Arkham Nights
Page 28
Probably locked, I thought.
I turned to Barnes to find him on his knees, doing something to Dafoe. He’d already removed the man’s tie and used it to bind his arms behind his back. He was now removing the belt.
Dafoe started to moan. I could hear the things beyond his little snuff den screeching as they approached.
I hissed at Barnes, saying, “Get that bastard’s keys from his pocket, we need to get out fast.”
A second later the keys came jangling towards me. A second after that and I was working on the lock.
I fought a growing fear as I tried key after key, then Barnes was breathing down my neck, his breath fast and panicked sounding. I had the lock open on the sixth key.
“What do we do with him?” I said, nodding towards Dafoe, trussed up and now wide-awake.
As I stepped through the doorway he shouted in a pleading voice, “You can’t leave me here! Don’t you know what those things have been trained to do to me?”
“That’s your answer,” Barnes said.
I closed and locked the door and we charged up a flight of stairs, leaving Dafoe’s wailing voice behind us. His screams turned louder, but not as loud as the monsters’ roars.
Leaving Dafoe in the basement had me satisfied despite the fact the horrors might be after us next. Him being killed before the corpses of his victims seemed like a righteous retribution.
We made our way up the flight of stairs and I tried my damnedest to block out the screams coming from Dafoe. The bastard deserved what was happening to him but the sound of his agony only made me think about what his victims must have endured. In the darkness of the stairway I stumbled into Towers and cursed.
“Damn, Trev, you’re moving like an old woman!”
“Pipe down!” he growled. “There’s something at the top of the stairs.”
Any welcoming committee at the top of the stairs had to be bad news.
Sounding braver than I felt, I said, “It’s probably one of Dafoe’s ridiculous props... a headless manikin or something.”
“I don’t think so,” Towers replied. “It’s moving.”
I dropped to my knees, easing Trevor to the left with one hand while bringing my .45 out with the other. My finger was poised to squeeze the trigger when a terrific flash of light temporarily blinded me. “Son of a bitch!” I yelled, but the words were only in my head and had failed to leave my mouth. Trevor was uncharacteristically silent as well so I brilliantly deduced that he had been struck blind and was paralyzed as well. This didn’t bode well for the continued existence of Barnes and Towers Investigations unless one of us could free ourselves from the strange force binding us.
Eventually my vision returned and I could see Trevor still frozen beside me from the corner of my eye. I could see him because there was an emaciated figure radiating crimson light from the landing at the top of the stairs.
“I have no desire to harm you,” the figure said.
That would be a first, I thought.
It suddenly dawned on me that I’d seen pictures of the man—though looking more robust—in recent days. It was Roger Bunning!
Bunning took a step down the staircase and said, “I think you deserve an explanation before my spell of binding wanes and restores your freedom of movement. You should be able to speak now but I sincerely hope that you will listen because my time grows short.”
I heard Towers mumble a curse as I cleared my throat.
“You’re calling the shots for now,” I gasped. “What’s your story?”
“I would think it pretty obvious,” Bunning replied. “Justice for my wife and daughter.”
Dafoe’s screams from the basement rose in pitch. “Shit, I’d say you’ve got that in spades,” Trevor said.
Bunning smiled. “Yes, at the forfeiture of my soul... but it is a small price to pay.”
“The bastard deserves what’s happening,” I stated. “But what you did to his wife makes you no better in our book.”
“What I did?” he asked, shaking his head sadly. “I can’t pass into the dark realm that lies beyond and allow you to believe that the Dafoe bitch’s death was my handiwork.”
“We saw the film,” Trevor accused. “You were in it.”
“No,” Bunning replied. “Dafoe was the man in the film. I’m certain he concocted a wonderful tale for you but it wasn’t true. He sacrificed his wife to save his own neck. It was the pupil turning on the teacher if you care to know the truth. It was her from whom he learned the dark arts and it was her who participated in the murder of my family. I didn’t murder her but don’t deny I would have done so had she still lived.”
From his powers, and the way he spoke, Bunning really wasn’t the witless occult dabbler Dafoe made him out to be.
“So we were duped,” I said disgustedly.
“Yes, I’m afraid so,” Bunning replied. “You are good and brave men that Dafoe chose to use in an effort to protect himself from my wrath.”
“Huh... not the best choice on his part,” Trevor said.
“I believe he made the right choice,” Bunning answered. “Your intentions were good.”
“Yeah,” I said, “but we know what the road to hell is paved with.”
“Do not sell yourselves short,” Bunning said. “Not many men would have watched that film and marched off into battle against such horror.”
“It’s what we do,” Trevor answered quietly.
I nodded in agreement and said, “There’s still a lot we don’t know about why this happened.”
“I’m afraid there isn’t time to go into details,” Bunning answered. “The energy expended on bringing those things into this sphere has left me near death. Suffice it to say it’s an old and familiar story of envy, greed and ego. As is often the case, it is the innocent who suffer.”
