by C J Lutton
”Go ahead, Doctor. You look as if you need it. I'll wait until Mr. Holmes is finished and then I'll brew another tin.”
Gratefully, I accepted his offer and let the hot liquid warm my bones.
Glancing over my shoulder at Holmes, I was pleased to see he had shut his eyes and was breathing comfortably. I turned my attention to this remarkable young man.
”Thaddeus,” I said, trying to find the proper words to convey my feelings, ”I don't know how Holmes and I can ever thank you. Your poise and quick—thinking back there saved our lives. And how you managed to supply us with tea and food is simply the most astounding bit of clear—thinking that I've ever seen. I will forever be in your debt.”
”Thank you, Doctor.” He smiled. ”But we're not out of the woods yet. Have you taken a look at our surroundings?”
”No, now that you've mentioned it. All of my attention has been to Holmes’ well—being. Why? What's the matter?”
I didn't like the look in Thaddeus’ eyes.
”Look around you. We're at the entrance to hell,” he said.
”I don't care about that,” I said, having not once cast my gaze beyond the circle of light that encompassed our camp. ”The only thing that's important right now is that Holmes gets some rest. We'll decide after that what we're going to do. I haven't looked around, and I've no intention of doing so. At least, not until Holmes is awake. In the meantime, I suggest that we get back into our clothes and make the best of this horrible situation. If it's all right with you, we'll stay here tonight and take turns watching.”
Thaddeus nodded and pulled on his clothes. I retrieved mine and dressed before returning to the side of my old friend. Holmes was sleeping comfortably.
As Thaddeus and I stood vigil, we spoke in hushed tones and never wandered from the glow of the campfire. An occasional snore would emanate from Holmes. After the shock of the first few, we no longer jumped in alarm at the strange noise.
The night wore on. I wondered whether we would ever see the outside world again. It was during one of these reflective moments that Holmes stirred. He turned on his side, resting his head in his hand.
”Holmes!” I cried happily, upon seeing him staring at me. ”Are you recovered?”
”Yes. Thanks to you and Thaddeus.”
Thaddeus came running to Holmes’ side and slid to a stop.
Sherlock Holmes cocked his head upwards to look into the lad's excited face. ”Thaddeus, thank you. You and Watson.” Holmes tossed back the bedrolls and rose to his feet gingerly. I tossed him his clothes and he dressed.
”Ahh,” he moaned with pleasure as he pulled on his toasty warm trousers. ”That's more like it. We’re ready to fight Dracula.”
”You must be mad, Holmes,” I protested. ”Look at us! Using the leftover parts from the three of us combined, you couldn't put together a whole and healthy human being. We can't go on. In fact, I don't know whether or not we can get out of here at all.”
”Watson, Watson, Watson. Of course, we have to go on. If we are to die, then let our deaths stand for something. I will not slip this mortal coil willingly. We must fight! And if it is death that awaits us, then let us have sport with him. Let the Grim Reaper know that he was indeed in a fight with the great Sherlock Holmes, the honourable Dr. John H. Watson, and the courageous Thaddeus Cadwallader Edwards!”
Understanding his ways, I knew that his words, though heartfelt, were more for the bolstering of our spirits than for their content. But in Thaddeus’ eyes, I saw the heart and soul of a zealot.
”I'm with you, Mr. Holmes!” said the youngest among us.
I added my vote of confidence. ”I'm with you, too, Holmes. As you knew I would be.”
”Good old, Watson,” he laughed, clapping me on the back. ”It's time for you two to get some sleep. I'll stand guard.”
Fighting a yawn, I reluctantly stretched out in my bedroll and shut my eyes. Just before dozing, I turned to glance at Thaddeus. I chuckled, as the young man snored loudly. “More like Holmes every day,” I thought, before drifting off.
All too quickly, I found myself fully awake. I remained still, listening to the sounds of the cave and the rushing water. A chill braced me. I wiggled out of my bedroll and rose from the damp ground. My feet were still sore from the cuts, but I had bandaged them well enough that I could stroll over to Holmes who was crouched by the fire. He turned around upon hearing my footfall. ”How are you feeling?” I asked.
