“Yeah – you’re lucky to have escaped it, beast,” I rasped. “And yet, you have your enthralling passions, by which you are ruled.” I waved my hand toward the myriad shelves and book-strewed tables that crowded the spacious room.
Simon’s alabaster eyes took in the accruement of arcane lore, the ratty tomes and scrolls and parchments that he had devoutly collected during his length of existence. “They are wondrous, and hold within their squiggles of ink and blood a universe of marvelous things. And yet – my ardor for such matters never makes me ridiculous, as much as it intoxicates. A little loss of control is an amusement, Wilkes; but you are consummately disordered and immoral in your greed, willful and perverse in your human
addiction to the clumsy art of – how do you modern boys phrase it? – ripping off. You were a fool to think that you could thieve again from me and mine.”
Filled with sudden anger, I staggered to a standing position and faced him. “I wasn’t stealing, damn you! I was borrowing, with every intention of returning the book. I needed it in New England, to perform the ritual. You know as well as I do that there are in select tomes a necromantic power contained in what papyri the wizard has elected, in the ingredients with which the ink has been composed. The very elegance of script may contain in its design a kind of alchemy. So yes, I took your bloody book, and would have returned it had you not debauched my plan.”
“Returned it – as you have ‘returned’ a certain relic stolen from an esoteric order in Innsmouth; as you have ‘returned’ volumes pilfered from the British Museum and certain libraries in Holland and Germany; as you have ‘returned’ an especially rare artifact to the library at Miskatonic. Indeed.”
Hatred pulsed within me. “What right have you to lecture me, beast? I look around and see the pilfered contents of libraries and crypts and fuck-all.” I went to the table where the item I desired lay among the debris of volumes and folios and parchments. Its velvet covers were soft as I held it up and opened it.
“What curious freaks you humans are,” he sighed, stepping so close behind me that I could smell the sweet scent of the valley substance of which he was composed. His animal snout touched the back of my neck, nuzzling the spot that no longer wore his insignia. “That passage that you absorb from the Dhole Chants – are you still enthralled with the Black One that is risen from the ashes of dead aeons, He who stalks among the stars and walks betimes among your doomed race? Is that why you are here, determined to attend my little festival?”
“You knew it would allure me, damn you. It was part of some diabolic plan.”
The thing that was his tongue roughly brushed my neck, and his hands played at my chest, where his talons pinched my nipples. I turned to face him, determined to push him from me; but when his face touched mine I felt an overwhelming passion, and when his sorcerous breath panted into my mouth I clutched at his shirt and ripped it open. He placed a talon against his breast and ripped
into it. The liquid that began to seep was dark, and yet it contained congeries of minute colors that sparkled in the candlelight. A thin emission of mauve mist accompanied the spillage of his Sesquan blood, staining the finger still at his chest. I watched that finger sail toward me and rip open my shirt, felt the sharp pain as his talon tore into my flesh. Before I could scream, his mouth pressed savagely against my own. Devoid of oxygen, assailed by thrashing pain, I blacked out.
II.
I awakened beneath a withered churchyard yew, groaning at the stiff pain that made movement a torment. A bell sounded three mournful knells, and I knew that fever burned my brain; for when I raised my eyes to scan my surroundings, I beheld an angelic creature that watched me from some little distance. She was dressed in white, which contrasted with her dark reptilian wings. I tried to raise myself, but could merely yelp in pain at the effort taken to push onto my knees and bend over so that my arms rested on cold ground. I saw the bruises on those arms and knew that Simon had had his violent way with me, and yet I could not remember anything after the force of his mouth had stolen my breath. An ocean of sweat poured from my scalp and blurred my vision, and thus I did not see whose tender hand it was that touched my face. I reached out and was helped to a standing position, and wiping my eyes I saw the elderly man who held me, his clear eyes beaming with kindness from beneath their shaggy brows.
“Come with me, young man, and I’ll tend to your bruises. Whatever have you done to yourself?”
