by C J Lutton
Shocked by Holmes’ closeness, the man ducked down, placing a wolf between him and us. His head swiveled as he scanned the area in search of our location.
”Who are you? What's your name?” Holmes repeated his questions.
”My name’s Howe!” he responded. ”I've been sent to show you where to go in! Show yourself! I don't like talking to shadows!”
”Put down your rifle!” Holmes commanded.
I heard the man's bolt slide home as he loaded a cartridge.
”I am here with my friends, and we have guns aimed at you, Mr. Howe. Put down your weapon or you'll die where you are!” Holmes called, slowly rising from behind the dead wolf.
Thaddeus and I also rose while keeping our weapons trained on the stranger. In silent accord, the young man and I walked toward the intruder. The man lifted his head to get a good look at us, let his gun dangle, and got to his feet. Brushing snow from his coat, the newcomer stepped over the dead animal and walked over to Holmes.
”My name's Howe,” he said with a frown, while looking round him. ”Had a little trouble?”
He was older than Holmes and I, but he stood ramrod straight. His growing smile was pleasant, as he offered his hand to Holmes.
”Mr. Howe? These are my friends and associates, Dr. Watson and Mr. Thaddeus Edwards.” Holmes returned the stranger’s smile and shook hands.
Howe nodded his head in greeting. ”If you're ready, I'll show you where to go in,” he said, getting right down to the purpose of his presence.
”Fine. Thaddeus, get our packs,” Holmes ordered.
A few minutes later, Thaddeus returned with our gear, and we slipped on the rucksacks.
”I've never seen so many wolves in one spot,” the man said as he turned in a circle to survey the broken bodies. ”There must be a hundred of them. It's not natural, that much I can tell you.”
”Two hundred and twelve,” I said. ”I counted them.”
”Do you want their hides?” Howe asked. ”There's a hefty bounty on them.”
”No, they're yours,” said Holmes, “except for the black one. That one I want.”
Howe looked about at the carnage. His face split into a broad grin as he greedily added up his newfound wealth. ”Right. I’ll skin that black one and set it aside for you, Mr. Holmes. This way then.”
We followed Howe for about two hours, climbing higher into the mountains. Out of breath, we stopped at a small cluster of bushes that hugged the ground.
”In there,” he said, pointing. ”Those bushes conceal the opening. You'll be going in from this side, the other's sealed off. Just follow the natural tilt of the ground. Try to stay to the right. Some of the neighbors say it’s the devil's home that you'll be entering. I ran tours through the caves for the public, but a lot of strange things began happening. That's what made me shut them down.”
Without another word, he walked off. I felt my mouth fall open, and when I looked at Thaddeus, he wore the same confused expression. All I could assume was that Howe was excited about getting back to his new treasure, the wolf pelts.
Holmes pointed at the shrubbery. ”Light your lamps,” he said. ”We're going in!”
21
Into The Caverns
The entrance to the cave was hidden by a small prickly bush that seemed to gleefully part with its thorns and lodge them firmly into the fleshy parts of our gloved hands. Holmes, seemingly impervious to the spiteful barbs, crawled through the opening first and disappeared into the black hole. Thaddeus and I, inhaling deeply what might be our last breath of fresh air, followed our friend into the blackness of Dracula's domain.
Our lamps cast small islands of light five feet in front of us, but did little to quell the claustrophobia rising within me. After the sparkling brilliance of the snow—covered world outside, our acclimatization to the darkness was both painful and dizzying. The air and darkness were as solid as any object. The low and narrow passageway forced us to crawl on hands and knees and wounded me in other ways, as we listened to the sounds within the cave. My mind and heart raced, as visions of hoary monsters grabbed and clawed at my legs. I sucked in air at an alarming rate. With my fear cresting, I wheezed and struggled to breathe through my nose while pressing my tongue against the roof of my mouth. I heard the same suffocating sounds coming from my friends. The small lamps bounced their light and cast jittery shadows across our faces, as we looked from one to the other.
”Stay calm,” Thaddeus whispered to us. ”Just take slow, deep breaths.”
