The Adventures of Gravedigger

by Barry Reese

  Chapter VIII: Thanatos Ascendant!

  Arthur Meeks worked quickly. Mr. Black was not present but he couldn’t wait any longer. The little chink had seen him clearly enough and she’d probably gone to the police by now. Given his druthers, Meeks would have fled this location but it would have been too difficult under the current conditions. Better to just press on and hope for the best, he mused.

  A large pentagram covered the floor of his apartment, drawn in equal parts chalk and salt. In the very center of the occult symbol lay Goldstein’s ring, the ancient urn and a slaughtered cat. The feline’s entrails had been pulled from its gut and spread out in a carefully arranged display.

  Meeks wore a finely tailored black suit and a small porcelain mask. He didn’t want to greet his new masters as a mere human – he wanted to be Thanatos, bringer of death!

  With an almost sexual excitement coursing through him, Thanatos retrieved the cracked leather-bound Necronomicon. He had marked the pages that he needed and had virtually memorized the dead language that he was about to speak. He set the book open on a pedestal near the slaughtered cat and stood next to it, taking several deep breaths to steady his nerves.

  This was it, he realized. The moment that he’d dreamed of for so very long. Even as a child, he’d craved the ability to dominate those around him. At first, he used his money and personality to do so but eventually it wasn’t enough… he’d turned to black magic, hoping to find the key that would turn things from mere games to deadly seriousness. He didn’t just want to order people around… he wanted to control them body and soul.

  Mr. Black had offered him the keys to the world… and all it would take was unleashing demonic forces upon the rest of humanity. It was a fair price, in Arthur’s eyes.

  Thanatos closed his eyes, his fingers running across the pages. He began reciting the words, looking at them only when he encountered a particularly difficult passage. With his other hand, he rhythmically knocked against his stomach.

  “Enoch illesium C’thulhu! Enoch illesium Shub-Niggurath! Planititan onseetus k’rash!”

  The words spilled from his mouth like blood oozing from a wound. Each of them was accompanied by a hard punch of his fist. The blows were strong enough that they would leave terrible bruising… but he felt no pain. His mind was alive with the promised power of the ancients.

  He was nearing the end of the ceremony when he heard the whining of space ripping in half. Just in front of him, a hole was forming, small in diameter but growing with each passing second. Energy flooded from this portal, passing through his skin and charging him. A tentacle, dripping with black slime, appeared, touching the edges of the portal. The unholy beasts within the other dimension were aching to be free and Thanatos heard their whisperings melding with his own. He was chanting with the denizens of another realm and the spell gained power with their aid.

  His skin darkened and became harder than normal. His lungs burned as his nostrils flared, inhaling the scent of the damned. His tongue swelled to the point of nearly bursting and his penis was so hard that it ached.

  On and on his words flew. He was moments away from amazing power… moments away from condemning the world to a living hell.

  ***

  Gravedigger ran up the steps to Meeks’ apartment. Her ears were ringing with the horrible, inhuman chanting that was beginning to echo off the walls. She and The Peregrine had scarcely vacated Mitchell’s car when strange lights had begun to emanate from their quarry’s apartment.

  “Are we too late?” she had asked as they burst into the building.

  Max’s silence had spurred her on to greater efforts. He had a grim expression on his face and she knew that his fears mirrored her own – if Meeks gained his power and unleashed those demons… then nothing they could do would be enough to save Sovereign City and the rest of the world from torment.

  Gravedigger drew her sword and stood outside the door to the villain’s apartment. She took a step back and then raised her foot, slamming it into the barricade. On the second kick, the wood began to splinter and she was able to hack away at it with her weapon.

  By the time she and The Peregrine entered the apartment, wind was whipping all around them, sending every loose piece of paper into the air. She squinted against the bright light emanating from the portal, momentarily taken aback by the inhuman limbs reaching through.

  And then her eyes focused on Meeks, in his full guise as Thanatos. He looked bigger than she’d expected, his suit barely containing his bulk. A mask hid his face but the skin surrounding it was dark and crispy-looking, as if he were being cooked alive.

