Black Acres- The Complete Collection

by Ambrose Ibsen

  The figure had gone around a bend, seemed to be headed to that spot where he'd earlier discovered the open grave. This knocked the pep from his step and he approached with a good deal more caution, quickly losing sight of the pale, shambling form. He was close to the woods now, could smell the crisp earthiness that radiated from them always. He could see, too, the evidences of amber light coming in through breaks in the trees. What purpose it served, if any, was a mystery to him, though he couldn't shake off thoughts of the Warlock John Kelley and his supposed treacheries in these same woods. Recalling the details of that tale, his toes curled against the soles of his shoes. It was almost as though his body knew on a subconscious level that these were desecrated lands never meant to be tread.

  But he went on.

  After all he'd been through that day, how could he not go on? This was his sole lead. Kim, possibly delirious, had wandered out of the house the night previous and was now stumbling through the field in a dazed stupor. He'd been fortunate enough to catch a glimpse of her before she disappeared again, and now had his chance to gain on her. She's OK after all, he assured himself half-heartedly, his lungs burning for the chill night air.

  Coming to a stop, Julian decided to call out to her. He was some time in summoning his voice, but when her name finally left his lips, the effect was muffled by the woods. Something about those ominous black trunks ate up his voice and regurgitated it into the morass, where it lived on in small, disparate echoes. A bolus of dread sealed off his throat and kept him from repeating what he now felt had been a mistake. Vocalizing, raising his voice out here, in the open, was surely unwise. Glancing back at the ground he'd covered, at the house which sat in the distance with some few dim-burning windows, he felt every bit as naked and vulnerable as the mark he pursued.

  For a time he was cemented in place, hesitant to move forward and even more nervous that his call should elicit a reply.

  There was only silence, however. Silence, and the curious piping of windblown song as the breeze worked its way about the nearby trees. He gripped the handle of the knife, a serrated one, and squeezed it until his nerves were sufficiently ratcheted. Then, licking his lips, he continued.

  Rounding the corner, he saw the field shoot on into the twilight, but there was no sign of the figure. Of course, he knew himself to be on the threshold now of that yawning open grave, could have taken fifteen, thirty steps and fallen straight in had he only the inclination to move. The woods to his side fell pestilentially quiet once again, and the gnarled bark of each individual tree seemed to furrow in a leer. He broke away from them a few paces and caught his breath, teeth chattering.

  Reaching out with his light he canvassed the way ahead, catching a glimpse at once of something that did not belong. The aberrancy stood out amidst the scenery of tall grass, of moonlit spaces, of stillness. The first indication that something was awry came to him as the blades of grass ahead began to twitch and rise. They'd been trampled on only moments ago, it was clear. The object of his pursuit had blazed this trail that he now studied. But then, some ten or fifteen feet away, emerging furtively from the edge of that chasm he knew to exist there, Julian glimpsed the edges of a pale countenance, covered up by a mask of white plaster, and crowned by a wild nest of black hair. Though the shifting of the shadows could only give him so much detail, his brief surveyance was sufficient to reveal to him the pair of tiny eyeholes, from whence there came a dark and poisonous stare.

  His heart crashed into his ribcage and he nearly fell back, ending up instead on one knee. His entire body convulsed as his leg met the chill grass, and he raised the knife before him as though it were a cross to ward off a vampire. Had the thing raced at him just then however, the knife would have been an impotent thing. He was held fast by the figure's veiled stare.

  For some time the two parties remained in this position, staring at each other and not daring to speak. Julian thought once or twice to call out to his wife, but the longer he lingered there the less sure he became that this was, in fact, Kim. From what little he had gathered up to this point, he'd noticed a few familiar characteristics; the dark hair, the general shape of the body. But now he was less certain, the grotesque mask adding no shortage of doubt where surety had already been scarce.

