Dark Conflict

by John Glasby

  Tall, twisted towers ripped at the stormy sky, clawing defiantly for the foaming clouds. The windows reflected some of the grey light, like a hundred hungry eyes, staring and vacant, watching their approach.

  They drew up in front of the house with a squeal of brakes, parking a little to one side, leaving the car out of sight to a casual observer behind the tall bushes. It was a purely reflex measure because there was no point in keeping their presence a secret any longer, thought Nayland savagely. If there was anyone there, they would have spotted them by now and would be preparing a warm reception for them.

  Their only hope of discovering anything of real importance lay in the possibility that Caltro had left the place empty, not considering it necessary to guard the room with the black sacrificial altar.

  Nayland climbed out of the car and stood in the rain, looking up at the tall, rambling façade of the house. ‘No sign of anyone at home,’ he said hollowly. ‘Fortunately, I still have the key from last night.’

  The lock turned easily and the door swung open in front of them. Cautiously they stepped inside.

  The hallway was empty and did not appear to have been used since the previous night when they had carried the limp form of Simon Merrivale out of the house. The door at the end of the hallway lay half-open. Nayland went forward quietly with Blake at his heels. The death-glazed eyes of the animal heads stared down at them impassively from the walls.

  Carefully, he thrust the door open and stepped through into the room beyond. This was the first time he had seen it in daylight. His first impression was one of utter blackness. Heavy black curtains had been draped around the walls and over the windows, blotting out every ray of light from outside and only the feeble light that streamed through the open door picked out any of the details.

  There was the unmistakable feel of evil here, something terrible and tangible that flowed around them like a dark cloud. Nayland had the feeling he was slowly suffocating, unable to breathe properly in the strangely thick atmosphere.

  Feeling along the wall just inside the door, his fingers encountered the light switch and he snapped it down with a faintly explosive sound. The lights came on slowly, chasing the shadows away.

  At the far end of the room stood the long, low altar with the black pitch and sulphur candles in their delicately carved silver sticks. Behind the altar, dominating everything, was a vast wooden cross, entwined about which was the huge shape of a serpent crushing it in its constricting coils representing the triumph of Evil over Good — the Devil coming into his own. Nayland repressed a sudden shudder and looked about him carefully. A brightly jeweled knife lay on the smooth black stone of the altar and close by, a huge book bound in red and black leather, the pages yellowed and brittle with age.

  ‘Everything’s still here,’ he said finally in a hushed whisper. ‘All laid ready for the ceremony of the Black Mass.’

  ‘But is there anything here which might give us a clue as to where they’ve taken Simon?’ inquired Blake.

  Nayland shook his head. ‘It was only a hunch I was playing but one thing is certain. They mean to come back here some time in the future, maybe when all this has blown over and been forgotten, otherwise they would have taken most of these things with them.’

  ‘If only we could —’

  ‘Quiet!’ Nayland hissed the warning suddenly. He strained his ears to pick out the faintest sound. A moment later, he heard it again. It was the sound of footsteps on the gravel outside the front door, approaching the house.

  ‘Quickly!’ he muttered. ‘Behind these curtains.’

  Almost dragging the other bodily, he pushed him behind the thick black curtains that had been drawn tightly across the wide windows. There was the sound of muttered conversation in the hallway outside the room, coming nearer.

  Cautiously, Nayland drew back the curtains a little way until he could see through the narrow slit between them. Two men entered the room and stood for a moment, looking about them.

  Creoles! More of Caltro’s men, no doubt.

  He watched as they went over to the altar, genuflected, then took down the sacred book and jeweled knife. They worked quietly and efficiently, clearly obeying instructions.

  A moment later, after taking the book and knife out of the house, they were back, and took the richly embroidered cloth down from the altar itself, folding it carefully before going out of the room.

  Nayland waited for a long moment, holding his breath. A second later, there was the sound of a powerful car starting up outside.

