Nine Eyes: Terror From The Deep

by C. J. Waller

  “Well, now. What do we have here?” the woman said. “You don’t have to be afraid of me, you know. I'm not here to harm you.”

  “Yeah, right,” Paul said. “Just like you wouldn’t harm Decker, or Mags. We know you’ve got them. We know what you’re doing.”

  “You do?” The woman arched an eyebrow at them. “Pray, do tell.”

  “Paul…” Yolanda whispered. Paul ignored her.

  “You’re going to do something with the… thing in the loch. I know it’s there. I… I saw it. Part of it, at least. You want to keep it a secret, keep what you’re doing here a secret, so you can carry on.”

  The woman chuckled and shook her head. He’d expected angry denial, not amusement, and that made a fury he’d never felt before erupt inside him. His face flushed red and he balled his fists, ready to strike this old woman down. Decker’s Grandmother or not, he wasn’t going to be laughed at-

  “No. You think you have worked it out, but as with all of your ilk, you’ve added two and two and come up with the square root of evil. Yes, we do want to keep it a secret – and we largely succeed. But not for the reasons you think. We do it to protect, to ensure your safety-”

  “Safety!” Paul exploded. The dead air made him sound petulant, which angered him even further. “Piers is dead! Mags has disappeared, and Decker… Decker… I don’t know. But he’s lost to us, of that I am sure. He’s one of you now. How is that protecting us? How is that ensuring our safety?”

  “Typical. Always thinking of yourselves as individuals who matter more than the collective.” The woman sighed and suddenly looked smaller and older, making Paul feel ashamed for shouting at her. “You were all lost the moment you stepped foot in the town. No, I was referring to humanity in general. We are the last keepers of the gates to Hell, Mr Ryan. We alone keep them closed, as best we can. We satisfy the beast just enough to keep it asleep… but then you came.” Sadie Decker drew herself up and all hints of any frailty fled her. She was now made of steel; her voice, of iron. “You fed the beast. We told you not to, but you ignored us. You came with your pitiful curiosity and your desire to make money, thinking yourselves better, more important, more worthy than us. We asked you not to, told you to desist, but still you continued. Even now, you insist on making all of this about you. It has never been about you. It never will be. It is about us, and the beast, and keeping this world safe.”

  Despite the fog, her words rang out, echoing around them. Yolanda snivelled and Paul cringed back involuntarily, as if her proclamations were physical blows he must protect himself from. But he still asked. He still had to know.

  “What about Decker? What about your grandson? He fears this place, yet you have taken him! Where is he? Where is he?”

  Sadie Decker shrank back, once again an old woman. “Oh, my precious Brandon,” she said, more to herself than to Paul. “His mother sought to protect him. And why shouldn't she? A mother’s instinct is such a strong thing. It could move mountains if need be. I wanted to do the same for my sons, but the weight of this all lies on my shoulders… I did not have the luxury of choice. Not like her.” To Paul’s alarm, tears gathered in Sadie Decker’s eyes. “We had hoped this period of slumber would last longer, that distance would not stir the blood… that Brandon’s mother was right. But, alas, no… distance is but an illusion when you can hold the world in the palm of your hand. As the God slept, it dreamed… and Brandon heard those dreams. I did too, though I prayed they wouldn’t be answered. But they were.”

  Paul’s mouth ran dry. He’d mocked Decker’s nightmares at first, thinking him childish for being so afraid of them… but he now understood. Shame knifed him once again, right in his gut.

  “He wasn’t supposed to bring others with him,” Sadie continued. “He was supposed to come alone. That would have made things much easier and much, much safer. That is where his mother failed. She took him from here before we sealed ourselves in again and she allowed him to live, to love, in the outside world. I should have seen this, seen that he would bring those who loved him with him. I should have turned you away that first night, but pacifying the beast… it takes so much from me. I couldn’t keep the gate closed. Brandon’s blood is too strong, too potent… he tore through as if nothing was there at all.” She gave him a pleading look. “Please understand. We tried to stop you. We tried to warn you. We tried to satiate your curiosity, hoping that would sustain you long enough for us to convince you to leave. May the Lord forgive us, we even tried to make you sleep through all of this to spare you. But it was all for naught. You went to the loch and offered yourselves so willingly. There was nothing we could do. Now the beast is awake and everything we have done to keep humanity safe is at risk. There is only one thing left to do.”

