by Mink, Jason
This last bit was news to Erica, who looked around surprised. Adam and Chloe seemed willing to go along with their leader's bold statements, while Zak and Annie both looked unsure. Baxter was aghast, watching Aston with a combination of fascination and terror. Something began to happen then. The mists that had clung so thickly around the plateau's rim began to shift in the presence of an icy wind. It drew what little air there was from their lungs, threatened to push them beyond the confines of the circle.
"Hang on!" Ashton cried, reaching out. The group quickly formed a chain, hand to hand around the inner circle's perimeter. Thus strengthened, they were able to maintain their positions in the face of the growing gale. The sense of presence intensified, gazing deep into each of them in turn. Someone among them began screaming while another started to laugh; a third voice chanted in a primitive tongue, calling forth each of the Forgotten Ones in turn. Above them the unfinished sky peeled back, revealing a universe bleak and unformed. It swirled, coalesced, forming into a single cyclopean eye.
"He sees! He sees us!"
Baxter felt the presence fill his mind, infest his body, corrupt his unwilling spirit. The last thing he remembered was letting go, watching as Ashton and the others were swept into the unblinking infinity of the night-black pupil.
~*~
Baxter woke sprawled across the parlor floor. He struggled to rise but found he could barely lift his head. Either the circle was spinning or the room was, it was hard to say which. All he knew was that, despite his best efforts, he could not get it to stop. Detaching himself from the deadfall of bodies he rolled clear and attempted to work his broken brain. How long had he been out? How long had they been back? It seemed like days had passed since they'd stood within the ruined temple. His memory obscured by a thick fog, Baxter fought to recall what had happened After. It was blessedly denied him, his mind shielding him from all he'd seen in his time on the other side. Conversely his body, acting on a more primitive level, began a desperate and violent purging. Baxter only just managed to grab a receptacle, a lovely late nineteenth century umbrella stand he'd always admired. He filled it in short order then set it aside, a little something for Metathias to deal with later. The entire time he vomited Baxter felt a sense of oppression, an adverse attention unduly imposed upon he and the other members of the circle.
"Baxter?" Chloe was looking at him but her eyes were cloudy, unfocused. She reached for him but lapsed, passing out as she fell forward. She landed on Adam and he grunted but remained still, face down on the edge of the circle. Heedless of this, Baxter urged himself out of the room, forcing leaden feet through the manor's seemingly endless hallways. Only occasionally did he remember where he was going and why, but he pressed on regardless, driven instinctively away from the parlor. He scaled the impossibly steep staircase, dragging himself up foot by agonizing foot until he reached the landing. There Baxter lay panting, his mind racing, toxic with thoughts not his own. Visions of the world to come flooded in, one where all life was enslaved to a monstrous entity starved of sensation. Its cravings were immeasurable, its needs unending. All would fall before it, mere fodder for its leap into the stars.
For ten minutes Baxter remained entranced upon the second-floor landing, until he'd recovered enough to go on. The effects of the Paq'qa showed no signs of abating, the world around him still a shifting, undefined mess. He slogged through it until he reached his room. There he stopped, having forgotten why he'd fought his way back. Baxter let himself drop onto the bed, knowing that sooner or later the thought would return to him. He closed his eyes but the world still spun, the details all running together and smearing down the inside of his mind.
"Let it go," he told himself, refusing to fight. Let it melt, all of it, melt away until there was nothing left but the cool dark and the sacred silence. He'd start again, get it right from the beginning. No mistakes this time.
But even the darkness melted, the silence eroding into tapestry of static. The Paq'qa's effects would not relent. It was only then Baxter remembered why he'd struggled to get to his room. Unsteadily he got to his feet and wobbled over to the writing-desk. Slowly stooping as not to topple, he opened the bottom drawer and began a half-blind search for what he'd hidden there. After an eternity of groping he discovered and removed it, the remaining doses of antidote Shea had given him to negate the Paq'qa. Unsteadily he made his way to the bathroom where he twisted on the cold water tap. Baxter attempted to fill the plastic cup next to the sink but his fingers proved unable to hold it. The signals from his brain didn't seem to be reaching his hand so well.
