The Dreaming Demon

by Alex Avrio

  I exchanged a sickened glance with von Athens. This giant race with its strength and ferocity had conquered its neighbours. But they also used them as food, and the terror-struck Indians had rebelled to save their lives. No wonder they wanted this evil place forgotten, where their loved ones had not only been sacrificed, but cannibalized.

  Von Athens pointed to the top of the relief. The Priest was offering the heart of the prisoner to a giant serpent flying over the pyramid. It was so large it reached from one side of the pyramid to the other. This was the horrific god they worshipped. Was this the Mother of Serpents? Where then was the dreaming demon? Who was he? Inexplicably, I knew that the Mother of Serpents was the dreaming demon, now sleeping after the demise of her children. How I knew this I could not say. Next to me von Athens also knew. We exchanged a simple glance and both realized that we would have to climb the pyramid and meet the Mother of Serpents. The mortal danger we faced synchronized our thoughts. Never before, or since, had I ever been so in tune with a comrade. There were no Serpent People to tear our hearts out, but there was still a great danger hidden, a danger to our bodies, mind, and soul.

  Lady Athelton and Captain Allen seemed oblivious to the relief and its significance. We could tell they believed that wondrous knowledge would be bestowed upon them, setting them apart from the rest of mankind. I recalled the forbidden section in the library and the rumours of Lord Athelton’s involvement in things any god-fearing man would stay well away from. Things of darkness and repulsion, of ancient cults and obscure worship of unspeakable things long and best forgotten. How much of this had Lady Athelton and Captain Allen read? How much were they involved in? I had made the mistake of thinking Lady Athelton a rather silly woman. She clearly was not. But we could see something else as well. Lady Athelton and Captain Allen were not in the same state of union as we were. We also thought that Captain Allen didn’t hear or sense like we did.

  Von Athens pointed at the pyramid and we both started to make our way there. It was remarkably easy. The staircase presented some difficulty as it was made for a different stride than ours. With every step the feeling of dread increased in our heart, yet still we climbed. We reached the top at midday. As the sun reached its highest point we entered the pyramid via the temple.

  Our eyes took a moment to adjust to the darkness inside. We followed the corridor which would lead us to the heart of the titanic structure. The temperature began to drop the closer we got. Lady Athelton led the way, the fervour of a martyr in her eyes, the devotion of a maenad. I followed, von Athens behind me. At the tail of our party lagged Captain Allen. His conviction in our purpose was now diminished. He would have turned and run but was held in place by the same irresistible force that drove us all.

  I could not tell how much time it took us to descend into the bowels of this immense structure. With every step we could hear more clearly the call of the Mother of Serpents. I was with every step afraid of what I would see, but nothing could prepare me for what I would encounter.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The Mother of Serpents

  WE reached the chamber and entered, no hesitation in our bodies but terror in our souls. It was a structure that deserved to be studied by generations of architects, artists and archaeologists, if they dared to venture to this place. The walls were covered with reliefs painted with vivid colours and hieroglyphs. I could have spent years studying each one. It was strange that we did not notice that the air was heavy, stifled with eons of decay, nor that the lack of bright light, other than our torches, did not hinder us. If we had been masters of our own minds we would have run out of that unholy place. But we were hypnotized, moths drawn to a bright candle. We, and when I say we it was always von Athens and I, understanding each other's thoughts, went to the nearest wall. We marvelled at the skill of the artists, not noticing the bones we crunched under our feet.

  It was a chronicle. The Mother of Serpents descended from the heavens in a great fireball. In the next panel she was surrounded and tended by this race of people known as The Serpent People. Somehow they had harnessed her power, built this great pyramid in her honour and enacted unspeakable rituals and unholy worship for their Goddess. The following image was similar to the one outside, captives led to the pyramid for sacrifice. This time there was a difference. Some of the prisoners were entering the pyramid, in a state of ecstasy. Avoiding the gruesome fate of their comrades, a worse one about to befall them.

  In a slab of huge stone, high on the wall there was the sun and spheres around it which could only be planets. We wondered at the astronomical knowledge of these people. Some were planets we knew, others were unknown to us. Next to this was a great circle with engravings and hieroglyphs which we believed to be a calendar. Further down a ritual was painted in gruesome detail, so hideous that I shudder to describe it. This was a complex people, capable of great knowledge and discovery, even artistic genius, but cruel and decadent, almost deranged in their savagery.

  Something compelled us to turn. A veil was lifted from our eyes and we could now see what lay in the centre of the chamber. A colossal statue carved in an otherworldly stone the likes of which I had never seen before or since. My eyes strove to take in the form, but it could not entirely succeed for this was a shape that was never meant to be seen or understood by human minds. This blasphemy defied the laws of nature, bent the laws of known science. It was something not of this world and never meant to be in it.

