by Byron Craft
Pemba realized that the front of Professor Ironwood’s house was built into a hill because the back of the property sloped away to what must have been true ground level. Mrs. Murchison returned after stowing the luggage in the guestroom and escorted Pemba through the French doors. The flagstone patio was interrupted in the middle by a raised stone hearth several feet across. No fire stirred amongst its cold ashes. Off to the right was a set of iron weights. A pair of dumbbells, a barbell, and a bench press. Massive timbers extended over the entire area with hanging plants and wind chimes dangling here and there. At the far end of the patio was a shiny metal caravan.
***
“That is another reason that we need to get down there, Prof!” shouted Gideon. He was still standing looking at the open page in the Necronomicon, while Dutch had re-taken his seat.
Ironwood was exceedingly upset, “Absolutely not!” he answered back raising his voice even louder. “I realize, Gideon, that the death of your brother has left you with remorse that is driving you to search out the motivation that placed him in ultimate danger, however, it is a sorrowful enterprise that will accomplish nothing.”
“Isn’t your curiosity drawn to this mystery the least little bit?” he argued. “That drawing supports the video Alan took. A video recorded in your damn tunnels. There has to be a door down there, and Lord knows what’s behind it!”
“Of course, I am curious, but that is where it ends. I’ve been in those tunnels Gideon, extensively. You have no idea how dangerous they can be. To risk your life and the lives of anyone who would accompany you on this fool’s errand, just to satisfy a desire to go snooping, is reckless. Besides, the only known passageway was sealed off with tons of explosives and a lake of molten lava.”
The door to the trailer opened. The three men turned in time to observe Pemba and Amy enter. Ironwood smiled. He was happy to see that Amy and his houseguest had arrived. “Gentlemen,” he announced, rising from his chair, pleased by the interruption. “This is my . . . companion Amy Murchison and I am certain that this is our houseguest, Pemba.” A small band aid was pasted to the throat of his houseguest, just above her Adam’s apple.
***
Cordialities exchanged, and Pemba stared at the men. The most surprising, of the three, was Professor Thomas Ironwood. She had expected an elderly, scholarly-looking gentleman clad in a three-piece suit. Instead, to Pemba’s amazement, Ironwood was broad-shouldered, wearing blue denim and sporting a close-trimmed mustache and beard. David Hambling had told her that Professor Ironwood was a man in his fifties, but advised her saying, “when it comes to old Tom Ironwood, fifty is the new thirty.” He was certainly right, she decided, except for the gray hair, he did not look his age.
The blond-haired gentleman said nothing when introductions were passed around. He just smiled and shook her hand. A gentle handshake for such a big man, Pemba considered.
It was the tall one that made her lose focus. She was receiving his energy, it was very strong, but Pemba was unable to read his thoughts. She began to feel his physical symptoms in her own body. It was an excited interest, a desire, it was . . . something important was about to happen . . . she broke off contact. The man called Gideon had offered his hand when introduced, and she realized that she was still holding it. She jerked her hand away and felt the temperature rise in her cheeks. She decided that he felt it too. He smiled, it was a nice smile.
Amy joined the Professor at his side, behind the desk. There were no romantic gestures between them, but Pemba sensed that there was a tenderness present.
“Gideon and Dutch, we will have to put our discussion aside for later, if ever,” declared Ironwood. “Pemba has journeyed a great distance to be here today, and I am sure that she would like to rest up from her trip.”
“Do not delay your meeting on my behalf, Professor,” replied Pemba. “I would be sad to cause you the inconvenience,” sincerely expressing regret.
“Nonsense,” he proclaimed. Looking over at his two intruders he added, “Our discussion had reached an impasse. However,” an afterthought welled up in his features, “gentlemen, maybe, just the merest chance of a maybe, there is conceivably a link between your request and Pemba’s presence here in Darwin.” Ironwood turned to the young African lady, and implored, “If I am permitted?”
“Please do,” she responded with a sideward glance, briefly making eye contact with the handsome Gideon.