  ‘Come on!’ he snapped. ‘Hurry! This may be the break we’ve been waiting for. I’m guessing they’ve been sent by Caltro to take these things to the place where they’ve got Simon a prisoner. With any luck, we ought to be able to follow them.’

  Together, they made their way outside in time to see a small, but powerful-looking, car just vanishing along the almost deserted street. Nayland slipped in behind the wheel of his car, switched on the ignition.

  Within seconds, Blake was beside him, crushing into the seat and they were driving through the tall, wrought iron gates and along the street after the disappearing car.

  Nayland concentrated on the steering of the speeding car as they turned a corner and spotted the other vehicle some three hundred yards ahead, gripping the wheel between his fingers until his hands began to ache with the strain. His stare was fixed on the road ahead, noting every twist and turn in the narrow street.

  Inwardly, he thought: These people might be forced to wait until the time was favorable again, which meant they would still have a month or so in which to prepare a plan to rescue Simon. But in spite of this, he had the feeling that every minute they left Simon in the hands of these abominable creatures, they were increasing the danger to him

  The car purred easily and more quickly now as they left the outskirts of the city behind and came out into the country. There were few other cars on the road and it was a relatively easy task to keep their quarry in view.

  Nayland grew aware that the palms of his hands were cold and wet on the wheel of the car. Sweat lay in little patches on his back.

  Blake said finally: ‘I think they’ve seen us, Stephen.’

  Nayland peered ahead. In the pouring rain, it was difficult to see properly but it did look as though the other car had suddenly put on a burst of speed and was drawing away from them. He pushed his foot down hard on the accelerator. Slowly, the intervening distance diminished.

  ‘That’s unfortunate,’ he muttered harshly. ‘If they have spotted us, they may have realized just who we are and they’ll take us all over the country before they’ll go anywhere near their hiding place.’

  ‘He’s trying his damnedest to shake us off,’ Blake spoke thickly, pointing.

  ‘Then maybe they’re in a hurry to get to their destination,’ gritted the other. ‘If we can only stick with them, we may be able to force their hand.’

  The car ahead was now less than a hundred yards away. One of the men in the speeding car suddenly turned, looking behind him. He moved his right hand in a queer little gesture and in that same instant, there was a brilliant flash of lightning followed almost instantly by an ear-splitting peal of thunder which seemed to rip open the very tissue of the air itself.

  The flash half-blinded Nayland and instinctively, he jammed on the brakes, his hands jerking on the wheel and it was this involuntary action that undoubtedly saved their lives. A moment later, less than thirty yards ahead of them, a tall tree dropped directly in their path, blocking the road completely.

  Nayland spun the wheel again, frantically, braking the car to a skidding halt less than three yards from the fallen tree. Beyond it, the car carrying Caltro’s men and their sacred relics gathered speed and vanished into the storm. There came another mocking peal of thunder from almost directly overhead.

  Getting out of the car, Nayland looked about him. The road here was so narrow that there was no way of making their way around the obstacle.

  ‘Damn our rotte
n luck,’ grumbled Blake as he surveyed the damage. ‘Except for this accident, we might have caught up with them.’

  ‘This was no accident,’ Nayland said grimly.

  ‘But the tree. It must have been hit by lightning. Surely you don’t mean to say that they did it?’

  ‘It’s highly likely. I’ve seen men like Caltro able to direct storms and control the weather before.’

  ‘But that’s ridiculous. This was nothing more than sheer chance. Bad luck on our part.’

  ‘Some time,’ said Nayland, as they walked back to the car, ‘you’ll learn that what we call luck plays very little part in our lives. These things very rarely happen by chance. There always has to be a cause.’

  Blake shrugged. ‘Well, there’s nothing for it now but to go back, I suppose.’

  Backing the car to the very edge of the road, Nayland succeeded in turning it and they drove back slowly along the way they had come. For the moment, it seemed, they had nothing to go on. Their only hope was that Caltro wouldn’t try anything until the next full moon, but even that thought didn’t help much now. There were far too many places in which he could have holed up. It would be like looking for a needle in a haystack.

