs were made of silk and were blood red, with elegant black patterns embossed on edges of the hood, the arms, and the base.
These people were the Elders, and they scared the hell out of him. Thankfully, however, that other person wasn’t present at this time. That other thing. The man had seen it before, always dressed in simple black cloth with a high collar, like a priest. That thing was even given distance and respect by the Elders themselves. The man was certain that when that dark presence—there was no other term for it—stared at him, it was looking directly into his soul. Still, just the fact that the Elders were present now was enough to scare him.
These victims, with hands tied behind their backs, had short chains around their necks and ankles, holding them in place. The iron chains were fixed to baseplates that had been bolted to the floor.
Escape was impossible.
The lives of the chosen would be forfeited in order to start something beyond imagination. Their blood was needed. As was their flesh. As were their souls.
But it was more than that. It wasn’t just the sacrifices that were important. It was where they would be sacrificed. This cave was special, as were the clifftops above it, though he wasn’t entirely sure why.
Three circular symbols had been drawn onto the rocky surface of the ground, and each of the chosen were placed within one. These symbols had initially been made in chalk, then tried again with the blood of the elders, and lastly redrawn with a liquid much darker and more viscous. What that liquid was, exactly, the man had no idea. But he did know a little of the markings themselves, and their meaning. The geometry of them—and geometry was the correct term—was special. The three rings, with other etchings within, were all confined inside a larger, circular seal, that had also been drawn in the same way.
The Seal of Moloch.
Other than the chosen three, no one else stood inside the outer seal. Instead, they all gathered around its perimeter.
Once fully desecrated and drained of life, the bodies of the sacrificed would stay in this cave, inside their respective symbols, for a short time. That would allow death to permeate into the ground and very air around them. The bodies would be found in due time, of course. But that was apparently of no concern to the Order. By then, things would have already been set in motion.
Another crash from the waves outside made the man jump. He noticed one of the Elders start to approach him and it was a struggle for him to keep from shaking.
The Elder then lifted up an arm and held out a knife.
Not shiny and sharp, but dull and rusted, with a thin blade that had a slight curve to it. The instrument used to start the killing did not need to be anything special, it only needed to inflict as much pain as possible.
‘Do what is required of you, my son,’ the Elder said. The man felt tears well up inside of him.
I’m not a murderer. I’m not a murderer. I’m not a murderer.
But if he didn’t do what was asked, and fully commit to the Order, then he knew full well what would happen. He would replace one of the chosen. He would then be the one shackled within the maddening seal in the centre of the cave, as all others watched on. It was his life that would be painfully taken from him. It was his body that would be sickeningly desecrated. And his soul that would… the man could scarcely even think about it. He knew the price of failure. They had told him he was special, destined for greatness, but that didn’t mean he could disobey their will.
The man locked eyes with the female sacrifice chained to the floor. Her brown hair was wild, and dirt streaked her plump, naked body. She had large, dark eyes, and they bored into him, pleading for mercy. The man knew, should their roles be reversed, the woman would have no hesitation in taking hold of the blade and gutting him. He knew she would enjoy every moment of it.
The Order had no shortage of blind devotees. But it seemed the devotion of these three did not extend quite so far as to give up their lives in the name of the ‘Truth.’
Still, just because the woman would have indeed killed him if given the chance, did that justify what he had to do?
‘Now!’ the elder yelled in a voice that was both sudden and almost deafening, easily overpowering the cacophony of the roaring sea outside.
The scared man felt his bladder loosen. He raised his hand and took hold of the handle of the blade.
I’m not a murderer. I’m not a murderer. I’m not a murderer.
‘Very good, my son,’ the Elder said. ‘Now… do it.'
Chapter 2
The morning air felt revitalising to Jim Taylor as he walked across the stony beach. The breeze had a bite to it, a sting, but it made him feel alive.
After he had gotten up that morning just before dawn had broken, as was typical for him, Jim’s joints felt stiff. His body, a shell of what it once was, ached like this every morning, and was a symptom of his advancing years. Years seemed to advance at an ever-quickening pace.
At seventy-three, Jim didn’t know how long he had left before he was finally reunited with his sweet Ada. And, just after waking—when he ached the most—was when he tended to think it would happen sooner rather than later. However, after heading off for his morning walk, things tended to look different. Jim’s body loosened. Hell, he’d even recently started some light jogging once a week.
Jim loved the early mornings—it was the perfect time of day. The red of the dawn sky was beautiful, especially when looking out over the sea. The sound of the waves was relaxing and peaceful. He was usually the only one out and about at such an early hour, and he enjoyed the solitude of it all. It was times like this, walking alone and taking in the natural beauty of the world, that Jim felt like he could live forever.
Well, maybe not forever, but long enough. There was another girl in his life now that he couldn’t bear to leave behind.
Jess.
She bounde
d across the beach up ahead of him, sprinting over wet pebbles and barking in delight. She would even trot into the shallow waters, going just deep enough for the sea to come up to the white fur of her chest.
The Border Collie was thirteen years old, and therefore quite advanced in age in her own right, though you couldn’t tell that from looking at her. White and black, with one brown eye and one blue eye from a pigment defect, she was full of life and energy whenever they went out for a walk. A hint of arthritis had developed in the old girl recently, something Jim had in common with her, but she didn’t let it hold her back. Jim heard her bark again, and he watched as she sprinted off up the beach towards the base of twin cliffs that looked out over the sea.
Between those cliffs, which jutted out into the sea like pincers, was a small river that cut into the land and ran back up through Netherwell Bay, separating two sides of the town. At low tide, you could walk the riverbed, which Jess loved to do. Today, however, Jim would need to use the footpaths and cross one of the many bridges farther up in order to get back to his own side.
The stick Jim walked with—a thick, polished wooden one, with a formed handle and brass base—helped him navigate the uneven beach that was a mix of browns and greys thanks to the stones that littered it. There were a few patches of exposed sand, which was muddy given the rain overnight, but the majority was wet stone pebbles, and therefore slippery underfoot. That meant Jim had to move a little slower and more carefully than usual. Still, he wasn’t concerned about Jess running off. She was well trained and loyal. The dog would often wander ahead to play and do her own thing, but she would always return. Jim had a feeling he knew where his furry companion was running off to now: the cave at the base of the cliffs, dug into the nearest one to him.
Hollows Cove, as it was known.
The natural void in the face of the cliff was a place Jess loved to explore. Jim wasn’t keen on letting her, truth be told, given it was often full of rubbish left behind by gangs of young troublemakers. He remembered one morning when Jess had run into the cave and disturbed a group of youths who had apparently slept there after partying through the night. Jim had seen the remains of a fire on the beach outside, as well as scores of empty bottles. It seemed like these kids had enjoyed a good night, though they were having a terrible morning after being woken up by Jess’ barking. They looked pale and ill and were all clearly suffering from terrible hangovers—even though none of them looked old enough to drink. Jim had commanded Jess back to his side, then left the group to their suffering.
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