“Pemba,” announced Professor Ironwood, “has come to us from Africa by way of the United Kingdom. She was highly recommended by an eminent colleague of mine. Pemba has very unique abilities. Before I tell you about her ‘abilities,’ I require that you maintain an open mind.”
“You already know a bit of my background, Prof. Nothing nowadays surprises me, shoot!” returned Gideon.
Dutch followed with a nod.
Ironwood looked at Amy and then, in turn, Pemba. “The few citizens residing in our little town have been experiencing the same phenomenon. They have been sharing the identical dream. I, myself, have experienced it, and so has Amy.” Mrs. Murchison, outwardly appearing uncomfortable, stared at the trailer floorboards. “These . . . nightmares started several months ago after the cave-in of an old mine shaft at the edge of town.
“What are the dreams about, Professor,” asked Gideon, displaying genuine interest.
Ironwood opened the center drawer in his desk and produced a handful of papers. “I’m not much of an artist. However, this is a rough representation.” He placed one of the papers in the center of his desk for all to see. It was a crude pencil sketch. A cone-shaped thing with three-eyes on the end of a long stalk brandishing tentacles, two of which terminated in saw-toothed lobster claws corrupted the page.
“Pemba is an empath,” he revealed, “and a very exceptional one. She not only is adept at reading another person’s emotions, but Pemba can also receive impressions from objects, images and sometimes physical locations. It is because of these attributes the town of Darwin needs her help to solve this anomaly.”
“I’ll admit, Professor, that I wouldn’t want to meet that thing you drew in a dark alley but isn’t it kind of lame to bring this lady all the way out here for just that?” challenged Gideon.
From the handful of papers, Ironwood tossed one after another onto his desktop. Each piece displayed a drawing of the same creature, some from a different angle, and some with greater artistry. “There are over a dozen here, done by the diverse hands of the townsfolk.”
Amy reached behind the desk where she stood and produced a two-foot by three-foot artist’s canvas. “A lady in town by the name of Mavis Blister did hers in acrylic.”
The background was steamy. The thing was painted in multiple shades of green and black; the green, sometimes morphing to a ghostly gray, with the blacks now and then mutating to various disconcerting shades of charcoal. The three eyes of the conical being peered outward from the canvas and seemed to follow the observer where ever positioned; unsettling eyes that pursued you across a room. The elements of shadow, light, and perspective added to the uncanny feeling of being watched.
Chapter 10
- Nightmares -
Pemba tried to scream, her mouth was numbed shut, and her arms and legs had become useless. She was walled up in a dark space. She could only see down. Something or someone was preventing her from looking up or to either side. There was a cold, clammy presence pressing against her leg. It was squirming up her calf toward her thigh; first, invisible as per the confused, disjointed perplexity of most dreams, then instantly discernable. It was a worm, large and the color of olives. It was powerfully strong, painfully squeezing her leg as it twisted and wriggled upward. Oozing from its pores was a dark ichor.
Still unable to make a sound, but with a strong will, Pemba fought against the force that restrained her. Pemba slowly raised her head and peered straight ahead. A giant cone-shaped nightmare glared at her with three bulging eyes. A long tentacle overlaid with suction cups protruded from its gruesome bo
dy and attached itself to her. She tried to read its thoughts, but the atmosphere of consciousness was void.
As if bored with its fondling, the tapered being released her and glided away into a mist.
Pemba sat up in bed with a start. Throwing off the bedclothes she frantically searched for the lurid appendage. Exploring the sheets and blankets with both hands turned up nothing. Next, Pemba inspected her bare legs. Her right limb throbbed with the memory of the horrible groping vision, but there were no marks or sign of an inky residue.
Moonlight shone through the bedroom window making the blankets on Pemba’s bed appear silvery white. The effect was comforting after shaking herself free of the terrifying vision. A painted wicker chest of drawers and a dressing mirror were also illuminated by the shaft of evening light. It was a happy room. The decor was a cheerful palette of bright colors that helped to dispel the gloom. She took a deep breath and shivered. Her body felt chilled although the temperature in the guest bedroom was warm.