Taking a deep breath he centered the plastic cup in the middle of the sink then slowly turned the cold water tap on. He managed to fill the cup a little more than half-way before it began to wobble. This would have to be enough. Baxter uncorked the small vial and quickly dumped its contents into the cup. Holding it steady with one hand he stirred the powder with his toothbrush, mixing it until his hand began to shake. He made himself take five deep, even breaths before attempting to pick up the cup. When he did he used both hands, slowly lifting it to his lips. The liquid was unforgivably bitter and Baxter again remembered Shea telling him to take it with beer. Well, tap-water would have to do. He tossed the contents of the cup back, then allowed himself to slide to the floor.
Baxter felt his stomach lurch again and he clamped a hand over his mouth. He knew he could not afford to throw up now, after using the last of the powder. Forcing himself to breathe Baxter rested his head against the cool porcelain bowl of the toilet and was glad the staff was so meticulous in its cleaning. For what seemed like hours he sat slumped there, until the effects of the Paq'qa finally began to ebb. There was great relief in this, the endless flow of ideas and uncollatable data easing to a slow crawl. The pressure at the back of his head ceased and he found he could actually think again. He just didn't want to.
Soon he was stable enough to rise. Baxter felt as if he'd been beaten internally, aches all through his body. Had Ashton increased their dosage? Or was there something more to it than that? The ritual… Ashton had started to read it but Baxter did not remember him finishing. Before he could they'd been swept away, taken to the ruined temple; hallucination or not, it had seemed real enough at the time. And then? Baxter's reflection was shattered by the sound of screaming. It came from somewhere below, chased by its own echo through the near distance. Still woozy Baxter left his room and made his way to the staircase. Thanks to the antidote it had straightened out rather nicely and he was able to make his way down much easier than he'd made his way up. Reaching the landing he hurried through the shadowed hallway, stopping before the first open door.
Annie stood inside the study, staring into an enormous mirror. At first Baxter did not understand why she was reacting so but then he caught a glimpse of her in the mirror.
"Oh."
While the woman who stood before him was normal, her reflection was not. It stared back with hundreds of unblinking eyes, a vision made even more unspeakable by his chemically-induced sobriety.
"Baxter… what is it?"
The veil flowed and rippled beneath the breath of Annie's words, answering her own question.
"No!" Annie raised her hand to her face in revulsion and the thing in the mirror did the same, stepping back in reaction as she did. Baxter went to her side, caught a glimpse of himself and shuddered.
"Annie, please come away from there."
But she remained rooted to the spot, looking at him with sudden anger. "That thing… is me, isn't it? That's what happens to me during these rituals. Isn't it? Isn't it!"
She was hitting him then, beating him with small vicious fists about the chest and face. Baxter could not stop her. He was watching it happen in the mirror, mute in the face of the writhing ocular atrocity which assailed him.
"Why didn't you tell me? How long were you going to let it go on? How could I have trusted you?"
Valid questions all. Sadly Baxter was unable to reply. He had failed her; they all
had. He stood there and took her beating until he felt a pair of hands pull him free and he was once more able to think. It was Zak, turning Annie to face him.
"Stop it! It's not his fault!" he cried, shaking her. "Get a grip on yourself!"
She struggled in his arms, still reaching for Baxter. One clawed hand flashed out, slashing Zak across his left cheek.
"Fuck, Bax! Get out of here!"
Baxter didn't need to be told twice. He quickly exited the room, closing the door behind him. This was nothing the others needed to be a part of. He found it odd they were not there in the midst of all of the excitement. Obviously the effects of the Paq'qa were still being felt strongly among them and Baxter found himself infinitely grateful to old Shea for the powder. He realized guiltily in his haste he'd taken both doses but knew there was little to be done about it now. Measuring out an exact portion just wasn't an option at the time.