  “And that is?” Paul whispered.

  “Not for discussion here,” Sadie said. “Worlds are colliding, and time is short. What you see here is the Beast's world – the world we inhabit – coming into alignment with your reality. I’ve managed to keep the doors closed for now, but the Beast is abroad and is seeking entrance. All we can do now is lure it back to its prison and reseal the gates.”

  “And if that doesn’t work?”

  “Then may the Lord forgive us all.”

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  Unlike his son's finery, Brandon’s father wore a simple robe. Beside him stood Grandma Sadie. She wore something similar, although infinitely more ornate, its coarse brown cloth shot through with threads of silver and gold, forming swirling designs that shimmered in the lamplight. Another memory tickled at Brandon’s mind; he’d seen these robes before, a long time ago, when he was no more than a baby, but the memory refused to be coaxed clear and remained indistinct and nebulous.

  His mother did not cry now. She stood, as straight as an arrow, her eyes flat and emotionless. Grandma Sadie nodded, allowing Brandon’s father to embrace his wife just once. He whispered something to her and for a split second her armour slipped and her eyes crumpled, but as soon as his father pulled away from her it was back, as strong as ever.

  He turned his attention to Brandon next. He knelt down in front of him and pulled him into the roughest, tightest hug Brandon had ever experienced, and he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that this was the last time he’d ever see his father. Together, they clung on to one another, father and son, each wishing this moment would never end, but it did, as all moments must. His father released him and straightened up. Grandma Sadie nodded, a beatific smile playing around her hard mouth, and without a word of goodbye, she led his father out of their lives.

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  Paul and Yolanda followed Sadie through Dùisg a' Pheacaich in silence. The buildings had deteriorated even further to the point where they were now mere ghosts of their former glory, their roofs lost, their brickwork crumbled and windows broken. Thick ropes of bramble covered everything and once accessible streets were crowded with vast swathes of stinging nettles and gorse. Above them, there was a dull boom and the clouds rippled, like someone tapping the side of a pail of water. Sadie glanced up and muttered something under her breath, picking up the pace so Paul and Yolanda were forced to jog to keep up.

  The fog grew thicker until it became a physical barrier, obscuring everything. Dewdrops formed on their skin, in their hair, trickling down the backs of their necks, the aroma of mud and salt all-pervading. They hustled after Sadie, aware that if they lost sight of her, they would never be found again. Occasionally, there would be another boom, so deep it was felt rather than heard, followed by a stirring of whispers that danced on the edge of their hearing.

  Still, Sadie plunged onwards, her head held high. Was this really the reality of her world? Was this how they truly lived? In a world of shadows and decay, forever holding back the dark? Or was this how the town now looked in the real world, in his own reality? If that was the case, how many people had stumbled over it without realising they were walking a thin line where two realities converged? Whichever one it was, Paul couldn't
puzzle it out. Not that it mattered. The only thing that mattered was finding Decker. Paul’s heart ached for him. If only he could take it all back, all the fights, the accusations, the coercion… but it was too late now. Whatever had been started had to be finished, one way or the other. Whether he liked it or not, he had no choice. He wasn’t even a pawn in this game – just a mere speck of dust to be wiped from the board after it had been played.

  The dark devoured what remained of the town. Still Sadie kept going, taking them down a winding path through a thick stand of fir trees. More than once, Paul had to duck under their branches, loathe to let their spidery limbs brush up against him. On the edge of his vision, he caught glimpses of forms flitting in between the damp trunks, matching their pace. Snapping his head this way and that, he tried to make out what they were, but they remained stubbornly indistinct. A stray root tripped him and he sprawled forwards only to be caught by one of the trees. He let out disgusted bark as he scrabbled back, his skin crawling. Drawn by the sound of his distress, the forms scurried over to them, not so close as to reveal their true natures, but enough for him to glimpse as a bristled, skittery leg here and a bloated, glistening sac that may or may not have been a body there.

