"Mr. Sealcroft! Over here!" Lucas Dupois waved to the older gentleman from the mouth of the cavern at the edge of the overgrown field.
An ornately wrought cane poked through the waist-high grass and pushed it aside to make way for Mr. Sealcroft's creaking frame. He raised a gloved hand to shield his eyes from the light of the mid-day sun. With Lucas's assistance he ascended the rocky outcropping to join the young man. Once his footing was secure, he took his companion's hand in both of his and squeezed tightly.
"I heard through the wire about Marie." The old man spoke as he caught his breath. "I'd have paid you a visit sooner had I not been stuck in the wilds of Appalachia on business. I understand your pain boy, my own Mildred left me not long ago."
"Mildred passed? I'm so sorry, I had no idea!" Lucas searched for the right words.
"Dead?! Heavens no lad, the blasted trollop ran off with some wealthy butler. Just take things one day at a time, that's my advice."
"I- I'll take your words to heart, Mr. Sealcroft."
"Please Lucas, call me Barton. When two friends have suffered as we have, they've gone beyond surnames. Now dry your eyes and lets focus on the matter at hand. Caves don't just randomly appear on one's property. Not in this time zone at least."
They turned their attention to the gaping before them. Uneven steps wound down into the darkness, worn with the passage of untold eons. The light that poured down from above them seemed to flow everywhere but the entrance, forming an unsettling curtain of nearly pure darkness.
Barton cleared his throat. "Er, have you been inside?"
"Inside? No, of course not. I hear too many tales of oddity and perversion as of late to risk venturing into that abyss alone."
"Ha! Silly boy, those ghoulish fiends only come out at night! Don't you listen to the radio melodramas? Let us go forth and investigate."
"Well, you're the expert... I guess. Did you bring a torch?"
"No need, I've got The Clap."
"Eh?"
"Watch." Barton loudly clapped his hands together twice. In response, the tip of his cane illuminated brightly, throwing dancing shadows down the length of the stairway. Lucas stared, mesmerized by the light.
"Ahem! It's probably not the best name perhaps, but it'll catch on in time."
The stairway twisted and turned as they descended, opening into a large, circular vault where the light from Barton's cane seemed to push back the darkness only just above their heads. What little light that remained glinted sharply off an object sitting atop a pedestal in the distance.
Barton sighed. "How anticlimactic! I was expecting something more vast and foreboding. This may well just be some loon's secret wine cellar."
"I don't know sir, it feels like we're... not alone in here."
"Preposterous, it's just the air currents down here playing tricks on you. You listen to too many of those ridiculous radio melodramas my boy, they're putting rubbish in your head." Barton advanced a few steps and raised his cane to survey the room. It looked to have been excavated quickly and haphazardly, judging from the random angles and disregard of form or function. The rough edges and sharp angles of the rock had been worn smooth suggesting that it had been worked ages ago, despite the fact that the Dupois family had owned this land for years without noticing it. Barton glanced upward, squinted then turned his attention to a low shape in the corner.
A rough stone pillar stood waist high, bearing a sigil carved savagely into its surface. Barton's eyes widened, but he said nothing. His eyes leapt to the dagger that sat atop it. Pock marked with rust, age, and other substances Barton dare not dwell upon, its serrated teeth grinned eagerly at the intruders.
"This was at one point a sacrificial chamber, I presume."
"Then shouldn't we leave? I swear I hear someone else breathing."
"If this place had seen use recently, it'd be festooned with skulls, entrails, and other gruesome knick-knacks. Once I get this weapon back to the Home Office I can no doubt discern how long ago it was last used."
"Is that wise Barton? The entrance to this cave just... appeared here. There has to be some significance."
"Well, this blade being in our hands just means it won't be in theirs."
As Barton plucked the blade from its stand, the air grew heavy and the absence of sound became overwhelmingly oppressive. They glanced at each other, then into the darkness. Moments passed. Barton exhaled, and started toward the exit. After only two steps he stopped. He felt the growing rush of air behind him, and saw Lucas pointing toward the ceiling. Before he could react, Barton felt the ground shake and the dust swirl as something landed behind him. He whirled around, awkwardly staggering backward.
It was big. Humanoid in shape, but not much else. Its flesh was wet and glistening, rubbery skin knotted and coarse. Though the cane's light illuminated it, details were difficult to focus on. Forgotten, the blade slipped from Barton's fingers and bounced off the dusty floor. Lucas's voice seemed far away.
"Good god! Something else is coming down the stairs! We're surrounded!"
The thing moved toward Barton. His feet did not react as quickly as the rest of him, and he toppled onto the ground. The cane skittered across the stone, throwing light and shadow into chaos. He flung himself to his feet but the beast was already on him, the discarded blade flashing wildly in its claws. Barton squeezed his eyelids shut and gritted his teeth.
There erupted a jostling and ragged shout that ended in a gurgling exhalation. Barton opened his eyes to see Lucas standing between himself and the creature, its dagger buried in his chest. He slumped back into the older man, who collapsed under the weight. Pinned under his rescuer, he was helpless. The behemoth towered over them, dripping claws reaching for Barton's neck.