  “You focus on Meeks,” The Peregrine shouted in her ear. “I’ll close that portal!”

  Gravedigger gave a quick nod and approached Thanatos. His head whipped towards her and she could tell from his body language, that he was furious at the interruption. He continued chanting as he raised both hands and channeled eldritch energy in her direction. Gravedigger dove to the floor, avoiding the blasts, which tore a hole in the plaster behind her. She slashed out with her sword, slashing at Meeks’ closest leg. The impact of her blade against his flesh reminded her of chopping wood – his skin was incredibly dense.

  Yanking her blade free of him, Gravedigger scrambled to her feet just in time to take a powerful fist to her left shoulder. Pain flared throughout her arm and the tingling in her fingertips worried her – she wasn’t sure the limb would be effective for the rest of the fight.

  Responding by raising her right arm and firing her crossbow bolt, Gravedigger was pleased to see the point of her weapon bury itself in Meeks’ eye. Blood and gore shot forth from the wound and Thanatos ceased his chanting, though it seemed to be carried on by the creatures within the portal.

  Thanatos hissed, reaching up to grip the bolt with both hands. He yanked it free, emitting a roar as he did so.

  “You can’t kill me!” he shouted. “I am Death! I am the Destroyer of Worlds! I am Thanatos!”

  Gravedigger laughed aloud, a sound that seemed to surprise her just as much as it did her opponent. The tone was mocking, rising up deep from her soul. It was the laughter of not just Charity Grace but of all the Gravediggers whose skills she possessed – they had heard many claim ultimate power and in the end, they had all ended up in the grave.

  Gravedigger swept her sword through the air, her one good arm driving it towards Meeks with all the supernatural strength she now owned. The blade sliced deep into the villain’s neck, encountered stiff resistance, and then finally carried through.

  Thanatos’ head flew into the air, bouncing off the wall. It landed at Gravedigger’s feet.

  A loud noise, like the rushing of an oncoming flood, caused Gravedigger to turn towards the portal.

  The Peregrine was there, stabbing at a set of tentacles that were wrapped around his body. His weapon was a dagger that glowed a bright golden color, its surface adorned by ancient runes. From Max’s lips were bubbling a series of words that seemed foreign to Charity’s ears – but it was clear that they were somehow forcing the portal to shrink in size.

  He turned his head and shouted, “Get out of here! When this portal closes, the energy that’s been released is going to blow this place apart!”

  Gravedigger watched in horror as the tentacles suddenly raised Max high into the air. The portal was sealing itself back up, as time and space fought to restore the natural order of things. But the pressure that was suddenly being placed on Max’s body was going to kill him – his quick screams told Charity that.

  Rather than flee as he’d said, she rushed towards the maelstrom, sword raised above her head. She brought it down against the largest of the tentacles, slicing it in two. Max hit the ground hard, grunting in pain.

  Gravedigger stood in front of the portal, weapons at the ready… and then the hole shrank so quickly that it vanished from sight. Just as Max had warned, the occult energies that had filled the apartment were now running wild.

  There was a bright flash of light,
followed by a boom that could be heard and felt throughout all of Sovereign.

  And then there was nothing, save for silence… and a huge gaping hole in the ground where once there had been an apartment building.

  PART II: THE STRANGE HORROR OF HENDRY HALL

  Chapter I: Mortimer Quinn

  Sovereign City, 1793

  Mortimer Quinn had never been in this region before, nestled as it was in the indent of the eastern shore of the river. It was no more than a day’s journey from the small market town of Greensburgh, which in the local vernacular was often called Tarry Town.

  Mortimer had stopped in Tarry Town for the night and had inquired the woman who ran the inn as to the origins of the local name. She told him, with great alacrity, that it had been given by the housewives of a nearby county, based upon the propensity of their husbands to waste away their hours in the Greensburgh tavern on market days.