“It was none of my doing,” I muttered, and then I stopped and looked around us. “There was an angel – in white…”
“Aye, she’s flown; just you and me, mate. Come, follow me.” Supported by the kindly gentleman, I hobbled to his bungalow, and once inside I plopped into the depths of his comfortable sofa. He vanished for one brief moment and then returned with a large porcelain bowl and clean towels. Placing the bowl onto a table, he
carefully removed my shirt, which had stuck in places where the blood on my chest had congealed. “You’ve been ravaged, young man.”
“Yeah,” I answered, laughing bitterly. He cleaned the wound on my chest and grew somber as he studied Simon’s new etching. “A souvenir, from the beast of Sesqua Valley.”
“I thought as much. He’s a diabolic son of a bitch.”
I chuckled in agreement, although we both knew that Simon was of no woman born. I shifted my position and groaned. “Oh man, it hurts to move. I could easily fall asleep right here, I’m so wiped out.”
“And that is what you’ll do, young man. I have a nice thick blanket, and we’ll keep the fire burning. After you’ve rested for a while we’ll see if you have stomach for food and wine.”
“How is it you found me, friend?”
“I sometimes ring the church bell when I sense that something untoward has occurred within the valley. I felt something very potent, so I did. You cannot live in this valley without becoming sensitive to such things. I think that’s what drives most outsiders away, the souls who find their way to this outlandish vale and yet do not belong. Most of the members in the cult that arrived with me from the old country have fled. We bought this old church, which is a wonderful wee edifice. I’m the last to remain, and so I’ve taken on the traditional role of sexton.” He shrugged. “There were some few who stayed with me, but the valley poisoned their soft brains and – well. I’ve buried them in a wee plot of churchyard sod where some of the original settlers are buried, they who built this church so as to worship their Christian god. Lord, can you imagine trying to be a Christian in this godless place? Boggles the mind!”
I was suddenly extremely sleepy, partially because of the soothing lilt of his soft voice, which served as lullaby. Shutting my eyes, I began to dream. Once more I knelt upon the little plot of ground that served as potter’s field; and I was not alone, for standing in mid-air was mine angel. She was a creature of primal appetite, with a hunger that I deeply sensed as she floated to me and touched her mouth to the new scar on my chest. Her rough tongue lathered the alien signals that had been sliced into my flesh, and as she did so I sensed that she devoured the language of my abrasions, the idiom of which now lived within her churning mouth. Oh, that
mouth – how it trembled as she raised her face and exhaled the cryptic idiom into the misty air! How that air darkened as it drank her sound and returned it to us as chilly cosmic gale, as it ushered that which crawled to us through blackest heaven. He raised himself before me, the daemon I adored, and I observed the hand of chiseled blackness that molested the angelic woman. I watched and shuddered as she turned into a pillar of fine blue powder that was scattered by the merciless wind as Nyarlathotep bent to me his majestic face. His kiss was cold upon my brow.
I awoke to the pressure of cool wet cloth against my forehead. Thanking my host for allowing me to rest, I shushed his protestations as I rose and stumbled to the door of his abode, stepping into misty morning light. Mount Selta stood like some powerful titan, and I made to the white mountain an arcane sign with fingers that were stiff and so
re. I walked to one of the valley’s seven hills, to the mansion of massive proportion. Passing through the gate of a charming white picket fence, I let myself into a lustrous garden, a place of bewitching color and fragrance, smells that seemed to transpose the very substance of the air inhaled. The French doors were open, and from the room beyond there came his sweet sad music. Quietly, I entered the room and watched as Thaddaeus Vombic swayed on his piano bench to the sound of his playing. He sensed my observing him and turned his eyes to me – the eye that gleamed as living tissue, the eye that shimmered as precious gem. The man was that rare thing in my life, an actual and honest friend. Dramatically ending his playing, he leapt from the bench and flew into my arms.
“Dearest Stefan, I hoped that you would come! I have a room ready for you. Where are your things? That shirt is rather ill-fitting, and not at all your color.” Suddenly he stopped and took in bruises on my face and arms. “What – who…?”
“Never mind. I really need to shower and get into some good clothes. Am I in my old room? Do you still have that wardrobe with the clothes you bought for me so long ago?”
