Dark Tales Of Lost Civilizations (47 page)

They screeched and they bellowed, they hissed and they moaned. But the fire did the trick. They let go of me and receded back into the waves of grass, and the grass folded back around them, like the ocean swallowing sailors. I saw last the dog-shape dive into the grass like a porpoise, and then it and them were gone, and so were the lights, and the moonlight lost it’s slick glaze and it was just a light. The torch flickered over my head, and I could feel its heat.

The next thing I knew the train man was pulling me to the top of the hill, and I collapsed and trembled like a mass of gelatin spilled on a floor.

“They don’t like it up here, sir,” the train man said, pushing the blazing end of his torch against the ground, rubbing it in the dirt, snuffing it out. The smell of pitch tingled my nostrils. “No, they don’t like it at all.”

“What are they?” I said.

“I think you know, sir. I do. Somewhere deep inside me, I know. There aren’t any words for it, but I know, and you know. They touched me once, but thank goodness I was only near the grass, not in it. Not like you were, sir.”

He led me back to the train. He said, “I should have been more emphatic, but you looked like a reasonable chap to me. Not someone to wander off.”

“I wish I had been reasonable.”

“It’s like looking to the other side, isn’t it, sir?” he said. “Or rather, it is a look to one of many sides, I suspect. Little lost worlds inside our own. The train breaks down here often. There have been others who have left the train. I suspect you met some of them tonight. You saw what they have become, or so I think. I can’t explain all the others. Wanderers, I suspect. It’s always here the train stops, or breaks down. Usually it just sort of loses steam. It can have plenty and still lose it, and we have to build it all up again. Always this time of night. Rarely a problem, really. Another thing, I lock all the doors at night to keep folks in, should they come awake. I lock the general passenger cars on both ends. Most don’t wake up anyway, not this time of night, not after midnight, not if they’ve gone to sleep before that time, and are good solid in. Midnight between two a.m., that’s when it always happens, the train losing steam here near the crawling grass. I guess those of us awake at that time can see some things that others can’t. In this spot anyway. That’s what I suppose. It’s like a door opens out there during that time. They got their spot, their limitations, but you don’t want to be out there, no sir. You’re quite lucky.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“Guess I missed your lock, sir. Or it works poorly. I apologize for that. Had I done right, you wouldn’t have been able to get out. If someone should stay awake and find the room locked, we pretend it’s a stuck doorway. Talk to them through the door, and tell them we can’t get it fixed until morning. A few people have been quite put out by that. The ones who were awake when we stopped here. But it’s best that way. I’m sure you’ll agree, sir.”

“I do,” I said. “Thank you again. I can’t say it enough.”

“Oh, no problem. You had almost made it out of the grass, and you were near the top of the hill, so it was easy for me help you. I always keep a torch nearby that can easily be lit. They don’t like fire, and they don’t come up close to the train. They don’t get out of the grass, as far as I can determine. But I will tell you true, had I heard your scream too far beyond the hill, well, I wouldn’t have come after you. And they would have had you.”

“I screamed?”

“Loudly.”

I got on the train and walked back to my compartment, still trembling. I checked my door and saw that my lock had been thrown from the outside, but it was faulty, and all it took was a little shaking to have it come free of the door frame. That’s how I had got out my room.

The train man brought me a nip of whisky, and I told him about the lock, and drank the whisky. “I’ll have the lock fixed right away, sir. Best not to mention all this,” he said. “No one will believe it, and it could cause problems with the cross country line. People have to get places, you know.”

I nodded.

“Goodnight, sir. Pleasant dreams.”

This was such an odd invocation to all that had happened, I almost laughed.

He went away, closing up my compartment, and I looked out the window. All there was to see was the grass, waving in the wind, tipped with moonlight.

The train started to move, and pretty soon we were on our way. And that was the end of the matter, and this is the first time I have mentioned it since it happened so long ago. But, I assure you. It happened just the way I told you, crossing the Western void, in the year of 1901.

=[]=

Joe R. Lansdale
is the author of thirty novels and over two hundred short pieces of fiction and non-fiction. He has written for animation, film, comics, and newspapers. He is the founder of the
Martial Arts System, Shen Chuan, Martial Science
and has been inducted into both the
U.S. Martial Arts Hall of Fame
and the
International Martial Arts Hall of Fame
. He has produced films, and his novella,
BUBBA HOTEP
was made into a cult film starring Bruce Campbell and Ossie Davis, and his short story,
Incident On And Off A Mountain Road
, was filmed for
Showtime
, both directed by Don Coscarelli. He is writer in residence at Stephen F. Austin State University. He is also the editor or co-editor of over a dozen anthologies.

JC Hemphill

=[]=

We now arrive at the final tale of this anthology. I selected JC Hemphill as the closer, as his is another tale that really captures the spirit of this collection. It seemed quite fitting to end with a final excursion of intrepid explorers travelling to mysterious territory. What is it, after all, that draws us inexplicably to lands that “none have returned from?” Wealth? Adventure? Prestige? Of course, what explorers often discover is not quite what they sought. Dark and inviting,
The Island Trovar
is no exception . . .

=[]=

The mast of our ship pierced the low lying clouds that had shrouded our vision for an hour or more, and the sea opened before us like an indigo field waving in the wind. A general whoop went around the ship at the sight of our destination.

The Island Trovar.

It was as beautiful and mysterious and chilling as the rumors had said. More so, even. A black crag protruded from the sea like the jagged remains of a seaman’s half-rotted tooth, giving way to sloping land that graded into the ocean where the mountain grew to leviathan proportions. Beneath the tropical waters, where even light dared not delve, Trovar hid its molten-beating heart.