  Sadie whipped around, her face like thunder.

  “Keep quiet!” she hissed. “Drawing attention to yourself here is not a good idea.” Then she muttered something under her breath and made a complicated gesture in the air with her hands. The forms squealed and slunk away.

  The fog thinned a little and Paul spied a flicker of light up ahead. Sadie headed towards it. Having no other option, they followed her. The light grew with every step until it formed a sizeable bonfire that would have sat by the edge of the loch, had it still been there. Now, a never ending vortex of water funnelled down into a deep chasm, deeper than the loch, deeper maybe than the Earth itself. Occasionally, a flash of blue light would ignite in the heart of the vortex and a rolling boom would cause the clouds above them to shudder. At its centre, standing on a pinnacle of rock hundreds of feet tall, was the drowned Church, its windows gleaming with myriad rainbows each time the lightning within the vortex flashed.

  The inhabitants of Dùisg a' Pheacaich stood around the edge of the abyss. Paul whipped his head around, trying to spy Decker amongst their ranks, but if he was there, he couldn't spot him, even though there had to be no more than three hundred of them. They ranged from the decrepit to babes in arms and despite everything, he couldn't help but marvel at this. Here they lived, on the edge of Hell in a broken town with no hope of escape… and yet they lived and loved, bringing children into their miserable lives. He didn’t know whether to be in awe of their indomitable spirit, or disdain them for their unimaginable cruelty. Instead, he stood in silence, not daring to draw attention to himself.

  The air was thick with expectation. Every eye was on the vortex; even the infants were still and staring, as if they knew what was at stake. Paul felt movement beside him and two huge figures, easily seven feet tall, stepped up beside himself and Yolanda, flanking them. He risked a glance up, but he couldn't work out who they might be. Their faces were obscured by the hoods they wore, but judging by the way they bulged in unnatural places, they were not entirely human. It was only when he lowered his gaze that he realised they were wearing those nondescript, shiny dress shoes police officers wore to official engagements. These were the two constables, those near-silent sentinels that did everything the Sergeant said. A cacophony of shivers played along his spine. They had looked so... so human before. One shifted its weight, and something rippled under its uniform, bulging out the back like a balloon being pumped up. Paul snapped his attention back to Sadie, his curiosity over the constables' true nature completely smothered by a revolted terror.

  Now she had her guardians watching them, Sadie took her place beside the bonfire. A villager passed her a book, a thick, ancient tome bound in black leather. She bowed her head as she accepted it, placed it open on a rock beside herself and threw her hands in the air. The lightning deep within the chasm answered her. She cried out something in a guttural language that Paul did not understand, and the villagers intoned a reply back as one, drowning out the thunderous peals. Static built, making the hairs on Paul’s arms raise and he felt the urge to scratch as his skin crawled with electricity. Sadie shouted again. This time, the groan of tortured rock filled the valley and in front of her, huge slabs of stone sprung up and floating in mid-air, forming a precarious path down to St Machan's. Sadie turned back to the vortex, her arms still high, her face alight with an unholy air of excitement. As one, the crowd bowed their heads and muttered something under their collective breath. Then she scooped up the book and stepped out on to the floating bridge. Without question, her congregation arranged itself into a single line and followed her. The constable guarding Paul seized his upper arm and gave him a rough shove forwards. He tried to dig his heels in, but it was useless; the constable jerked his arm with such force it was clear it could have ripped it from its socket if it wanted to. Much to his surprise, the guardian dragged him towards the front of the procession, and he found himself only a few people behind Sadie. A struggling Yolanda and her matching guardian followed. His stomach lurched as the bridge loomed closer; everything within him said no, it was impossible, there was no way it could hold his weight, but he had no choice as the guardian simply pushed him on to it. It took all of his self control not to stumble over the side. Beneath him, the waters of the loch span and crashed down into an interminable void that Paul at last recognised only too well; this was the beast's lair, the place he and Piers had unwittingly swam into. He baulked and tried to back away, his pulse building up behind his eyes until he felt his head might explode. The desire to get off the bridge and run as far away from this cursed place as he could filled every part of his being, but his guardian simply dug its knuckle – or what he hoped was its knuckle – into his spine and forced him onwards.

