The Lonely Shadows: Tales of Horror and the Cthulhu Mythos Page 6

  He grew aware that his companion was speaking again. “There, Peter. What’s wrong with Kestro? Even you’ve got to admit there’s nothing evil in him. Oh, I know he looks a little sinister. But that isn’t his way. Believe me, you’ve nothing to worry about. Though I must admit I’m rather glad you decided to come. I hardly know a soul here.”

  “There are no souls here,” said Kennett, but he didn’t say it aloud. He glanced about him. The room was well and tastefully furnished, almost to the point of extravagance. And the guests, already present, went with the room.

  But then, that was nearly always the case. These people were not confined to the poor, the ignorant. They came from all levels of society and obviously, Kestro confined his attentions to the highest levels.

  Possibly, he thought, there was more money in that way. Because, in spite of everything, funds were always needed for their activities. He turned sharply to find Kestro standing at his side. There was an expression of diabolical amusement in the other’s dark eyes, which vanished as soon as he turned.

  “Forgive me for neglecting you both,” he said skilfully. “But I keep forgetting you’re new here. All the others are all friends, very old friends indeed.” He looked from Kennett to Fisher, then back again. “Perhaps you’d both like a drink. I have some very good whiskey, if you care for it. Just come this way.”

  He showed them into a small, warmer-looking room that opened off the main hallway by means of a short, curved corridor. But in spite of the warmth and the comfort that the room tried, almost painfully, to thrust upon the eye, Kennett could sense the presence of something else.

  Something thick and unclean, black and evil, that spread outwards from the brightly-papered walls. As if death had been a constant visitor there, coming here many times, but never staying for very long.

  He took the drink the other offered him with a feeling of sinking fear in the pit of his stomach. His keen gaze flicked round, suddenly wary. Out of the corner of his gaze, he could see that Fisher was nervous too. He sipped his drink with quick, jerky motions and there was a grey bleakness about the fine lines of his face.

  “You should both feel a little honoured to be here, gentlemen,” said Kestro, mopping his face with a red, square handkerchief. “It isn’t often I show my little inner sanctum to people the first time they come.”

  For some time, Kennett peered about him curiously, trying to locate the source of the evil he could feel, crowding around him, hemming him in with dark fingers. He had worked and fought against it for too long now, to be mistaken. Evil usually associated itself with some object or collection of objects. And where those objects went, there would go the evil also.

  And this time, there was a malignant quality about it he you had seldom felt before. Horror is lurking here, mumbled his mind; waiting for a chance to reach out and destroy you.

  He caught at himself savagely. Desperately, he pushed calmness into his mind to replace the rising fear that he found there. There were several things strewn about the room, seemingly carelessly, but to his trained mind there seemed a motive behind everything. A method and an arrangement that lay half-hidden below the surface.

  Carved bits of wood and stone, shaped into grotesque figures, dreamed up by the twisted mind of a madman. Tiny miniatures of idols and a brown skull that grinned down at him with a sightless stare from the top of a dark cupboard.

  His mind flicked back, withdrawing a little into itself. He turned his head slightly. Those tiny idols. Surely they were—

  “Ah, so you’ve finally spotted my little images,” muttered Kestro, easing his huge bulk forward. “Cleverly fashioned, aren’t they? Take a close look at them. I’ll guarantee you’ve never seen anything quite like them in your travels, Mr. Kennett.”

  The other stepped forward, chilled by a sudden thought. Just how had the other known that he had travelled? His brain quietened. Jimmy had told him, of course. That was the only explanation.

  Six tiny figures. Each exquisitely made, every detail perfect; down to the folds in the clothes, even to the individual expressions on their faces.

  God! And what expressions they were! As if they had been forced to look at things that were not fit for human eyes to see, just at the moment of their death. He bent his head, fascinated.

  For a brief moment, it almost seemed as if they were somehow alive, breathing quietly, watching him with a mute pleading on their lips. But that was impossible. A trick of the dim light. With an effort, he threw off the illusion of madness that threatened to overwhelm him, deliberately he pushed it out of his thoughts.