  Then, suddenly, the figure disappeared into the chasm. The sound, as if of a thousand legs scurrying hurriedly against bare earth, accompanied its precipitous flight from view. Even some moments later he could hear the quick, fleshy smacks of wild limbs in locomotion beneath his feet. Julian staggered back, disgusted with the knowledge that the figure now dwelt beneath him, in the dark bowels of the earth, like vermin. Not to be dissuaded however, he slowly made his way forward, shuffling so as not to telegraph his approach by way of vibrations in the ground, and brought his light to the edge of the aperture.

  What he found within was not at all what he'd expected, and in that moment he loosed a full-on scream.

  The light was sluggish in reaching the bottom of the pit, where, nestled in amidst the mounds of disturbed earth, could be seen a pale, naked body. The mask-wearing figure was squeezed into a tight fetal position, her cartoonish visage pulled up and away towards the sky. But it was not this alone that unsettled him. From within the adjoining passage that ran directly beneath his feet, Julian heard the hurried scurrying of a thousand legs once more, issuing from deep underground. Something was moving, at great speed, and was clearly headed for the exit of the tunnel. Whatever he'd heard just moments ago was returning.

  It had heard him.

  The figure he'd given chase to was, so far as he could tell, Kim. The shape of the body was right, even if the cold had sapped all color from it and given it an unearthly paleness. That she was dead, too, was all too clear. He couldn't be sure how her body had gotten there, or where she'd come upon the mask, but that her form had been tugged along the field like a dumb marionette by this conniving thing that now clamored through the underground for him was all too apparent. He'd been baited like a trophy fish, had gone straight for the lure just as planned. And he knew it.

  Julian wanted to run, to escape to the house, but couldn't find it in himself to turn around. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as though he'd been electrocuted and his eyes settled on the still, bone-white form of his dead wife until something else emerged from the floor of the den and captured his attention.

  A hand. And then another. They burst out into the open from the mouth of the yawning tunnel, basking in the moonlight with spectral whiteness. The fingers were bereft of nails and each digit squirmed seemingly of its own accord, was commanded by its own bundle of nerves. As the fingers twitched along the lip of the passage they gave the impression of an insect's feelers. The air was being tested and he was being presently appraised without his even knowing it.

  He was unprepared for the third, fourth and fifth hands, of precisely the same appearance, which emerged quickly thereafter in similar fashion. As he staggered back, he thought that numerous captors must dwell in the passage beneath his feet, but he soon realized each of the limbs belonged to a singular entity, and his horror was all the more compounded by this fact. Julian lost his breath, fell onto the grass before turning and scrambling absentmindedly. He had no direction in mind, had completely lost his bearing. But that didn't matter. He needed to put as much space between himself and the thing which now rushed noisily from its subterranean hold as possible.

  He didn't get far, however.

  His right ankle went slack beneath the grip of an unseen pursuer. He yelped, lost his footing and slammed into the ground face-first. The moist grass was frigid, blasting his nervous system with another rude shock while the grip on his foot tightened and he was slowly pulled back towards the site of the open grave. At first he thought to dig his hands and elbows in, but no matter the nature of his resistance, he was steadily drawn in. Turning as best he could, he looked down at his foot, at the edge of the aperture, looming ever closer.

  It was no hand that'd taken hold
of his ankle, though he could see, to his unutterable horror, at least a dozen of those grasping, porcelain white hands, with their pitted, empty nailbeds, erupting from the chasm. What now snaked its way up his leg and yanked him across the field with great force, was a black tendril. It was tough, coarse against his skin, and his feeble tuggings did not phase it in the least.

  Julian was only feet from tumbling into the grave, from the sea of white, searching hands, when the moonlight revealed to him the nature of the appendage that dragged him through the grass.

  It was a length of jet-black hair.