After a few painful and terrifying minutes, our breathing gradually slowed, as we grew more comfortable with our dark surroundings.
”This way,” whispered Holmes.
We followed close behind, hugging the walls. Every few feet, Holmes would stop and shine the lantern farther down the passageway. Our warm breath clashed with this freezing world. Dank clouds blossomed from our mouths. The narrowness of the passage wouldn't allow us to extend our arms fully. Nor could we stand up. If the truth be known, I preferred to feel the solid walls and roof.
Making matters worse, cobwebs unerringly sought out my face and eyes as we continued down the rutted path. No sooner did I remove one, when another would press against my flesh. The strands left an imaginary searing brand on my exposed skin.
Finally, the ceiling grew higher, and we could at last stand erect. Our pace quickened, and from the echoes of our footfalls kicking the dirt of the floor, I sensed the passage was also widening. Holmes stopped again. We crouched in a circle with our knees and hands touching one another for comfort. Our heads moved jerkily, as each new sound stretched our nerves raw, forcing us to search for the origin of each new terror. Holmes played his lamp along the canopy of the cave, looking for a cause of the sound that grew ever louder.
Directing my lamp's beam to intersect Holmes’, I mistakenly thought the ceiling was breathing, for the motion above us was so subtle as to confuse my mind. With horror, I finally realized that the undulating mass above us were the living and breathing bodies of thousands of bats, hanging upside down from the roof. They were only about fifteen to twenty feet above our heads!
Their small bodies swayed gently as they breathed and slept. Occasionally, one would release itself from its precarious position and fall slightly before flapping its wings and flying off down the passage. Their high—pitched squeals and screeches as they sounded the walls and ceiling were cause enough for us to see a thousand Moriartys. We quickly vacated the area.
Regaining our composure, we slowed to a walk and continued down the passageway in what was a straight run for some time. A harrowing turn to the right down an ice—slicked rocky path sent Holmes falling hard against the floor. The tumble extinguished his lamp. Thaddeus and I ran to his side, assisting him to his feet.
”Are you all right, Mr. Holmes?” Thaddeus asked, relighting the lantern.
”Yes,” my friend answered. ”But if Dracula didn't know we were here before, he does now.”
”What do you mean, Holmes?” I asked. “He couldn't have heard you fall. He wouldn't be this close to the surface. He couldn't risk it.”
”Maybe so, but he knows we're here.”
”How?”
Holmes wiped his hand across his brow and held it under the lantern for us to see. His glove was covered with blood and he said, ”He can smell this.”
”Holmes, you're hurt,” I cried, cursing that I had brought but the barest medical essentials with me. I stemmed the flow of blood, but his right eye was already swelling shut.
Thaddeus scraped ice crystals off the side of the wall and placed them in his handkerchief.
”Hold this over your eye,” he said, pressing it against the bruise. ”The cold will help keep the swelling down.”
After studying the map, we started moving again. Our angle of descent steepened and made each step we took even more perilous. For the first time, I realized that the light from the outside world had disappeared. Now we're in it, I thought. There's no turning back.
”This is useless!” he growled, tossing the compass back in his rucksack. ”The arrow's spinning wildly. The cave walls must be nothing but iron ore. Let's hope the map is accurate.”
Leaning against the surface of the wall, I felt the dampness creep through the fabric of my pack and coat, and I hurriedly pushed myself away.
”What is it?” asked Holmes, reacting to my sudden movement.
”Water,” I said. “The walls are dripping water.”
”That means we're below the frost line,” Holmes said. ”The temperature should start rising soon.”
”Yes, because we're getting closer to hell!” I said, as I jumped when an animal scurried across my feet. ”Holmes, how much longer?”
”Not much, Watson. According to the map, our destination is only a little farther. Then we’ll enter one of the main rooms. It's there that we'll rest.”
Doing my best to turn off all thoughts, I fell in behind Holmes as he turned to walk down the passageway. Thaddeus tapped me on the shoulder.
”Don't worry, Doctor. I'll not let anything happen to you or Mr. Holmes.”
