Carnacki: The Edinburgh Townhouse and Other Stories

by William Meikle

  "I laid out the electric valves along the peaks and troughs of the pentacle and, carrying the battery and my control system with me, stepped inside the circles to join Whittaker. I switched on the pentacle, and in the nick of time it seemed. The red valve surged into brightness faster than the others, and looked to be aflame as it sent a fiery wash of color over the surrounding crates.

  "There was another grunt, louder than ever, and a snuffle, followed by a high screech as crates were roughly shoved aside as if they were empty cardboard boxes. The red flared again and something took shape in front of us, something huge. Something monstrous."

  *

  "I knew the manner of the beast almost straight away, for the head showed first, thin and vaporous to start with, but quickly becoming clearer to show the head, shoulders and horns of a great black bull. In proportion it appeared to be identical to the gold charm that Whittaker even now held in his palm.

  "The head might have resembled a great bull, but below the shoulders was a different matter entirely. A mat of course hair hung around its thick, tree-trunk neck, but it sat above the broad expanse of an all too human chest, albeit one that was as broad as a barrel and corded in tight bunches of muscle that looked to be as solid as rock. There was more coarse hair at the waist, thick enough to make it seem like more of a roughly made kilt, and the legs beneath that looked more bovine than anything human. But it had no trouble standing upright to its full height. I had to raise my gaze to look at the head again, it being almost eight feet tall at a guess.

  "And if it wasn't a bally Minotaur, then I will eat my hat.

  "It came forward towards the defensive circles, slowly, as if unsure about the color that washed around us. The stench got stronger still, almost overpowering. Whittaker, cool as you like, lit up a smoke to mask the smell, and I joined him, lighting a fresh pipe, all the while not taking an eye off the beast.

  "It raised the great head and grunted again, then began pawing at the air. It was only then that I noticed it had no hands to speak of. The wrists each ended in huge, cloven hooves, both of them the size of heavy hammers. Even as I had the thought, the thing stepped forward, right up next to the outermost circle, and struck down, hard, as if intending to deal both of us inside a killing blow. Instead, the defenses shrieked in a howl that almost deafened me, and the red valve flared, as bright as the sun itself.

  "The Minotaur wailed as if in some distress, and retreated. We heard the clatter of hooves on the stone slabs of the floor, and a distant grunting, then the storeroom fell deathly quiet again."

  *

  "'That went well,' Whittaker said, deadpan, and with so little intonation that I was unsure whether I should be detecting a note of sarcasm. 'Is it over?'

  "I shook my head.

  "'I fear the night has only begun to show us its surprises,' I replied. I pointed out to the gap in the crates. Something was taking shape there, not the Minotaur, but something else entirely, a wispy, almost smoky figure, bipedal and upright, much more human in form than the beast we had scared off.

  "'What in blazes is that? Please tell me that is not a bally ghost.' Whittaker said, and this time I definitely heard the intonation in his voice, only it wasn't sarcasm; this time it was a touch of something very much like terror.

  "Whatever the blazes it was, it certainly looked human, and it walked around the perimeter of the defenses without ever reaching close enough to affect the brightness of the valves. At its closest approach I saw that it was wrapped in a swaddling robe, in many ways resembling a desert nomad, a hood hanging forward obscuring any features. It made no sound, and hardly touched the floor at all; it appeared to glide, as if mounted on silent wheels, and kept circling, so fast that I was becoming quite dizzy while following its progress.

  "Whittaker put a hand on my shoulder and turned me round to face the opening in the crates. I immediately saw what had got his attention. The Minotaur was back, not yet fully formed but more a huge, bull-shaped area of mist and shadow that came forward quickly and loomed over the robed figure.

  "There was no sound when the attack came. The Minotaur raised a cloven hand, and brought it down hard on the spectral robes. The human shaped figure came apart into not much more than dust and shadow and the Minotaur took a huge, deep, breath. It sucked in everything that remained of the spectral, figure, dark and shadow and mist and all.

  "The red valve flared brighter, the Minotaur grunted and sniffled, and backed off again to hide itself somewhere in the stacks.

  "But it was obvious to me, and also I guessed to Whittaker.

  "The bally thing had got bigger, and more solid after eating."

  *

  "'What happened?' Whittaker whispered, as if afraid to raise his voice.

  "'I was wondering that myself, old boy,' I replied. 'I believe we have witnessed a strong manifestation from the Outer Darkness subsuming a weaker form.'

  "'In English, please, Carnacki?'

  "'I think that the artifacts in this storeroom have been accumulating passengers over millennia, small fragments of the outer dark that coalesce and clump together and, sometimes, gain enough cohesion to take form. The longer the accumulation has been taking place, the stronger the resultant manifestation.'

  "'Yes, that's certainly cleared things up for me,' Whittaker said, and this time I did indeed hear the sarcasm, loud and clear.

  "'I do not have the time in one night to explain thousands of years of arcane philosophy,' I said. 'But trust me on this if nothing else, we must stay in the circles at all cost, for yon bull, call it Minotaur, or manifestation, if you prefer, is strong. And it is obviously hungry."

