The Year's Best Dark Fantasy & Horror, 2014 Edition

by Paula Guran [editor]

  “What became of Dipple?”

  “He died,” Dupin said, and smiled.

  “So much for eternal life.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Perhaps? You clearly said he died.”

  “His body died, but his assistant, who was imprisoned for a time, said his soul was passed on to another form. According to what little documentation there is on the matter, Dipple’s experiments were concerned with removing a person’s soul from a living form and transferring it to a corpse. It was successful, if his assistant, Hans Grimm can be believed. Grimm was a relative of Jacob Grimm, the future creator of Grimm’s Fairy Tales. But of more immediate interest to us is something he reported, that a young lady Dipple was charmed by, and who he thought would be his companion, took a fall from a horse and was paralyzed. Grimm claimed they successfully transferred her soul from her ruined body into the corpse of a recently dead young lady, who had been procured by what one might call midnight gardening. She was ‘animated with life,’ as Grimm described her, ‘but was always of some strangeness.’ That is a direct quote.”

  “Dupin, surely you don’t take this nonsense seriously.”

  He didn’t seem to hear me. “She was disgusted with her new form and was quoted by Grimm as saying ‘she felt as if she was inside a house with empty rooms.’ She leaped to her death from Castle Frankenstein. Lost to him, Dipple decided to concentrate on a greater love—himself. Being short of human volunteers who wanted to evacuate their soul and allow a visitor to inhabit their living form, he turned to animals for experimentation. The most important experiment was the night he died, or so says Grimm.”

  “The ancestor of the creator of Grimm’s Fairy Tales seems an unlikely person to trust on matters of this sort.”

  “That could be. But during this time Dipple was having exotic animals shipped to him in Germany, and among these was a creature called a Chimpanzee. Knowing himself sickly, and soon to die, he put his experiments to the ultimate test. He had his assistant, Grimm, by use of the formula and his funnel, transfer his soul from his disintegrating shell into the animal, which in turn eliminated the soul of the creature; the ape’s body became the house of his soul. I should add that I have some doubts about the existence of a soul, so perhaps essence would be a more appropriate word. That said, soul has a nice sound to it, I think. The experiment, according to Grimm, resulted in an abundance of blue-white lightning that caused the explosion and left Grimm injured. In fact, later Grimm disappeared from the hospital where he was being held under observation, and arrest for alchemy. He was in a room with padded walls and a barred window. The bars were ripped out. It was determined the bars were pulled loose from the outside. Another curious matter was that the room in which he was contained was three floors up, a considerable drop. How did he get down without being injured? No rope or ladder was found. It was as if he had been carried away by something unknown.”

  “Come, Dupin, you cannot be serious? Are you suggesting this ape pulled out the bars and carried him down the side of the wall?”

  “There are certainly more than a few points of similarity between the story of Dipple and the events of tonight, don’t you think? Consider your description of how effortlessly the ape climbed the warehouse wall.”

  “But, if this is Dipple, and he is in Paris, my question is how? And his ape body would be old. Very old.”

  “If he managed eternal life by soul transference, then perhaps the ape body does not age as quickly as would be normal.”

  “If this were true, and I’m not saying I believe it, how would he go about his life? An ape certainly could not ride the train or stroll the street without being noticed.”

  “I am of the opinion that Grimm is still with him.”

  “But he would be very old as well.”

  “Considerably,” Dupin agreed. “I believe that the body parts you saw are for Grimm. It is my theory that Grimm received a wound that put him near death when Castle Frankenstein blew up. Dipple saved him by transferring his soul to a corpse. Unlike Dipple’s lady love, he managed to accept the transfer and survived.”

  “So why did Dipple go after the body parts himself? Wouldn’t he have Grimm procure such things? It would be easier for the one with a human body to move about without drawing so much attention.”

