Barnes and I shared a look that was part recognition that what he told us was the truth. We’d witnessed far too much weird already to truly question his claims.
He continued. “If you consider how long our humble race has lived on planet Earth, and imagine how far, technologically speaking, we’ve gotten already, can you imagine how our achievements will look in a few hundred years?”
“Pretty damned impossible to imagine,” Barnes muttered.
“Their technology would seem like magic, their powers god-like.”
Barnes added. “We’ve heard of these things being referred to as gods before.”
Dafoe laughed. “Yes, but, unlike the paltry gods of humanity’s religions, these beings actually answer prayers and sacrifice with gifts of power.”
I said, “Like sending some beast to kill your wife?”
Dafoe sighed sadly before continuing. “The universe is full of monstrous entities like the Shoggoth, all ancient and powerful beyond human imaginings. I believe that my enemy summoned and controlled one of these blasphemies for the sole purpose of destroying my wife.”
From the movie that we’d seen, it seemed Bunning had done a damned fine job of doing just that.
“Seems like a risky business for revenge,” Barnes said.
“Risks are part of the game,” Dafoe replied.
Game? I thought. This guy is screwed.
His next words did nothing to change my opinion of him.
“Many of the most maligned entities take a particular interest in our world. We can deal with them, if we’re careful, and sometimes benefit thereof.”
His comment reminded me of the King in Yellow and his mad, murderous worshipers. I wondered if Barnes was thinking the same.
Picking the statue up from the desk, Dafoe said, “But, the human race are as insects to their inscrutable minds, and to cross them is to bring upon us a wrath unimaginable.”
Holding the statue so that we could clearly see its repulsive, tentacled face, he told us something that was difficult to believe.
“This statue, a depiction of the god Cthulhu, was actually sculpted on another world. It is a mere, tiny depiction of the god himself, a giant sorcerous evil which currently resides beneath our very own Pacific Ocean.”
I finished making another sweep of the first floor and cursed my luck. Willie Haynes had been unable to assist with security because he was down with the flu and running a hundred and three degrees fever. Our other possibility, Fred Massie, was recovering in Arkham General from a gunshot wound sustained at the hands of a criminal’s irate girlfriend. This left only the two of us to insure Dafoe’s safety. We were confident in our ability to do the job but a little help would’ve been nice.
Trevor was on the second floor near Dafoe’s room thumbing through a magazine when I returned. “All quiet?” he asked, letting his reading material drop to the floor.
“Yeah,” I answered, “not that I’m crazy about roaming around in the dark through this museum of horrors. I wonder what Geoffrey would make of it.”
Trevor grinned and said, “I think he would find it oh so tacky.”
I took a seat and sighed. “Is our client all tucked in for the night?”
“He retired a few minutes ago,” Trevor replied. “My guess is that he’s in there self-medicating... if you know what I mean.”
I nodded and said, “It’s going to be a long night. Why don’t you get a little shut-eye? I’ll wake you if there’s trouble.”
“You won’t need to wake me if it’s the sorta trouble we usually get.”
“Yeah, ain’t it the truth,” I replied.
“Some giant monster, asleep under the sea just waiting to come up and devour us all... damn, that just takes the biscuit.” Barnes said, sat across from me in one of the plush seats of the upstairs lounge. Dafoe had retired for the night, leaving us on guard not far from his bedroom in case the bogeyman came a-calling.
We’d spent the last half hour talking about Dafoe and his alien worlds, the name of Cthulhu often coming up in conversation.
The doors and windows had been locked, and I’d even gone out to make sure the front gate was back in the condition we’d found it in.
I felt we were pretty well secured, all things considered.
“And what was that other thing Dafoe mentioned?” Barnes continued. “These monsters having avatars? Maybe Big Boss was one of those.”
Big Boss was a gangster we’d come across, whom, despite not being as big and as ugly as this Cthulhu supposedly was, had been a monster of no small caliber.