  Forty-Three

  That his brain had betrayed him, sent him forthwith into unconsciousness, he was certain. His system couldn't handle the shock of falling into the pit, could not sustain the grotesque sensation of those cold, lifeless hands groping about his body and ushering him into the bowels of the earth. That was the last thing he remembered; the hands. His limbs had been seized from all corners and his body transported deftly through the underground. He felt himself in the clutches of a great and terrible insect, and knew himself bound for its nest. At the last glimmer of moonlight, as he was pulled into the tunnel and away from Kim's limp body, his constitution failed him.

  But he awoke.

  The stirrings of consciousness brought with them a hint of that tempestuous fear that'd taken him under, and before even he could open his eyes a scream welled up in his throat. It was trapped there, the air scarce and moist. He slowly regained control of his hands and reached out all about him. Above there was something like wood, but it was soggy, knotted. Beneath him only soil. Shuddering, he sucked up what little oxygen he could and was simply thankful to be unmolested. As though it were a debris he could shake off, he patted at his arms and chest, hoping to exorcise the chill that those hideous paws had left behind.

  Upon opening his eyes, he found he could see nothing. Or, at least, close to nothing. The very borders of his vision featured something of light, but it was dim and distant. It existed only in thin bands, like the light which is seen through the seams of a tightly-sealed door. He blinked, turned his head, and ran his palms against the grooved wood above him. Rolling over onto his stomach and attempting to further explore the space, he calmed his mind and tried to visualize his surroundings. It took little time for him to realize where he was.

  You're underneath the house.

  He moistened his lips, feeling out a bit of the space that was large enough for him to sit up in. Though his study was brief, there appeared to be sections here, beneath the floors of the house, that allowed him room to sit more or less comfortably, and others still, like the one he'd woke up in, which were far tighter. Here and there he could feel dense wooden posts in the ground. These were supports of some kind for the whole structure, and they went into the foundation below. Searching through the darkness, Julian knew that the tunnel entrance was close-by. The tunnel served to connect the house to the grave. Something inhuman, infernal, had made the passage and linked the two. He tensed. Something that John Kelley conjured up... that thing, from the woods... it brought me here.

  Movement. He heard something shift nearby, and immediately his body went stiff. He clutched at his knees, waiting for something to lash out at him, to finish the job. In time however, the noise faded and he was left to gather his scattered thoughts. It's still here with me, somewhere. His breath retreated for a time and he found it hard to breathe in the musty air. Somehow, he'd have to find his way through the space, to break through some flimsy barrier and crawl out onto the lawn. That was his only chance. It was possible, too, that he could find the tunnel and go out that way, though it was a long way for him to wander in perfect darkness. There was no telling what awaited him there, either.

  Attempting to compose himself, Julian rifled through his pockets and almost gave a yelp of joy in discovering his cell phone. This, he knew, might give him light enough to explore. Running his palm against the cool screen, he felt out the home button. Before pressing it however, he hesitated. It'll help you see, but then, it could make you an easier target, too. Could the creature that'd brought him down there, the creature with a hundred grasping hands, see him in the dark? He wagered that it probably could. He was the only one at a disadvantage here, the only one out of his element. Using the light could only improve his odds. Slowly, he raised up his phone and hit the button, flinching as it came on.

  The light was bright, making his eyes hurt. Blinking hard, he moved it this way and that, the glow hanging in the air for a moment as though the rays were suspended in the murk. When his eyes had become more accustomed to the whitish light, he carefully pushed himself onto his haunches and took a good look at his immediate surroundings. He was indeed beneath the house, could see the bottoms of what he presumed to be the floors of the lower level. Every corner he could glimpse featured something of slime-like mold or cobwebs. Steadying himself against one of the meaty support beams, he moved forward. The way was narrower, forcing him down onto his stomach to crawl. All the while Julian held the light out before him. The sounds of his locomotion seemed amplified a thousand times, and when coupled with the light of his phone, he felt sure he was an easy target. The thing was going to see him. There was no way it could miss him down here.

  But nothing came.