  At last they arrived back and after parking the car, they went inside.

  ‘Did you discover where they’ve taken Mr. Merrivale, sir?’ asked Sims.

  Nayland shook his head. ‘I’m afraid not, Sims. I don’t think they’ll harm him for a little while and at the moment, all that we have is the mask that came from Merrivale’s house. Somehow, I think that lies at the bottom of this mystery.’

  The manservant looked suddenly unhappy. ‘I’m afraid that the mask is no longer here, sir. Mr. Caltro must have taken it with him this morning at the same time as Mr. Merrivale disappeared.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘That’s right, sir. I knew you would want it when you got back so I made a point of looking for it. I can’t find it anywhere.’

  ‘Then if Caltro’s got the mask and knows about the Voodoo on it, we’re as good as finished,’ Nayland said grimly.

  Chapter Eight – The Transposition

  The furniture had been removed from the large room and on the bare floor a chalk circle had been drawn large enough for two or three men to stand comfortably inside it. The tiny crystal cups containing holy water had been placed around the edge of the circle and there was a small incense burner sending out a cloud of pungent smoke that struck at Nayland’s nostrils as he stood looking down at his handiwork.

  Tall candles flickered at either side of the room and there were two inside the circle itself, giving off the only light in the room. Outside, the wildness of the storm gave an added eeriness to the scene.

  Inside the circle itself, a hexagonal design had been drawn on the floor, also in chalk.

  ‘Just what is it that you hope to do, Stephen?’ asked Blake doubtfully.

  ‘We’re going to use a little of Caltro’s magic against him,’ explained the other, ‘to help us to locate Simon. This is something I dislike doing, but it’s the only chance we’ve got. For ten days now, we’ve tried to find him, but without success. He’s got to be somewhere and it’s a fair chance that wherever he is, that accursed mask is also. It’s going to help us to find this place where they’re keeping him.’

  ‘But surely that isn’t possible?’

  ‘Yes, it’s possible, but dangerous.’ He halted, angry at himself for the fear he felt clawing at his throat. ‘You must follow all of my instructions carefully. Above all, once we have begun, you are not to step outside of the circle, nor let any part of you go outside, not even the tip of your finger. If you do, you’re worse than a dead man, you’ll be utterly lost. Do you understand that?’

  Blake nodded. ‘I think so. But I hope that you know what you’re doing.’

  ‘It’s quite simple. I intend to transport your spirit, your mind if you like, to where the mask is. You’ll find yourself looking through it, seeing the place where it is. Then, while the spell lasts, it will be up to you to describe the place, any distinguishing features so that we can locate it.’

  ‘This doesn’t seem right,’ Blake said, looking doubtfully at Nayland. ‘It’s too — unscientific, to my mind. Maybe we ought to have called in the police. I’m sure they could have helped us.’

  ‘Perhaps but not in time. If I know Caltro, he would kill Simon rather than allow him to return to us. He knows far too much already. No, this is the only way. Help me to set all of these things up. Then we’ll be ready to begin.’

  Carefully, he explained the procedure to the other, making sure that he understood it perfectly. With great precision, he marked out the pentagon on the floor and placed more cups of holy water at the points of the figure so that they entirely surrounded him, and placed a semi-circle of small golden candles around the central hexagon.

  Finally, everything was ready, and Nayland gave his final instruction to the other.

  ‘While you’re in the centre of the circle and before the transformation takes place, you may see shapes outside the ring. Ignore them if possible, but whatever you do, don’t let them entice you out of the protective circle.

  ‘This is black magic of a similar kind to that which Caltro uses to project his will onto others at a distance. The evil ones will gather, hoping to destroy us. They’ll do everything to make us step out of the circle. Some may even take on the shape of people we know, perhaps even Simon, entreating us, imploring us to go to them, that everything is all right. Take no notice of them. It will only be a trick to get us outside to destroy us.’