  *

  "I had spoken off the cuff, making up a theory on the spot, but as the evening and then nighttime progressed it became clear that my first surmise had been a good one.

  "The robed figure proved to be only the first apparition to reveal itself. Others came, as if drawn to the pentacle like moths to a flame. Some were no more than mere wisps of smoke and shadow, others were firmer, older, and with more intent. Whittaker almost took a funk when a long, worm-like thing with too many legs scuttled toward us out of the darkness and looked like it might leap clean over the valves. But the defenses held, the yellow flared, and even as the thing fell away, repulsed, the Minotaur was there at its rear to bring up a cloven hand, and smash the worm into motes of sparkling dust that it once again breathed deep into itself.

  "And now there was no mistaking it; the bally thing was definitely becoming more solid.

  "It was also becoming emboldened. After taking in the essence of the worm, the Minotaur tried another assault on the defenses. It threw its not inconsiderable bulk against the outer circle, again and again. The red valve flared brightly, but this time the beast was not so easily frightened off, and it kept pushing forward. The valve whined, straining at its maximum output. It was only when I remembered that I had my control panel with me that I thought to modulate the frequencies and add a pulsing blue and green to the mix. The fresh wash of color confused the beast again, and it backed off, heading back into the gloom of the stacks.

  "But once the whine of the over-stretched valves faded back to their normal soft hum, we heard it clear enough. It was still close by, grunting and snuffling on the other side of the crates."

  *

  "Poor Inspector Whittaker had lost much of his earlier self-assurance, and was ashen-faced when I turned to him. His hands trembled as he tried to light a cigarette.

  "'He almost got through to us that time, didn't he?' he asked, still whispering.

  "'It was dashed close, I'll give you that,' I said, and in truth, I shared his misgivings. I did not think much of our chances of surviving another such attack.

  "The Minotaur returned as I was lighting a fresh pipe, but this time did not come close to the circles. Instead it was intent on pursuing another new apparition, a dark patch of shadow that flitted and danced across the crates but was no match for the bull's streng
th and power. It too was sucked up by one enormous breath that caused the barrel chest to swell and tighten.

  "More darkness swirled above us in the roof space, and again I thought of the moth to a flame analogy. Another thought struck me, one that I wished had stayed away, but the more I thought about it, the more I knew that it was our only chance of getting out of this situation intact. I told Whittaker of my thinking, hoping that by speaking it aloud I might uncover a flaw in my argument.

  "'The pentacle is clearly acting as an almost magnetic source for these apparitions. All we are doing is bringing more food in for the bally beast,' I said.

  "Whittaker nodded.

  "'I have already noticed that. But we cannot turn it off, can we? We will only leave ourselves open to immediate attack.'

  "'I have a plan,' I replied. 'What if I increase the valves' brightness and bring every bally denizen of the darkness here, all at once. What if we let the beast gorge itself to its heart's content?'

  "'How does that help us?' Whittaker asked.

  "'That's the tricky bit,' I replied.

  "'I'm not sure I’m going to like this, but go on.'

  "'We feed it everything there is to give to it.'

  "'Yes, you said that already. But what do we do then, Carnacki? What happens when it has had its fill?'

  "'Then we attack.'"

  *

  "There was little point in wasting time. Thankfully, Whittaker did not ask me how I meant to mount an attack. There was a great risk involved in the path I meant to undertake, and if I had tried to explain it, it would only have confused, and possibly terrified, the poor inspector further than I had already.

  "I puffed on my pipe as I turned the knobs on the control panel to their maximum extent. The valves brightened and their glow became almost overpoweringly bright.

  "The response was immediate. Dark shapes, like batwings, swooped and fluttered all around the defenses, fragments of the Outer Darkness torn from their attachment to the artifacts around us, drawn by the elemental light of the pentacle.

  "And, as they were drawn close, so too was the great bulk of the Minotaur. It rampaged around the outside of the circles, stomping and grunting and pawing, inhaling great breaths that whooped like a rush of wind. And with each breath, it consumed and enveloped more darkness, and became larger, ever more solid.

  "Within five short minutes it appeared to have ingested every scrap of dancing darkness there had been around us.

  "It raised up to its full height, ten feet now if it was an inch, and roared, a great bellow that shook dust from the ceiling above and set the rows of dim lit bulbs to swinging. Without further ado, it lowered its head, pointed those huge horns right at my chest, and charged."

  *

  "The hooves thudded on the floor like hammers on rock, and the bull bellowed as it came, a roar the like of which I hope you chaps never have to endure. It was all I could do to stand my ground. My knees damned near buckled under me but Whittaker, stout chap, held us both up, and we faced the beast as it hit the defenses straight on.

  "The red valve flared so bright I had to close my eyes, but even then I heard the high whine of the stressed crystals, and felt pressure build as the Minotaur put its back into the effort of pushing through to get at us.

  "'If you really do have a plan, then now's the time, old man," Whittaker said, suddenly remarkably calm in the face of the threat before us.

