The Mammoth Book of Vampires: New edition (Mammoth Books)

by Stephen Jones

  “I don’t believe you.” Brian shook his head. “I won’t – can’t believe you.”

  “No!” She laughed and Carlo howled. “Then feel the walls. They are warm, flesh of his flesh. Moist. The body fluids seep out when he is aroused. Look.” She pointed to a great double door set in one wall. “Look, the mouth. When I open the lips, food pops in. Succulent, living food and we all benefit. I, Carlo, who sprang from the old people – I still let him roam the moors when the moon is full – and, of course, He. The House. He needs all the sweet essence he can get. He sleeps after meat and no longer moans. I do not like to hear him moan.”

  “Where is Rosemary?” Brian asked again and knew what must follow.

  “She passed through the lips an hour since.” Mrs Brown laughed very softly and Carlo made a whining sound. “Now, if you would find her, there is not really much alternative. You must follow her through the great intestines, down into the mighty bowels. Wander and cry out, trudge on and on, until at last your will is broken and He can take from you what he needs.”

  “You want me to go through those doors?” Brian asked, and there was a glimmer of hope. “Then go wandering through the corridors of an empty house? When I find Rosemary, we will break out.”

  The woman smiled as she motioned to Carlo.

  “Part the lips, Carlo.”

  The man, if indeed that which crept forward was a man, silently obeyed; the great doors groaned as they swung inwards and Brian saw a murky passage, lined with green tinted walls. A warm, sweet, cloying odour made his stomach heave and he drew back.

  “She’s waiting for you,” Mrs Brown said softly, “and she must be very frightened wandering through the labyrinth, not exactly alone, but I doubt if she will appreciate the company. Most of them will be well digested by now.”

  Carlo was waiting, his hand on the handle of one door; his eyes were those of a hungry wolf who sees his prey about to be devoured by a lion. Brian, without a sideways glance, passed through the entrance and the doors slammed to behind him.

  There were no stairs. The corridors sometimes sloped upwards, at others they spiralled down; there were stretches when the floor was comparatively level, but the corridors were never straight for long. They twisted, crossed other passages, suddenly split, leaving the wanderer with a choice of three or more openings; occasionally they came to a blank end, forcing him to retrace his footsteps. Light was provided by an eerie greenish glow radiating from the walls and ceiling and sometimes this light pulsated, suggesting it originated from some form of decay.

  Brian stumbled onwards, shouting Rosemary’s name, and his echo mocked him, went racing on ahead until it became a faraway voice calling back along the avenues of time. Once he stumbled and fell against the wall. Instantly, the moist, green surface contracted under his weight and there was an obscene sucking sound when he pulled himself free. A portion of his shirt sleeve remained stuck to the wall and there was a red mark on his arm.

  When he had been walking for some thirty minutes he came upon the window passage. There was no other word to describe it, for one wall was lined with windows, each one set about six feet apart, and he gave a little cry of joy, certain this was the place from which he and Rosemary could make their escape. Then he saw them. Before each window stood one, occasionally two, forms – hideously thin, scarecrow figures that pawed at the window panes with claw-like fingers and emitted little animal whimpers.

  Brian approached the first window and gave a quick glance through the grimy panes. He was two floors, if that was the right expression, up, and he saw the lawn then, further out, the moors, all bathed in brilliant moonlight. Even as he watched, a great hound went bounding across the lawn. It cleared the low wall in a single leap, then streaked out across the moor. Something touched Brian’s arm and he spun round to face one of the creatures that had silently crept along from the next window. He saw at close quarters the skeleton face covered with brown, wrinkled skin, and the vacant blue eyes that stared up at him with mute, suffering appeal. He judged the man to have been a tramp, or possibly a gypsy, for he wore the remnants of a red shirt and brown corduroy trousers. The claw-hands plucked feebly at his arm, the mouth opened, revealing toothless gums, and a hoarse whisper seeped out.

  “The old cow said come in.”

