It made a grab at me, but the bulk of my pack prevented it from reaching around to where I clung. I caught one last glimpse down the cliff as it swung away from the edge. The mist broke, just enough for me to see Mallory’s body lying at the foot of the step, still and unmoving.
The next second the beast was off on a loping, bounding run, almost as if it were trying to shake me off. I held on, using both the axe and my handhold on the long mane for a grip, riding that thing like a runaway horse as it barrelled through snow as if it weren’t there.
We came to an edge and it barely slowed, dropping at vertiginous speed down into a gully that seemed to have no bottom.
I had been struggling for breath for several seconds before I realised… the O2 was finally giving out. I sucked hard on the mask, then discarded it completely. Wind and cold rushed past my head, biting at my cheeks. I buried my face in the beast’s fur and clung tighter. Breathing became increasingly difficult and at some point I fell into unconsciousness.
I only came to because of a heavy jolt that ran through the beast’s body and toppled me from its back. As I fell away I pulled the ice axe with me, tearing a long bloody gouge all down its back. I was dizzy, disoriented, but I knew that to turn and flee would only bring certain death.
I faced the creature, eye to eye. It too looked the worse for wear. I saw now that my axe had done more damage than I originally thought. Blood poured down all one side of the beast’s body and dripped thickly to the snow. The creature’s tongue lolled, thick and grey as an old stone in a too-pink mouth. It panted, like a dog on a hot summer day, steam coming from its lips and from its wide, flaring nostrils.
Remembering the beast’s previous response to my shouting, I let out a bellow. I do believe it was even louder even than the one I gave when we crossed the line as winners in the Boat Race. The creature clapped leathery palms against its ears and moaned, like a whipped dog.
I had never afore felt such abject terror, but I had enough left in me to step forward, raise the axe, and let out another scream.
To my utter amazement, the creature turned tail and fled.
I was left alone on a rocky outcrop looking down over a long verdant valley. I realised I was breathing easier, and that the mountain loomed high above me. The beast had brought me down to relative safety.
I fell to my knees, utterly spent, and wept.
26th July 1924
The end is near now. The pain in my legs has gone, to be replaced by a cold numbness that I know cannot be a good sign. I drift in and out of reality, at some moments still face to face with the drooling beast, at others at the utmost top of the world with Mallory smiling at me and with the flag waving proudly in a stiff breeze.
I have no memory of making my way down from where the beast had left me, merely fragments and pictures, as vague as badly remembered dreams. My next cogent thought was when I woke in this bed, and I have been here ever since, unable to walk on legs so far gone with frostbite and gangrene that they will be the death of me within this day.
My keeper has given me an iron box in which to place my effects. I will leave the journal there, in the hope that someone in later years will find it, and know that we achieved what we set out to do.
The camera also survived the descent. I have been sitting here with it in my hands, thinking on that moment when the beast first came bounding up behind Mallory and my finger was on the button.
Did I press it? Have I taken a picture that could be as famous as any other I took that day?
Sadly, I will never know, but I will leave the camera with the journal, in the hope that someday, the question will be answered. I have also placed the ice-axe in the box. It came with me all the way. The blood has dried now, but there is plenty of it on the spike, and it may be that some day the blood of the beast itself will be able to verify this story.
Do not grieve. I have stood on top of the world with the greatest climber that has ever lived.
For me, that is more than enough.
So what do you say?
You can have the journals, the camera, and the bloody axe.
Does ten million bucks seem about right to you?
ALSO BY WILLIAM MEIKLE
INVASION (EXTENDED VERSION)
by William Meikle
It started during a winter storm on the North Eastern Seaboard which brought with it a strange green rain. Where it fell, everything withered, died, and was consumed. The residents of remote outposts in Maritime Canada escaped the worst of the early damage, but that was a blessing in disguise, for they were left to watch as first North America, then the world, was subsumed in the creeping green carpet of terror.
And that was just the beginning. New life forms began to arise from the ooze, simple organisms at first, but multiplying with ever-increasing complexity. The few human survivors are faced with a full-scale invasion... and only radical measures will guarantee the survival of the human race.