***
Ironwood looked at Amy. She was resting peacefully at his side. She must not have experienced the dream, the outlandish vision, he brooded. He was not spared, though. He had seen himself from afar, walking the length of a tremendously large room. It was cavernous, although not rocky. It must have been the size of many football fields and a ceiling several stories high. Like many dreams he was instantly no longer outside his body, watching up close, as a gigantic machine, as black as night, and bigger than a house spewed a bubbling mass. A formless amoeba jam-packed with razor-sharp teeth in oversized mouths and revolving eyeballs that never blinked.
It was immediate when he saw her. He did not recall a lapse of time, it was just another instantaneous change in point of view, and he was watching her struggle in the grip of a thick tentacle. A tall conical thing with multiple appendages had her in its grasp. The slender form of a dark skin woman thrashed. Her head was facing away from him. She had very short black hair, closely cropped to her skull. The woman frantically twisted to break free, turned and looked in his direction. It was Pemba! That was when he woke up.
Amy sighed with the undisturbed breath of sleep. Ironwood was glad that she was spared this time. On other evenings when they had shared a horrible reverie, they would sit up the rest of the evening consuming a pot of coffee, comparing their nightmares in minute detail. Ironwood was one of those people who rarely dreamed. That was until the mine shaft collapsed. After that was when many of the residents in Darwin began to experience parallel evening hallucinations. Did the cave-in, at the edge of town, trigger the events? He had gradually come to believe that it was not a mere coincidence. Clearing the cobwebs of sleep from his brain, Ironwood realized that this was the first time that he and Amy did not have the shared experience. Why? Was his dream not a dream? Had he experienced an empathic response? Pemba was, after all, resting, down the hall in the guestroom. Had she projected her nightmare to him? A subconscious cry for help possibly? Ironwood was tempted to check in on her, but discarded the idea, knowing that their association had just begun, and he didn’t want to startle her.
The bubbling mass was all too familiar to Thomas Ironwood. It was a shoggoth. He had seen one before, up close. Too close and if it had not been for the advent of the Navy Seabees and a handful of heavily armed Marines he wouldn’t be alive to tell about it. Except he wasn’t allowed to tell about it. He never even confided in Amy and that left a sour taste in his mouth. He wanted to tell her about it. He enjoyed his work on the research project at the NWC. He had made many friends there including Admiral Hawkins, the base commander. However, you can only trust the government so far. Were they eavesdropping, listening devices hidden away in his home and Lord knows where, to make sure that he honored his oath of secrecy?
Ironwood wanted to divulge what he knew to Gideon Ward, as well, but that was forbidden too. He wanted to confess to Gideon that he had been responsible for his brother’s death. It was eating him up inside. All the past year, he had thought that Alan had no living relatives and that he would have to live with the pain of bereavement and guilt on his own. To come clean, the acknowledgment of his carelessness that caused the death of his good friend was strong within him. Alan had insisted that he stay behind, in the tunnels so he could study the artifacts they had discovered, while Ironwood returned home for needed supplies. It was while he was away that the shoggoth had attacked Alan in the tunnels. He had managed to escape, but the stress of the encounter turned out to be too great for his diseased heart. When Ironwood returned, he was helpless to observe his friend take his last breath. In retrospect, he should have dragged his old friend from the tunnels and back to his home that evening and not left him down there to eventually die. If he had, maybe, if the need had emerged, he could have obtained medical attention for him in Ridgecrest.
The other matter he wanted to inform Gideon and Amy about, if it wasn’t for his non-disclosure agreement, was the Elder Being. The cone-shaped creature in all those drawings that haunted the townspeople’s dreams. He had seen the shape before, engraved into the wall in one of those tunnels he and Alan had explored beneath the Mojave Desert.
***
Gideon stared at the ceiling. He was having trouble sleeping. He could here Dutch snoring in the next room. But that wasn’t what had kept him awake. They had taken a two-bedroom suite at the Red Mountain Inn and Hotel in Ridgecrest. The accommodations were nice, the bed was comfortable, and he had polished off an excellent steak dinner along with three tall scotch and sodas before retiring. And here he laid.
