Dawn of the Demontide

by William Hussey

  This was it—the place he had seen in his dreams.

  ‘You shouldn’t have come,’ Jake said.

  ‘Don’t be so melodramatic. It’s just a cave. A big, creepy, scary-ass cave.’

  Rachel attempted a carefree laugh. It came out as a nervous titter.

  Every instinct in his body screamed at Jake. He felt that same foreboding sensation he had experienced on the night of his mother’s death. They ought to turn back. Run. He took a final look back at Eddie—the kid was dutifully scanning the cliffs—and stepped inside Crowden’s Sorrow.

  It felt like a punch to the gut. Jake reeled backwards. The wet walls, the dripping rock, the moss covered stalactites: everything spun in a sickening haze. He heard Rachel’s voice, felt her hands, but reality seemed to fall away from him. The inner fabric of the cliff had been infected by it—evil. Evil pouring from every porous rock and pooling in every limpid pond. Its voice, made up of a thousand tongues, reached into Jake’s mind.

  We see you, Jacob Harker.

  Jake struggled to speak. What are you?

  Master of all, servant to none. We are the multitude that wait behind the Door. We are the Ageless and the Unending. The voice cackled. Our time draws near.

  I won’t let you into this world, Jake cried.

  Foolish boy, how can you stand against us? True, you stopped us once before but this time …

  I stopped you before? What do you mean?

  He does not know. He does not see. Mortal eyes are so bound by Time and Space. We shall say no more. In our silence, his failure is assured …

  ‘Jake, answer me. Are you all right?’

  Rachel’s face—beautiful as the dawn—came out of the darkness. With her help, Jake got to his feet. He tried his best to hide his fear. The demons had reached out and identified him as their opponent. Perhaps in some way they had already known that he had set himself the task of standing against the Demontide.

  ‘What happened?’ Rachel asked.

  ‘It was nothing. Come on.’

  Jake slipped the rucksack from his back and took out two torches. He handed one to Rachel.

  ‘Fainting like that isn’t nothing, Jake. What’s going on?’

  Jake sighed. ‘Before the end of today, you’ll know everything.’

  ‘You promise?’

  He made a cross over his heart. ‘Hope to die.’

  ‘Don’t say that.’ Rachel shivered. ‘Not here … So, what now?’

  Jake swept his torch around the cave. The finger of light stretched into unending darkness.

  ‘We go forward,’ he said, and reached for her hand.

  The echo of the waves rustled through the cavern. After about twenty metres the rocky ground beneath their feet began to slope gently upwards. With each step, the ceiling dropped and the space between the cavern walls became ever narrower. Eventually their torches played over a craggy wall.

  ‘End of the line,’ Rachel said.

  Jake held out his hand, palm forward, like a man pushing against an invisible door.

  ‘I can feel a breeze.’

  He stepped sideways and pressed his shoulder against the cave wall. A smile spread across his face. He reached for Rachel and drew her close.

  ‘Do you see?’

  ‘It’s just a dead end. Jake, I don’t underst—’ And then her eyes picked the illusion apart. ‘Amazing!’

  What had looked like the back wall of the cave was, in fact, a screen of rock. It reached out from the left wall and cut across the path. There was a gap of about a metre through which a cold breeze whistled. The colouration of the rock, even the streaks of iron embedded in it, matched perfectly with the right-hand wall, giving the impression of a solid barrier.

  ‘It’s like one of those magic eye pictures,’ Rachel said. ‘Stare at it long enough and you see through the trick.’

  ‘It’s not a trick of Nature,’ said Jake, ‘it’s deliberate.’ He shone his torch on the craggy screen. The light followed the iron streaks. ‘These veins have been painted in to match up with the natural iron veins on the right-hand wall.’

  ‘Why would anyone do that?’

  ‘To fool people like us. Anyone exploring the cave would think they could go no further.’

  Jake started forward. Rachel caught the strap of his rucksack.

  ‘Do you have any idea what we might be walking into?’

  ‘Honestly, I don’t. Rachel, if you want to go back … ’

  ‘Not on your life. I feel like Alice jumping down the rabbit hole.’