“What now?” Trevor asked.
Bunning flashed a smile that chilled my soul.
“I’m going to go to the basement to bring this business to a close. I suggest you leave this house and forget you ever heard of Dafoe.”
With that, the glowing figure made his way down the steps and passed through us on his way to the basement.
Several days have passed since our return from Dafoe’s estate. It’s been business as usual and sort of nice to be involved in some mundane, down to earth cases. Trevor has been spending time with that waitress at the Arkham Kettle and I’ve been beating myself up over hiring Betty Polanski to act as our office secretary. I’ve considered firing her but truth is I’m a little bit scared of her old lady.
I’ve also given a lot of thought to how many terrible things Trevor and I have witnessed during the short time we’ve worked together. There have been reanimated corpses, sea monsters, a deranged god-king dressed in yellow, and supernatural mobsters.
They are all horrible in their own way but there’s one creature that has them beat hands down and that creature is Man. Man has a choice about doing good or evil yet all too often chooses the latter. Man can be pretty damn rotten at times. It’s not something I like admitting or giving much thought to but it’s there nonetheless. I see it when I look at my partner and I see it when I gaze in the mirror each morning. Trevor and I have both traveled some rough roads and done things we’d rather not talk about. Neither of us are good at apologies but I’d like to think that what we do is helping to balance the scales just a little bit.
Maybe it is and maybe it isn’t. Maybe it’s too late for guys like Trevor and me. Maybe we’re already condemned to spend an eternity in Hell if such a place even exists. Still, it doesn’t matter because we’ve made our choice and damned or not we choose to fight on the side of the angels.
I can live with that.
The Authors Glynn Owen Barrass lives in the North East of England and has been writing since late 2006. He has written over a hundred and thirty short stories, most of which have been published in the UK, USA, France, and Japan. He has also edited anthologies for Chaosium’s Call of Cthulhu fiction line, and wri
tes material for their flagship roleplaying game. To date he has edited the collections Eldritch Chrome, Steampunk Cthulhu and Atomic Age Cthulhu, for Chaosium, In the Court of the Yellow King, for Celaeno Press, and World War Cthulhu for Dark Regions Press. Upcoming books include The Eldritch Force, The Summer of Lovecraft, Through a Mythos Darkly, and World War Cthulhu II.
Ron Shiflet is a native of Texas and grew up under the influence of Howard, Smith and Lovecraft. He is the author of Looking For Darla: Stories of Mythos Noir and occasionally collaborates with Glynn Barrass on the Barnes and Towers stories of eldritch horror.
He has had short stories published in a number of publications such as Arkham Tales, Frontier Cthulhu, Horrors Beyond (both volumes), Hardboiled Cthulhu and many others. He also edited the anthologies Hell’s Hangmen: Horror in the Old West and Damned in Dixie: Southern Horror.
Ron still writes occasionally but spends and inordinate amount of time reading alternative history and castigating the New World Order and its minions.
The Artist
M. Wayne Miller is a well-known name in the field of horror illustration. Not to be limited, he is equally adept with science fiction, fantasy, and young adult themes, welcoming the opportunities of each genre and, frequently, combining them all. Always open to new ideas and challenges, he continues his quest to learn and grow as an artist and illustrator. He can be contacted via his website at http://www.mwaynemiller.com
Copyright information
Arkham Nights: Tales of Mythos Noir
Copyright © 2016 Glynn Owen Barrass and Ron Shiflet
Cover art © M. Wayne Miller
Publishing history
“A Man Called West” – E’ch Pi El 5 (Rainfall Books), Two Against Darkness (H. Harksen Productions)
“Big Boss” – Strange Detective Tales 1 (Rainfall Books), Two Against Darkness (H. Harksen Productions)
“The Lady in Yellow” – Strange Detective Tales 2 (Rainfall Books), Two Against Darkness (H. Harksen Productions)
“Redemption” – Strange Detective Tales 3 (Rainfall Books), Two Against Darkness (H. Harksen Productions)
“The Kingsport Desk” – Strange Detective Tales 1 (Rainfall Books), Two Against Darkness (H. Harksen Productions)
“The Glass Jaw” – Two Against Darkness (H. Harksen Productions)
“Skin Flick” – Strange Detective Tales 3 (Rainfall Books), Two Against Darkness (H. Harksen Productions)
“Last Chick Standing” – Strange Detective Tales 2 (Rainfall Books), Two Against Darkness (H. Harksen Productions)
This edition copyright © 2017 Celaeno Press. All rights reserved.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be sold or used in any way in any other work or product without explicit advance written permission from Celaeno Press. Thank you for helping to protect the author’s rights.
ISBN: 978-4-902075-94-6
Edition 1.0
Celaeno Press
www.celaenopress.com