Maybe because of my secure feeling, or perhaps because of my comfortable seat or the warming effects of the whiskey, I’d been growing sleepy for a good ten minutes.
So as not to be rude, I’d been grunting assent to Barnes’s words, but my eyelids were fast becoming too heavy to resist.
I lit a smoke and Trevor nursed a glass of scotch as we talked for a while longer. We discussed avatars and about some of what we’d run up against in the past but it was obvious that Trevor was about to nod off. He was soon snoring contentedly but this didn’t bother me in the least since I knew how fast he could respond if needed. Besides, the sounds he was making would probably scare any evil denizens back to whatever hell they came from.
I pulled a battered copy of Baron Blood: Death Ace from my back pocket and started to read. Before long I was locked in aerial combat, trying to maneuver away from the intrepid Baron and his deadly Spandau guns. I was soon destined to become another trophy on the Baron’s victory shelf and put the magazine down before the inevitable conclusion. Rising from my chair, I turned and walked down the hall and past Dafoe’s bedroom. All was quiet so I continued to the end of the corridor and eased back a heavy crimson drape in order to take a look outside.
A thick fog was rolling in and it would soon be impossible to see anything. “Well,” I mumbled, “we’ve battened down the hatches and there’s nothing to do but wait.”
I still wasn’t entirely sure that I believed Dafoe’s tale of murder and revenge but intended on being prepared just the same. Would guns stop that thing we’d seen on film? I sort of doubted it but Trevor had brought a few other handy items just in case. My partner was ever resourceful in the ways of death and destruction. Turning from the window, I began to retrace my steps but suddenly stopped as something seemed to crash into the side of the house.
“What the hell?” I asked, turning back to the window.
I withdrew my automatic from its shoulder rig and clutched it tightly. The muffled sound of breaking glass came from behind the crimson drapes and a misshapen bulge appeared in the thick window coverings. I bounded several yards up the hall and yelled, “Trevor!”
His eyes were already open and he was getting to his feet.
“The window at the end of the hall,” I growled.
A gun seemed to appear instantly in his meaty hand and he soon crouched beside me as we aimed our weapons at the bulging drapes. A large black-feathered head with a wicked beak ripped through the thick fabric. We opened fire and a hellish screech could be heard between shots as lead sent blood and feathers flying. In the middle of these fireworks, Dafoe popped his head out of the bedroom, glanced at our target and yelled, “It’s a Byakhee!”
Trevor looked at me as if expecting confirmation.
I shrugged and said, “It’s a damn big bird!”
The creature screeched again, pulled away from the broken window and disappeared from view. We heard loud thuds on the roof and the sound of wood splintering as it was wrenched loose.
Trevor grimaced. “Sounds like the bastards are all over the roof!”
I looked at him and said, “Take Dafoe out of here.”
“Like hell!” Trevor answered. “All of us go or none of us go.”
That was the ex-marine coming out in my partner. I knew where he was coming from and that it was useless to argue with him. Still, I gave it a shot.
“Who’s the senior partner in this chicken shit operation?”
I asked.
“Screw you, Barnes,” he answered. “You’re not staying behind to play hero.”
I grinned. “I’d go with you but it’s so damp outside.”
“Gentlemen,” Dafoe interrupted, “I’ve made contingencies for such an emergency.”
We watched him run down the hall, his open robe flapping behind him.
“What’s he think he’s doing?” Trevor asked.
I started to reply but stopped as Dafoe opened a hidden panel in the wall and pulled a switch. The lights flickered and an ungodly racket arose from the roof above.
Smiling hideously, Dafoe said, “There’s an electric grid on the roof. They’ll never get in that way.”
No sooner were his words spoken when a section of the ceiling collapsed inward, almost blinding us with dust, sheet rock and smoke.
“Son of a bitch!” Trevor cursed, wiping at his eyes.
The smell of burning feathers made us gag as we tried to get our bearings and destroy the wounded Byakhee that flopped dangerously around the floor.
I emptied my .45 trying to kill the screeching creature but was having no luck
“Get away from it!” Trevor yelled from somewhere in the settling cloud.
