New Tales of the Old Ones

by Derwin, Theresa

  The hall reached beyond the grasp of my lantern’s light, so I followed along it. I moved slowly and careful, wary of any pitfalls. It would do me little good to trip and fall and be stuck down here until Ray arrived the following day.

  With each step, the ground became progressively spongier. I did not notice it at first, but the farther I went, the more it became evident. My feet never sank in and it never turned to mud, but there was an unnatural give to it and it made me anxious. If I ever had to run, it would surely be a treacherous move.

  The hall stretched on and on. How far I walked, I could not tell you. In that darkness, there was no sense of time or length. It could have been ten yards or a hundred. There were no landmarks and nothing to distinguish my passage. It was a solitary corridor, though, so I had no fear of getting lost.

  After what seemed an eternity, I reached a nexus. The tunnel spilled out into an anteroom, a chamber that was as empty as the house behind me. But this room served as the center of a wheel because, in five different directions, five tunnels split off and headed for their own individual destinations. All except one. This passage dented in three feet before ending at a closed, oaken door. It had a brass knob in the middle, much like the outside door. I decided to see what lay beyond it.

  Crossing the room, four different blasts of cool wind hit me—groaning from the other tunnels. I was buffeted for the briefest of moments before the breezes died down. It was almost as if a dozen ghosts had flown out to observe this intruder upon their property and, once satisfied, flew off. The winds faded only to be replaced by that low moan I’d heard earlier.

  It drifted through the closed door, sad and lonely. It was musical, in its own way, and as its tones tickled my ears, a deep sorrow filled my chest. It mixed with the dread that was already there, still spreading its spidery fingers through my torso, and created something wholly original. I wanted to weep and flee, all at the same moment.

  I stood before the door and pulled the key from my pocket, my hand shaking. I steadied it as the moan died and stuck it in the lock.

  It would not fit.

  I jiggled it. I cursed it. I twisted it until I thought the key would break. It would not fit. Ray had lied to me. This key could not turn every lock in the mansion.

  I smiled. Perhaps it wasn’t a lie, after all, but a bit of wordplay. After all, I was not standing in the house right now but somewhere deep below and far away from it.

  Angry, I resolved to force the door open. I grabbed the knob and yanked my hand away with a shriek. It was scalding to the touch, which seemed impossible, given the coldness of the area. I tried again. Once more, the handle was hot, hotter than it had been only seconds before.

  I kissed my stung fingers, shaking my head. This made no sense whatsoever.

  A low moan issued from somewhere beyond that door, the very same moan I’d heard outside and just moments ago. Whatever was making that sound was just on the other side of the door.

  I leaned against it, touching it with my hands. It was cold, almost frigid. I was amazed at how this could be. The door was cold but the knob blazing hot. I could not wrap my brain around the mystery of this.

  When I pulled my hands away, they were covered in soot. I wiped them on my pants and stood listening, not moving, holding my breath, hoping to hear the moan again. Just when I exhaled, it came again.

  I wiped at the door, clearing a space I could place my ear and listen more closely. I did so, barely grazing the wood with my flesh. It was much too cold to linger too long.

  I listened.

  Nothing.

  I strained my ear, if such a thing is possible.

  Silence.

  I grimaced and pulled my head away. The low moan issued forth yet again, like it was toying with me. This could only be coincidence or intelligence, this give and take, and I was quite frustrated at not knowing or being able to perceive which it truly was. In anger, I smeared more of the soot on the door. It dusted the air, perfuming the area with a dull, musty stench. It also revealed words carved into the wood of the door, just above the knob.

  “Ph’nglui mglw’nafh Cthulhu R’lyeh wgah’nagl fhtagn,” it said. I marveled at the language. As I mentioned before, I studied ancient languages; it was my specialty. I had never seen words like these before. To be sure, there were some identifiable markers. I recognized some Sumerian in the words, and a touch of what I presumed to be Hebrew, but as to its overall meaning, I hadn’t a clue. It was as foreign to me now as the first time I laid eyes on the Russian language was when I was a teenager. I dug in my pocket and fished out a pen. I always carry one with me and this was not the first time I was glad I did. I copied the phrase down, writing it on the back of my hand, and stepped away from the door.

