God, I hated his idealism sometimes. I took another long gulp of whisky before replying, noticing with some dismay that I neared the end of the glass. I started to feel a pleasant buzz. Not enough yet, but I was working on it. Another couple of glasses and it would be a head dive into welcome sleep. I summoned up enough energy to get the words out.
"As far as I'm concerned he's welcome to it-the less people who see it the better. And yes, much as I like to smack the bad guys on the chin, this particular bad guy doesn't have one. Besides, I'm way out of my depth here. All this Twilight Zone stuff pisses me off-you know that."
I'd touched on a subject that we'd argued about in the past. Doug had always been an old hippie at heart, always willing to believe any old crap.
As for me, if I couldn't eat it, drink it, hit it or fuck it, I didn't want to know. I realize that as a philosophy of life it was pretty basic, but it had got me through-at least until yesterday. Now I wasn't so sure.
The sooner I got rid of the amulet the better. I certainly didn't intend spending a night in the company of the thing. Taking my whisky with me, I weaved my way to the telephone, managing not to hit any walls on the way.
The phone was answered immediately, and although it was again the early hours of the morning, Mrs. Dunlop didn't sound tired. There was something in her voice, a subtle draining of emotion, an inflection that told me that things weren't all well in the Dunlop household.
"Do you have it?" she asked. No preamble, just straight to the point. I decided to follow suit.
"I have it," I replied, then waited to hear her speak again. I could easily have fallen in love with that voice, and the more whisky I drank, the better it sounded.
"You'd better bring it to me now," she said. "Things are getting a bit out of hand."
I snorted down the phone at her.
"You don't know the half of it. I've got bad guys coming out of the woodwork-and I mean right out of the woodwork."
There was a long silence at the other end of the line, a silence that went on so long that I thought we might have been cut off. But then finally she spoke, and this time there was a certain wariness in her tone.
"I take it things have been getting a little strange?"
That was an understatement if I'd ever heard one.
"Yeah, more than a little." I tried to keep the tremor out of my voice, but didn't quite succeed.
"I think you would be safer here with us," she said. I didn't see how they could help, but I didn't argue with her. I would be safer just about anywhere.
She gave me directions as to how to find her, somewhere out of town near the Campsie Hills, and asked me to hurry.
"I don't think we have much time," she said. I didn't understand what she was talking about, but even over the telephone I could hear the fear in her voice. I hung up on her this time, but I couldn't take any pleasure in it.
I returned to the kitchen to find Doug scanning the pages of the book.
"Does this look familiar?" he asked, and showed me what he was looking at.
The bad thing for my peace of mind was that it did. There, in a woodcut from the twelfth century, was an exact representation of the tentacled creature, perfect down to the pumpkin head and the sharp pointed teeth. It stood in a clearing in a thick wood, and in its tentacles it held a collection of small woodland animals, each of which had been speared by one of the razor-toothed mouths.
It gave me the creeps just to look at it.
"It's known as the Gatekeeper," Doug said. "It is supposed to stand guard between this world and the ethereal dimensions beyond. But there doesn't seem to be anything else about it. Do you want me to look further?"
He was as eager to please as a puppy, but I'd had enough for one night. I leaned over to close the book and, as I did so, the tentacles wavered on the paper, and the great head turned, only a fraction, towards me. I sat back abruptly, almost spilling what little whisky I had left.
"Close the damn thing, will you," I almost shouted. "I've seen enough of that monster to last me a lifetime."
Doug shut the book and put it down on the table in front of me. I reached over and pushed it further away-it gave me the creeps. Doug stroked the amulet, a far-away look in his eyes.
"You know, nobody really understands where this thing came from originally. It certainly wasn't made by the Sumerians. The old books say that it's over twenty thousand years old. If I could just get it back to the University, we could run some tests on it, find out exactly when and where it was made. It would be a sensation, a world-wide sensation, if we could prove its provenance."
"Down, boy," I said. "You don't want to be famous, do you? Fast cars, loose women and cocaine parties?"