Baxter slipped down the hallway, poking his head in the parlor. To his surprise the room was empty, the Circle in disarray. He noted tools scattered around the edges and bent to pick up his book. It had been bent, badly creased when he fell and he did his best to wrest it back into shape. When finished he set the small tome aside then gathered up the other scattered equipment. Everything was there save Ashton's crown and Chloe's scepter, which were conspicuously missing. When finished Baxter stood back to consider the room. Something was still very wrong there, something he could feel but not see. So he closed his eyes.
Immediately his attention was drawn to the far side of the parlor. Resisting the urge to look, he instead let an image of the room form in his mind. The sacred Circle was before him, the rug which usually hid it from view rolled back. The chairs and table which sat on the rug were pushed to one side, to the right alongside of the wall. To his left was a small couch, and beside that...?
Baxter opened his eyes and stood up, walking over to the wide closed-off stone fireplace. His mind flashed back to Shea's visit. The old man had seemed preoccupied with the large wooden mantle and panel which blocked the hearth. It had caught Baxter's attention more than once as well, but he'd always forgotten about it in the morning light. Well, not this time. He lightly pounded with his fist on the center of the panel. It was hollow, to no surprise. Looking at it carefully, he realized he could see no screw or nail-heads in the panel, which meant it was fixed into place by another method. He ran his hands along its edges, seeking a catch that would allow it to open. None was evident on his first pass so he tried again. He began to push the panel inward, upward, trying to get a sense of how it rested. It would not move, as solid as the oaken mantle it was attached to. Odd. He began to move the objects on the mantle about. When that yielded no effect he began to push likely-looking stones in the wall of the fireplace, to no avail.
Feeling the fool, Baxter stepped back. Impulsively whacking at things was getting him nowhere. If the thing had a latch it wouldn't be set in a solid wall. Baxter got to his knees and examined the foundation. It was handsome as such things went, fired iron cast into the Ashton family standard and set with dark red and green ceramic panels. As he considered it Baxter noted one of the green panels at the very back was slightly different. Unnoticeable from a distance, he realized it was perhaps two shades lighter than its mates. Its surface was also comparatively smooth, compared to the crazed faces of the older tiles. Baxter followed its edge along the flashing of the panel, found a small, fingertip-sized indentation beneath its edge. He pressed it in and, with a metallic click, the panel swung outwards.
Baxter stared for long moments, but had no idea just what it was he was looking at. He stepped back and stared at the space behind the panel, trying to make sense of what now stood open before him. It was old, terribly old. Judging from its size it had been back there for decades, an inexplicable fungus-type substance that had long grown out of control. Nary an inch of space could be seen between it and the stone of the fireplace, the copious growth having over time filled the entirety of the high wide opening.
Its surface resembled old leather and was the same well-worn brown, lighter around the raised areas and darker in its indentations. Flocked with soft pockets of umber fuzz it proved a remarkable topography, utterly unlike anything Baxter had ever encountered in nature. He followed its ridges and contours in repugnant wonder, over time tracing a rough shape not evident at first sight. Near its peak there was a long, narrow growth, a shelf or ridge that overshadowed a set of deep depressions in its surface. This surface then swelled outwards, bulging curiously at center of the mass. Beneath this the umber fuzz grew thickly, nearly obscuring a secondary ridge. It was this ridge which drew his attention. It shifted, dropped inwards to reveal the blackened remains of a human mouth and tongue.
Baxter sagged in soul-shattering realization, a weak scream escaping his throat. The thing's eyes sprang open then, pinning him in place beneath its mordant gaze. It burned him where he stood, searing his mind beneath an onslaught of hideous power. Defenseless, Baxter dropped to his knees before the bloated monstrosity, the scream now a dead thing in his throat. He could only watch as the swollen features slowly twisted into the grim approximation of a smile, the thing behind the panel happy to have a visitor after so many years alone.
TWENTY
NOW
Annie did her best, but sneaking quietly about was not one of her strong suits. It wasn't her fault; by now she was all nerves, jangling along behind Erica and Zak. They gracelessly made their way down the second floor hallway, stopping on the landing.
