His face a mask of fury, my friend whirled upon me with a champing of teeth. Like a cornered tiger about to strike, he crouched against the wall, but, with a smile, I seated myself upon a chair. Seeing this, and that I did not intend to interfere with his pets, he relaxed somewhat, and sat upon the bed. His face was cast in a moody pattern. His brow was knit in a frown as if pondering something.
Slowly the tensity of his body relaxed, his face assumed the normal lines of good humor that I had so often seen upon it, and he looked up.
“By heaven, Randall! If what I think has happened, I am better off dead!” he said.
“No matter what has happened, I am pleased to see that you are still fighting,” I answered.
“Yes, but the effort is almost too much. I wanted to kill you when you came in. You had better watch me, for I am liable to do it the next time. A feeling came over me that you were in my way, or rather, in the way of that hideous Thing that has me in its power, and that you ought to be killed and fed to the sharks.”
“Why fed to the sharks?” I asked with much interest.
“Because they are of the sea—devour each other. Every living thing they devour, if it is not of the sea, is another soul added to their power—to the power of B’Moth.”
“Extraordinary!” I ejaculated in amazement.
“That’s the word. But I know—I can’t say how I know, but I feel it just the same—that the object of this business is to place an overwhelming power in the hands of the filthy abominations at the bottom of the sea, and in the depths of the jungle.”
“You’re right there. I’ve discovered that. Is that why you have been feeding those land creatures to the reptiles in that tank?”
He followed my pointing finger, and shrank from his pets in abject terror. “Did I collect those things?” he asked quaveringly.
“Yes. Can’t you remember it?”
“I have some idea of laying out bait for insects, under the impress of a will stronger than my own, but why I have those snakes, I don’t know.”
“You stole them this afternoon,” I said quietly.
“Stole them, eh? I can’t remember that at all. This thing is getting a pretty tight grip upon me. I’m afraid that unless we can do something, I am finished. I can’t remember what I’ve been up to at all for the past few days. I’m losing this fight.”
“We’ll pull you through. My idea is that you obtained the reptiles in order to feed the other things to them, and thus increase the proportion of souls for the deep. I can’t explain it any better, but you can follow, perhaps. You wanted to help this ghastly business by strengthening the mental influence of the Master and his kind.” I shuddered as I found myself using the word “Master” so easily and familiarly.
“No doubt you’re right. I can’t imagine any other reason for such an act. The very sight of these green, slimy things chills me now. I can’t think of it without a shudder.”
“There’s one thing I want to ask you.”
“Go ahead,” said my friend without much enthusiasm.
“Are there any particular times when this thing comes to you?”
“No particular times, but on certain occasions. By Jove, I ought to have thought of it before! It’s when there is fog outside that I experience the drowsy feeling that precedes these attacks.”
I could not repress a cry when I heard this. I remembered my own experience in the automobile that night, now so long ago, as it seemed. The drowsy feeling had come to me with its stupefying accompaniment when the fog had rolled in through the cracks of the car. It had disappeared when I lighted the heater. An idea came to me—a possible means of saving my friend in his extremity.
I rang the bell for an attendant.
“Lay a fire, and light it immediately!” I ordered.
The attendant looked at me in amazement. The day was a hot one, and my order must have seemed as crazy as the sick man’s ant-collecting.
“Hurry,” I snapped, as I saw the look that I was coming to know spreading across the face of the patient.
The attendant flew like the wind, realizing that the matter must be important. While I anxiously watched the struggle that was, I know, going on in the mind of my friend, the fire was laid. Beads of perspiration stood out on his forehead. His jaw was gritted in fierce resolve, as he watched the attendant futilely attempting to ignite the kindling.
There was no time to waste. I dashed out of the room and into the dispensary. My eyes found a bottle of alcohol. Snatching this from the hand of a startled intern, I ran back to the room as fast as my legs would carry me.