  Given the high quality of the spirits that Mortimer had sampled during his own visit to the tavern, he had no doubt that these stories were true. The people of Greensburgh were a friendly sort, though their expression turned guarded when he’d asked for stories about his ultimate destination.

  Mortimer put little stock in this. As an insurance investigator, he had traveled far and wide. He knew of the petty rivalries that developed throughout the nation, as towns vied for one resource or another. Sometimes all it took was a single slur issued by a public official to spark off a period of disenchantment between communities that would last for generations.

  After failing to get much out of his hosts, Mortimer had finished his drinks, engaged in a couple of out-of-tune bar songs with the locals, and then retired to his quarters.

  He rose early in the morning, as was his wont, and bathed silently in the basin set out for his use. There was a floor-length mirror in his room and Mortimer had studied his nude form in its surface, counting the scars that lined his right flank. There were four of them, still fiery looking after all this time. Some five years before, he had gone into the mountains in search of a woman named Mary Owen. He had found her, of course – he always found those he sought – but on the way back, he had accidentally stumbled upon a black bear and her cub. The animal had assaulted him and left him for dead. He’d managed to drag his bleeding form all the way down the side of the mountain and though the scars sometimes terrified the women he took to his bed, he was proud of them. They reflected his tenacious nature, he thought.

  Mortimer Quinn was aged thirty-two and had worked in his current capacity on behalf of The New England Insurance House for over ten of those years. He was tall and well formed, with the sort of rangy build that men of extreme activity sometimes have. He was neither as broad nor as handsome as some, but the overall combination of his looks and intelligence were usually enough to catch the eye of a single woman – and more than a few married ones, as well.

  Mortimer considered himself an upright person but he hadn’t looked at a bible in years and his habit of fornicating with women at every stop had gotten him into trouble on numerous occasions. It wasn’t that he liked to leave a trail of broken hearts behind him – he genuinely found women to be wonderful companions and, when the feeling was strong within him, he would do nearly anything to bring a smile to the faces of those he courted. Given how much he had lost on behalf of his job, he thought it a fair trade. He had no stable home and was on the move virtually every day of the year. A small bit of lascivious diversion wasn’t so bad in the light of that.

  After settling his bill, Mortimer set off. By half past lunch, he had come to a small valley nestled between high hills and despite the fact that he was an experienced traveler, he found himself giving pause to examine his surroundings. It was the epitome of the word peaceful: a small brook glided through it, with just enough of a murmur to encourage Mortimer to set down his pack and rest. The occasional chirp of a bird was the only thing to interrupt the scene and even that only served to increase the dreamlike atmosphere of the place.

  This was the area known as Sovereign and its dark influence was known throughout the region. Locals swore that ghouls, demons and criminals populated the place. Stories were sometimes told about how the area had been enchanted by an old Indian Chief, in the days before Diogenes Daye had founded the city. Others held that a German doctor had placed a curse upon the land during the early days of the settlement, causing all who dwelt within it to become infused with the sins of gluttony and violence.

  As Mortimer approached the place, he remembered how one man in the tavern had told him that the residents of Sovereign lived strange lives, filled with the sorts of events that most people would regard as mere fairy tales.

  Supporting that was the strong inclination towards superstition that many in Sovereign were said to possess. Though none in the tavern would dare tell the tale, Mortimer had previously read about one of the more infamous hauntings in the area - a Hessian soldier, killed in the Revolution, was said to still wander the area at night.

  According to local legend, the Hessian had been buried in an unmarked grave in a churchyard. Now he and an ebony horse would ride out from amidst the graves, on a grim hunt for his missing head. It was said that occasionally, the Headless Horseman would ride down those unlucky enough to be caught on the roads with him and decapitate them. Whether the Horseman hoped to somehow use these heads in place of his own, or if he simply lashed out in anger, was unknown.

  Mortimer bypassed the mayor’s office and instead stepped into the local tavern, which seemed to be a nameless establishment. Despite the fact that it was midday, the tavern had several men within. They were clustered in three small groups, two of which had been engaged in small talk. The third group was playing darts. All conversation and game play ceased, with most heads turning to greet the newcomer.