  “It would. My take is that the human soul when transferred to the soul of a corpse has one considerable drawback. The body rots. The ape body was a living body. It does not; it may age, but not in the way it would otherwise due to this transformation. Grimm‘s body, on the other hand, has to be repaired from time to time with fresh parts. It may be that he was further damaged by the more recent explosion. Which indicates to me that they have not acquired the healthy ability to learn from their mistakes.”

  “After all this time, wouldn’t Dipple have transferred Grimm’s essence, or his own, into a living human being? Why would he maintain the body of an ape? And a female ape at that?”

  “My thought on the matter is that Dipple may find the powerful body of an ape to his advantage. And to keep Grimm bent to his will, to maintain him as a servant, he only repairs him when he wears out a part, so to speak. Be it male or female parts, it is a matter of availability. If Grimm’s soul were transferred into a living creature, and he could live for eternity, as male or female, then he might be willing to abandon Dipple. This way, with the ape’s strength, and Dipple’s knowledge of how to repair a corpse, and perhaps the constant promise of eventually giving Grimm a living human body, he keeps him at his side. Grimm knows full well if he leaves Dipple he will eventually rot. I think this is the Sword of Damocles that he holds over Grimm’s head.”

  “That is outrageous,” I said. “And wicked.”

  “Absolutely, but that does not make it untrue.”

  I felt cold. My pipe had died, as I had forgotten to smoke it. I relit it. “It’s just too extraordinary,” I said.

  “Yet The Necronomicon suggests it is possible.” With that, Dupin dug into the pile of books and produced a large volume, thrusting it into my hands. Looking at it, I saw that it was covered in leather, and that in the dead center was an eye-slit. I knew immediately what I was looking at was the tanned skin of a human face. Worse, holding the book I felt nauseous. It was as if its very substance was made of bile. I managed to open the book. There was writing in Arabic, as well as a number of mathematical formulas; the words and numbers appeared to crawl. I slammed the book shut again. “Take it back,” I said, and practically tossed it at him.

  “I see you are bewildered, old friend,” Dupin said, “but do keep in mind, as amazing as this sounds, it’s science we are talking about, not the supernatural.”

  “It’s a revolting book,” I said.

  “When I first found it in the library, I could only look at it for short periods of time. I had to become accustomed to it, like becoming acclimated to sailing at sea, and no longer suffering sea sickness. I am ashamed to admit, that after a short time I stole the book. I felt somehow justified in doing this, it being rarely touched by anyone—for good reason, as you have experienced—and in one way I thought I might be doing the world a justice, hiding it away from the wrong eyes and hands. That was several years ago. I have studied Arabic, read the volume repeatedly, and already being reasonably versed in mathematics, rapidly began to understand the intent of it. Though, until reading the newspaper account, I had been skeptical. And then there is Dipple’s history, the words of his companion, Grimm. I believe there is logic behind these calculations and ruminations, even if at first they seem to defy human comprehension. The reason for this is simple; it is not the logic of humans, but that of powerful beings who exist in the borderland. I have come to uncomfortably understand some of that logic, as much as is humanly possible to grasp. To carry this even farther, I say that Dipple is no longer himself, in not only body, but in thought. His constant tampering with the powers of the borderland have given the beings on the other side an entry into his mind, and they are learning to
control him, to assist him in his desires, until their own plans come to fruition. It has taken time, but soon, he will not only be able to replace body parts, he will be capable of opening the gate to this borderland. We are fortunate he has not managed it already. These monsters are powerful, as powerful as any god man can create, and malicious without measure. When the situation is right, when Dipple’s mind completely succumbs to theirs, and he is willing to use the formulas and spells to clear the path for their entry, they will cross over and claim this world. That will be the end of humankind, my friend. And let me tell you the thing I have been holding back. The redness of the moon is an indication that there is a rip in the fabric of that which protects us from these horrid things lying in wait. Having wasted their world to nothing, they lust after ours, and Dipple is opening the gate so they might enter.”

  “But how would Dipple profit from that? Allowing such things into our world?”

  “Perhaps he has been made promises of power, whispers in his head that make him outrageous offers. Perhaps he is little more than a tool by now. All that matters, good friend, is that we can not allow him to continue his work.”