  Now revealed, the church loomed over them, sinister yet beautiful, its slick walls pulsating with every lighting flash. As they drew closer, the roar of the water receded away to nothing more than a whisper. The spire of rock which the church perched upon was wide enough to accommodate most of the congregation, who now pooled behind Paul with an air of dreadful anticipation about them. Everything was still when Sadie raised a fist and struck the door of the church once, twice, three times, each knock echoing throughout the vortex as if someone had rung a great bell. After the echoes died, she took a step back. After a pause, it groaned open and the stench of age-old mud and decay wafted out over them.

  Paul knew there was now no turning back.

  Chapter Thirty

  The sun still had not shown its face and a thick fog that smelled of mud and rot rolled in over the moors. Its searching fingers crept into the village and wrapped themselves around everything, metamorphosing the village into something forbidding and sinister. Brandon edged closer to his mother, his heart beating so fast he thought he might faint.

  Everyone was there, but no one spoke. The silence was eerie. As one, the people of Dùisg a' Pheacaich filed out of their houses and down the main road, a road that was now pockmarked and cracked, with battalions of weeds poking their heads up from the ancient streets where only yesterday they had been smooth and well-tended. The buildings around them fared no better; once tidy houses were now tumble-down wrecks, and in the distance, just about visible through the mist, the Town Hall stood as a shell, its roof gone, its windows broken. It was as if time itself had abandoned them and it frightened Brandon out of his wits.

  Judging by the wide eyed glances the other children of the village were giving their parents, he wasn’t the only one who felt this way. He couldn’t help but notice that all their fathers – those who had them, anyway – were with them. Today, only his father was missing. And, oh, how Brandon missed him.

  They all marched on, out of the village and down the winding path that led towards the loch. All around them, the trees leered and Brandon
was sure he saw things moving in the fog, just far enough away so he couldn’t make out their nature. Sometimes, one would scuttle a little closer and he would hear its skittering passage over the pine needles that carpeted the ground, but they were always too quick for him to get a good look, so his imagination filled in the gaps. He cringed against his mother's skirt as his mind conjured up bloated bodies, full of poison and bile that sat atop long, spindly legs that would allow them to pounce with ease upon any of the unwary. His mother’s hand tightened around his.

  “Don’t look,” she said. “Don’t attract their attention.”

  He glanced up at her, at her calm mask-like face, and shuddered.

  Onward, forever onward, the procession marched. Above them, the clouds tumbled, and as the villagers drew closer to the loch, little flickers of electricity danced around their edges.

  Then the trees opened out and the loch spread out before them, its surface as smooth as glass. Silently, the villagers formed a loose semi-circle at its edge, leaving a sizeable gap by the water’s edge. Sticks had been piled up to form a sizeable bonfire, which was now lit. It sizzled as the damp wood caught, sending up great clouds of smoke heavenwards. The surface of the water shivered and Brandon’s mother gripped his hand so tightly her nails dug into his skin. He bit back a small cry of pain, but he didn't let go, not now, not ever.

  The silence built to an almost physical force, making his eardrums ache. One huge bolt of lightning coruscated down from the boiling sky and struck the surface of the loch. Everyone held their breath.

  The calling had begun.

  Grandma Sadie stood in the centre of the space in front of the villagers. No one saw her arrive: one minute the gap was empty; the next, she was there. She looked taller than Brandon remembered, and there was fire in her eyes. She raised her hands, and as one, every member of Dùisg a' Pheacaich began to chant. The children watched as the adults intoned words they didn’t understand, but still knew on a soul-deep level and tried to join in, their mouths working around the complicated sounds as if hypnotised. Brandon did not. He was too dismayed that his mother had joined in; that whatever was going to happen, she was as much a part of it as everyone else.