”Better than I might've expected,” Holmes said.
Our silence grew uncomfortable as he stoked the fire with a stick, but his next words were more frightening than the silence.
”We may not come out of this, you know,” he said, rising from his position.
”I know. But it's just as you said. What choice do we have? We're here and there's no way out. We might as well take the fight to him and see what we're all about.”
Holmes looked at me quizzically. ”Watson, should it come to it, and there's no hope, I want you to take matters into your own hands and...”
Swallowing hard, I nodded. ”I will.” I patted the bulge of my revolver.
”Thaddeus first,” he whispered.
Again, I nodded. I turned my eyes away from Holmes and watched the young man as he slept. I felt the suffocating pangs of guilt and remorse as I contemplated the murders of both my friends and my own suicide.
“Remember that no one deserves to die Dracula's kind of death,” Holmes said. “You've got to be strong for all of our sakes.”
”Yes, of course you're right, but – ”
”There are no buts, Dr. Watson,” said Thaddeus, turning over and rolling up from the floor to face us. His eyes pulsed with fear and anger. ”Mr. Holmes is correct. If I am about to be, uh, consumed by Dracula, and it appears hopeless, you have my permission to put a bullet through my head. In fact, you have my blessing.”
”Please, Mr. Holmes,” said Thaddeus, as he rose to his feet and walked over to where Holmes and I stood. “I'm not a fool. It's obvious that you're the strongest of us three. If Dracula intends to cripple us, he will take out our leader first. In other words, Dracula be going after you.”
”He already is,” said Holmes. “Don't forget, he has my brother. And Dracula is aware, that because of this, I've already been weakened. Hasn't the thought occurred to you that I am the weakest of the three of us? He knows that I would sacrifice everything to save both of you, as well as my brother. No, he has me in his clutches and his grip is tightening round my throat.”
With that, he changed the subject. ”Has anyone bothered to explore our latest surroundings?”
”Well,” Thaddeus hesitated, ”I began to, but I saw something that I couldn't, or should I say I wouldn't, believe. So I thought it better that we wait for you to see it.”
”Go on,” Holmes prodded.
”You're not going to like it.”
”There hasn't been anything to like about this case since it began. Show me what you've found.”
Thaddeus hesitated, then asked, ”Are we breaking camp? Are we going in?”
Holmes looked at me and I nodded.
”Of course,” Holmes continued, pressing his lips together in a tight smile. ”Doctor? Please dress our wounds. Men? Check your weapons and make sure the proper shells are loaded. We'll leave the campfire burning and take the torch.”
I did what I could to prepare us physically for the task ahead. Thaddeus led us out of the comforting glow from the fire and into a wall of blackness and insanity. We stumbled our way around the perimeter of the black beach of deadly shards. Then we followed the shoreline of the gurgling river to a large circular—shaped stone with a flat surface that reminded me of a giant grist or grinding wheel. However, this stone stood nearly one hundred feet tall and thirty feet wide. A curious mist swirled about the stone. Brilliant flashes of whites and blues feathered through the gathered miasma.
”This is as far as I went,” Thaddeus whispered, signaling us to stop.
; As we drew near, I sensed a troubling movement of the air. It was peculiar and occurred only when we stepped closer to the stone. Holmes paced the area around the stone and determined the proper distance that would allow us to examine it without the stone reacting to our presence.
”Stand here,” he said, marking the spot.
”This can't be a natural occurrence,” I said, as my throat suddenly became dry.
”It's not,” Holmes said. ”Thaddeus, hand me the torch and stand back. There's something on the face of this stone. See if you can tell what it is when I move in.”
We stepped back, as Holmes brought the flame deeper into the safe margins he had established. The torch struggled to stay lit as it penetrated the unseen barrier, but its flickering glow was enough to illuminate the stone's surface.
”Holmes!” I gasped and turned away in horror.
”Well,” said Holmes, ”what is it?”
”You’d better see for yourself,” answered Thaddeus, taking the torch.