  I wondered if there was anything else written on the door. I took my shirt off and used it to wipe the entrance clean from top to bottom. I had to stop three times and allow my hands to warm up from the effort. The wood was giving off such intense cold I feared I would get frostbite. Once finished, I examined the door. Much to my disappointment, there were no other phrases written anywhere else.

  A sudden weariness washed over me. I staggered in place for a moment, dazed and so tired I feared I was going to collapse and never rise again. My hands shook, my knees quivered, and my flesh crawled. I fought with every ounce of my being to keep my lidded eyes from closing.

  I stumbled away from the door and back the way I came, leaving the small chamber behind. The farther I traveled, the better I felt. Once I reached the far end, back at the bottom of the steps into the basement, I was almost fully recovered. Almost. I still felt very weak and climbing the stairs was like scaling Mount Rushmore, but I persevered. When I reached the top, I shut the door behind me and extinguished my lantern.

  The house was plunged into darkness. From below my feet, the low moan filtered up, seeping into my ears and rattling my teeth. For a wild instant I nearly bolted, but I caught hold of myself and willed my heart to stop racing.

  It was night outside. That was why it was so dark. I had gone down there during the day and emerged at night.

  I fumbled for the matches in my pocket and lit the lantern again. I checked my wristwatch. It was almost nine p.m., which seemed impossible to me. How had I spent close to eight hours below ground?

  I could not make sense of it and part of me did not care. I wanted nothing more than to roll out my sleeping bag and fall into a deep slumber. Even though I felt much better than just moments before, I was still trembling and my muscles felt more like jelly than solid pieces of meat.

  My things were where I’d left them. I lurched over, falling to my knees and sitting down hard. I rummaged through my backpack and found a tin of canned meat and a package of crackers. Eating them returned some strength to my body, but not enough. I washed them down with a bottled water. After, I rolled out my sleeping bag and crawled into it.

  My eyes were closed and the darkness swallowed me before my head hit my small pillow.

  X

  The low moan returned several times during the long night. It would wake me and I would sit upright, flesh crawling with what felt like a thousand bugs. Sweat poured down my face and drenched my body. And then the sound would fade and I would fall asleep right away again.

  There was no rest in my dreams.

  It was torturous. I dreamed of realms indefinable, where creatures walked walls and humans were slaves to blob-like beings with one single, piercing blue eye. And there were other dreams, even worse, more than haunting, visions that drove me to the brink of madness. Each time the moans woke me, they pulled me back from the precipice of insanity and, in those brief, waking moments, I forgot enough of what I’d dreamed to fall back asleep again. I was left with vague impressions, of a smothering darkness, of panic, and a deep, intrinsic fear. It rattled around in my reptilian brain. Each time I woke, I had the overwhelming desire to flee, to throw off my sleeping bag and run until I could not move. At the same time, I was so tired, I could not move if my
life depended on it.

  That was my evening. Awake, asleep, tortured, awakened again, sleep, nightmares, terrors, sweat, fear, exhaustion. By the time the rays of the morning sun leaked through the window and crept across the floor to lash my face with their brilliant brightness, I felt as if I’d run a marathon barefoot.

  I climbed to my feet and walked around, trying to shake loose the cobwebs in my muscles. My back was stiff and my legs ached. A cramp seized my left calf and nearly sent me to my knees. I bit back the pain and stumbled along until it worked itself out. I needed water. I needed food. I needed to leave this place and never come back.