I had planned to do exactly that when a singed, flailing wing knocked me across the room, causing me to crash into a suit of armor standing against the wall. I was seeing stars and little else but could hear Trevor yelling at me to “Watch out!” A bullet smashed into the wall nearby, prompting me to curse and wipe the blood from my eyes. The view that greeted me left a lot to be desired.
The pain-maddened Byakhee glared at me from blood red eyes and bobbed its head menacingly. Each bob of its half-cooked head sent its wicked beak closer to my face. My hand brushed against cold steel and a quick glance beside me revealed a sword. I grabbed for the antique weapon, thankful for any port in a storm. Trevor and Dafoe both screamed a warning and I instinctively raised the blade to defend myself against the downward slash of the Byakhee’s deadly beak. I deflected the beak just enough to save myself but the impact had nearly deadened by arm. In desperation, I struggled to my feet and staggered away from the frustrated creature.
“Get down!” Trevor screamed.
Without hesitation, I threw myself face down and kissed the floor, knowing that my partner had something up his sleeve. The sound of the Thompson was sweet music to my ears as it sang its song of death. I glanced to my side and watched as the Byakhee danced like a puppet on a string as each bullet found its mark.
“I forgot about the Thompson,” I said and stood to approach Trevor and Dafoe.
Trevor grinned. “It was in the case by the sofa.”
Dafoe looked sheepish and said, “It seems my plan wasn’t quite foolproof.”
“I wonder how many got fried on the roof?” Trevor asked.
Window panes began to break throughout the house.
I felt sick. “Apparently not enough,” I answered.
Dafoe, white as a sheet, said, “Quick, we can make it to the basement!”
I had just enough time to retrieve my .45 before we began our mad dash to the lower part of the house. Unfortunately, the fun was just starting. Our rush downstairs held another nasty surprise: we discovered two hulking things waiting down there for us, both of them looking suspiciously like the rapist from the death movie.
Dafoe squealed in horror.
Towers emptied the Thompson into them in a roaring hail of lead. This forced the creatures back but not down; it at least gave us room to escape. As we fled, Towers swore before dropping the now empty machine gun to the floor.
The door Dafoe led us to was made from solid-looking wood and held a row of locks along its right-hand side. It seemed pretty sturdy, which was great except we were on the wrong side of it. There were moments of tension as Dafoe produced a key fob from his pocket to search for the right keys.
With the injured monsters back up and coming closer, Barnes and I stood with our weapons ready as Dafoe continued his task.
Dafoe was quicker than our pursuers. He shouted, “Come on!” and we were hot on his heels as he disappeared through the door.
The door led to a small landing beyond which fell a steep flight of stairs. We were in darkness for a moment before Dafoe flicked a switch to illuminate a room below us.
Barnes had the door closed in a hurry. It made a solid, slamming sound before Dafoe drove home the heavy steel bolts lining its edge with quick, precise movements.
We were in the landing’s cramped surrounds for only a second longer before Dafoe rushed past us to head down the stairs. Barnes and I were fast behind him, going down steps that were far too narrow and steep for my liking.
We’d gotten halfway down these when Dafoe, almost at the bottom, tripped and fell with a surprised yelp. The fall wasn’t a long one and as I reached the bottom I found him spread-eagled on the floor of a room filled with wall-to-wall junk.
I stepped across Dafoe, quickly followed by Barnes. Turning to see that Barnes was checking on the man gave me the opportunity to finally reload my gun.
I emptied the chamber onto the floor and put four live ones in the barrel, the last of my ammo.
“He seems okay,” Barnes said. “Just out for the count.”
I hoped the door would hold, and felt glad it was the most reinforced in the house.
The basement though, a room lined with tea chests, boxes, and old furniture, had me a bit puzzled. I had to wonder why Dafoe had bothered with such security for such a junk-filled room.
I turned to Barnes. He’d bundled up his jacket as a pillow for Dafoe’s head, the sword he’d been using to defend himself with laid out beside the unconscious man.