Holmes exhaled loudly, letting his eyes take in the stone's entire horrifying history. Lurching backwards, he said, “Incredible.”
”It's madness,” I said, turning away from the hellish scene.
Although the edifice before us was made of stone, it had a life to it. Or more precisely, it captured thousands of lives. We were gazing into the very souls and tortured faces of those whose undead condition Dracula had created. Thousands of innocent people had been wrongly sentenced to spend their eternity in this Dantesque hell. Grotesque images pictured victims caught in the throes of never—ending agony and shame. What we had supposed was a movement of air was actually caused by the captured apparitions as they scurried across its surface. The stone was alive with the crawling spirits as they searched in vain for a place of peaceful repose.
”Enough!” shouted Holmes, ”Thaddeus, leave them be!”
”What are we to do, Mr. Holmes? We can't just walk away,” Thaddeus’ voice broke with emotion.
Inexplicably, I was drawn to the horrors of the stone. Perhaps as a doctor, it has always been my calling to heal. The misery I was observing spoke to my innermost nature and demanded that I do something, anything. My friends, seeing my movement, fell in behind me.
Grabbing the torch from Thaddeus’ hand, I stood scant inches away from the tormented faces. I allowed the light to illuminate their martyred eyes. Storm clouds rolled across the surface of the stone. The air above the stone flashed with pockets of blistering lightening and rumbles of muffled thunder. Countless thousands of people were caught up in the roiling storms, clawing at nothing, begging for help with their tiny hands.
I felt a tug on my sleeve as I leaned against the stone. Glancing down, I saw to my horror a small gnarled hand entwining its fingers into the fabric of my coat.
Holmes stepped forward and placed the mystical quiver near the surface of the stone. Thousands upon thousands of wringing hands reached out to caress the ancient artifact. Muted lamentations escaped their contorted faces, as Holmes drew away from them and tucked the quiver under his coat.
”We're going in,” he said, as his jaw muscles twitched with knotted tension.
23
Dracula’s Lair
Taking one last dreadful look at that monster’s victims, we stepped behind the stone and into Dracula's kingdom. With each step we took, the voices of the tortured souls continued to ring in our ears. With our weapons drawn, we walked down a narrow passageway. After traveling a distance of fifty or sixty feet, we found ourselves standing at the entrance of another chamber.
An unholy fear rose from deep within me, as I realised the chamber was aglow with hundreds of torches embedded in the wall. We stared slack—jawed, as our eyes took in the terrifying vista of Dracula's castle. Carved out of the side of the mountain, the facade of the blackened, decaying structure rose high into the vaulted ceiling of the chamber.
Turrets, complete with tetrahedral spires at the corners and with darkened holes for weapons, dotted the crumbling stones. Beneath the worn battlements and nestled in the shadows of the corroded parapets, grotesque gargoyles with hooded shrouds stared at us with keen interest. Mockingly, they beckoned us to stand as horrified witnesses to the silent testimony of centuries of torture, as bleached bones and skulls of long dead warriors were strewn about the floor. Charred remnants of campfires ringed a half—circle around the perimeter of the castle. Over the inlaid archway at the castle’s entrance had been carved the words, Castle Dracul. Two massive doors resting on ornate rusting hinges slowly drew open. As a result of centuries of wear, the scarred doors squealed as they pivoted.
Guarding the entrance were two monstrous statues, representing three—headed dogs. These were the frightful imaginings of a sculptor gone mad. Their snarling rage—filled faces revealed enormous spiked teeth. As if in a trance, we slowly walked towards the stone monsters. Holmes unslung the quiver from his shoulder. Thaddeus and I opened our coats and allowed Porthos and Athos to sniff the foul—smelling air. We came to a halt in front of the statues.
”Cerberuses,” Holmes said.
”What?” I asked.
”A Cerberus is the mythological three—headed beast that guards the Portal of Hades. Cerberuses or Cerberi would be the plural.”
I clutched my crucifix and arranged it so that the cross hung outside my coat.
Lying at the feet of the creatures were the skeletal remains of twenty or thirty of Dracula's victims. They had all been humans once.