The leeward side of the island was rough with black cliffs and sprays of white foam as waves crashed upon the rocks with deadly force. The windward side was a stark contrast of lush jungle edging a serene bay. The idea was inexplicable, but I could sense a dark presence hiding in those thick tangles of wilderness. Something with eyes. Beady, ignorant, ravenous eyes—

“You put any stock in the natives’ lore?” Herb Flenderson said from beside me.

I heard him speak, but not the words. The island had me. The watchful jungles and threatening peaks reminded me of the penny dreadful tales that fascinated me as a child. In those, all manner of objects seemed to exude evil in the same way a man sweats. And at the time, no better means of description came to mind—Trovar
sweated
evil.

“Come now, Felix, I know you too well. It’s no good feigning deafness this late in our friendship.” Herb, a leather-skinned fellow with an amiable grin, glanced around the ship as if he mistrusted the men around him. “If you ignore me, I’ll only have the English and natives to talk to.” He spit over the railing. “How dismal life would be.”

“Indeed,” I said, breaking the island’s hold over me. “I’d pity those poor souls who’d have to suffer through your tiresome accounts of misguided debauchery.”

“Ah, the infamous Kingway wit. How sharp it is.” Herb pulled a cigar from his shirt pocket and held it between ivory teeth without lighting it. “The ladies tell me they dare not disrobe around you for fear of being cut by that wit.”

“Liar,” I proclaimed, smiling. “You know, such postulation would require you actually
speak
to a woman. And as every man on this ship knows, your bladder would never allow such bravery.”

We chuckled and feigned disinterest in the island.

Through the village on Gilbert Island where our voyage originated, we’d heard legends of a dead island. It was said that it hid from those who knew not where to look. And those who knew where to look, never returned to tell. The stories caught the attention of Paul Schmeck, a man known for specializing in the imports and exports of hard-to-find items. He had investigated the legend as best he could, but differing rumors made any real knowledge vague. Some said the human body melted the instant anyone set foot on its sands. Others claimed that plants came to life at night and dragged men into the earth, kicking and screaming, where they were digested over millennia. I, myself, heard a drunken native telling of an evil so consuming it drove men mad by the mere sight of it.

Schmeck became enthralled by the idea of finding the island. He came to Herb and I and asked for our assistance. We had worked for him in the past, and he valued our rare brand of discretion. The conversation was lengthy, but in the end, he enticed us with promises of posterity. He reasoned that since the island appeared on no map and no records existed, we could name every mountain peak, river, beach, and stream. Our names would piggyback eternity with the likes of Cook or Columbus.

And for a sea-tramp like me, who’s never owned his own horse or commanded a ship or saved a cent of what I earned, the prospect of fame came on like a hunger. Real or not, I seized the opportunity.

Now, with the island standing testament, I believed every one of those stories. Notwithstanding their uncanny nature, every grotesque detail became fact in my mind.

Schmeck lumbered toward us. His limp caused him to stumble as the ship keeled with the course change. He struggled to keep his hefty torso from dragging him to the deck and composed himself before continuing. “Sirs,” he said, gripping the rail with both hands.

Herb smiled. “Quite the sea legs you’ve got.”

“Yes, well, I couldn’t appear any queerer than the two of you at the moment. I’ve only seen such grim expressions on battered women. Haven’t we found what we came for? Haven’t we accomplished something of merit? Herb, break out the bottle I know you smuggled aboard, for Christ’s sake, and let us celebrate.”

Herb patted his back pocket where he kept his flask. “No bottle. Just a personal serving today.”

“A shame. We’ll need more sauce than that to ease our thirst tonight. From the looks of the westerly skies, I’d say we’ll be spending the night on that rock.”

“Impossible,” I said. “We were to make landfall, survey the area, christen a few streams and bays, and depart. You mentioned nothing about spending a length of time on Trovar.”

“Come, now,” Schmeck said with irritating pleasantness and an unwavering grin. “We need to map the island, gather samples, take notes—”

“Take notes? Map the island? That will take weeks, if not months.”

“Don’t be childish, Felix. The gap for exploration is closing. Almost every reach of our planet has been trampled by man’s heel, and here we face one of the final specks of unexplored land remaining. Think of Lewis and Clark. Or Hudson. Think of the legacy.”

I began to protest, but he raised a palm. “Now that we found the island, I fully intend to reimburse you for your troubles. How would three hundred pounds each sound?” Instead of waiting for a reply, he pivoted awkwardly, and yelled for the captain to prepare a landing.

“This isn’t done,” I said over the commotion.

Schmeck gave a dismissive wave.

A storm conquered the sky, and men scurried beneath it across the deck like frenzied ants, checking sails and riggings. Herb and I turned back to the sea—back to Trovar. We were closer. Close enough to smell the humidity and hate wafting from the jungle. Close enough to feel a pressure building in our chests.

The idea of being watched and waited for crept back into my thoughts. The island wanted us. It
needed
us. And we went willingly.

=[]=

Resh and his son watched from the tallest tree as a small ship broke free from the cloud-barrier that surrounded and masked Trovar. The clouds floated on the water and never moved or shifted and lay so thick that most any traveler with sense invariably avoided them. Those who didn’t fell prey to Trovar’s children.

His eyes narrowed as the ship grew near, approaching the village side of the island. He counted at least a score of men on board. He motioned to runners who waited on the jungle floor, and they sprinted off to spread his orders. Within minutes, every flame on the island was extinguished and every one of Trovar’s children was in place.