  He mustn’t let himself start imagining things. Because that was fatal. It slowed his mind and reflexes to danger point. And when the time came for them to get out of this place, if they ever got out, it would be necessary, not only to think fast, but to move fast also. Because they might never get a second chance.

  “They’re all very well made,” he agreed finally, fighting down his dislike of the man. He straightened his back and look around. “Where did you pick them up?”

  Kestro smiled enigmatically, creasing the flabby folds of his face. “Oh, that’s my little secret,” he said in his oily tone. “Perhaps one day, I may be able to tell you. But until then, I’m afraid—”

  He spread his thick fingers in a gesture that had little meaning behind it, but Kennett thought he detected a definite beat of menacing laughter behind the other’s words.

  Then Kestro glanced up, almost guiltily, at the marble-edged clock on the wall. “Forgive me for keeping you both talking like this. It’s getting late and dinner will be ready. Perhaps we had better rejoin the guests.”

  Dinner was a meal of silence, quickly over. Kennett ran his practiced gaze over the assembly and didn’t like what he saw. It was if a vast cloud of darkness grew over the entire gathering, spread and spread, pressing down over the tall candles and silver sticks, making the leaping shadows climb jerkily out of the walls.

  Weakly, he leaned back in his chair and tried to concentrate on what lay ahead. Around him, voices spoke in quiet little murmuring sounds, almost unheard, fading slowly, but nevertheless intruding on his consciousness sufficiently to wrench his mind away from what he was trying to think about. The tall candles threw a pale light upon him and the voices were scarcely whispers now in the great black shadow.

  They seemed somehow to blend together into an oddly soothing sound, half-lulling him to sleep. He jerked upright in his chair, suddenly frightened. He mustn’t let that happen! He looked round at the faces nearest him. Blurry wisps of whiteness around the table. And somehow, they all looked dead, as if part of them, some vitally essential part, had been taken away.

  He grew aware that Kestro had risen to his feet at the end of the long, candle-lit table. He stood for a moment, surveying them all. Then he said quietly: “I trust you have all eaten well, and that the food was satisfactory.”

  Damn it! thought Kennett fiercely. Why did the fellow always have to be so ingratiating?

  “Most of you here will know what comes next, my friends.” A hidden devil licked its lips hungrily behind the dark flames of his eyes, before falling back into the black depths. Then the heavy lids dropped lazily back into place.

  There was a sudden scraping of chairs. Kennett pushed his back automatically and rose to his feet with a tense sensation of impending disaster in his body. The feast had ended; the madness and the horror was about to begin!

  Fisher stepped closer to him. There was a worried frown on his lean face. His eyes were clouded.

  “What the devil do you suppose he meant by that?” he asked. The other tightened his lips convulsively. “It’s quite clear to me what he meant. This is where they prepare for the Black Mass. Or some other equally horrible service. It isn’t going to be very nice to watch.”

  He glanced about him, desperately, seeking a way out of escape. Hurry! Hurry! his mind shouted at him. While there is still time.

  “We’ve got to get out of here somehow,” he said in wh
isper, speaking out of the side of his mouth. “And fast! Once they start this fiendish sacrifice, there’ll be no stopping them. And there’s something else you probably ought to know.”

  “What’s that?” The other was visibly agitated. A little muscle in his cheek was jumping madly. And there was a pulse beating heavily in his neck.

  “They need a victim—a human sacrifice, unless I’m very much mistaken.” He glanced at the other out of the corner of his eye, keeping most of his attention on the tall Creole in front of the main entrance. “Something tells me, that’s why you were invited in the first place,” he added significantly.

  “Nonsense.” Fisher squared his shoulders, but there was a thin quaking in his voice that he couldn’t hide.

  “Still think he’s just gathered these people here for a friendly game of bridge?” murmured Kennett grimly. He inclined his head towards the far end of the room. “Then take a good look at that.”