  Mortimer nodded at those closest and ambled to the bar. The fellow behind the oak counter had weather skin, thinning hair and dark eyes. He eyed Mortimer with undisguised curiosity, openly studying the fine clothes and perfectly coifed hair.

  “Can I help you, sir?” the barkeep asked, his voice sounding smooth as molasses.

  “Your best whiskey, if you please.” Mortimer set his traveling sack down on the floor and pulled out a wad of paper money that made the barkeep gasp. Mortimer set down enough money to buy everyone in the tavern a round of drinks, several times over. “My name’s Mortimer Quinn. I was hoping that you might answer a few questions for me.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  Mortimer studied the amber colored liquid that the barkeep poured into a cup. “Do you own this establishment, Mr--?”

  “Hendricks. Jacob Hendricks. The owner is Mr. Gumby, sir. I work here during the daytime and he’s here at night.” The dollars disappeared into Jacob’s pockets and Mortimer knew that Gumby would never hear of them. “If you’d like, I can leave a message for Mr. Gumby on your behalf.”

  “No, no. I think you’ll do just fine.” Mortimer downed the alcohol in one swoop and he shook his head as the liquid burned its way down his gullet. “I represent an insurance company looking to get in touch with a relative of a recently deceased client.”

  Hendricks leaned closer, as did everyone else in the tavern. “Somebody around here has inherited some money?”

  “Yes. I’m looking for a gentleman who moved here from Connecticut several years ago. All of our attempts to reach him have failed so the company sent me here to investigate.”

  Hendricks swallowed hard. “Connecticut? You must mean Mr. Hale, the old school teacher.”

  “Old? Mr. Hale should be in the prime of life. I’d hardly describe him as old.”

  “I meant he doesn’t live here anymore.” Hendricks licked his lips, grabbing a dirty rag that he began to drag across the wooden surface of the bar. Maybe you ought to ask the Mayor. He might know something about where we went.”

  Mortimer looked around the tavern, noting that no one was looking at him any longer. He tapped the bar thoughtfully, raising his voice. “Anybod
y else here know Mr. Hale? I’m looking for Samuel Hale.”

  A kindly looking fellow in a worn jacket cleared his throat. “All of us knew him, Mr. Quinn. But none of us have seen him in nearly a year.”

  “Did he resign his position as school master?”

  An uncomfortable silence descended, broken only by the sounds of Hendricks making himself busy behind the bar. It didn’t take any of Mortimer’s investigative skills to know that he’d stumbled onto something unusual.

  “Hale hasn’t been seen in many months,” the kindly fellow murmured. “Not since he left the party at Chapman’s. There are some who think that the Headless Horseman got him.”

  Mortimer smiled, making it clear what the thought of the local superstitions. “Thank you for the help, gentlemen. Might one of you point me in the direction of the town boarding house?”

  Hendricks looked up again, obviously relieved that the topic of discussion had moved on from the whereabouts of Samuel Hale. “Walk to the end of the main street, take a right. You’ll see Miss Dietrich’s place. She takes boarders and cooks the best breakfasts in the Hollow.”

  Mortimer left the tavern and strode through the streets, offering a smile to those he met. They, in turn, greeted him in the way that he’d already come to associate with Sovereign: they were pleasant enough but there was something in their eyes that set him on edge. They viewed him with suspicion and in some cases, this verged on the border of hostility.

  “Mind if I walk with you, Mr. Quinn?”

  Mortimer stopped and turned. A well-dressed man in his early twenties was approaching. He had been in the tavern, amongst the dart throwers. His blonde hair was swept abruptly to the side and he had a beauty mark drawn on the left side of his face, just above a set of pouty lips. That he was a dandy was beyond repute but Mortimer didn’t mind. Some of his best friends in the larger cities were dandies. They made good dining companions and were frequently very astute.