  “How long have you been here?” Brian asked, uncomfortably aware that a number of other grotesque bundles of rag and bones were leaving their posts by the windows and slithering on naked feet towards him. The whisper came again.

  “The old cow said come in.”

  “Have you seen a young girl?” Brian shouted. “Have any of you seen a girl?”

  The man tried to grip his arm, but there was no strength left in the wasted frame and he could only repeat the single phrase:

  “The old cow said come in.”

  They were all clustered round him. Three bore some resemblance to women, although their hair had fallen out, and one, a tall, beanstalk of a creature, kept mumbling: “Pretty boy,” while she tried unsuccessfully to fasten her gums into his neck.

  “Break the windows!” Brian shouted, pushing them away as gently as he could. “Listen, break the windows, then I’ll be able to climb down and fetch help.”

  “The old cow said come in.” The man could only repeat over and over the six ominous words, and a wizened, awful thing, no higher than a child, kept muttering: “Meat,” as it tried to fasten its mouth on Brian’s right hand.

  Unreasoning terror made him strike the creature full in the face and it went crashing back against the wall. Instantly, the green surface bent inwards and a deep sigh ran through the house, making the ghastly pack go slithering along the corridor, their remaining spark of intelligence having presumably warned them this sound was something to be feared. The small, child-size figure was left, stuck to the wall like a fly on gummed paper, and, as the green light pulsated, the creature jerked in unison.

  Brian pulled off one of his shoes and smashed the heel against the nearest window-pane. He might just as well have struck a slab of solid rock for all the impression he made, and at last he gave up and continued his search for Rosemary. After an hour of trudging wearily along green-tinted passages, he had no idea how far he had travelled, or if indeed he was just going round in a perpetual circle. He found himself dragging his feet, making the same hesitant, slithering footsteps that had so alarmed him in his bedroom, centuries ago.

  The corridors were never silent, for there were always cries, usually some way off, and a strange thudding sound which came into being when the green light pulsated, but these offstage noises became as a murmur when the scream rang out. It was a cry of despair, a call for help, a fear-born prayer, and at once Brian knew who had screamed. He shouted Rosemary’s name as he broke into a run, terrified lest he be unable to reach her, at the same time in dread of what he might find. Had she not screamed again he would doubtlessly have taken the wrong passage, but when the second shriek rang out he ran towards the sound and presently came to a kind of circular hall. They were clinging to her like leeches to a drowning horse. Their skeleton hands were tearing her dress, their toothless mouths fouled her flesh, and all the while they squealed like a herd of hungry pigs. He pulled them away and the soulless bodies went hurtling back against vibrating walls; bones snapped like frost-crisp twigs and despairing whimpers rose to an unholy chorus.

  He took Rosemary in his arms and she clung to him as though he were life itself, clutching his shoulders in a terrified grip while she cried like a lost child. He murmured soft, unintelligible words, trying to reassure himself as much as her, then screamed at the pack who were again slowly moving in.

  “Don’t you understand, this is not real. It’s the projection of a mad brain. A crazy nightmare. Try to find a way out.”

  It is doubtful if they heard, let alone understood what he was saying, and those that could still move were edging their way forward like rats whose hunger is greater than their fear.

  “Can you walk?” he asked Rosem
ary and the girl nodded. “Good, then we must make our way downwards. The woman’s apartment is on the ground floor and our only hope is to batter those doors in and escape across the lawn.”

  “It’s impossible.” Rosemary was clinging to his arm and they were leaving the creatures behind. “This place is a labyrinth. We will wander round and round these corridors until we drop.”

  “Nonsense.” He spoke sharply. “The house can’t be all that big and we are young and fit. So long as we go down, we’re bound to find the doors.”

  This was easier said than done. Many corridors sloped down, only to slant up again, but presently they came out into a window passage and found they were somewhere at the rear of the house, but only one floor up.

  “Now,” Brian kissed Rosemary. “Only one more slope to go and we’re there.”