To be blessed with the ignorance of youth, I thought, but I only replied, ”Thank you. I am glad I can count on you, Thaddeus.”
Our trek took us down a steep, spiraling descent. We found ourselves forced to lean backwards as we walked, for fear of toppling head—over—heels. Holmes raised his hand, while coming to a sudden stop.
”We're at the entrance,” he whispered, waving us forward.
Dropping to our hands and knees, Thaddeus and I knelt beside him. As the lanterns played out their beams into the great natural chamber, we were awestruck by Mother Nature's vibrant imagination. The cavernous room’s height was impossible to measure. The ceiling disappeared into the blackness, well above our limited vision. From silvery—threaded webs, thousands upon thousands of shimmering cocoons hung like tiny lanterns. As the webs spiraled upwards, the gossamer threads disappeared into the blackness. They gave the impression we were witnessing a fakir's rope trick.
”We'll start to the right,” said Holmes, “and see whether we can gauge the size of this place.”
Following in single column, we hugged the craggy surface of the wall.
”Hullo!” exclaimed Holmes, shining his light, ”what's this?” He lit a match and put it to a torch sticking out of a small fissure. It immediately took. Holmes moved forward rapidly, running his hands against the wall.
”Here's another one!” he cried, lighting it. He removed the torch from its perch and continued his search.
Thaddeus ran to the left and lit the torches on the far side of the chamber. Before long, the massive room was aglow with light. We stood at its center and were astonished by the majesty of its beauty. The light was most welcome, but even so, nothing could quell my rising sense of danger.
”It's as if we’re standing in the hub and the passages are spokes of a wheel,” Thaddeus said, glancing around at the numerous pathways leading out of the chamber.
Or we’re in a treacherous spider’s web, I thought. Shaking away my morose thoughts, I turned my eyes on the mammoth columns of green and yellow stalactites and stalagmites.
An immense cascading waterfall, frozen rock—solid for all eternity, emptied out into the chamber. The impressive sight was made all the more amazing by its dizzying palette of remarkable greens, pinks, yellows, and whites. Solid bouquets of anthodite flowers clung to the walls and floor, as the breccia abounded in a gardener's paradise. As we called out each spectacular find, our voices echoed off the walls and charged down the various passageways, only to be captured and silenced by the unknown.
Holmes scanned the map and pointed to our present location.
”This is where we are,” he said, ”and this,” he pointed to a ragged line, ”is where we must go.”
He looked to the right of our position and pointed at a narrow opening in the wall. ”That is our next pathway. After we rest awhile, we'll head deeper into Dracula’s lair.”
Checking our packs and equipment, we sat on our haunches in the middle of the floor. Holmes, ever the scientist, removed a small notepad and walked round the chamber, inspecting the myriad formations and taking copious notes.
”Grab a torch, gentlemen,” he called, putting away his pad, ”and follow me.”
He took one torch from the wall and then another. He extinguished one by rolling it in the dirt and attached it to his rucksack by placing it under the straps. Thaddeus and I copied his efforts.
”We’d best save the lantern,” said Holmes. Nervously, we lifted the lens and blew out the flame. With Holmes leading, we entered the narrow passage and continued our journey. The glow from our torches made the trek easier as we continued our descent. Our intrusion into this dark world would occasionally startle a cave—dwelling creature, and the animal would bounce off the walls seeking protective solitude.
Once again, the walls pulled away from us as the passage broadened. An odd formation of helictite, or a dripstone, or a curious grotto would cause us to stop and admire nature's handiwork before continuing on our way. The pace slowed as Holmes hesitatingly reached out with his foot and brushed it across the width of the floor.
Thaddeus and I had bunched up behind him. Now we waited and we watched, as he continued this ritual for the next ten or so minutes. We traveled scant inches at a time as Holmes repeated the process. His foot was making another sweeping pass, when the toe of his boot snagged on something just below the surface.
”This is it!” he said, leaning his torch against the wall. ”We have to enter through here!”