  ‘Whatever lies ahead, I can guarantee you one thing,’ Jake said. ‘It ain’t Wonderland.’

  Together, they stepped into the heart of Crowden’s Sorrow.

  The mouth of the cavern had been the size of a cathedral doorway. This inner space carried on that theme. Any cathedral on Earth could fit easily within this vast natural chamber. Walls of red rock soared upwards and came together to form a colossal arched ceiling. All across the ceiling, hundreds of stalactites hung down like an army of watchful gargoyles. Stalagmites rose out of the floor, a mirror image of their roof-dwelling brothers.

  Water, dripping from the roof, had somehow managed to mould the stalagmites into twisted, human-shaped forms. Perhaps it was just that instinct that Alice Splane had talked about—the tendency to see faces in clouds or in the flames of a fire—but those giant stone formations looked uncannily human. Here was one with a hunched back and long, gangly arms. Over there, a rock figure with the face of an old man. The stalagmite nearest Jake seemed to have a hood covering its head. A kind of three-fingered hand reached out from the folds of its cloak. Dozens of these strange statues covered the cavern floor.

  Jake and Rachel turned off their torches. There was no need for them. A bright green moss or lichen grew in patches all around the cavern and gave off an eerie phosphorous light.

  ‘This must reach right under Hobarron’s Hollow. The entire cliff is a shell!’ Jake’s whisper boomed in the empty space. ‘Oh my God—Rachel, look at this!’

  He took her hand and raced her between the stone figures.

  A towering staircase stood at the centre of the cavern. Unlike the stalagmites there was no question of this being a natural feature. Each step, smooth and regular, had been deliberately carved. Jake craned his neck upwards. His eyes strained. It was no good. The staircase soared into the gloom and beyond his line of sight.

  ‘I think it reaches into the ceiling,’ Jake said. ‘Someone has carved right through the cliff!’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘Only one way to find out. I hope you’re good with heights.’

  They started the ascent.

  ‘This even out-weirds that green mist yesterday,’ Rachel said. ‘You won’t believe this, Jake, but I saw it eat through the swing in our garden!’

  ‘You’re just lucky you don’t have any pets.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Doesn’t matter.’

  ‘My dad said it was like acid rain. Said there had been a spill of toxic material just up the coast and the wind had blown it in. I checked on the internet—there was no mention of anything on the news. And I’ve never heard of acid rain so powerful it could eat through solid wood! Anyway, why didn’t it eat right into the houses?’

  ‘I think they were protected,’ Jake said.

  ‘How?’

  ‘By magic.’

  Rachel stopped and turned. ‘Are you making fun of me?’

  ‘Never. But, Rachel, think. An acid mist that comes out of nowhere. A rain of toads … ’

  ‘It’s weird,’ she admitted, ‘but there must be rational explanations.’

  ‘Sure, climatic pressures can account for the toads. Maybe your dad’s toxic spill story can explain the mist. But put them together, and maybe we need to look beyond the rational world for answers.’

  By the time they reached the midpoint of the staircase sweat was running down their faces. They were now about fifty metres up. Rachel looked over the edge. The colour drained
from her face and she swallowed hard.

  It was strange—the higher they climbed the colder the air became. Their breath began to snake before them in grey twists. Legs aching, lungs burning, they reached the cavern ceiling. Those huge stalactites loomed all around them. Up close, Jake saw the similarities between these figures and the ones below. Each was unique and yet they shared the same human-like features: faces and limbs hewn from the rock by the constant drip of water. Another weird aspect of these gargoyles was the fact that their faces seemed to be turned towards the staircase.

  Turned towards Jake and Rachel.

  The staircase continued through a large hole carved out of the ceiling. The luminous lichen did not spread beyond the cavity. Torches in hand, Jake and Rachel climbed into the darkness.

  That was when the whispers began.

  Chapter 16

  Golems

  ‘Hear him—his footstep in the dark—his tread upon the stair.’

  ‘He returns at the End of All Things. At the Dawn of the Demontide …’

  Rachel shuddered. The voices were as sharp as knives. The torch in her hand flickered twice and went out.

