Gateway to Hell

by Dennis Wheatley

  Suddenly the creature hunched itself and jumped. It came down with a splatter, leaving at the place where it had been a horrid oval of phosphorescent slime. Slowly it began to advance towards the circle, with the undulating movement of a worm. As the pendulant underlip of its mouth came in contact with the salt, it gave a loud hiss, began rapidly to expand until it was twice its former size, then burst into a thousand writhing fragments, leaving behind a stench like that of a charnel house.

  For a time, nothing happened. The three friends continued to shiver in the pentacle, now and again glancing apprehensively from side to side. The brazier still glowed, giving them just sufficient light to make out vaguely the perverted symbols of Christianity, Islam, Judaism and the Oldest Faith painted on the walls.

  It was Richard who was the first to see a thickening of the shadows under the swastika. Quickly he drew the attention of the others to it. Straining their eyes, they saw a long patch, stretching a good twelve feet across the floor. Slowly, it materialised into a great snake and began to move, circling the pentacle. Every few yards it jerked to a halt, swerved its head inwards and darted out its long, forked tongue.

  Instinctively the three friends came to their feet. Shuffling round they faced each attempt by the serpent to penetrate their defence. Seven times it made the circle. They were no longer conscious of the cold. Fear had caused the sweat to break out on their foreheads. Shifting round and round to keep the great beast in full view had begun to make them giddy. Simon tripped and fell to his knees. At that moment the snake reared up on its tail, so that its head was a foot above them. Its jaws were wide open, its poison fangs glinted in the light from the brazier. Richard dragged Simon back on to his feet. As he did so, de Richleau cried in a loud voice, ‘Avaunt thee, Satan!’ The head of the snake recoiled as though it had been smashed by a giant, unseen hand. It fell writhing to the floor, and dissolved into a cloud of evil-smelling smoke.

  After that they were not troubled for a long time. In spite of the cold they began to feel drowsy. At length, a slight snore from Simon told the others that he had fallen asleep. De Richleau gave him a quick shake and said:

  ‘Simon, you should know better than to let yourself drop off. Unless we remain alert, you may be certain that they will make some new move that will take us by surprise and we shall fall into a trap.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Simon muttered. ‘Seems as though we’ve been here for hours. What’s the time?’

  The Duke glared at the luminous dial of his watch. ‘It is only half past eleven, so there is still a long time to go until dawn and, as it is eternal night down here, they may not cease their attacks on us even then.’

  ‘Half past eleven,’ muttered Richard. ‘And we’ve had no dinner. Although we had a good lunch, I’m so hungry I could eat a horse.’

  As he spoke, the door of the room opened and a table loaded with food rolled in. On it there were smoked salmon and lobsters, jellied eggs, a tongue, a York ham, trays of hors-d’œuvres, avocados, globe artichokes, snipe, pheasants, a duck, a baron of beef, steak and kidney and chicken pies, and a fine variety of puddings.

  At this sight, the hunger they felt far exceeded anything that could normally have resulted from the fact that they had not eaten for ten hours. As they craned forward, eagerly eyeing these good things, the saliva ran hot in their mouths. Beside the table there materialised a tall, thin figure clad in impeccable evening clothes. All three of them recognised him instantly as a friend of many years. It was Vachelli, who had looked after them in the twenties at the Berkely, and long since moved to become the maître d’hôtel at the Savoy Grill. Smiling at them he said:

  ‘Good-evening, gentlemen. What can I order for you? Paté, or melone con prosciutto perhaps, to start with. Then, for His Grace, Canard Montmorencey for Mr Eaton two beccasine flown lightly through the flames, and for Mr Aron his favourate Omelette Arnold Bennett. To follow, some wood strawberries brought in by air from France this morning, with marraschino ice.’

  Richard had risen unsteadily to his feet. Simon was about to follow. De Richleau said sharply, ‘You fools! Do you not realise that all this is illusion? And in this they have overreached themselves. To tempt us with real food would have been possible; but not to produce Vachelli. That is no more than a likeness of him. He is ten thousand miles away in London.’

  Almost sobbing with frustration, the others covered their eyes with their hands and sank back on to the hard floor.

  Again, for what seemed a long time, they sat back to back, staring into the semi-darkness, wondering with trepidation what new horror or temptation they would next be called on to face. It came in the form of a multitude of small spiders. To the alarm of the inmates of the circle, the insects did not attempt to cross the thin barrier of salt, but fell inside it from the roof. Within a few minutes they were crawling with them, and the little brutes had a most powerful bite.

  Jumping up they slapped at their hands and faces, ran their fingers through their hair and brushed down arms and legs, in an endeavour to kill or throw off their small tormentors. The floor inside the pentacle was soon swarming with them. They ran across their victims’ shoes, up their socks and bit into their calves. Cursing, Richard stamped about, trying to shake them down. Inadvertently, he put one foot outside the pentacle.