  He lifted himself up, pausing in the next section, his vision zeroing in on something curious just beyond the edge of his light. Julian leaned further still, reaching through the shadows to elucidate the thing before him. In order to see it up close he would have to navigate the next section, crawl on his belly again. He hesitated to do so, but ultimately had no choice. From where he stooped, it seemed large and bound in cloth. The cloth was probably a reddish flannel pattern, but he couldn't be certain. When the thing failed to move, his boldness grew and he dropped onto his stomach, pulling himself forward with his elbows until he was close by.

  Raising the light, Julian examined it from less than a foot away.

  He dropped the phone. His nostrils were filled to bursting with a smell like dust and his heart thumped hard against his sternum as though it were throwing in the towel.

  It was a man.

  Long dead, the body was bunched up and leaning against the nearest support column in something of a crouch. The skin, or what blackened swaths of it remained, had settled closely to the bones, lending it a mummified appearance. Dressed in a flannel shirt and torn blue jeans, the figure clutched at something with its gnarled hands.

  A statue of the Virgin Mary, not unlike the ones he and Kim had found in the cellar chamber.

  A study of the face yielded a visceral reaction in him; the eyes had long decomposed, leaving only shadowed sockets. Yellowed teeth were bared in what could only be called an expression of dread terror. This, coupled with the posture of the body in death, pointed to only one thing. Like himself, this man had been cornered down here. He'd probably been dragged through the underground himself, had taken refuge near this support beam, only to meet his end. Though the light now shook in his hand, Julian could see long tangles of black hair affixed to the body's wrists and neck.

  This, probably, was the body of Marshall Reed.

  A large, hairy spider emerged from one of the empty eye sockets, its thick legs playing odiously against the warped cheek, before disappearing once more into the cavity. Julian staggered back, nailing the back of his head against a low-lying piece of wood. Cursing, he looked about him, his heart thundering at the prospect of arousing attention.

  Still, nothing came.

  Separating himself from the corpse, he raised his light and shot off in the opposite direction; a direction which, if his instinct was correct, might lead him to the edge of the house. When he got there, he hoped he'd be able to pry a board loose or kick through it. The sides of the house were done up in stucco, but the bits of moonlight he'd seen peeking through the edges from a distance told him that the seal to the foundation was not so strong that he'd be unable to break through it. If he worked fast enough he could kic
k through the wooden support, through the exterior of the house, and scramble out onto the lawn. From there, he'd run as hard and fast as was necessary to reach civilization.

  Rushing forward, Julian did his best to keep the light steady. Now and then he would pause, listen, to make sure that the sounds of movement that filled his ears were solely his own. Feeling emboldened by the seeming lack of pursuit, he hurried onward, crouching and crawling as was necessary.

  He'd gone a long way however, and still hadn't managed to reach the edge of the house.

  Every breath brought with it a bit of dust. He could feel it in his forehead, in the stinging ache it incited behind his eyes and in his sinuses. Sitting up, he held out his phone and canvassed the space afresh.

  Something had changed. The layout here was different. There were no more wooden support beams to be seen. In fact, there was nothing but wide, open space. The soil was damp, as though it'd been soaked by a chill autumn rain. But save for pervasive darkness, there was precious little else. Julian grit his teeth, unnerved by the way that this new darkness seemed to eat up the light from his phone. He glanced at the screen. It was still on, still shining. The darkness here, though, was of a completely different sort. It was primordial, so dense that it could scarcely be parted by his feeble light.

  Something suddenly rose up in him. It was primal fear, the fear of an animal walking headlong into the slaughter. You should turn around. Turn around and find another way out. This... this isn't it. No one... no one is supposed to come this way.

  He knew there was a way out of this dark labyrinth, but this wasn't it. He'd wandered somewhere else, to a place he shouldn't have gone. A place where no living person had any reason to go.

  Memory called up the article he'd read that night, about the warlock John Kelley, about the things he'd done and the things he'd allegedly summoned from the Pit.