  ‘He is not alone. I sense another. Her fear is like the sweetest symphony …’

  ‘A girl. But it is not HER.’

  ‘No, no, no,’ the voices gabbled together. ‘SHE has not returned with him. She is long gone, and cannot re-emerge from the dust of death. The mortals cannot pluck HER from the pages of history.’

  A single voice, rich and slurping rose up. ‘But deep down, he will remember her. His sweet Eleanor …’

  ‘Eleanor … ’ It was Jake’s voice, hollow and sad.

  Rachel’s torch sparked back into life.

  They were standing in a small chamber, roughly five metres in height and width. It was horribly cold, the steps and the walls coated with ice. The staircase continued right up to the roof. Jake was kneeling near the top of the steps, his hand hovering an inch below the grey stone ceiling. Elaborate designs—moons and stars, pentagrams and triangles, figures and faces—were carved all over the stone. At the centre was a symbol in the rough shape of a trident. Reddish-brown stains had been smeared all across this marking.

  ‘What is it?’ Rachel asked.

  ‘It’s a doorway,’ said Jake. ‘The Doorway.’

  ‘To what?’

  He shook his head. Rachel joined him beneath the Door.

  ‘Those voices?’

  ‘Them. They are waiting to break through. It won’t be long now.’ He sounded distant, as if his soul had flown far away from Crowden’s Sorrow. ‘We can’t stop it, Rachel. The Demontide is coming … ’

  ‘He admits defeat!’ the voices echoed gleefully.

  Jake put his hands over his ears. Tears coursed down his cheeks.

  ‘What would his beloved think if she saw him now? His sweet Eleanor. His long-dead maiden. She would weep for him …’

  ‘DO NOT SPEAK OF HER!’

  Jake roared the command. His eyes blazed. He pressed his palms against the stone door. All at once, the swirls and triangles, the moons and pentagrams shone with a fiery blue light. Screams of surprise and fear rang out from beyond the Doorway.

  ‘Now cease your wicked prattle,’ Jake said. He took his hands from the stone. ‘I shall meet you soon enough. Then shall our reckoning commence.’

  A single, dark voice broke out. ‘We shall look forward to it, old friend. In the meantime, the Third Omen is come.’

  The sound of stone breaking against stone rose up from the cavern. It echoed like thunder in the little chamber.

  ‘What is it?’ Rachel cried.

  ‘Gargoyles,’ Jake said, his voice normal again. ‘They’re waking up.’

  Hand in hand, they raced down the steps and out of the chamber.

  Rachel halted at the stop of the staircase. She had tried not to look down as they climbed. Now, standing at this dizzy height, it was impossible not to stare at the cavern floor hundreds of metres below. She could feel Jake gently pulling at her arm. As the sound of splitting stone rang out on all sides, she tried to move. She could not.

  ‘We have to get out of here.’ Jake stood before her, blocking her view. ‘Keep your eyes on me. Don’t look down. We have to move fast.’

  She allowed herself a stray sideways glance. Her gaze fell on one of the stalactites. Growing out of the roof, its weathered skin resembled that of an old woman, her arms thrown over her head. One of the arms flinched—creaked—and reached out for the stairs.

  ‘Let’s go,’ Rachel nodded.

  They plunged headlong down the staircase, taking the steps three at a time. From all around came the sound of stone monsters awakening. The air filled with dust. Within seconds the floor of the cavern had been coated in a grainy mist. The dust roiled and began to climb the stairs. It reached Jake and Rachel and obscured all but the step in front of them.

  ‘I can’t see the edge of the staircase,’ Rachel said. ‘We could fall.’

  ‘Have to—to keep going,’ Jake choked.

  They tore a path through the dust. Occasionally, as they ran, Jake would look down and his eye would catch movement in the mist. A misshapen head, a giant fist, a twisted red back loomed out of the shadows. Glancing up, he could see the stalactites clamber across the cavern roof and down the walls. Soon they would join their brothers below. The walls quaked as dozens of craggy hands and feet descended.

  Jake hit the floor with a jolt. He turned to Rachel. Hair and skin dusted white, the girl looked ghostly.