  “But we’re the wrong side of the house,” Rosemary complained, “and even if we find the doors, how are you going to break through them?”

  “One step at a time. Let’s find them first, then, maybe, I’ll use you as a battering ram.”

  It took an hour to find the next downward slope and then only after they had retraced their steps several times, but at last they were moving downwards, Rosemary shivered.

  “It’s getting colder.”

  “Yes, and that damned stink is becoming more pronounced. But never mind, we’ll soon be there.”

  They went steadily downwards for another five minutes and then Rosemary began to cry.

  “Brian, I can’t go on much longer. Surely we’ve passed the ground floor ages ago? And there’s something awful down here. I can feel it.”

  “It can’t be more awful than what’s up above,” he retorted grimly. “We must go on. There’s no turning back unless you want to finish up a zombie.”

  “Zombie!” She repeated dully.

  “What did you imagine those things were, back there? They died long ago and only keep going because the house gives them a sort of half life. Mrs Brown and Carlo appear to be better provided for, but they died centuries ago.”

  “I can’t believe all this.” Rosemary shuddered. “How can a place like this exist in the twentieth century?”

  “It doesn’t. I should imagine we stumbled across the house at the right, or in our case, the wrong time. I suppose you might call it a time-trap.”

  “I don’t know what you are talking about,” Rosemary said, then added, “I very rarely do.”

  The passage was becoming steeper, spiralling round and sloping down until they had difficulty in remaining upright. Then the floor levelled out and after a space of about six feet came to an end.

  “Earth.” Brian felt the termination wall. “Good, honest earth.”

  “Earth,” Rosemary repeated. “So what?”

  Brian raised his eyes ceilingwards and then spoke in a carefully controlled voice. “So far we have been walking on a floor and between walls that are constructed of something very nasty. Right? Now we are facing a wall built or shovelled into place – I don’t care – of plain, down to earth – earth. Got it?”

  Rosemary nodded. “Yes, so we have got down to the house foundations. But I thought we were looking for the doors.”

  Brian gripped her shoulders.

  “Say that again.”

  “Say what again? Look, you’re hurting me.”

  He shook her gently. “The first bit.”

  She thought for a moment. “So we have got down to the house foundations. What’s so important about that?”

  He released her and went up close to the wall, where he stood for a few minutes examining its surface, then he came back and tilted her chin up so she was looking directly into his eyes.

  “Will you try to be very, very brave?”

  Fear came rushing back and she shivered.

  “Why?”

  “Because I am going to break down that wall.” He spoke very slowly. “And on the other side we may find something very nasty indeed.”

  She did not move her head, only continued to gaze up into his eyes.

  “Isn’t there any other way?” she whispered.

  He shook his head.

  “None. None whatsoever.”

  There was a minute of complete silence, then:

  “What are you going to use as a shovel?”

  He laughed and went back to the wall which he pounded with his fist.

  “I could say you have a point there, but I won’t. Let’s take an inventory. What have we that is pick – and shovel-worthy? Our hands, of course. Shoes? Maybe.” He felt in his pocket and produced a bunch of keys and a penknife. “This might start things going, then I can pull the loose stuff out with my hands.”

  He sank the penknife blade into the soft, moist earth and traced the rough outline of a door, then he began to deepen the edges, digging out little lumps of earth that fell to the ground like gobbets of chewed meat. Brian then removed his shoes and used the heels to claw out a jagged hole.

  “If I can work my way through,” he explained, “it should be an easy matter to pull the entire thing down.”

  He dug steadily for another five minutes, then a glimmer of light appeared and, after a final effort, he was able to look through an opening roughly six inches in diameter.

  “What can you see?” Rosemary asked, her tone suggesting she would rather not know.

  “It seems to be some kind of large cave and it’s lit up with that green light, just like the passages. I can see hunks of rock lying about, but not much else. Well, here goes.”