GHOST WRITER
by William Meikle
Ghost Writer – He has the big dream…the problem is he has no idea what it will take to make it happen. Be careful what you wish for…
A Spill of Vitriol – Tom’s granddad loves experimenting in his dark basement. But experiments have a way of backfiring. And an accident in the lab leads to a bug problem. A large bug problem.
BROTHERHOOD OF THE THORNS
by William Meikle
A powerful tale of historical horror from a new master of the pulp tale, and a must for or followers of work in the style of Robert E. Howard.
It is the time of the Crusades. The quest is on for the holy relic that will unite Christendom in the war to retake Jerusalem…but holy relics come at a price. How far are you willing to go, if the Lord wills it?
ISLAND LIFE
by William Meikle
An archaeological expedition is intent on opening an old barrow on a remote island in the Scottish Hebrides despite the reservations of the locals, who all know and fear the old stories. The scientists unleash a colony of murderous monsters from deep under the earth. As the released creatures swamp the island, slaughtering livestock and people alike, the humans must band together to combat it with few resources save their courage and wits.
Other Titles
from Ghostwriter Publications
WIDOWMAKER’S APPRENTICE
by Steven L. Shrewsbury
Famed executioner, the ‘Widowmaker’ Absalom Abbas, arrives in Larak to put down a murderess. While the war orphans of the city stand in awe of Abbas and his lurid apprentice, Sadik, they could never guess the level of the terror to come. When the eldest sister of the orphan leader, Kyle, is substituted for the Duke of Larak’s daughter, Abbas executes the wrong person. Kyle’s rage to avenge his sister’s life blinds him to the bloody road ahead for his sacrifice. Beware a man who doesn’t want your soul, only your life…
MADONNA PARK
by Rhys Hughes
Rhys Hughes is a prolific short story writer with an eclectic mix of influences. Much of his work is of a humorously eccentric bent, often parodies and pastiches with surreal and absurdist overtones.
Madonna Park is a collection of six sublime stories from a true master of words. Rhys Hughes is Wales’ best kept literary secret. Championed by the likes of Michael Moorcock, his unique fantastical fictions have already achieved the level of cult-status. His fiction is both intellectual and hilarious with plenty of puns and satirical side-swipes to keep the reader constantly amused.
CELESTE
by Neil Jackson
From the anthology Gaslight Grotesque (Ed: JR Campbell and Charles Prepolec) from Edge Publications.
Celeste finds Sherlock Holmes and his partner, Dr Watson, investigating a number of disappearances aboard a ship that finds itself moored in a Scottish port. That ship formally sailed under the name Mary Celeste.
And what is it about the ship that holds a special interest for the Prince of Wales?
ALONG THE CORRIDORS
by
Joseph Freeman
Joseph Freeman is regarded as one of the brightest new horror writers in the UK. We are proud to present two dark stories in this perfect introduction to this talented individual.
Along The Corridors – Tormented by the local kids and the death of his wife, Ratchett finds the walls of his small home closing in on his hate-filled life.
The Waiting Room – A one passenger waits for his connection, but with the dark clouds come dark thoughts…and darker spirits.
THE BACK OF MY HANDS
by Rick Hautala
When we touch something, when we hold it in our hands and caress it, we have no doubt whatsoever that it truly exists. When I look at my own hands now, though, I can’t help but be filled with revulsion and horror. Yes, horror! These hands, my hands—have done things so terrible, so hideous that I can truly say they are no longer mine.
SCARED CROWS
by Rick Hautala
One of the most respected names in genre fiction, Rick Hautala, delivers his second chapbook...and this one has it all...and one of the greatest comic book characters of all time...HELLBOY.
It’s a dark and stormy night somewhere in the backwoods of Maine,and when Hellboy and his friend, The Finn, stop by a bar for more than a few ‘cold ones,’ HB enchants a pretty young woman with a story designed to impress her. But every bar has its local punk just itching to make a name for himself, but he‘s about to learn a valuable life lesson...that it never pays to interrupt Hellboy...especially when he’s trying to tell a story.
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