Read That Which Should Not Be Online
Authors: Brett J. Talley
I stood there in silence as she spoke. There was something in her voice, something that drew me, despite all of my being crying out against her words.
“I was once like you,” she said. “Afraid, enslaved by those who came before. But when I arrived here, he came to me in my dreams. I saw this place, buried deep beneath the mountain. We found it. The workers, they ran. Their superstitions told them to fear this place. But I wasn’t afraid. No, I embraced it. Now I will bring him back. The lord of the Earth. Gog, Lucifer, Temeluchus, Vaspasian, Marluk, and a thousand other names in tongues long dead. When he is risen, he shall call forth the Great Old One, he who sleeps beneath the waves in the City of the Dead, the City of Darkness, until death itself passes away.
“He shall rise, and the shade will cover the Earth again, as it did in the old times, before the slave God split the darkness, speaking light into the night.”
“No,” I stuttered in reply, breaking from the web she wove around my mind. “No, this is all insane. You’ve gone mad and taken them with you. But I’ll have none of it. Release her!” I commanded, once again leveling my pistol at Batory. She began to laugh.
“Would you kill me then, Daniel? Would you kill us all?” As she spoke, the numberless other women in the room removed the same long, curved blades as Anna had held. There were too many of them, and if Batory gave the command, my fate would be sealed.
“What you do does not matter. The sacrifice is nearly complete.” She pulled the same long knife from inside her cloak and grabbed the rope holding Vladimir over the pit. With one swift slash she cut the rope from its mooring. Only her holding the top half kept the cross from plunging into the abyss below.
“When we are finished here, we will have immortality. And not a vain promise of such — a fantasy, a dream of another world. No, we will rule here. For all time.”
Now she turned from me and held her free hand up to the sky. From deep within her came guttural cries. Words I suppose, but of an old tongue, one I doubted had ever been spoken by the mouth of man. I looked from her to Lily. There was resignation in her face, sadness too, but strangely, no fear. She looked at me with a cold determination, a commanding look that said I was to do as she wished. She mouthed one word, “Run!”
I looked from her to where Charles lay. He was moving now. Then he looked up at me and winked. I cocked my head to the side, confused. But it was then I saw the long, slender stick he held — the dynamite from the night before.
Things moved quickly. Charles had a match in his hand. I knew several things at once. This was my only hope, and if the women saw what Charles was doing, all would be lost. I also knew there would be no saving Lily. But I determined in that moment if she would die, those responsible for her demise would taste death first.
“Batory!” I cried.
She looked down at me and smiled. I raised the pistol in my right hand, aimed at her chest, and fired. The sound of the gun echoed like cannon fire throughout the chamber. Then there was silence. Batory stood her ground, a look of shock spreading over her face as quickly as the circle of crimson grew across her chest.
The next few seconds were a blur. In the corner of my eye, I saw the flickering light of the now-lit dynamite. Charles had collapsed, apparently having given his last breath for the act. Batory fell to her knees, and her grip released on the rope she held, plunging cross and Vladimir into the darkness below. Almost in unison, the other women howled with unnatural might.
I leveled my pistol again, striking down the woman who stood closest to me — Anna. Then, I fired wildly, fired until the hammer of the pistol merely clicked against the empty chambers. I looked at Lily, one last time.
“Go!” she screamed.
I should have stayed, I should have tried to save her, even if any attempt was impossible. Instead I ran, as fast as my legs could carry me, up the spiraling steps, through the secret door. As it slammed behind me, there was a rumble from below, and then the whole Earth began to shake. I ran out of the Scholomance, up to the world above, while it seemed as though the entire mountain was collapsing behind me.
What happened next is shrouded in haze. I left that fortress behind, saddling one of the horses in the stable and riding it out of the gates and down the mountain. I have told you the things I saw that night inside that chamber. But the specters that floated down around me on that ride, the howling wolf that dogged my steps, the flying beast that soared against the Beltane moon, those things I will take to my grave.
I reached the village below after sunrise. Just beyond the edge of town, my horse fell dead beneath me. I suppose I was lucky he made it that far. I walked aimlessly down the main street, my mind no longer working. The innkeeper met me.
“You must not stay here tonight,” he said.
Bless that man. I might not be here without him. He put me on the first coach to Budapest with strict instructions I was to be placed on a train to Venice as soon as I arrived. He paid for all of my accommodations, a cost I would reimburse him for generously in days gone by.