Gideon couldn’t get that gal Pemba out of his mind. There was something about her that distracted him from his goal when she entered the trailer. It was as if they had made a special connection. Could it be that they shared two separate similar experiences? It couldn't be, they just met. He knew nothing about her, her background or her personal beliefs. He did have the feeling of positive energy, though. He wanted to keep on pressing Ironwood to return to the tunnels, but instead, he ended up agreeing to work with the Professor and Pemba on their crackpot ESP investigation into a bunch of dreams. What was the term Ironwood used earlier, “a fool’s errand?” Gideon decided to go outside and light up a cigar.
Chapter 11
- Pocket Companion, Act Two -
Noah had a natural gift when it came to computers. He had scored high on a Career Aptitude Assessment Test for computer programming last year. He was quite the nerd. That was probably why he was tongue-tied around girls. Noah’s nose was either buried in his keyboard and smartphone most of the time, except when he was riding the trails with his friends. He didn’t have any social skills when it came to the opposite sex. He was fine talking with his pals. He didn’t feel vulnerable when they hung out and went off-roading. “Now things were going to change,” he proclaimed. No one was around to hear him. Aside from Noah Riggs, the computer room was empty.
Excluding access to the Navy’s Top-Secret data files, Noah was free to geek his digital experiments. The hyper-parallel quantum-based neural-net computer system was, “Gucci,” he once told his Uncle, Lieutenant Jason Riggs. He had to explain to his over thirty uncle that “Gucci” meant something is cool. The Naval Weapons Center IT Department and Artificial Intelligence Research Division built the powerful quantum computer system. They successfully developed a processor with fifty quantum bits, known as qubits, the first AI quantum computer of its scale in the world. Noah watched an old sci-fi movie with his uncle Jason that was made a long, long time ago, in the 1970’s, Colossus: The Forbin Project; it was a cheeseball. It had this monster computer that covered a hundred-feet of wall space. The Qubits Computer at the NWC was an eight-foot-long console with an equally wide 8K resolution flat screen.
Noah’s geeking had developed a conversational app within the super-fast, two-state processors that made Alexa appear as a one-year-old attempting to communicate. The finishing touches complete, he gave it voice. A vocal sound from his favorite movie, Terminator. It was more than Gucci that its abil
ity to speak was Arnold’s from a film about a fictional supercomputer known as Skynet, that becomes self-aware and initiates a nuclear holocaust. His app was not going to take over the world; he had programmed it so that he could score with Madison. He had given its bots the task to search all internet sources and data files for information on how to converse with women and, of course, the best pick-up lines. His voice would only prompt the app, and he would be prompted, in turn, by Arnold to say the “right thing” when conversing with his dream date. The access app would be on his iPhone, linked to Qubits by way of his cell service. The real Gucci part was that all the prompting would be fed to him through wireless earbuds. “Let’s do this thing,” he said to his app while rising from his chair. “I hope your program does the trick,” he added.
“No problemo,” replied Arnold.
***
Madison was a pretty, young, teen with green eyes and shoulder length red hair. She worked part-time at her mother’s beauty parlor; she liked working for her mom. Her father was a Chief Petty Officer at the NWC. He had only three-years left on his twenty-and-out and then he was going to start-up an Information Technology consulting business. She was very proud of him. Madison had just left the beauty parlor to walk home. A boy on a motorbike pulled up to the curb. He’s cute, she observed.
***
Noah turned off the motor to his Magician, “Hi,” he said. “I’m Noah; we are in Mrs. Jameson’s science class.” He didn’t need Arnold for that one, after that though, he was stuck.
“Hi,” she replied bashfully.
“Would you like a ride home, baby?” prompted Arnold into Noah’s earbuds. “Would you like a ride home?” repeated Noah, dropping the word “baby.”
“Oh, gosh, I don’t know, maybe some other time, when we know each other better.”