Getting down on all fours, my friend took out his knife, and scraped it along the floor. Where the blade burrowed into the soft dirt, he traced an outline of a three—foot square.
To our great surprise, his efforts revealed a trap—door. Folding his knife away, Holmes brushed off the dirt that hid the iron plate.
”Help me with this,” he said, slipping off his pack and lifting the door's handle.
The three of us strained under the weight, but with a grunt of effort, we lifted the trapdoor up and away from the hole. With a thud, we let it fall. Exhausted, we looked at each other and smiled.
Holmes retrieved his pack and knelt by the rim of the hole. Thaddeus and I joined him, and we peered down into its mouth. We couldn't see more than a few feet into the blackness.
”Watson, your torch.”
I brought the flame down to the floor, and Holmes guided my hand around the opening.
”Stop!” he ordered. ”Right there. Do you see them?” His hands swept away the dust and exposed fresh abrasions, rutted in the hardened dirt.
”This is where Dracula's coffin was lowered,” Holmes whispered. ”Observe the small mounds of dark soil in these hollows. They don't match the surrounding area in colour or texture.” He lifted a pinch of the soil to his nose and sniffed it. His lips tightened. Holding the sample close to his eyes, he examined it and then pressed it flat into his palm. Looking down at the results, he fell back on his posterior and rubbed his hands disgustedly on his trouser leg.
”What was it, Holmes? What did you see?” I asked.
With his eyes widened, he picked up a fresh clump of the dark soil and squeezed it with one hand as he cupped the other hand underneath. As the upper hand tightened, drops of blood fell into his open palm.
”Holmes!” I cried, recoiling.
Thaddeus’ reaction was contrary to what I would expected. ”We have him! He's here!”
”It would seem so,” said Holmes, looking at his young protégé with concern. Wiping his hands, he continued, ”I wouldn't be so cheerful, Thaddeus. Do you have any idea where this blood came from?” He held his stained palm inches in front of the boy's face. ”It's from all those who've had their lives stolen from them through the centuries! These thousands of poor souls died excruciati
ngly horrible deaths for no other earthly reason than being present when the beast was near!”
In response, Thaddeus’ face drained of colour.
”Dracula's coffin is filled with soil from Transylvania,” Holmes said. “That means it’s saturated with the blood his victims have spilled. He thrives on their lifeblood and steals it from them. Do you understand?”
”I'm sorry, Mr. Holmes. I didn't think,” Thaddeus said.
”I know you didn't,” said my friend, but he seemed to forgive the young man. Holmes turned away and went about examining the floor near the hole.
Thaddeus sat back on his heels, leaning against the wall with his head bowed and cradled on top of his folded arms.
I crawled over to Holmes’ side. ”That was a little harsh. Don't you think? After all, he's barely more than a boy.”
”Perhaps it was a mistake bringing you both here,” Holmes responded.
”Perhaps,” I snapped back, stung by his words, ”but I'll tell you this, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. As far as Thaddeus is concerned, he may not have your years of experience in handling matters so close to the heart as you, but he cares just as deeply. And don't forget, he saved your life at the falls!”
”That’s not a reason to be unfeeling,” Holmes said with a snarl.
”Look at him!” I said, my voice rising. ”Does he look as if he has no feelings? Remember, he's just a lad. A lad, I might add, who is willing to give his life for God and Country—and most of all for you, Holmes! We are in God knows where, heading for God knows what! And you question his feelings? It's your feelings that should be brought into question. Not his! His sister and countless others have given their lives for the cause. Since you believe that we've become a hindrance to you, then so be it. I'll not take another step. So, go on. Meet Dracula alone. It doesn't matter to me.”
I kicked at the floor and stormed off down the tunnel, squatting against the wall. Holmes, furious, turned away and stared down the hole. As we sat apart, embroiled with our private demons, the air suddenly turned foul and cloying. Deep from within the hole, mocking laughter assaulted us. Like fog, the fear crawled along the floor and threaded its way through our terrified hearts. Thunderous waves pummeled us to near insanity, as we cowered, powerless to move.