  Fisher turned. Two servants carried an oblong crate, half-filled with straw and something that moved and screeched, into the middle of the room. Kestro walked over from a nearby group of laughing guests and looked down at it carefully, examining the contents.

  Then he nodded, evidently satisfied, and gave a quick jerk of a thick hand towards the door set in the wall, covered with a heavy drape of black cloth. His lips were moving, but he was too far away for either of them to make out what he was saying.

  “See what was in that?” enquired Kennett tersely. His heart was beginning to hammer madly at the base of his throat. His brain felt oddly stiff. “No. Then I’ll tell you. A black cockerel and a pure white hen.” He clamped his teeth together, tight.

  “They’re not fooling this time. This is the real thing. Unless I miss my guess, Kestro intends to carry the Black Mass through to its completion tonight.”

  The other ran his fingers worriedly through his mop of brown hair. “What the devil do you mean?” he asked thinly, speaking half to himself.

  “He intends to raise the Devil himself.”

  “But that’s— It’s ridiculous.”

  “Is it? I can assure you there’s no trickery about this.” He took hold of the other’s arm in a tight grasp. “Whether you believe it or not, I’m getting you out of here. Come on—and try not to make it too obvious that we’re leaving.”

  They walked slowly towards the door, eyes wary, watchful. The Creole servant eyed them curiously as they approached, but said nothing and made no move to bar the way.

  “I’m afraid we’ll have to leave sooner than we expected,” said Kennett, forcing calmness into his voice. Whether the other understood what he said, he wasn’t quite sure. “Would you bring my hat and overcoat?”

  The Creole turned away. There was an expression of grim, sardonic amusement at the back of his dark eyes that sent a convulsive shudder racing over Kennett’s limbs. Something was wrong! He was positive about that. Surely they couldn’t just walk out like this. It was almost as if—

  “Oh, but you’re not leaving so soon.” The oily voice sounded at his elbow. He whirled. Kestro stood a couple of feet away. There was a smile spread over his grotesque face, but the leaping devil was there in his eyes.

  They regarded Kennett steadily, unblinking, like twin slivers of molten silver, shining faintly in the shadow of his face.

  “Why the party has only just begun. You don’t want to miss the most interesting part, surely?” A deep, chuckling gasp of sheer, unadulterated evil rippled and heaved his great, flabby bulk. His blue lips, almost engulfed in flesh, twisted into a sly grin.

  His right arm reached out towards Kennett, found his sleeve and clung to it. There didn’t seem to me much strength in the thick fingers, but the other could scarcely repress a shudder of revulsion as they touched him.

  “I’m afraid I can’t allow you to go without first witnessing my little—surprise—I usually keep in store for my guests.”

  “Don’t be a fool, Kestro! Do you think I’m so blind that I can’t see what you’re up to? I warned Fisher what would happen to him if he came here. But he wouldn’t listen. That’s why I accompanied him, as you’ve probably already realised.”

  “True. You’re a very clever man, Mr. Kennett, but a very foolish one. You realise that by coming here, you’ve delivered both yourself and your friend into my hands entirely.” He clapped his hands together sharply. “Now we have two victims for the sacrifice to the Great Master. Two not one.” His high laugh sent madness blazing like a flame through Kennett’s mind, searing away all the emotion and the sanity. He couldn’t think, his brain refused to function. “Now you will both have to stay and see it through. Right to the very end.”

  “What the devil—” Kennett lunged forward. Arms grasped him tightly about the elbows, before he had taken a couple steps, holding him back. Madly, he struggled to free himself. God! Once these things got them into that accursed temple of theirs—

  “You can’t escape,” purred Kestro in a low voice that was almost lost in the bloated throat. “Every door is watched. Just try to remember that and give us as little trouble as possible.” His flabby face creased in a broad grin. “It won’t be long now. Already, the final preparations are being completed. Bring them into the temple.”