A shout came from the distance, and they both looked to the stairs. A cadre of well-dressed gentlemen stood in the archway, glaring disapprovingly. The tallest, whose monocle glinted in the light, wielded a strange looking handgun that was large enough to require two hands. From his upside down perspective, Barton could see something strange wriggling within the barrel. Thank God, Barton thought. The monster stood and bellowed deafeningly, slime and ichor spattering the area.
The polished man pulled the trigger with an audible click, and moments later a gout of smoke and sparks blasted forth. With a wet thud the writhing projectile slammed into the creature, instantly burrowing hungrily into its chest. From within the confused monstrosity came a rising wail, and Barton threw his hands over his face as the fiend exploded in a shower of maggots and rotted viscera.
The force of the blast sent Barton reeling. His vision blurred and his ears rang. He vaguely felt himself being hoisted up and moved, the tips of his shoes dragging along the stone floor. Without warning the dim light was banished by blinding radiance carried on a warm breeze. Several blurry figures moved in and out of his vision. The world slowly began to shift back in to focus.
"Lucas... Lucas! Where are you boy?" Barton shouted. "Somebody help him!"
"I'm afraid he didn't make it Mr. Sealcroft." The monocled man slid into view before him. He regarded Barton with a cold disinterest. "The Thrum blade pierced his heart. Death came quickly."
"Blasted boy," Barton spat, "I tried to warn him..."
"My men have set up a perimeter. Where there's one, there are others. What do you want done with the body?"
Barton pushed himself off the two men that had been shouldering his weight. He patted the dust off his jacket and pulled a watch from his vest pocket. The face was shattered. "Have it liquified and sent to the Office for reconstitution."
"I meant the young man's body, sir."
"Ah. If that was indeed an authentic Thrum weapon, we'll need to make sure there's no infection. Have the body sent to the lab."
The man turned sharply and began barking orders. Barton took several deep breaths and began to collect himself. This had not been the desired outcome, and something told him that the wheels were only just beginning to turn. At least two young, tragic lovers were now reunited. He could savor that small victory at least.
***
Barton stood rigid in the center of High Chancellor Felldrake's office. It was a circular room lined with a lifetime's collection of artifacts, oddities, and curios; wild animals stuffed and mounted in various forms of attack, ornately framed pictures of the Chancellor shaking hands with political and historical figures, and a plethora of overly complex clockwork mechanisms, among other things. The Chancellor himself, old enough to make Barton seem like a young upstart, sat sagging with age in an impossibly high backed throne, elbows resting on a black marble desk with bony fingers steeped under his chin.
"Has the boy been infected, master Sealcroft?"
"I've only just arrived, sir. I'll tend to the matter as soon as the body's been prepped."
"Have you heard of the Orchid of Woe, master Sealcroft?"
"No sir, I can't say as I have."
"It is an exceedingly rare and delicate flower. Only grows in a very specialized mixture of soil. Impossible to breed in captivity! My dear mum is quite fond of them. Do you harbor some ill will toward my dearest mummy, master Sealcroft?"
"Sir, I... I'm not sure wha-"
"Quiet! That young boy. Lucas. His family owns the only land east of the Mississippi with soil capable of sustaining the flower. This Thursday last, he promised mummy and I a parcel of land in which to cultivate the orchid. Did I mention how exceedingly fond of them she is? She doesn't take kindly to having her emotions toyed with, not at her age."
"Chancellor, I'm sure the boy's next of kin will honor the agreement. He'd not be foolish enough to disregard The Society, I'm sure."
"Have you no sense of propriety, master Sealcroft?! He was killed with a Thrum weapon! He could rise as a zombie at any moment! How would it look to the other High Chancellors if I were discovered cultivating flowers in soil of the Undead? I'd be laughed out of The Society! If he turns, I'll have your head, so see to it that it doesn't happen!"
***
Lucas's pallid body lay on a table of ice cold steel, alone in a damp chamber filled with surgical instruments and jars of queer specimens. The fatal wound had turned black, and dark tendrils crawled out along his veins. The fetid laceration began to pulsate, and in response Lucas's back arched as he mouthed a silent scream of agony. The body fell limp. His eyes flew open. "Mr. Sealcroft?"
Lucas's eyes darted around the macabre laboratory, searching for answers. Was he dead? Something told him the answer was no. He had hoped to see Marie were that the case. As it was, he saw a dimly lit room lined with glass vessels of various shapes and sizes, their cloudy interiors hinting at the impossibly malformed beings contained within. Surrounding the steel gurney he lay upon were an array of sharp instruments and unusual contraptions. He seemed to be alone, except for the sporadic drip of water from dark corners of the room. His clothes sat neatly folded on a nearby table.
As he dressed, Lucas's attention seemed inexorably drawn to one of the largest glass repositories in the chamber, standing several hands taller than himself. A frozen lump grew in his chest, and as if in response his feet began shuffling toward it despite his protest. The icy claw gripped his heart as he involuntarily looked into the face of the beast contained within. His arm extended, hand caressing glass that seemed to be rapidly increasing in temperature. The throbbing anguish in his chest was nearly unbearable, and with tears streaming down his face he sank to his knees.