  ‘The gap in the wall’s straight ahead,’ Jake shouted. ‘Don’t stop for anything!’

  They ran.

  As they dodged across the wet, uneven ground, Jake tried to keep his thoughts on the path ahead. It was not easy. His mind kept slipping back to that moment at the Door. It had felt as if another soul had taken possession of his body; that another voice had been speaking through him. And yet, in some sense, he had been comfortable with that strange presence. As comfortable as he had been in his dreams of the Witchfinder.

  ELEANOR.

  The name made his heart ache …

  The bone-shattering arm of a gargoyle swung wide and crashed into Jake. His hand slipped out of Rachel’s and he soared through the mist. Stone faces with hollow eyes passed by in a whirl. He hit the ground and all the air left his body.

  ‘Jake!’ Rachel screamed his name over and over.

  ‘Don’t stop!’ he cried back. ‘I’ll meet you at the mouth of the cave!’

  He got to his feet. Nothing appeared to be broken. Eyes narrowed, he peered into the dust clouds. It was difficult to tell from which direction he had been propelled. The green light shone weakly through the dust and gave him little sense of his whereabouts. The stalagmites had been the only signposts in the cave, and they were now on the move. All he could do was run and hope for the best.

  Shadows lumbered through the haze. Sometimes they were close enough for Jake to make out their crude features. He saw a gigantic shape stalk past, its three heads turning this way and that. One colossal form pounded the earth with spade-like fists. Another jumped into the air and landed a few metres away from Jake. The ground trembled as each of the giants passed. They were like dinosaurs roaming through the mist of a primeval swamp.

  Jake reached the cave wall. The best course of action was to grope his way around until he found the gap. It was a good plan. The only trouble was that the stone block against which he stood was not the wall of the cave.

  Stunned, Jake could only watch as the ‘wall’ rose into the air. Easily the size of a double-decker bus, the largest of the stalactites towered above him, its great foot hovering overhead. Any minute now the foot would fall and crush Jake into a fine paste. It was stupid, but he didn’t feel he could move. He held his breath and waited for death.

  A second before the foot fell, he felt himself being swept into the air. A huge stone hand held him fast. His hair flew back as the creature raced across the cave, anxious to keep its prize for itse
lf. A moment later, Jake was thrown to the ground, the giant’s hand slapped across his body and he was trapped. He peered up at his captor.

  The stalactite was not as large as some of its brothers, being roughly the height of Stonycroft Cottage. Bent almost double, its face sat in its chest. A pair of broad shoulders ended in somewhat stumpy arms, so that it had to lean to one side to hold Jake down. Its legs too were thick and short. It looked like exactly what it was: a boulder that had sprouted limbs. Hollow eyes and a crack for a mouth made up the face. The gargoyle raised its fist, ready to pound.

  This time, Jake’s brain did not seize up.

  Deep in his mind, he flipped open the pages of his dark catalogue. He chose a particular area of horror fiction. Think, think. Stone monsters … Beings created from the earth … The homunculus—a creature created by the ancient alchemists. Frankenstein’s monster was a kind of homunculus. No, no, no. Medusa, the snake-headed gorgon? Her stare could turn people into stone. NO. Come on, come on. The Golem! Yes, the Jewish monster that was made from clay and animated by rabbis. But what good was that knowledge?

  The creature drew back its hand. Its crack mouth widened into a smile. Fresh dust fell from between its massive fingers.

  Emet. That was the word used by rabbis to animate the Golem. In the Hebrew language ‘Emet’ meant ‘Truth’. And to stop the monster all you had to do was lose the initial letter. ‘Met’—the new word—meant ‘Dead’.

  ‘MET!’ Jake screamed. ‘MET! ’

  The hand swung down.

  Of course! This creature hadn’t been created by a rabbi. It was a being conjured by English witchcraft, perverting Hebrew mysticism. Could it be so simple?

  ‘DEAD!’

  The slab of the monster’s fist stopped an inch from Jake’s nose.

  A final shower of dust rained across his face and made him sneeze. The monster had returned to its inanimate form. That relentless pressure on Jake’s chest slackened and now he could wriggle free of the fist. Panting, he staggered to his feet.