  Something caught Kennett a wicked blow on the arm and guttural voice from behind him muttered an unintelligible command. Almost instinctively, he stifled the gasp of pain that rose unbidden to his lips, and stumbled forward.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Fisher was receiving the same treatment. His mind was spinning like an unloaded engine, throwing up plan after unusable plan. They had to get out of this nightmare place. But how? It was something for which he had no answer at the moment.

  Kestro came forward, his face very evil, and pushed aside the black drapery revealing a narrow door set deep into the wall. He unlocked it with a key from his pocket and motioned them inside.

  Kennett stepped through with Fisher following close on his heels. Then he halted in mid-stride, all the fear coming back like a cold hand clutching at his heart, speeding it up, gripping the muscles of his chest.

  The first impression that forced itself on his dazed mind was—blackness! The room was long with a low ceiling and even the walls were black, smooth and shiny. Black tapestries, embroidered with the ancient symbols of the Order of Sathanas hung everywhere.

  At the far end was a vast altar, a thing of black marble, surmounted by a huge broken Cross being crushed in the coils of a gigantic black serpent. Black candles of pitch stood on either side, flickering dimly in the darkness.

  The altar cloth was embroidered with gold, studded with precious stones that winked mockingly at Kennett, jeering at him out of a thousand eyes of blue and red and green; depicting scenes from the Book of Set.

  And in front of the altar, rising from the cold smoothness of the temple floor, was a rough stone slab, badly discoloured with dark stains that time could not efface.

  Kennett felt his body tighten. God alone knew how many poor wretches had been sacrificed on that bloody stone slab to appease some hideous Black Deity, butchered by a crazy priest such as Kestro.

  “You had better prepare yourselves, my friends. Tonight the Great Master receives two more victims, and I make myself one with the Dark One. Then, everything will be mine.” Kestro moved forward until he stood in front of them, glaring up with a feral eagerness on his massive features.

  His face seemed to lift from his body, to float all by itself, outlined against the grey dimness. But the oily smile was still there and the small eyes look steadily into his, staring down into his very soul.

  Kennett steeled himself. This loathsome monster in human guise must not overcome him, or they were both lost. The darkness seemed to shimmer and recede, the walls of the black temple to flow away until they stood in a far distance. Kestro’s gaze locked with his.

  His face loomed closer. And now there was something black and awful around it, an evil aura that seemed intent on leaping forward at h
im with a frenzied movement, falling back only as he strove to keep a tight hold on his buckling consciousness.

  Finally, when it seemed his mind could hold out no longer, normality returned.

  The black walls rushed back into their original places, and there was Kestro, his head rejoined to his grossly corpulent body, glaring down at him. Then, without another word, he brushed past them, out through the narrow door, slamming it behind him. They were alone in the Temple of the Damned!

  Kennett started forward between the long rows of seats, his face taut. “There must be some way out of here,” he said fiercely. “There has to be. If only we can find it before that hellish crew comes back.”

  They went down into the lower levels of the temple towards the crazy altar with its symbols and evil-smelling candles. At the back, there was an elaborately-carved handrail, winding away through the heavy darkness.

  “What’s this?” asked Fisher. He pointed, clambering swiftly up the half-hidden stairs that lay behind the tall array of the altar. “Looks as although there maybe a way out of here.”

  At the top of the stairs, a wooden trapdoor covered a splintered exit near the top of the wall. The steps went right up to it, then stopped.

  “No use,” muttered Kennett. “It’s bolted from the other side. We’ll never get out that way.”

  “It’s worth a try, anyway,” admitted Fisher. “Here, let me have a go at it.” He lowered himself slightly, then heaved upwards, throwing the full weight of his athletic body at it. The wood gave a little, and there came a faint splintering from the other side.

  “It’s yielding,” gasped the other. “Stand back, I’ll try again.” This time, the door fell outwards with a sudden rending crash. Beyond, there was only darkness.

  “We made it, Peter. We made it!”

  Kennett looked around. There was a faint glimmering of moonlight, and the ground was less than five feet below them. If they could only squeeze through. Damn it, they had to! He wondered what was happening to the guests and the big hall. Somehow, he had the unshakeable impression that they were very near.