  “If the red cloud over the moon is a sign, how much time do we have?”

  “Let me put it this way: We will not wait until morning, and we will not need to question either the boy or the man who saw the lightning. By that time, I believe it will be too late.”

  There was a part of me that wondered if Dupin’s studies had affected his mind. It wasn’t an idea that held, however. I had seen what I had seen, and what Dupin had told me seemed to validate it. We immediately set out on our escapade, Dupin carrying a small bag slung over one shoulder by a strap.

  The rain had blown itself out and the streets were washed clean. The air smelled as fresh as the first breath of life. We went along the streets briskly, swinging our canes, pausing only to look up at the moon. The red cloud was no longer visible, but there was still a scarlet tint to the moon that seemed unnatural. Sight of that gave even more spring to my step. When we arrived at our destination, there was no one about, and the ashes had been settled by the rain.

  “Keep yourself alert,” Dupin said, “in case our simian friend has returned and is in the basement collecting body parts.”

  We crossed the wet soot, stood at the mouth of the basement, and after a glance around to verify no one was in sight, we descended.

  Red-tinged moonlight slipped down the stairs and brightened the basement. Everything was as it was the night before. Dupin looked about, used his cane to tap gently at a few of the empty beakers and tubes. He then made his way to the container where I had seen the amputated limbs and decapitated heads. They were still inside, more than a bit of rainwater having flooded into the casement, and there was a ripe stench of decaying flesh.

  “These would no longer be of use to Dipple,” Dupin said. “So we need not worry about him coming back for them.”

  I showed him where I had last seen the ape, then we walked to the other side. Dupin looked up and down the wall of the warehouse. We walked along its length. Nothing was found.

  “Perhaps we should find a way to climb to the top,” I said.

  Dupin was staring at a puff of steam rising from the street. “No, I don’t think so,” he said.

  He hastened to where the steam was thickest. It was rising up from a grate. He used his cane to pry at it, and I used mine to assist him. We lifted it and looked down at the dark, mist-coated water of the sewer rushing below. The stench was, to put it mildly, outstanding.

  “This would make sense,” Dupin said. “You were correct, he did indeed climb down on this side, but he disappeared quickly because he had an underground path.”

  “We’re going down there?” I asked.

  “You do wish to save the world and our cosmos, do you not?”

  “When you put it that way, I suppose we must,” I said. I was trying to add a joking atmosphere to the events, but it came out as serious as a diagnosis of leprosy.

  We descended into the dark, resting our feet upon the brick ledge of the sewer. There was light from above to assist us, but if we were to move forward, we would be walking along the slick, brick runway into utter darkness. Or so I thought.

  It was then that Dupin produced twists of paper, heavily oiled and waxed, from the pack he was carrying. As he removed them, I saw The Necronomicon was in the bag as well. It lay next to two dueling pistols. I had been frightened before, but somehow, seeing that dreadful book and those weapons, I was almost overwhelmed with terror, a sensation I would experience more than once that night. It was all I could do to take one of the twists and wait for Dupin to light it, for my mind was telling me to climb out of that dank hole and run. But if Dipple succeeded in letting the beings from the borderland through, run to where?

  “Here,” Dupin said, holding the flaming twist close to the damp brick wall. “It went this way.”

  I looked. A few coarse hairs were caught in the bricks.

  With that as our guide, we proceeded. Even with the lit twists of wax and oil, the light was dim and there was a steam, or mist, rising from the sewer. We had to proceed slowly and carefully. The sewer rumbled along near us, heightened to near flood level by the tremendous rain. It was ever to our right, threatening to wash up over the walk. There were drips from the brick walls and the overhead streets. Each time a cold drop fell down my collar I started, as if icy finger tips had touched my neck.

  We had gone a good distance when Dupin said, “Look. Ahead.”

  There was a pumpkin-colored glow from around a bend in the sewer, and we immediately tossed our twists into the water. Dupin produced the pistols from his bag, and gave me one.