We reverently stepped round the broken remains and passed the stone monsters. My fear must have caused me to hear the crumbling of stone. The nearer we came to the entrance of the castle, the more foul the stench from within became. My stomach was repulsed by the rotting smell. My gut roiled in violent convulsions, as bitter—tasting bile and vomit flooded my throat. I doubled over with pain, and my stomach emptied its gory contents all over the floor. Holmes rushed to my side. He opened his canteen and made me drink from it. The water soothed my throat, and I looked at him apologetically.
”It's all right, Watson.” Holmes’ voice was tight with tension. ”Shortly, we'll be rid of this place and back into the cold, fresh air. Can you go on?”
I nodded.
Tilting the quiver so the sleeve would slide out, my companion opened the flap and withdrew the long wooden stake. He reached for the thong and gripped the mallet. In his right hand, Holmes held both spiritual weapons. In his left, he held the torch. Nodding to each of us, Holmes stepped through the entrance.
I glanced at Thaddeus. He smiled weakly, and we followed Holmes into the castle.
Crossing under the archway, my first reaction was to cover my nose and mouth in an attempt to avoid the foul odor, but incredibly, the smell was gone. All that remained was the sort of dampness one might expect to find hundreds of feet below the earth's surface. Even though the narrow passage was illuminated by torches, the flames were cold and devoid of heat. It was as if even fire couldn't live in this hell.
We had to stoop low, but our pace was brisk and determined. The farther we proceeded, the more confining our surroundings became. Yet the passageway, though perfectly straight, varied not one inch in any direction. When I chanced a look over my shoulder, I saw nothing but blackness. That made no sense. Surely, I should have seen the glow from the torches in the larger chamber.
I tapped Holmes on the shoulder and told him of my discovery. He paused and looked back at where I was pointing. To my surprise, he smiled. ”And so the noose tightens.”
He cautiously turned back and took a few paces. Raising his mallet, he tapped the darkness behind us. The sound was solid. “A wall! A solid wall,” Holmes said.
With every advancing step we had made, the open area behind us had turned to solid rock. The tunnel behind us was gone. Any possibility of retreat had vanished.
Holmes reclaimed his place at the front of our column.
”We have no choice but to go on,” he whispered.
Thaddeus warned us that the
wall was keeping pace with our steps. Each time we stopped, the wall ceased its threatening crawl. No matter how quick or slow our pace was, the wall followed.
A rumbling laugh bubbled up inside my brain. From the stiffening of Holmes’ movements, I knew that he heard the diabolical sound, too. Out of breath, we stopped and peered up the tunnel's length. Just ahead, we could see the glow of torches.
”Be prepared for anything,” warned Holmes, as he moved forward.
Thaddeus tugged frantically on my coat.
”What is it?” I asked.
Our young friend pointed behind him. The wall had disappeared. I could see a pinpoint of light shimmering off in the distance.
”There's movement back there!” Thaddeus shouted. ”We're being followed!”
”Holmes,” I called as I gestured wildly. ”Look! Behind us!”
Holmes came around to the rear. ”What is it now?” he asked, as he crouched next to us.
”Look,” I said, pointing behind us.
Holmes leaned forward, peering down the tunnel with squinting eyes. He blinked rapidly, as he saw the dot of light appear, then disappear, as someone or something blotted out its source. In that moment, we all understood we were being pursued. Holmes scrambled backwards, pulling us along with him.
”Move! Get out of here!” he shouted, shoving us forward.
The thundering footfalls of the intruders drew closer. Washing over us were torrents of growls and snarls.
“It’s the Cerberuses,” Holmes cried. His warning was coupled with the unmistakable sounds of wild dogs.
Thaddeus turned his back to me, pushing his rucksack my way. ”Quick, Doctor, take out my canteen! It’s in my pack. Hurry!”
I tore open his pack, grabbed his canteen, and thrust it into his shaking hands. While Thaddeus fiddled with the container, the monsters bounded forward. Their hideous heads waved about on long necks. Their snouts rutted the ground and thrashed about as they snorted and sniffed for our scent.