  He thrust his right hand through the aperture, curled his fingers round the inner wall and pulled. A large chunk came away, then he began to work with both hands, pulling, clawing, and the entire wall came tumbling down. He wiped his hands on already stained trousers, then put on his shoes.

  “Now,” he said, “for the moment of truth.”

  They were in a rough, circular cavern; it was perhaps twenty feet in diameter and an equal distance in height. Loose lumps of rock littered the floor, but there was no sign of anyone – alive or dead – and Brian gave a prolonged sigh of relief.

  “I don’t know what I expected to see, but thank heavens, I don’t see it. Now, we must start looking for a way out. I’ll go round the walls, you examine the floor. Never know, there might be a hole going down still further.”

  He turned his attention to the irregular walls, leaving Rosemary to wander miserably among the large rocks and boulders that formed a kind offence round the centre of the cavern. He looked upwards and saw, some twenty feet from the ground, a fairly large hole. Deciding it would be worth investigating, he began to ascend the wall and found the task easier than he had supposed, for projecting rocks made excellent footholds. In a few minutes he had reached his objective. The hole was in fact a small cave that was about seven feet high and five across, but alas there was no exit.

  He was about to descend and continue his search elsewhere when Rosemary screamed. Never before had he realised a human throat was capable of expressing such abject terror. Shriek after shriek rang out and re-echoed against the walls, until it seemed an army of banshees were forecasting a million deaths. He looked down and saw the girl standing just inside the fence of stones looking down at something he could not see; her eyes were dilated and seemed frozen into an expression of indescribable horror.

  Brian scrambled down the wall and ran over to her; when he laid hands on her shoulders she flinched as though his touch were a branding iron, then her final shriek was cut off and she slid silently to the floor.

  A few feet away there was a slight indentation, a shallow hole, and he experienced a terrifying urge not to look into it, but he knew he must, if for no other reason than a strange, compelling curiosity.

  He dragged Rosemary well back and left her lying against one wall, then he returned, creeping forward very slowly, walking on tip-toe. At last he was on the brink of hell. He looked down.

  Horror ran up his body in cold waves; it left an icy lump in his stomach and he wante
d to be sick only he had not the strength. He had to stare down, concentrate all his senses and try to believe.

  The head bore a resemblance to the portrait in Mrs Brown’s anteroom; it was dead-white, bloated, suggesting an excess of nourishment consumed over a very long period. The hair was at least six feet in length and was spread out over the loose rock like a monstrous shroud. But the torso and arms grew out of the ground. The shoulders and part of the forearms were flesh, but further down the white skin assumed a greyish colour and, lower still, gradually merged into solid rock. Most horrifying of all was the profusion of fat, greenish, tubelike growths that sprouted out from under forearms and neck and, so far as Brian could see, the whole of the back. Obscene roots spreading out in every direction until they disappeared into the black earth, writhing and pulsating, carrying the vital fluid that circulated round the house.

  The eyes were closed, but the face moved. The thin lips grimaced, creating temporary furrows in the flabby fat. Brian withdrew from the hole – the grave – and at last his stomach had its way and allowed him to be violently sick. By the time he returned to Rosemary, he felt old and drained of strength. She was just returning to consciousness and he smoothed back her hair.

  “Are you fit enough to talk?” he asked.

  She gave a little strangled gasp.

  “That . . . that thing . . .”

  “Yes, I know. Now listen. I am going to take you up there,” He pointed to the cave set high up on the opposite wall. “You’ll be all right there while I do what must be done.”

  “I don’t understand.” She shook her head. “What must you do?”

  “Mrs Brown told me her husband was a partaker of blood. In other words, a vampire, and centuries ago the local lads did the traditional things and drove a stake through his heart. She said something else. It wasn’t his body they should have destroyed, but his brain. Don’t you see? This house, the entire set-up, is a nightmare produced by a monstrous intelligence?”

  “I’ll believe anything.” Rosemary got to her feet. “Just get me out of here. I’d rather walk the passages than spend another minute with that . . . thing.”