Dr. Prendergast was writhing upon the bed and clawing frantically at the tenuous wisps of gray mist that seemed to be stretching out their sinuous tentacles to draw him into their clutch. They seemed actually imbued with life, as I am convinced they were. He lay upon the bed as though trying to hide from the relentless purpose of this Thing that strove to blast his sanity.
The alcohol flew from my hand, the match ignited it, and the flames licked greedily at the kindling. The thin wisps of mist writhed and twisted, and gradually vanished as the fire gained volume and roared a menace to this Thing from the depths.
Upon the bed lay the racked form of my colleague, shuddering and weak, but smiling—and in his right mind!
7
“We’ve won!” he cried jubilantly, grasping my hand.
“Rather say ‘we are winning.’ ” I smiled, pleased at the success of my experiment. “Don’t let that fire out, no matter how hot it becomes in here, or you’ll soon find out that this business isn’t finished. Look! Can’t you see it out there on the lawn? That mist—twisting and curling like a thwarted Thing? It’s alive, I’ll swear. If you let that fire out, or open this window, it’ll be after us again with a vengeance! Don’t forget—keep that fire burning night and day! It’s life or death now!”
I left immediately, for I had much to do. I hurriedly drove to Brocklebank, a small town in the country. Stopping the car before the portals of a large residence, I rang the bell. The servant, who knew me well, ushered me without introduction into the library of my old friend, Geoffrey d’Arlancourt, a student of antiquities and strange beliefs. I wondered that I had not thought of him before.
I broached the subject on my mind without further delay: “What do you know of the worship of the Behemoth, Jeff?”
He wrinkled his brows quizzically. “The Behemoth?—well, a little. It’s apparently a mythical monstrosity that has been the focus of various forms of Satanism, pseudo-religion, and downright butchery.”
I told him about my investigations into the writings of the medieval philosophers, and what I had learned about the Thing.
“In that case you probably know more than I can tell you,” he said with a smile, “except that you, perhaps, have never seen the worship actually practiced.”
“No, indeed,” I said. “That’s what I came to see you about.”
“Well, I have. The name apparently has innumerable variations, but always the main idea is the same. I have sometimes been tempted to think that there may be some such thing in reality. You know, of course, that the so-called savage peoples are given to all forms of voodooism, animism, and the like. We say, in our sophistication, that this is only because they have not yet learned a true sense of values. I am often inclined to think that it is because they are freer in their subjective processes than we are. They think that a tree has power for good and ill. We say it is not possible, and yet Bose, for instance, to mention only one of the great scientists, has conclusively proved that a plant has feelings of joy and pain, and actually cries aloud when hurt. These people, being more readily receptive to influences that we deem spiritual (because we can not otherwise comprehend them), are naturally those among whom such a worship might find a firm foothold. The nearer we go to life in its bald reality, the nearer we come to the worship of the Behemoth and other allied things.”
“Do you mean to imply that this worship is beneficial?” I questioned, i
n some surprise.
“I won’t say that, but I will say that it serves a very definite purpose in filling a gap that we of civilized times have left void. But to return: If you want to find examples of Behemoth worship, look for them among the lower strata of society—in the hot countries, among the aboriginals of New Zealand, and so on. It was in such places that I found innumerable instances of it on my recent cruise. I confess that I was greatly surprised at the prevalence of the thing. It is spreading at an alarming rate.”
“Tell me the details,” I said breathlessly. Apparently I was on the trail at last.
“Substantially, the worship is the same everywhere, and its very similarity gives it the appearance of representing a widespread truth. It appears to be related to a real, a living thing. The great idea back of it is that the time is rapidly approaching when the jungle will return to its own, when civilization will be wiped out, and the law of power will again prevail.
“Apparently this Behemoth has never been seen, but it can be felt. I almost believe I have felt it myself. Incantations are made in a language absolutely unintelligible to anybody; the medicine men themselves have told me that they can not apprehend the meaning except through the medium of traditional translations. And here is another strange thing: though I have seen this worship in New Guinea and Peru, in Malaysia and Finland, the syllables have always a similarity. The incantations are seemingly the same. They sound like unintelligible gibberish, more like the language of apes or the roar of the sea lion than speech, yet they are pronounced nearly alike by these widely separated races. Randall—they mean something!”