"You mean move to California, catch some sun and laze around a swimming pool, drinking Tequila all day?" he said.
Actually it didn't sound so bad put like that, but I wasn't tempted. The sooner I delivered the amulet, got paid and got back to a life of unrelieved tedium, the better. I took the amulet from him.
"I'm afraid the owner needs it back rather urgently."
After I told him of my proposed trip to the Campsies, Doug was adamant that he was going along.
"You've had far too much whisky to drive. Besides, if that thing turns up again, I'll be along with the book. There's several incantations in there for protection against the old ones-one of them might work."
I certainly laughed this time. "I don't think a few bits of paper are going to stop this guy," I replied, but he was right about the whisky, and I was grateful for his company.
"Just one thing, Derek: if we're going visiting, I think a change of clothes would be in order, for both of us."
I looked at him in his Mickey Mouse pajamas, and he looked at me with the bloody remnants of a shirt hanging from my shoulders, and simultaneously we burst out laughing. I could almost feel the tension drain out of me.
Doug showed me to his wardrobe. Luckily, we were both about the same size, but that was about the only thing I was thankful for. Doug's taste in clothes left a lot to be desired.
He had never really outgrown childhood, and the wardrobe was full of sweatshirts, denims and sneakers. I picked the least offensive sweatshirt. When I pulled on an old leather biker's jacket I felt like a refugee from an American teen movie.
When I looked in the mirror I could almost have fooled myself that the night's activities had been a dream. Apart from a plaster on my ear, there were no external signs of damage.
My eyes told a different story-they had a hunted, harried look, and a twitch had developed on my left eyebrow. Small lines had sprung at the corners of my eyes, deep furrows that I'd never seen before, furrows which I wasn't going to be able to pass off as laughter lines.
"Hey, Doug?" I shouted. He arrived in the doorway, partially dressed, one leg down a pair of tartan jogging trousers.
"How old do I look?" I asked.
"Oh, about eighty," he said. "In a good light."
I cuffed him lightly with my good arm. He overbalanced, tried to right himself, failed, and tore a hole in the seat of his jogging pants as he fell over.
"Just as well," I said. "Any man who visited Artie Dunlop wearing those would deserve everything he got."
We took his car. It was capable of more than fifty miles an hour, which mine wasn't, and it was waterproof, which mine wasn't. The rain had got heavier, if anything, and by the time we left the relative shelter of the city it washed in sheets down the windscreen.
Doug kept up a constant flow of drivel to do with Elder Gods from beyond the stars, strange sects who met in dark woodlands and called up ancient evils, and some old sci-fi writer called Lovecraft. I had long since tuned him out.
I wondered whether I qualified for another five hundred due to it being after midnight. I also wondered how long it would be before I got to sleep in my own bed after an alcohol-free day. After the sights I'd seen I thought it might be a while yet.
My mind gave me pictures from the day-the police station, the
'duchess', the ceremony, and the East End pub. It kept skirting round and round the scene in Marshall's house-the pictures bubbling to the front only to be pushed back down again. I didn't want to think too much about Marshall, and if I could forget him and his fate completely I wouldn't miss it one bit.
The whisky I'd had in Doug's flat began to take effect, and I had trouble keeping my eyes open. The heat of the car and the murmur of the rain on the roof soon lulled me into sleep.
I dreamed of pizza. Huge pizza the size of tabletops-tuna, anchovy, black olives and pineapple topping, with a side helping of garlic bread, a Caesar salad, and a portion of French fries.
I was jolted awake as the car came to a halt. I had been salivating, and tried to discreetly wipe myself clean as Doug pulled on the handbrake.
"Wake up. I think we're here," Doug said, shaking me awake. I tried to peer through the rain but all I could see was a gravel driveway and the black, lowering shadows of the trees on either side. My mouth felt gummy, as if the small hairy creatures from earlier had crawled back in and died while I slept. The wound in my arm throbbed in time with my heartbeat, and even breathing hurt due to the kicks I'd taken in the ribs.