In three days, I arrived in Venice. There, Lawrence nursed me back to health. I credit him this — he never asked me what happened, never inquired as to what I saw. Two weeks later, he transported me to Rome, primarily so he could tell my father without falsehood my tour was complete.
In all those days that followed, though, I never slept through the night. Never completely. I would always awake, screaming for Lily, sobbing uncontrollably. Those terrors come less frequently now. But sometimes, when the night is right and the moon is full, I find myself transported back to that place. I hear that sound, that awful sound that robbed me of my mind and nearly cost me my sanity in the years afterward.
For I have neglected one part of my story. The pit must have been deep, and Vladimir’s fall long, but as I ran up the stairs, his body must have finally reached the bottom of that ungodly chasm. In the long second between when I reached the summit of those steps, but before the sound of Charles’ explosion filled the air, another roar split the night, the same roar that haunts my dreams.
An unearthly cry, an otherworldly thunder, the deep and impossible howl of a beast awakening in the heart of the abyss.
Part IV
Carter Weston:
The bartender threw another log on the fire, and as he did, the already burning wood cracked and spat embers into the air. They burned for a moment, lived for only an instant, before vanishing into the night. The wind blew with its greatest intensity, and the snow fell in sheets. The heart of the storm was upon us, revealing that its earlier fury had been only a preview of things to come.
Daniel sat silently now, the blood having long ago left his face and hands. He had relived the ordeal in the telling, and to my eyes, it appeared it had taken all his strength to complete it.
“It is fortunate,” Captain Gray said, “that a man with your particular interests came upon us tonight. I would say,” he said, holding a thick cigar he had recently lit in the air, “it was fate. Do you believe in such things?” he asked.
“Well, sir,” I replied, glad he had not asked about the fantastic story that had just been told, “It would be presumptuous of me, I think, to make a judgment on such topics, at my age. While I feel as though I have seen many things, I am learning there is much more to encounter.”
Captain Gray smiled, taking a long draw on his cigar. “And that is wisdom, my young companion. Wisdom, indeed. Well, my friends,” he said, turning to the others. “It is late, but the storm is at its worst. I believe there is time for one more tale, one more story for our young friend.”
“Yes,” William said, “and even if there were no storm, I would insist he hear my words.”
William looked at me, and in his eyes I saw the same steely resolve to impart some wisdom to me that had been in those of the others. I appreciated what they were doing, as much as I didn’t understand why they were doing it.
“It is, indeed, fate that you have come here,” William continued, “for you and I are not all that different.”
I leaned forward in my chair. As the winter tempest fell upon us in its greatest fury, William transported us back into the past.
William:
I was a student then, much like you, finishing a course of study in medicine of the brain. Something had always drawn me to the insane, to those creatures in human form whose minds, and sometimes souls, I fear, are lost. Of course, the best place to study such a — how shall we say it — delicate subject was the same institution that drew you, Miskatonic University. A strange place that was filled with mystery and dark secrets. Those of us in the sciences always felt ostracized, distant from Miskatonic’s more esoteric pursuits. I muddled through, though I was never more than an outsider.
It was the fall of my senior year when the head of my department, Dr. Seward, called me to his estate for dinner. Dr. Seward was a leader in his field, a true visionary in the study of that greatest of mysteries: man’s unfathomable mind.
“Ah, Dr. Hamilton,” I remember he said as I arrived at his door. “Please, come in.”
I walked into his modestly furnished home. The smell of fine fare wafted in from the kitchen where his wife was busy at work.
“Come into my office. I have something I want to discuss with you.”
I followed Dr. Seward into an adjacent room, one well apportioned with the latest works in our field, many of which I had read myself in my studies. Dr. Seward poured a glass of brandy and handed it to me. He made another for himself and sat down.
“I received a letter today, one that instantly made me think of you. Tell me, William, what are your plans when you finish your studies?”
“Well sir,” I said, “I had intended to find a position at an asylum. I would like to work with patients. I was never one for the University.”
“Exactly as I had thought,” he said, leaning forward in his seat. “A colleague of mine, Dr. Harker, is the head of the asylum the state opened a few years ago. The one up in Danvers. It appears he is interested in hiring an apprentice. I believe this represents an invaluable opportunity.”
“I don’t know what to say,” I responded, shocked and excited by this unexpected possibility.