Again I felt my flesh beginning to creep at the thought of the tremendous power with which I had to deal.
“What is the central feature of this worship?”
“There are two: a mystic union with the Behemoth, which means a pledge to aid in the restoration of the jungle and the overthrow of civilization; and secondly, the objective side, which includes the sacrifice of unbelievers—usually to members of the reptilian species, though I have seen children given to jaguars, which were kept as sacred symbols.”
“I suppose there are even places here where this abomination holds sway,” I suggested with a flutter of anxiety.
“Not a doubt of it. The thing is apparently gaining currency everywhere; why not here? I could almost tell you where to look to find the worship practiced.”
I then told d’Arlancourt everything that had led me to make these inquiries. When I had finished, his face was tense and fearful.
“This is monstrous! I can scarcely believe it. If it is true, we must take steps immediately to root out this cancerous putridity at its very heart. Wait!”
He walked across to the bookcase and selected a volume. For some minutes he read in silence. Then he spoke:
“There appear to be some secret orders founded upon this worship. The names will, in all probability, be changed, but they may be similar enough for us to spot them. One is the Macrocosm. Another is the order of Phemaut, a very ancient one, originating in Egyptian times, and worshiping as its symbol the hippopotamus. If my memory serves me aright, the word for hippopotamus in the language of the third dynasty was Pe-he-maut: very similar to Behemoth, you see.
“Now, we shall ascertain if there are any relics of this business in Twentieth Century America.”
He lifted the telephone receiver, and a chill dread came over me. I felt again that overwhelming fear that presaged the coming of the Thing.
D’Arlancourt was speaking. “Secret service? Give me Ellery. Tell him it is d’Arlancourt. Yes, please. Hello—yes, this is Jeff. I want to know whether you have any reports on secret societies that bear a name like Phemaut, B’Moth, or Behemoth—a name something similar to that.” He listened for a while. “What—good heavens! We’ll be over, right away.”
He turned to me, and his face was gray. “He says there are known to be societies throughout the world going by the name Phemaut, and others with similar names, and that, after raiding them, the police have discovered bones—human bones, charred, and in many cases, buried. He says these societies have been suspected of incendiarism, dynamiting, and the like. Randall, you have put your finger upon the worst sore the human race has yet to cauterize!”
8
We found Ellery caressing a beautiful police dog, a pet which he had trained from puppyhood.
D’Arlancourt rapidly described to the secret service man what I had already told him. Ellery received the information, at first with a quizzical smile, but, under the accumulation of evidence that we were able to present, his face took on a grave mien. He called his secretary, and instructed him to obtain a certain address.
“And send a telegram to the secret service departments of every civilized country, in code,” he added. “Inquire if there have been any signs of an attempt—what shall I say?” he stopped, looking helplessly at us.
“Ask if there have been any overt attempts that appear to be directed by secret societies to rehabilitate the life of primitive times at the present day,” I put in suggestively.
“But they’ll think me crazy. They won’t know what I mean.”
“They’ll know well enough if they have run into anything like what we are dealing with here,” said d’Arlancourt quickly. “If they don’t, they will only think the cable has been garbled in transmission.”
“All right, put in something like that. Ask particularly if they have had any trouble from groups of people who worship any animal, or any reptile, particularly one that resembles a hippopotamus.”
“Very well, sir,” said the secretary with a slight smirk.
“That’s all,” snapped Ellery.
We left the office together, and drove to the meeting-place that the detective wished us to visit. Ugly rumors had been associated with it, and there was some probability that we should find what we sought there.
The night was fast falling as we approached the hall. It was in a squalid and miserable section of the city. We parked the car some distance away, and mingling with the motley throng that sought admission, we entered the building, and seated ourselves near the rear door.