  The low moan drifted up to tickle my ears again. This time, instead of inspiring fear and confusion, it seemed to comfort me. Perhaps I’d been conditioned by the sound of it pulling me from one terrifying vision after another, saving my precious sanity, but my body and mind now greeted it as a friend, as something meant to salve my wounds. And damn me, I accepted that relief whole-heartedly. This feeling, this empathy and passion, stayed my hand; I would have left without it. Instead, I found myself wanting to linger, to go back down into the tunnels, to find a way to force the door open.

  How long I stood there in that trance I did not know. It was the knock at the front door that roused me. I staggered, rubbing my eyes. The room was much brighter and it was hot, so very hot, inside that living room.

  The front door rattled and Ray walked in, looking around. His eyes found me in an instant and concern flashed in his eyes.

  “You okay?” Ray said. I must’ve looked like a ghost.

  “Yes,” I said. “I was...ah, asleep, napping. You woke me and I didn’t know where I was.” It was a lie, but it served its purpose. Ray shrugged and shut the door behind him.

  “Well, I see you’re getting used to this Kentucky weather. I swear to my God, you can never tell what you’re going to get,” he said. “It was hotter than a tick dug into a dog’s ass all summer, September comes and it gets cold as hell, and now we’re in October and it’s as humid as August. They say that global warming is bullshit on the radio, but I don’t know. I’m starting to believe it.”

  “Yes,” I said. I didn’t know what else to say. I was confused. Had I really stood stone-still like a statue the entire morning? I must have. The sun was higher in the sky and Ray was here, and he wasn’t supposed to arrive until the afternoon.

  Where had I gone?

  “So, uh, you want to get on with the tour?” Ray asked. I could see I was making him feel uneasy, so I slathered a grin on my face, hoping it masked my paranoia.

  “Yes,” I said. My voice was hoarse and my lips parched. I bent and fetched my water and drank deep. My body seemed to be coming back into itself. My aching back eased, my cramping legs softened, and my fluttering stomach settled down. I was feel more like myself.

  “I explored some last night,” I said.

  “Oh?” Ray said. He looked around. “Pretty boring, I bet.”

  “Yes. Given the reputation of this house, I thought I’d find something more to it.” I said the words and didn’t mean a one of them. I spoke to hide what I was thinking, and I was thinking this house held more secrets than I ever dreamt possible. And they all started with what lay behind that closed, locked door.

  “You did, however, lie to me,” I said. “You told me the key you gave me would open every door in the house. I found one that it didn’t.”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” he said.

  “Perhaps it is best I showed you.”

  X

  I wish now I had never returned to those tunnels. I wish I had walked away, run that morning when I had the chance. But something seized my will, something imposed itself on my thinking and rationality, something that was utterly alien and yet completely at home. It was an ancient thing, and even as it alarmed my reasoning mind, it stroked and soothed my subconscious. It appealed to something in me as base and simple as the act of eating food to survive, or taking in breath to live. It was batting an eye to keep it lubricated, it was the beating of a heart to keep the blood flowing. It was the essence of all life.

  And it utterly damned me for all time.

  I led him to the basement and down the stairs. I ignited the lamp and walked the same passageway I had the night before. My legs moved of their own accord; I did not guide or control them. My mind had shut down; any thoughts I had vanished as quickly as they arrived. I was a motorized machine, a robot of sorts, and I would not stop until whatever objective this guiding force had for me to do was sated.

  It was a strange thing, almost like floating outside my body and watching it exist on its own. I knew how fast I was walking, I knew the route I was taking, I knew to put one foot in front of the other, but I was as much along for the ride as Ray was behind me.

  Finally, we arrived at the small chamber. My finger pointed at the locked door.

  “There,” I said. “My key will not work.”

  Ray’s expression told me he’d never been here before. His words confirmed that fact.

  “Well, hell, I reckon I better be honest with you. I ain’t never come this far before. I walked down that corridor we just came down, but I always turned around at some point.”

  “Why?”

  He scratched the back of his head. His face flushed red.

  “It’s okay, Ray,” I said. “Tell me.”