  "I drew what strength I could from his solidity and stood straight, looking the beast in the eye. It stared back at me. I saw little of any intelligence there, only black, implacable, rage and hunger.

  "I threw the switches to turn off the pentacle and the beast bellowed in triumph as we were left, helpless, before it. It brought up a huge hoofed hand to strike at me, and I played my last card.

  "I shouted out words that should never be uttered save in the utmost extremes. I uttered the eight signs, and the last words of power, of the dreaded Saaamaaa Ritual.

  "At the same instant that the great bull bellowed and the cloven hand descended a thunderclap blew through the storeroom.

  "Crates and pentacle and Whittaker and myself were tossed asunder by a wind that came out of nowhere and blew the bally Minotaur into scraps of darkness that were sent scuttling and flying away, being shredded into ever smaller scraps as they were taken.

  "There was one last bellow of rage and frustration, but the wind took that too as it faded, and we were left, lying amid broken statues and shattered crates and the scattered remnants of what had been my best pentacle.

  "But we were alive. We had survived."

  *

  "Dawn was coming up when we eventually dragged ourselves out of the storeroom and upstairs into the museum itself. We had a smoke out on the front steps as the sun's first rays hit the high dome of the library.

  "Old Masterson scuttled across the cobbles towards us. I let Whittaker explain the situation and apologize for the mess we had left down below. For my part, I contented myself with assuring the old librarian that the museum should now be back to what passed as normality. The darkness had been fragmented, and it should be many years, certainly beyond my lifetime, before it will coalesce enough to pose any further threat.

  "'So it is safe?' Masterson asked, having clearly not understood a word I had said.

  "I nodded in reply.

  "'Don’t go adding any new exhibits from Crete for a while though, there's a good chap.'

  "I promised Whittaker that I'd give him a full explanation of what we'd been through over a pie and a pint in the near future, then caught a carriage home. I had enough energy to drag myself to bed, and slept for the best part of sixteen hours.

  "I do believe I shall sleep for sixteen more once you chaps are off and on your way home."

  *

  Carnacki stopped, his tale done, and for once there did not seem to be much need for any questions.

  "I’m glad it wasn't those bloody swine things again," Arkwright said as Carnacki showed us the door.

  "As was I, old friend," Carnacki replied. "As was I. Now out you go."

  Into the Light

  From the personal journal of Thomas Carnacki, 472 Cheyne Walk, Chelsea.

  I have thought long and hard about whether I should even transcribe the details of this last week in my journal at all. The implications of what I encountered both in the room under the inn and in the Kensington townhouse, are staggering for the occult and religious history of all us all.

  Not only that, but there is a definite potential for misuse of this knowledge by the unscrupulous, such that it might be for the best if I remained silent and let the affair be forgotten to history for now.

  And yet, science often progresses through the study of what once might have been called magic. It is surely only a matter of time before a curious professor, or even an enthusiastic amateur, uncovers the principle I have stumbled upon, and opens a door that should forever stay closed to us.

  Perhaps then, it is for the best that I relate my tale, even if only to interject the proper amount of caution and as a salutary warning for those who might follow. One thing is absolutely certain though; this note must be solely for my own personal record at this juncture; the rest of the chaps will never hear of this around the fire of a Friday night in Cheyne Walk.

  Mr. Churchill was most clear on having me give my promise of that.

  *

  It begins with another of my, thankfully infrequent, summonses from Winston Churchill. I had not heard much from him since the affair with the German U-Boat in the docks, and that had been fine by me, for my encounters with the First Lord of the Admiralty have usually left me feeling strangely used and unclean. I understand, and will even defend, his right to call me to duty for King and Country, but I do not, and cannot, ever agree with his methods, which are as unscrupulous as they are required.

  Last Saturday, although it almost feels like several lifetimes ago, I was surprised by an early morning
knock on my front door. I found a burly chap on the doorstep, and from him I took the delivery of a note from Churchill. The note was by way of an introduction to the carrier, Churchill's own carriage driver, and an invitation requesting my presence at an address in Vauxhall that had me racking my brains in trying to work out what manner of premises it might be.

  I considered declining, for there were several tasks at hand that I needed to be about. But the request had come from Churchill; I knew that it would be utterly hopeless to try to turn him down, for the man is like a bulldog once he gets his teeth into something. I took enough time to don a jacket and fetch my cheroot case then I was shown into the plush, almost opulent, carriage. As soon as I was inside, away we went, south across the river.

  It was only on alighting from the carriage some fifteen minutes later in Vauxhall that I remembered the location. The building, squashed as it was between two rather more modern blocks that towered over it, housed an inn of some antiquity that I had frequented several times in my younger days, although my last visit must have been some twenty years ago.

  I remembered there had been some kind of a fuss when The White Stag closed its doors for good ten or eleven years back. The details were fuzzy in my memory, but there had been a scandal of some note. I recalled that much of the detail was withheld from the papers in the interests of national security, but it was rumored among the gossiping classes to have involved several members of parliament, some minor European royalty, ladies of ill repute, and a certain quantity of opium. Arkwright had been rather voluble about it one Friday night when he was in his cups.