The place was almost filled, and very soon after our entry the lights commenced to dim. They dwindled to mere dots of green flame, and there arose a chorus of meaningless babble like the chatter of apes in the forests of the Amazon. This was evidently the greeting extended to the high priest of Behemoth, who was now entering.
He was clothed in a shining green robe that was apparently made from the skin of some monster of the deep. Like decaying fish, it glowed a bluish green, and surrounded the repulsive features of a mask that he wore with a fiendish, unnatural light. Slowly he mounted the steps to the rostrum. I saw that there was before him a tank which glowed with that lambent blue fire that I had seen in the glass when the insane man had died in the German-American Hospital.
I found it impossible to repress a shudder. The place was almost dark, and except for the priest on the rostrum, we could see nothing but the tiny points of green that indicated the colored electric lights.
There appeared to be no ceremonial or ritual in connection with the business. Everybody did as he pleased, but always there was that wild jargon, that reminded me of the forest. At my left was a woman, with pendulous jowl, and huge teeth projecting from between thick lips. Her shouts almost rent my eardrums.
As the affair went forward, the crowd became ecstatic, and many threw themselves in transports upon the floor, tearing their clothes away from their bodies and dancing wildly in the darkness. Many carried tame serpents which they lovingly caressed; others had tiny monkeys which they kissed affectionately. Men and women alike threw themselves upon each other in a frenzy of mad abandon. I saw a Malay struggling in the arms of a white woman, and heard their shouts of ecstasy. I saw others sinking teeth deep into the arms, the legs, the shoulders of those nearest to them in an insane fury of primeval ferocity. There was a beautiful girl, her body stripped naked, lying in the embrace of a
bronze figure, drinking in with passionate abandon the kisses he showered upon her. Apes flitted hither and thither among the crazed throng, receiving homage wherever they passed. Serpents writhed, their coils encircling the throats of the devotees. And the shouting rose to a bedlam.
The air was becoming thicker every minute. I could not understand it at first, but soon it was clear to me. I had seen that heavy greenish vapor before. It was the breath of that hellish atrocity that these deluded wretches worshipped. It seemed to overhang the whole hall, enveloping all in its clammy folds. I felt the sickly touch of it, and writhed as though in the grip of some loathsome Thing. My companions sat there with drawn faces, their muscles tensed in an effort to resist the awful spectacle.
The cries rapidly blended themselves into a rhythmical shouting. Into my dazed senses there was borne the sound of a single phrase: “B’Moth . . . Master!” It was repeated a thousand times as the heavy pall closed in upon us thicker and thicker.
The man sitting at my side spoke to me in a roar of joy. “The Master is almost ready,” he shouted above the din. “A few more days and the world will feel his power.” He beat his brows, and cried in ecstasy, “Come . . . B’Moth . . . Master, come!” I nodded in pretended agreement, and he went on with his shouting.
A woman threw her arms about me and whispered foul things into my ear. Suddenly the attention of the crowd was centered upon the priest at the rostrum. He had uncovered the tank of water upon the platform, and to my horror I saw there, with jaws agape, a huge crocodile. It seemed clothed with the sulfurous glow like everything else.
Into the pandemonium of noise there was injected a new and startling sound—a shriek, shrill and piercing in its power—the voice of a woman in mortal terror! I strained my eyes through the heavy vapor, and saw—good God!—it was a woman that this monstrous priest held aloft over the tank! His purpose was plain. He intended to feed her to the thing in the water.
I stared in horror, paralyzed. I could not lift an arm to save her! At my side there roared a deafening blast. A spurt of flame pierced the night. Ellery had fired his automatic. In fascinated horror I saw the tank splinter as the bullet pierced it. Water poured forth, iridescent and phosphorescent, covering the devotees. The crocodile slithered to the floor, and floundered among those nearest him. His red-smeared jaws champed furiously at the arms and legs of the people in the front seats, while Ellery fired and fired.
Tales of the Lovecraft Mythos Page 25