"I need a cigarette," I managed to mumble, fumbling my packet out from the deep inner pocket of the leather jacket.
"Yeah. Me, too," said Doug.
We lit up, neither of us with steady hands.
I noticed that he had the old book in his lap, and that his left hand was now curled around its spine, so tight that his knuckles had gone white.
"So what do you really think about the amulet?" I asked him as I puffed gratefully on the Marlboro, finally beginning to come awake.
"You mean, out here, in the middle of nowhere, with the dark wind howling and the trees writhing in the rain? At the moment I think you're right: the sooner we get shut of it, the better. It doesn't feel right. Let's just get rid of it so we can get home and demolish the rest of the whisky. Okay?"
I was in complete agreement. I wound down the window and flicked the smoldering butt of the cigarette out into the rain. I opened the door, wincing as the wind and rain swept in and the cold hit me. I put one foot out of the door, and it was on me before I had time to react.
The combination of cigarette smoke and wind must have stopped the smell from getting through before, but now my nostrils flared in disgust. The first thing I felt was a jolt as a tentacle lashed across my face, the tiny jaws zipping past my eyes, just missing taking my nose off as they snapped shut with a disappointed squeal. The rest of it came through into full solidity.
I found myself looking into a nest of writhing, chittering tentacles that swayed and danced in a forest around my head. Before I had time to react I was caught by the shoulders by at least four tentacles. They dragged me completely out of the car, kicking and squealing.
Doug screamed at the top of his lungs behind me. I felt like joining in, but the fear had almost paralyzed me, my heart felt tight and the screams bottled up in my throat. The tentacles parted and the great red head was revealed in all its gory glory.
I knew that somewhere in the depths there was a pair of scarlet, burning eyes, but they seemed to be covered in convoluted folds of raw, steak-like meat which squirmed as if a horde of maggots was squirming underneath the skin.
It pulsed, and the mouths on the tentacles screamed in rhythm as I got hauled closer to the main body. I hit out at the head, as hard as I could, and felt the flesh squash and buckle under my fist. It flowed and melted, beginning to crawl over my knuckles, and I just had time to pull my hand back before the flesh engulfed it. I left behind a large indentation in the head that seemed to fill with red, viscous blood before it flowed back into position.
The tentacles at my shoulders gnawed at the material of the jacket. I said a silent prayer to the god of black leather-it seemed to hold off their assault, for now, anyway. The beast lifted me higher and my feet left the ground.
Two of the tentacles waved in front of my eyes, hypnotic and enticing. The tiny silver teeth gleamed wickedly, and a long, forked tongue slithered and squirmed inside each of the mouths. They targeted themselves on my eyes, and moved closer.
Suddenly the thing dropped me to the gravel. I hit it hard and earned myself a new burst of pain from my damaged arm. For several seconds all I could do was lie there gasping, sucking in the rain.
Doug stood on the far side of the car. He held the amulet above his head and had the book open in his other hand.
"Barak klendor ig-nylauh prantan."
"Ia C'thulhu, Ia Sototh"
"Karam Ig F'thang"
The chant rang through my head, and the legs of the thing buckled as it made for Doug. It didn't go round the car-it climbed over it, giving me a perfect view of its hindquarters.
Down there, amongst a matted mess of pubic hairs, two tiny tentacles, no more than six inches long, waved and swayed in the wind.
The long talons on its feet scratched deep gouges in the bonnet of the car as it pulled itself over, closer to Doug.
I tried to push myself upright, but I had forgotten about my bad arm-it gave out under me and I fell back to the gravel.
"Cylar kornat trantom Ka"
"Karam Ig F'thang"
"Karam Ig F'thang"
Doug shouted through the rain, and time seemed to stand still. The amulet flashed blue in his hand, an almost blinding glare that seemed to freeze the creature on top of the hood. It raised its head and screamed, a howl that shook leaves out of the trees above us and threatened to chill the blood in my veins.
I almost cheered as the tentacles pulsed in and out of reality. I could make out the shape of the house beyond through the rapidly disappearing body of the creature.