“Yes, yes. I’ll have Lane run you a bath and lay out a wardrobe. You’ve not gained any weight, so everything will fit. And, I have made the garment that you requested in your last epistle! Don’t look so astonished. These old hands aren’t good for much, but I still enjoy tailoring my own wardrobe.”
“But – the thing I requested requires a special skill, a certain occult knowledge. I had expected Miriam Snyde…”
“Yes, she gave me a bit of assistance. Her African ancestry was a natural asset, but I didn’t require too much help. I know that such matters have hitherto been outside my personal province; but ever since my new acquisition, I see things in a different light.” He took hold of my hand and brought it to his face. I touched the fabric of his flesh nearest the artificial eye. “It was a – gift – from Simon, and with it I can sense the strange things of the weird world, those things that once unsettled me. But more of that anon. Where are your things?”
“I have only one small suitcase. I must have left it with the old sexton at that abandoned church.”
“Dante Chambers? Whatever have you to do with him?”
“I had an altercation with Simon, and Mr. Chambers assisted me afterwards. Look, I’m starved. We’ll talk later. For now I need to freshen up and eat. It’s almost nine, the morning hour in which you usually breakfast. I’ll meet you in the dining room in twenty minutes or so. Cool?”
He bowed his head. “Excellent.” His hand covered mine for one affectionate moment, and then I turned and took the stairs leading to the second floor two at a time. My senses calmed as I entered my old room and saw the things that bespoke of the one thing I had never known – a comfortable and happy home. Dear old Thaddaeus must have been certain of my arrival; for there on a small table I found a bottle of my favorite wine, a pack of the Egyptian cigarettes that are difficult to obtain in the States because of their narcotic potency, and a little plastic packet of angel dust. Resisting temptation, I ignored them all and tore off the borrowed clothing with which Brother Chambers had dressed me. Opening a tall antique chiffonier, I found clean underwear. What ecstasy it was to shower! I took my time in the rushing water, and then dried myself and went to the wardrobe wherein I found plenty of nice garb. I paused for a little while so as to examine the long crimson robe that had woven into it various patterns of golden thread. The old man had surpassed my every expectation. I chose clothing and dressed and groomed myself, and then I checked out my handsome image in the full-length mirror. Little wonder that silly old blokes like Thaddaeus get a bit foolish over me. Whistling, I vacated the room,
tried to ignore the pain of my brutalized limbs as I hopped merrily down the stairs and entered the dining room – and nearly fainted.
She sat calmly at one end of the large table, unfolding a napkin onto her lap – my magnificent angel in white. Looking up at my entrance, she simply smiled. I knew instantly that she was not one of the shadow children who were unique to the region, for her slanting eyes were not silver – and yet something in their shape hinted of other-worldly origin. She did not look quite human. She was smallish, her skin very pale, and I tried not to stare at the place on her back where her clothing formed a small hump. She motioned to a chair next to her own. “Will you sit, Mr. Wilkes?”
“Yes, sit by all means,” said our host as he entered the room and ushered me to my place at the table. “My dear Noughtia, may I introduce the charming Stefan Wilkes, of California. I have invited him to Simon’s African Ball.”
She continued to smile at me as I took my seat. The servant, Lane, then entered, followed by a coterie of young black women who each carried dishes of covered food. I knew that Thaddaeus had procured Lane (the name was an abbreviated version of his actual appellation) from a region in West Africa known as the Cote d’Ivorie. I watched as he and Thaddaeus conversed in French, and then I arose to our host’s signified invitation as the dishes were uncovered. Having filled my large round plate with a mountain of breakfast cuisine I returned to my place at the table. A small Polynesian boy entered, carrying a platter of moist red meats which he placed before Noughtia. With perfect manners, she took up fork and knife and sliced off tiny pieces of raw flesh, which she placed, morsel by morsel, into her small mouth. When a thin line of blood slipped from one corner of that mouth, Noughtia took up her napkin and dabbed. We ate in silence, and I noticed the worried expression that our host wore as I now and then moaned at the motion of my sore limbs.
“Will you tell me of your rhubarb with the beast?” Thaddaeus queried.
“Nope.”