  He walked to the middle of the floor, inside the white chalk circle and Blake followed him.

  ‘Good. Now you may sit down if you wish so long as no part of your body extends beyond the circle. And stay here whatever happens.’

  Taking a deep breath, Nayland squared his shoulders and began to recite the long, monotonous Latin phrases of the Zegrembi Incantation.

  The shadows in the corners of the room, thrown huge and grotesque on the walls by the guttering candles, seemed to come alive, reaching down at them from all sides. He sensed, rather than felt, Blake move slightly into the very center of the circle.

  There was a sudden roar of thunder almost directly overhead and the whole house shook to its very foundations.

  Then the door of the room opened suddenly, unexpectedly, and Simon Merrivale stood there with a wild look on his face. There was blood oozing down his face from a gash on his cheek.

  ‘Stephen! Richard!’ His voice reached them above the rumble of the thunder. ‘I made it. Quickly, they’re close on my heels.’

  Blake half-rose to his feet, but Nayland reached out and pulled him back.

  ‘Don’t be a fool,’ he hissed. ‘Can’t you see that it isn’t Simon, but some devil made up to look like him.’

  ‘But it is Simon,’ persisted Blake angrily. He almost tore himself from the other’s restraining grasp, but Nayland held on wildly.

  Gradually, the other sank back on to his knees inside the circle. There was a sudden shrill scream of rage and the thing in the doorway that had looked like Simon Merrivale suddenly faded away in a swirling of dark smoke and shadow.

  The shadows in the room thickened. They now seemed to be pressing down against the tiny ring of lights that burned defiantly in the darkness. One of the candles flickered and threatened to go out although there was not the slightest breath of air in the room.

  Then, gradually, about the chalk-marked circle there appeared to cluster in the smoke given off by the burning incense, a rank of dim, indistinct forms, shapes that were not quite human, yet resembling little else.

  Nayland reached the end of the chant and turned to look at Blake. The other had suddenly become rigid; his features set and fixed. There was a look in his eyes that was like that of an idiot, vacant and empty, as though the soul had been removed from behind the eyes and only the empty shell of the body remained.

  ‘Richard,’ Nayland spoke loudly. />
  ‘Yes.’ The word was a solitary whisper, scarcely heard.

  ‘Can you feel anything?’

  ‘There seems to be something over my face so that it’s difficult to breathe.’

  ‘The mask of Shabaka?’

  ‘I think so.’

  His voice sounded strangely muffled as if something dark, but invisible, were pushing down hard against his face. A sudden blast of icy air caught at the candle flames and one of them was snuffed out as though invisible fingers had plucked at it.

  Leaping suddenly to his feet with a muttered curse of fear, Nayland lit it again with a long white taper from one of the other candles as the dark, hideous shapes, formed out of a coagulated nightmare, surged forward to cross the circle, straining against the protective barrier. There was a fearful, dreadful hunger in their movements that sent a shiver through Nayland’s body.

  ‘Can you see anything, Richard?’ He spoke loudly and insistently to the other.

  Blake’s face twisted. ‘I think I’m in a room, but it’s difficult to see properly. There’s a window in front of me looking out on the grounds of this place.’

  ‘Go over to it.’

  A brief pause, then the other said in a harsh voice, ‘I can see out, but not very clearly.’

  ‘Can you describe the grounds? Any feature which will tell us where this place might possibly be?’

  Blake’s lips moved slowly like those of a medium in a deep trance. ‘I can see a long, double row of tall poplars at the far end of the grounds. There seems to be a road going past the end of the drive and a small village in the distance.’

  The dark nightmare shapes around the chalk circle began to grow stronger with each succeeding second.

  ‘Can you see anything else? Move around, leave the house if you can.’

  The lips moved slowly in the waxen face. ‘It’s raining hard out here on the lawn.’

  A pause, then: ‘I can see a sign at the end of the road, a little distance away.’

  Nayland leaned forward. ‘Keep going,’ he hissed urgently. ‘Try to read what it says.’