The leathery thing inside seemed to enjoy his affliction. It's face was bearded with thick ropes of knotted flesh, which began fluttering in the now boiling liquid. Limbs that looked to be from two different people twitched frantically. Chunks of muscle and flesh peeled off and swirled around the thing as the maelstrom reached critical mass. The glass shivered loudly before it shattered, bathing Lucas in its putrid fluid. A massive, gnarled hand shot out and clenched like iron around his throat. As his head lolled back and he fought for air, Lucas saw the rest of the gruesome collection begin show signs of life.
"Are you dead, or alive?" Barton growled against the whipping wind.
"I don't know!" Lucas shouted, eyes glowing against the moonlight.
"That's not good enough!"
Lucas sat with his hands bound, back pressed against a monolithic tombstone, whose perched angel glared down at them. Barton knelt beside him, cloaked in shadow. The Cursed Ones would not be fooled by his distraction much longer. The menagerie of monuments and memorials littering the damp graveyard made it difficult to spot the misshapen hulks. The old man pulled out a small knife and flicked the blade open.
"Lets get you back to the Office and run some tests. Perhaps there's something we can do to stem the tide," Barton said as he moved to cut the ropes binding Lucas's arms, but his eyes grew wide as he noticed veins of black flesh peering out from under the man's collar. Before he could think to react, Lucas shoved him backward violently with a muddy boot. His face was wild with a torrent of emotion. Praying that the wailing winds would conceal his voice, Barton whispered harshly.
"Are you mad?! I'm trying to save your life!"
Lucas laughed. "I don't need The Society's help! You've taken everything I love! These people are going to bring Her back to me. If you were ever my friend Barton, you won't ruin this for me!"
Barton's heart sank. The Thrum had already gained hold of the boy's mind. Once it began its infernal whispering, reason would cease to have affect. "Listen to me, Lucas. There are no 'people' here, only demons that prey on your fears and desires. They'll bring something resembling your Marie into this realm, but it'll be someone else. It will be a harbinger of death wearing her shell like a mask. Please Lucas, we need to go before they come back!"
"Don't worry, I can feel them. They're still off chasing your red herring."
"Ah, good." Barton exhaled into the icy wind as he stood. His breath swirled around him and flew into the darkness, just as something else stepped out of it. Its massive frame turned as red eyes fixed on him.
"Or I could be mistaken." Lucas grinned viciously.
This time he was prepared, and without thinking Barton touched a button on the knife he held and flung it at the monstrosity. It's reflexes where lightening quick however, and in one motion it caught the weapon and snapped the blade in half. Barton flung himself behind a nearby headstone as the handle and the creature's arm exploded in a conflagration of shrapnel and flame. It's bellow of pain would no doubt bring the others, but Barton was already hastening his retreat as fast as his aged joints would allow.
As he bolted into a narrow alleyway between a row of decaying mausoleums, a cacophony of different voices joined the wail of the first. The air was thick with howling, screaming, cackling laughter and his own labored breathing. He turned a corner and froze.
Towering over him stood a creature seemingly composed entirely of fur, muscle, spit and fang. A low rumble emanated from somewhere deep within. A massive fist shot out and effortlessly swatted Barton aside, sending him airborne. Expecting to feel the shattering of spine against unmoving stone, he was somewhat disappointed when the slightly less painful wood of a mausoleum door gave way to his impact.
Moonlight poured in to the sanctified chamber, while pain poured into every point of Barton's frame. When his vision returned, he was greeted by the sight of the beast lumbering down the alleyway toward him. Lurching to his feet, he hurled the doors shut, hoping the wood was stronger than the lock that gave way to his entrance. Light fell in from an aperture in the ceiling, haloing a short pedestal that held a platter of dying flowers. Barton knocked the tray aside to shove the stone pillar against the door.
The archway shuddered violently as the bulk of the beast slammed into it, but refused to budge. As the battery continued, a fractured web grew along the length of the pillar. Barton's eyes flicked across the darkness of the crypt, looking for anything that might help. He seized a shard of flint sitting atop a gas brazier and hurriedly sparked a flame. Shadows danced as the warm glow washed over the chamber. The commotion at the door ceased, but he could hear others approaching. Something caught his eye.
The crest above the doorway was familiar. Dupois! This was Lucas's family crypt! He spun around, hope replacing the dread in his heart. All the name plates were coated in dust, with the exception of one. 'Marie Joanette Dupois.' Barton dug through his various hidden pockets until his fingers found their prize. A tiny crystal vial of clear, seemingly glowing fluid: Elan Vital.
Perhaps all hope for Lucas was not yet lost! A severe enough emotional shock could in theory bring him to his senses momentarily. It wasn't much, but hopefully it would be enough. Resigned to his course, he set to prying the lid from one of the tombs, and started to clear the dirt away from the figure within...
All Rights Reserved.