"Ashton and the others should still be down in the cavern. If we do this quick and quiet we can be out of here before they realize what's happened." He turned to Annie. "Sandy is on the first floor, in Ashton's study. That's where we go first. Estelle is watching her; she should be the only one there. I'll take care of her. You get Sandy and the four of us make a bee-line for the garage. We steal a car and then get the hell out of here."
Zak began to walk down the steps but Erica caught his arm.
"Estelle. What are you going to do about her?"
Wordlessly Zak led the two women down the long stair. He paused before a closet door. Reaching inside he pulled out a large, oddly-shaped, cloth-covered object. Annie gasped when he pulled the covering aside.
"Is that ..?"
Zak nodded. "Yeah. It's Adam's old crossbow. Right where he left it seven years ago. I had a feeling it might come in handy." He handed the bow to Erica and the quiver of bolts to Annie, then closed the closet door. Loading the weapon Zak smiled grimly. "This should at least take out the old lady."
Erica winced but said nothing, leading the three of them to the study. The door was closed but unlocked. She peered through the key-hole but could see little, due to the layout of the room.
"Do it," Zak said, standing at the center of the doorway. Erica twisted the knob and shoved the door open, leaning back so Zak could rush through. The old serving-woman was there, standing by the window with her back to them.
"Turn around, ma'am. I don't want to hurt you."
The old woman did as she was asked, her arthritic arms raised as high as she could lift them. She wore a look of surprise on her face which increased greatly at the sight of the cocked bow.
"Where's my baby?" Annie demanded, rushing forward. She grabbed the old woman by the front of her dress and twisted, her face contorted in rage. Estelle cried out, a dry rattle shaken from her ancient throat. Erica hurried about the room but could find the child nowhere.
"Tell me!" Annie screamed, eyes bulging. "Give her to me!"
Zak reached forward and took Annie by the arm.
"Stop! Give her a second, let her catch her breath."
Annie had no intention of stopping, now prepared to crush the life out of the enfeebled octogenarian. Zak handed Erica the bow and pulled Annie away.
"Annie, stop! She can't talk if you beat her to death!"
The tiny woman relented but sulked resentfully within arm's length of Estelle, a constant threat.
&nbs
p; "I thought you said you didn't want to hurt me!" the old woman cried.
Zak shrugged. "Hey, I don't. This one…" He gestured to Annie, who bristled. "Just tell us where the little girl is and we'll go," Zak said amicably.
The old woman nodded, still clearly shaken. "Master Ashton and the others… they've taken her."
"Taken her? Where?"
Estelle looked at them with her blank eyes. "Down into the cavern, of course."
~*~
"It's time to go."
Baxter rose, following Daniel down the back porch steps and into the waiting night. They walked quickly through the small star-lit yard, descending the overgrown slope and slipping through the hole in the fence to where the truck waited. Getting in on the driver's side Daniel shook the keys free of his hip pocket and started the engine. The elderly Ford protested but the older man paid it no mind, expertly swinging the cranky vehicle around the small lot at the bottom of the hill. Baxter climbed up into the cab and slammed the heavy door behind him. A moment later they were rolling past the house, dim headlights playing across the building's weather-beaten face. There and then gone, the building was a moth-white after-image fluttering across the eye only once before vanishing into the darkness of night. Then the truck was rolling up the narrow rutted lane, into the teeming darkness of the pines.
Wordlessly they drove through the thick wood, Daniel intent on navigating the treacherous road. It had only gotten worse over the years; soon it would be unusable, completely washed out and worn away. The wheels spun more than once in the deep furrows but somehow always managed to drag the truck up and out. Baxter thought nothing of it, his thoughts distant and yet not so far away. They would be at the manor soon. As to what they would do once they got there, Daniel Shea had been damnably vague. He'd told Baxter little, only that they had to confront Ashton and stop Paq'q from waking. As far as Baxter knew they were weaponless, with no real course or plan of action. This was a troubling thought but Daniel would not talk about it despite his concerns.