  I was aware of Captain Allen screaming, a scream I never thought possible from a human throat, but my whole body was unable to move. I could not take my eyes away from the statue. If I thought it would do any good I would have ripped my eyes out, but I knew I would continue to see in my mind. I somehow had retained my sanity, not yet a drooling idiot, but I did not know how or why. My whole existence screamed before this ultimate predator, the terror of a piglet hunted by a saber tooth tiger. My feet were rooted to the spot, my body unable to flee. I could hear Lady Athelton laughing and wondered if her mind had been unhinged. The wonder would be if it hadn’t.

  I do believe that we all went insane in that impossible burial chamber. It was the only way that our minds would not turn to pulp and run out of our ears. The most primal fear rushed upon us, tidal wave after tidal wave, little monkeys terrified of the horror in the dark. Suddenly it stopped. The most soothing song entered our minds. We were no longer afraid. We had returned to where we belonged, in our mother’s embrace. We were safe. She would take care of us. No one could hurt us for we were strong. No one could catch us for we were fast. No one could conquer us for we were intelligent. And above all we were many. We would never be alone.

  I walked as in a dream towards the Mother of Serpents. She was calling me, I was among her chosen. So did the others. My hand reached out and touched her. Instantly I was drawn into a different plane of existence. The infinite emptiness of the dark. The space between the stars was cold and vast. Time passed on a different scale. There were so many things she could tell me. Such knowledge she could endow. Strength. Longevity. I loved her with all my heart. Tears ran on my cheeks. I belonged to her completely. The picture changed. My siblings were not meant for this world. I offered to help them come into it. Together we would rule the earth. We would worship our mother. Nourish her. We could always feel each other. We would never be alone. Our strength was in our numbers. Our human skins were very fortunate. There were among us two males and a female. We could produce more skins for our siblings.

  The edges of the world faded. I could feel Lady Athelton and von Athens next to me, connect to their consciousness as they could to mine. The humming filled my ears. The song of the heavens was in my soul. The beating of drums took over my mind completely.

  I have no recollection of leaving the chamber of horrors. I do not know how many days had passed. I do not remember how we got to the village. We were covered in blood, scratches, bruises, and little else. The Indians must have thought us possessed savages. Alas, they knew better. Their ancestors had
seen this before. They knew what to do.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Alone

  I regained consciousness suddenly, everything a haze in my head, still ablaze with fever. The tribal shaman held me down and forced some vile liquid down my throat. I could hear the screams of Lady Athelton as I floated in and out of consciousness. With every passing moment I felt something slipping away, water through my fingers. I felt an intense pain, an intense feeling of loneliness. With every passing moment I felt master of my own thoughts once again. The next time I awoke she was still screaming. The shaman again made me drink the despicable liquid. I screamed, and two Indians held me down as he forced me to swallow the concoction.

  It was days before I could sit up. The elder came in to see me.

  “Do you know where you are?” he asked. I nodded.

  “The village,” I whispered in a tongue that did not feel mine. My head felt like it was splitting in two.

  “Do you remember what happened?”

  “No.” That would come later.

  “Do you know what happened to your friends?”

  “The woman I can hear screaming. I do not know about the men.” The elder eyed me suspiciously.

  “You cannot tell if they are alive?”

  I sensed that this was an important question. I did not know, or care much what had happened to Allen. I did not know what had happened to von Athens or where he was. My connection to him was lost. It filled me with infinite sadness. Something swirled in my mind, something that was paramount to my self-preservation and from the depths of my subconscious a host of thoughts rose to my mind. I suddenly knew what I had to do if I wanted to survive.

  “No. How could I?”

  The elder put his hand on my chest for a few moments looking deep in my eyes. Then he seemed satisfied.

  “Your friend with hair like the sun, he is in the next hut recovering as you are. The hunter has not returned.” I immediately understood that von Athens had survived while Captain Allen was missing.

  “What about the woman?”

  “The evil in her is strong. But we are drawing it out a little each day. We must be careful if she is to survive.”

  “I need to see her,” I demanded.

  “After she is cleansed.”

  After the elder left I got up. That was a feat in itself as I was weak and the world swayed around me, like I was a ship in a storm. With unsteady feet I followed the screams to a neighbouring hut. I barely glimpsed two men holding her down, a woman rotating a rod around which an ungodly horror was wrapped. It was long, like a worm, like a deformed snake, two feet of it wrapped in coils around the rod, the rest burrowed deep in Lady Athelton’s abdomen. I fainted.

  #

  It took a long time to recover from the physical and mental trauma. Our colleagues were told that we had taken ill. They spent their time gathering samples and studying the environment and natives. I could now see that it was the natives who studied us, and humoured the white scientists like an adult to an inquisitive child. Lady Athelton eventually recovered, but her body was weak and her sprit broken. I spent long hours recuperating with von Athens. The vast loneliness ebbed somehow. He had suffered what the western doctors would describe as mental break down, and the shaman as a lucky escape. He found great solace in his drawing. He had compiled a volume of illustrations of plants and wildlife, and a striking portrait of his wife.

  We never talked about what happened in The City. Once he took, from under the mat he was sleeping on, a notebook and gave it to me.