"Get the fucker!" I shouted to Doug, not realizing that I was laughing.
But I celebrated too early. Still fading, the creature fell on Doug and tentacles grabbed him at the arm and waist. He looked over at me, the fear big in his eyes. He didn't even have time to struggle before fading along with it, his body becoming almost translucent.
A tentacle entered his cheek, slowly tearing a strip of flesh into ribbons and sending a gout of blood out into the night. His body faded down into transparency and I heard him scream, a long fading howl as they faded for the last time. I heard a thud as the book hit the gravel, but the amulet was gone, taken with them.
I crawled round to the spot where they had been.
"Doug!" I shouted, but there was no reply.
I picked up the book, hoping to find something, an incantation or a spell, which would bring them back. But the rain blinded me, and the water ran across the pages, leaving the text as a rippling blur. I tossed it away from me in disgust.
I think I could quite happily have stayed there in the rain, screaming my frustration and rage and pain into the gravel, but a hand on my shoulder stopped me. I turned and looked up into the sad blue eyes of Mrs. Dunlop.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Adams. We weren't strong enough to stop it."
I noticed that she had already picked up Doug's book from where I'd thrown it. She helped me to my feet and began to lead me towards the house, but I wasn't ready to go just yet.
"Bring him back. You know something about this mess. Bring him back."
I realized that I'd screamed at her, only six inches from her face, but she didn't flinch, and, if anything, her eyes looked even sadder.
"I'm afraid we can't do that. We just don't have the power...not at the moment, anyway. You had better come inside. I think Arthur and I have some explaining to do."
I closed the car door after retrieving my cigarettes, and had to fight to suppress a sob. Doug was gone, and I had got him into it. Another friend had asked me for help, and once more I'd let them down. I wasn't going to be able to forgive myself, but someone, or something, was going to pay for this night's work.
The rain pelted down again, and I got soaked, but I stood for long seconds by the car, looking at the gouges on the bonnet, remembering.
"Just
stay alive, Doug. Just stay alive till I get to you," I whispered, and had to shake my head. For a second it seemed as if he had answered, his voice screaming from a great distance:
"Help me. Help me."
I stopped and listened, straining at the edge of hearing, but there was only the wind in the trees. Dunlop's wife was already on her way back to the house, and I finally followed, hunched over against the rain.
The house was a huge, ancient, crumbling pile, all sandstone and ivy, and once into the hall it was like stepping back in time. The walls were hung with tapestries, old worn pictures of long forgotten battles. A grandfather clock stood imperiously in the corner. I'm no expert, but I would guess it was at least three hundred years old. Interspersed among the tapestries were ancient weapons, well worn, glistening with the patina of old age: claymores, muskets and pikes.
I half expected to come across a suit of armor or a bearskin rug, and wasn't surprised to find a rack of cabinets containing, amongst others, a stuffed otter and a very old badger with a sad case of mange.
I dripped water across the thick pile carpeting as she led me further into the house and showed me into a large room. The floor had been stripped bare, revealing shiny, varnished floorboards.
The second thing that caught my eye was the fireplace. It stood almost eight feet tall, and the blaze in the grate would have done justice to many a Guy Fawkes celebration. At that moment all I wanted to do was curl up in front of it and fall into the blackness of sleep, but I didn't think sleep would come, not for a while yet. Doug's screams still rang in my ears. There was more weaponry on show around the walls, and enough hardwood fittings to keep a small rain forest going. But more than that, there were the books-rank after rank of fine leather tomes in fine mahogany cases.
It was only after my gaze had circled the room that I allowed myself to look at the center, at the thing I had been avoiding. Some sort of diagram had been drawn out on the floor-a large circle with a five-pointed star inside. At each point of the star there was a candle and a small incense burner sending blue smoke up to hang in a heavy sheet in the still air.
The outside of the circle was inscribed with some indecipherable script, reminding me of Hebrew more than anything, and inside the circle, propped up on a bed of blankets and cushions, was Arthur Dunlop.
The Amulet Page 13