“Very well. I shall have a word with the fiend.”
“Thaddaeus, I’ll not have you saying vile things against Simon,” Noughtia reproved. “He is my friend and protector.”
I turned to her. “From what do you need protection, if I may ask?”
Her eyes studied the wet red meat on her plate. “Certain things.”
Her championing of my enemy angered me. “Well,” I retorted, undoing the buttons of my shirt, “I wish someone would have protected me from him. You see the kind of thing he’s capable of.”
She studied my scars for the merest moment, and then she arose and placed her napkin on the table. “I’m certain he had good cause, Mr. Wilkes. Excuse me.”
I rose to my feet and bowed to her, then reached into my pocket and produced a pack of exotic cigarettes. The ever-alert Lane placed an ornate ashtray on the table near my plate and then produced a lit match. I sucked in the cool opiate and let it float inside my lungs for a bit, and then exhaled. “Wherever did you find her?”
“I didn’t. Simon found her on one of his adventures.”
“And you got stuck with her, eh? I must say,” I told him as I took up a fork and poked it into a piece of red meat which I began to bring to my mouth, “her appetite is certainly queer.” Thaddaeus snapped his fingers, and Lane removed the fork from my hand. I watched him take the platter of meats from the table and exit the room. “So, she’s to remain a mystery. You’ll tell me nothing.” I flashed my most charming smile and winked.
“You have much to learn of manners. Perhaps it was foolish of me to invite you. But knowing your devotion to the Faceless God I took a chance. Do not make me regret it, Stefan. I’m not the dotard you think me. No, don’t protest. Simon has lectured me about my fondness for you, and he explains what he takes to be the meaning of our friendship. I am merely fond of you, that is all. I’m like Henry James, one who admires masculine beauty yet feels no compulsion to physically feast upon it. Now, let me examine this thing hewed so ruthlessly into your chest. It is certainly bizarre. Undoubtedly a conjuration of the Black God, yet written in reverse.”
I shook my head. “It’s freaky to hear you talk like this. You were always so repulsed by magic of any kind, especially after your brother’s monstrous death.”
He stood and gazed at me, and I thought that I coul
d detect a moving shadow undulating on the surface of his jewel eye. “I see things in a different light.”
“So you keep saying. What the hell do you mean? Damn, I hate having you so esoteric.”
He kissed me, with such tenderness that I could not help but touch his face and sigh. “You shall have to learn to accept the new me. We’ve never really had much in common. That may now change, Stefan. There are things I may now be able to teach you, secrets that will tingle your ear and startle your soul. Perhaps now we can have more of an actual bond.” So saying, he turned away quickly, but not before I noticed the tears that began to stain his eyes.
I went outdoors and off his property, into the woods. Walking for a little while, I found my way into town and strolled to the burying ground – and gawked at the sight before me. Standing before the bronze winged hound was Simon Gregory Williams and Noughtia. I approached them. “Can I believe my eyes? A beast of the valley actually striding within the Hungry Place? I thought it was forbidden.”
“Nothing is forbidden me, Wilkes,” came Simon’s superior reply.
“I stand corrected,” I mocked.
“It is true,” he conceded, “one must use caution in this place. You feel it, of course, beneath your mortal moccasin, the appetite of the ground. Your kind is so sensitive to its lure, moreso than we who are inhuman.” Now this was interesting. Was he including his companion into the company of supernatural beings? I sensed that she was not of the sane and natural world.
I pointed to the bronze statue. “This is certainly magnificent. Adam told me, last night, that you found it in a place called Arkham. Whatever could it symbolize?”
Noughtia acknowledged me at last. “It represents the corpse-eating cult of Leng.”
I whistled. “Wow, that mysterious place! Scholars have yet to determine if it’s a realm of Dreamland or some actual earthly location.”
She laughed derisively. “Don’t be stupid. How could a cult devour human flesh within a realm of dream? If you’ve read the Necronomicon you’ll know that only the human psyche travels beyond the gates of slumber. The husk of flesh is left behind. Really, for one who specializes in stealing sacred texts you’re woefully uneducated.”
The Strange Dark One Page 9