  “Sometimes fragments of memories come back to me. I have to draw them to get them out of my head. I do not know if they are real, or if the fever has brought them on. But I do not wish to keep them.” He gave me the notebook. I flipped through it and the sketches of The City and other things too disturbing for me to mention. But I knew that these images matched the flashes of my recollections.

  “We need to discuss what we shall do with the woman.” He could not bring himself to say her name.

  “She is ill. I believe she will remain of a weak constitution. One of us must do the honourable thing.” We remained silent.

  “I would do it,” von Athens said, “but I am already married.” He had always been an honourable man.

  “I shall do it,” I said. “I shall take care of her. It will be better as we are both English. The same language and everything, you understand.”

  #

  Once we were well enough to begin the trip home the elder spoke to me in private for the last time.

  “My child,” he said, “we have done everything in our power for you and yours.” He put his hand on my shoulder. “There was a reason our ancestors destroyed the Serpent People in the time of legends. They thought of men as cattle and they were not good herdsmen.” I did not reply.

  “I must tell you, the serpent people will not walk the earth as long as we are here. As the monk so long ago discovered, their strength is in numbers for their mind is different from ours. One is not a danger; the monk did not deceive us. He condemned himself to eternal solitude. Do you understand?” I nodded. I understood very well. For the serpent people look like men, but they are not men. But one alone is weak. A man may conquer it and remain master of his own mind. Barely.

  The rest is of little consequence. We made our way back and agreed with von Athens never to speak of The City ever again. Like Ulysses we only desired to get home. Once we reached civilization I married Lady Athelton and took care of her for the rest of her life. It was care she greatly needed.

  There is little more to tell you. I had been a church going man, but upon my return doubts crept into my mind. How could any God allow such vile horrors to be unleashed upon an unsuspecting world? Like Ferdinand de Castile I lost touch with my God and I lost faith. It is most unfortunate when the loss of faith in one thing is not replaced with the discovery of a new epiphany. My world was a vast cold emptiness. I had believed in science. But how much of that was accurate? My expedition had revealed so much which was unknown to us and completely unexplained. Most nights I dream of the void. I miss the eternity of it. I hear the beating heart of the dreaming demon calling me home. I send out my mind calling to others but I find no one. We are alone.”

  #

  Sir Albert took a deep puff out of his pipe. The fire had now faded to embers. I was trembling in my seat. He gave the fire a few vigorous strokes and the flames leapt back to life, as powerful as ever. The reflection shone in his eyes and for a few seconds there was something ancient and powerful there. Then he was an old man again. He leaned forward towards me, letting out an amused laugh. For a moment I thought that his teeth were pointed and something, something impossible stirred under his skin. For the Serpent People look like men but they are not men.

  I ran out of the room screaming. No one followed me except for the old man’s laughter.

  #

  The next day I felt embarrassed about how I had run out. I felt much braver in the light of day, the familiar sight of rain falling on an English garden. Had I been an impressionable young child scared of a tale an old explorer had told in the middle of a stormy night?

  The next day, Mrs Applethorn sourly informed me that I was allowed during the morning hours in certain areas of the library. I spent many happy hours in that place reading books about expeditions, treasure hunters and proper scientists. I can sincerely say that what I became and achieved in life was due to the love of learning that grew in my soul from those books.

  I never saw Sir Albert again for the duration of my stay. I could hear him walking sometimes down the corridor at night, but something in me never dared to follow him again to the library. I could still hear the humming song of the jungle and the heartbeat of the dreaming demon calling her chosen ones. That was the wild imagination of a child, wasn’t it? But from that moment on I was certain and afraid of an inexplicable thing that roamed my mind during night time.

  All things must come to an end, and so did my stay there. On the day I was l
eaving, Agnes was crying, wiping her tears on her apron, and even Mrs Applethorn managed a tear and a cuddle. Then she put on her stern face again and said that Sir Albert, being a generous and great man, was giving me a going away present which I was to open when I returned home. She presented me a big parcel wrapped in expensive paper.

  It was weeks before I opened the packet, which was forgotten in the excitement of my homecoming. It was a Victorian atlas. I spent many hours looking at it and dreaming of far away places.

  As a matter of fact I still have it. And I would like you to have it.”

  I politely refused, but Arthur was having none of it. He got up and returned after a few minutes with a grand leather bound book. He put it in my hands. A gift, he said, to remember him by.

  How prophetic his words were! When I examined the book I was impressed with the workmanship and beauty of what undoubtedly was a genuine Victorian atlas. But what took my breath away was a single sheet that was inserted between two pages of the book, a drawing of a style and skill that is rarely found today. A view of a stone city with a giant pyramid at its centre. There was something in the drawing that made me think that the artist had somehow got the proportions and the perspective wrong. Until I saw the tiny signature at the bottom of the picture.

  Now I know what it is that keeps me awake at night. Ferdinand de Castile and Sir Albert were tormented by the fear that they were alone in the universe. I, like Arthur, hear the beating heart of the dreaming demon, the Mother of Serpents, and am terrified that we are not.