  “I presume they are powder charged and loaded,” I said.

  “Of course,” Dupin replied, “did you think I might want to beat an ape to death with the grips?”

  Thus armed, we continued onward toward the light.

  There was a widening of the sewer, and there was in fact a great space made of brick that I presumed might be for workman, or might even have been a forgotten portion of the sewer that had once been part of the upper streets of Paris. There were several lamps placed here and there, some hung on nails driven into the brick, others placed on the flooring, some on rickety tables and chairs. It was a makeshift laboratory, and had most likely been thrown together from the ruins of the warehouse explosion.

  On a tilted board a nude woman . . . or a man, or a little of both, was strapped. Its head was male, but the rest of its body was female, except for the feet, which were absurdly masculine. This body breathed in a labored manner, its head was thrown back, and a funnel was stuck down its throat. A hose rose out of the funnel and stretched to another makeshift platform nearby. There was a thin insect-like antenna attached to the middle of the hose, and it wiggled erratically at the air.

  The other platform held a cadaverously thin and nude human with a head that looked shriveled, the hair appearing as if it were a handful of strings fastened there with paste. The arms and legs showed heavy scarring, and it was obvious that much sewing had been done to secure the limbs, much like the hurried repair of an old rag doll. The lifeless head was tilted back, and the opposite end of the hose was shoved into another wooden funnel that was jammed into the corpse’s mouth. One arm of the cadaver was short, the other long, while the legs varied in thickness. The lower half of the face was totally incongruous with the upper half. The features were sharp-boned and stood up beneath the flesh like rough furniture under a sheet. They were masculine, while the forehead and hairline, ragged as it was, had obviously been that of a woman, one recently dead and elderly was my conjecture.

  The center of the corpse was blocked by the body of the ape, which was sewing hastily with a large needle and dark thread, fastening on an ankle and foot in the way you might lace up a shoe. It was so absurd, so grotesque, it was almost comic, like a grisly play at the Theatre of the Grand Guignol. One thing was clear, the corpse being sewn together wa
s soon to house the life force of the other living, but obviously ill body. It had been cobbled together in the past in much the same way that the other was now being prepared.

  Dupin pushed me gently into a darkened corner protected by a partial brick wall. We spoke in whispers.

  “What are we waiting for?” I said.

  “The borderland to be opened.”

  Of course I knew to what he referred, but it seemed to me that waiting for it to be opened, if indeed that was to happen, seemed like the height of folly. But it was Dupin, and now, arriving here, seeing what I was seeing, it all fit securely with the theory he had expounded; I decided to continue believing he knew of what he spoke. Dupin withdrew The Necronomicon from the bag, propped it against the wall.

  “When I tell you,” he said, “light up a twist and hold it so that I might read.”

  “From that loathsome book?” I gasped.

  “It has the power to do evil, but it also to restrain it.”

  I nodded, took one of the twists from the bag and a few matches and tucked them into my coat pocket. It was then I heard the chanting, and peeked carefully around the barrier.

  The ape, or Dipple I suppose, held a copy of a book that looked to be a twin of the one Dupin held. It was open and propped on a makeshift pedestal of two stacked chairs. Dipple was reading from it by dim lamplight. It was disconcerting to hear those chants coming from the mouth of an ape, sounding human-like, yet touched with the vocalizations of an animal. Though he spoke the words quickly and carefully, it was clear to me that he was more than casually familiar with them.

  That was when the air above the quivering antenna opened in a swirl of light and dark floundering shapes. I can think of no other way to describe it. The opening widened. Tentacles whipped in and out of the gap. Blue-white lightning flashed from it and nearly struck the ape, but still he read. The corpse on the platform began to writhe and wiggle and the blue-white lightning leaped from the swirling mass and struck the corpse repeatedly and vibrated the antenna. The dead body glowed and heaved and tugged at its bonds, and then I saw its eyes flash wide. Across the way, the formerly living body had grown limp and gray as ash.