As he stood, I said, “You see something funny about this place?”
Looking round the room he shook his head, so I followed with, “The door. Why’d he have this so secure compared to the rest of the house?”
Barnes shook his head.
“This guy’s a kook though. Let’s just thank our lucky stars that he did.”
Still, why would Dafoe have us run into a dead end where we might be trapped until either the creatures came for us or we starved to death? He might’ve been kooky, but suicidal?
I looked around us and soon found my answer. It stood beyond the stacked up chairs and wooden crates on the wall opposite the stairs.
“Hey, Barnes,” I called. “Gimme a hand here.” I then dragged away the stuff lining the wall to get a closer look at my discovery.
Maybe I’d finally learned something in my months of peeping, or maybe it was just dumb luck, but the outline of a hidden door, flush with the wall and painted the same color, had appeared to me like a lighthouse in a storm.
Barnes, removing the chairs and one of the boxes, was quick to see what I’d found.
“Nice work,” Barnes said. “Can’t see a handle though. But if in doubt, push!”
He pressed both hands against the door and did just that. To my surprise it fell forward on hidden hinges into the secret room beyond.
We picked up Dafoe together, me taking the rear as we led him into darkness. We deposited him to the floor and I quickly checked the walls and discovered a light switch.
The room I lit up was odd to say the least. The carpet was red, as were three of the walls. Not painted red, but covered in ceiling to floor length curtains.
“Damn, a freak room,” Barnes muttered, but I was more interested in the other objects the light had revealed.
Two tall shelves flanked the door we’d come through, and these were lined with row upon row of film canisters. Just beyond where we’d dropped Dafoe there was a table with a projector. A chair stood before it and the whole scene had me thinking something was very wrong.
Barnes, already at the curtains, pulled the one facing the projector open to reveal a screen.
I took his lead and headed towards the curtain on my right, stepping around Dafoe to see if this one held a way out.
I dragged it open a
nd my throat turned dry. Beyond, within a tall glass case, hung the lank shape of something horribly familiar. Suspended from a hook dangled the skin of a dead woman. She looked like a balloon without the air, her long black hair draped around a misshapen head that looked sad and eyeless. Its sagging chin touched breasts that were flaccid and deflated, the pipe thin arms and legs twisted around an empty torso.
I pulled the curtain further and discovered yet another empty corpse, this one a young girl. Her hair was the same color as the other sad husk’s.
“I don’t like the way this is going,” I said. I turned to find Barnes stood before the projector screen, staring slack jawed at my ugly find.
Each case, or trophy cabinet rather, bore a labeled tag, just like the rest of Dafoe’s collection. I knelt to examine these feeling unsteady on my feet and sick to the gut.
I uttered a sound of involuntary disgust as I read the paper notes attached by string to each body’s right big toe.
The woman’s read:
Ann Bunning – Died Broken
The girl’s:
Ellen Bunning – Died Screaming For Her Mother
“Jesus, Trev, get the feeling we’ve been screwed?”
I couldn’t have voiced Barnes’s words any better myself.
“That and more so,” I replied. I stood and backed away from the cabinets, their contents far too much for me to bear.
We stared at each other then back to the cabinets, Barnes looking exactly like I felt: pissed and disgusted.
Everything suddenly slipped into place. I realized the horror carried out against Dafoe’s wife was only a small part of a much longer story of revenge and retribution; the evidence was right before us.
We turned to look down at Dafoe.
“Revenge,” Barnes snarled. “Those monsters up there have been sent here for revenge against this piece of...”
His words were abruptly cut off by a loud, splintering crack from the direction of the other room. It seemed the monsters Barnes mentioned were on their way to finish the task.
There was no time to lose.
My first action was to step over Dafoe before rushing towards the only closed curtain. I mentally crossed my fingers as I pulled it aside. My wish came true, for just where I’d hoped it would be stood a door. It had a keyhole beneath its brass handle.
Arkham Nights Page 27