  He chewed his bottom lip, thought it over, and shrugged.

  “I guess it’s ‘cause of the noises I heard,” he said.

  “What noises were those?”

  “Moaning. And not like the kind you hear in the porn movies, but a different kind, almost like a whisper,” he said.

  “Yes,” I agreed.

  “I thought I’d heard it upstairs when I’d been cleaning, but I didn’t pay much mind to it. I know all the stories about this place and I figured it was just my imagination. But when I’d come down here to take a look...”

  Ray shivered, his eyes wide and watery.

  “I experienced the same thing last night,” I said.

  We stood there for a long, awkward pause.

  “I want to get to the bottom of this mystery,” I said. “Will you help me?”

  Ray looked around.

  “I reckon so,” he said. “I’d hate someone to say I was yellow.”

  He reached out and grabbed the handle. When his hand jerked back so quick he smacked himself in the mouth, I almost laughed. I suppose I would have if I wasn’t so frightened. The moaning had returned and was louder now, more urgent. Ray apparently could not hear it, but I could. Whispers filled my mind, like small gusts of cool wind.

  Ray licked his fingers and pushed on the door, immediately pulling them back. He blew into his palms to warm his hands and gave me a strange look.

  “Mister,” he said. “This just ain’t right.”

  I nodded. I tried to speak but only a croak came out. The moaning continued. How could he not hear it? The guttural tones were so loud, so powerful. It took every ounce of my being to keep my teeth from chattering.

  “I was hoping we could find a way around.” I pointed at the tunnels.

  He stared at me a long time before nodding. I could see he wanted to get far away from that accursed door. I could also see, teetering there in his eyes, the need to balance his manhood against his fear. He was nearly as frightened as I was but trying not to show it.

  I shined the lantern down the passage to my left.

  “Let’s try this one,” I said.

  We plunged into the gloomy blackness.

  The path twisted right and left. The walls were bare earth, packed back and hardened by some substance. But they wept a dark liquid that dripped down on each side, tracing long, wet lines, crissing and crossing, forming what seemed to be spider webs. It was probably just water, but I knew I dare not touch the liquid, so I kept my hands near my body. Ray saw them, as well, but said nothing.

  How long we walked, I could not say, but eventually the path opened before us and we en
ded up back where we started, in the small chamber with the door. I glanced at Ray.

  “This is all some kind of trick,” he muttered.

  “Let’s try another one,” I said.

  It was much the same. We walked, the walls wept, a cool breeze blew through us, and eventually, we ended back where we started, in the chamber.

  “I don’t like this,” Ray said. I could see his resolve was fading.

  “We only have two more to explore,” I said.

  “I don’t know,” he said slowly.

  I smiled with a confidence I didn’t feel. Despite his fears, I was feeling more relaxed. The voices had faded once we started exploring and they did not rise in pitch when I got into the chamber. In fact, they almost seemed satisfied with my actions. This pleased me, as well, even though a part of me suspected this was all some sort of ruse.

  “What’s the worst that could happen?” I asked. “All these tunnels seem to lead back to where they start and none of them are hiding anything sinister. At worst, we tire ourselves with the walking. At best, we find some way into that room.”

  Ray stared at the door again.

  “I ain’t sure that’s something I want to do anymore,” he said.

  I nodded. “I will pay you if you continue with me.”

  He thought it over. “Two hundred,” he said.

  I grimaced as if it was all the money in the world. I finally nodded and he grinned.

  “Let’s get going,” he said.

  X

  Two more tunnels we walked, and two more tunnels led us back to our beginning. There was nothing to mark any of the passages as different from the others. The only odd thing besides the weeping walls was when we walked the last tunnel. Lying against a wall was a charred doll’s head. It had one glass eye that rolled back and forth in the scorched socket. I bent down and studied it. I never considered picking it up or handling the thing. The head reminded me of something cursed. I could not place a name to the feeling I had except that it told me to stay away.