“A position at a place such as Danvers is not for everyone,” he said, his tone suddenly turning darker. “It can weigh on a man, make him question many things. Are you a man of faith?” he asked.
“Yes sir. I would say that I am.”
The doctor nodded his head several times and said, “I can tell you this. If you decide to remain in this profession, that faith will be tested. You will see things that will shake you to your very core, that will make you question whether a just God can exist. The brain,” he said, pointing to his temple, “is a grand mystery. For it is what is inside we seek to understand. There are no miracles, my friend. If the people within the walls of an asylum are to ever regain their being — their souls, if you so desire — it will be as a result of our pursuits. Prayers, unless they are made to us, are unavailing.”
“I take it then, you do not believe?” I asked.
I expected a quick response, as the doctor had made his lack of faith quiet clear. But instead he sat still for a moment, staring at me but not really seeing.
“No, Dr. Hamilton,” he replied finally, “no, I believe there is something greater than you or me. But I have seen enough that I do not necessarily believe whatever that is must be good.” Then the doctor smiled. “Enough of such talk. So I can count on you then?”
“When would they have me start?”
“Why, immediately.”
“Immediately,” I said, more than a little disappointed. “I don’t think that will be possible. As you know, I won’t graduate until the end of next term.”
“Oh,” he said, raising his hand as if he was physically brushing away this problem, “I can take care of that. If you want the position, then it is yours.”
There was no need to think it over.
“Of course, sir. I’d be honored.”
“Excellent,” he replied. “You won’t regret it, Dr. Hamilton.”
* * *
Eight short days later, a carriage arrived in Arkham Green to convey myself and a small bag of my clothing and personal belongings to the Danvers State Insane Asylum. It was raining that afternoon, a late fall downpour. Despite my enthusiasm for what lay before me, I could feel my apprehension growing, as the latent fears and doubts within my soul seemed to gain strength with every drop of falling rain.
We drove away from Miskatonic, from the place I had spent the better part of four years, and on to an unknown future, the dawning of my career in medicine. We rode along the banks of the Miskatonic River for some time, finally crossing the unending flow and passing into the Makitan Forest. I need not tell to you what dark words are spoken of that place, of the arcane rites the students of Miskatonic claim are performed there. I averted my eyes until we were far afield of that accursed forest.
We traveled farther into the country, until the only signs of human habitation were the rock walls bordering the road and high roofs of the occasional barn. I watched the rain fall through the carriage window until finally, after what seemed like an eternity of back roads and desolate countryside, I saw it. The asylum was a city on a hill, a shining palace, sitting like the home of some medieval lord on the summit of a high mass of rock and soil. It was massive, a turreted and gabled masterpiece. But, in my mind and heart, I knew the beauty without concealed a great evil within.
The carriage began its climb up the tall hill, passing through the gates and past a sign that read, “Welcome to the Danvers State Insane Asylum.” Up we climbed, the massive structure looming larger in the ever-shortening distance. Then, I saw something that, to this point in our travels, we had not encountered. A horse-drawn cart was coming down the hill. Our carriage was forced to pull to the side, as the cart itself was too large to pass. I watched as it rode by, driven by a large man in a thick rain coat. A priest sat at his side. It was the cargo, though, that caught my interest the most. In the back of the cart was a long wooden box that could only be one thing: a coffin.
Apparently the asylum cemetery lay just below where we had passed. A body would be interred that day, a life lost, with no one but the grave digger and a man of God present to acknowledge its existence. But I rapidly forgot that thought as the horses pulled again, and we climbed the last few hundred feet to the entrance of the asylum.
The road curved upward, then flattened out. Before long we entered a long driveway. It was shaded by trees on either side, trees that, despite their apparent youth, nevertheless stood tall and true over the approach to the hospital. One, in particular, was different from the rest. A tall, rugged oak. Unlike the others, it was ancient with strong, thick branches pointed down to the Earth. I admired it as we went, but before I knew it, we had exited the trees’ protective cover. As the rain thundered down around us, we pulled into the semi-circular drive in front of the main entrance.
I opened the door to the carriage and stepped out into the rain, walking quickly to the awning that covered the asylum’s front vestibule. My driver brought the bag in which resided all of my life’s possessions. He dropped it with a thud onto the ground. I removed a coin from my waistcoat and gave it to him. He tipped his cap and turned to go. I watched the carriage pull away into the coming night, and in that moment, I was completely alone. I walked to the entrance and opened the door. My adventure had begun.