  With incredible swiftness, a monster materialised beside him. It had claws and wings like a dragon. Where its head should have been there sprouted tentacles like those of an octopus. One of them whipped round Richard’s ankle. He gave a shout of terror.

  The Duke swung round. In case the circle became breached, he had kept handy the handkerchief in which he had wrapped the salt containers. It still had in it a little salt which had spilled. Pulling this handkerchief from his pocket, he threw it at the tentacles of the beast. They flared up in a sheet of blue flame. It scorched Richard’s face, but his leg was free. Simon pulled him back to safety. Almost weeping with relief, he slid to his knees, while the monster continued to burn, the smoke from it giving off the filthy smell of a cesspit. Meanwhile, the little spiders, having performed the task for which they had been sent, had vanished.

  From this crisis it took them some while to recover. They were now very tired and knew that their resistance was being worn down. Now and again de Richleau looked up at the roof, fearing that some evil entity far more dangerous than the spiders might emerge from it. But the next visitation to which they were subjected was a very different one. The light increased until they could see the whole big room quite clearly. Then the door swung open and framed in it stood Miranda.

  She was dressed in the black lace dress she had worn on the night that Simon had taken her out to dinner in Buenos Aires. But there was something different about her blue eyes. They no longer had the fixed, unseeing stare due to near-blindness. Instead they were clear, bright and beamed with happiness. In one hand she held a tray with three glasses, in the other she was carrying a large jug that was full of what looked like a delicious wine cup.

  De Richleau drew a sharp breath. Richard gaped, and Simon cried, ‘Miranda! Your eyes! You’re no longer blind. You can see.’

  She smiled. ‘Yes, darling. They flew me up here from Santiago yesterday and the Prince has restored my sight. Isn’t it wonderful? He has sent me to tell you that, as you have resisted all the horrors of the past few hours, he won’t torment you any more, but give you another chance to think things over. And I know how thirsty you must be, so I’ve brought you a lovely drink.’

  During the past hour thirst had plagued them even more than hunger. Their throats were parched. Their thickened tongues felt like lumps of leather in their mouths. Beaming with delight, Simon took a step forward. The Duke grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back, gasping hoarsely:

  ‘No, Simon. No! That is not Miranda. It is a fiend who has taken her form. This is another trap. One step outside the pentacle and you will perish.’

  Tears started to Simon’s eyes. Overcome with bitter disappointment, he collapsed. At the s
ight of him crouching with bowed head on the floor, Miranda’s lovely face became transformed with hate and rage. Slowly her figure faded, and once more the room dimmed to semi-darkness.

  Hungry, thirsty and again shivering with cold, they huddled together in the circle, now feeling that this night of terror would never end. Filled with dread that, long before morning they must succumb, they waited for their next ordeal.

  They were roused from their semi-torpor by a distant scream. It came again, this time louder. The screams continued. Suddenly the door flew open. A woman hurled herself through it. Although the light was still dim, all three of them recognised her immediately. No one who had seen Richard’s wife, the breathtakingly beautiful Marie-Lou, could easily forget her small but perfect figure and lovely, heart-shaped face. It now portrayed stark fear, and the reason was at once apparent. A huge, naked Negro was in swift pursuit of her. Him, too, they recognised. It was Lincoln B. Glasshill.

  The shock of his wife’s sudden appearance and the peril she was in caused Richard to forget time, place and the danger of his own situation. Giving a loud cry, he sprang forward to intercept the Negro. Simon was still crouching on the floor; but, at the sound of the screams, he had raised his head. His mind still filled with the vision of Miranda and the snare into which he had so nearly fallen, he threw his arms round Richard’s legs and brought him crashing to the ground.

  By then Glasshill had caught up with Marie-Lou. Seizing her, he swung her round and began to tear the clothes from her body. As she strove to fight him off, she began to scream again:

  ‘Richard! Richard! Save me! Save me!’

  Still struggling with Simon, Richard gasped, ‘Let me go! Damn you, let me go!’ Kicking himself free, he staggered to his feet. But now the Duke came into action. Drawing back his fist, he hit Richard hard beneath the jaw. Richard gave a gulp, sagged at the knees and rolled over, unconscious. An instant later, the figures of Marie-Lou and the powerful Negro had vanished.

  After a few minutes Richard began to moan, then came to. Once more the three friends huddled together, their nerves taut almost to breaking point, and all but exhausted. The big room was again silent, except for the sound of their heavy breathing. Many minutes passed while they knelt there, looking constantly from side to side, in grim anticipation of the next attack.

  At length, the door swung open. This time they did not stir, but gazed with fear in their eyes at the tall figure that stepped through into the room. It was Rex Van Ryn.

  Putting his finger to his lips, he said in a low voice, ‘Not a word. Come on. Follow me, and I’ll get you out of here.’

  The Duke managed a laugh that held a sneer. ‘Is it likely? Surely your Prince must realise by now the stupidity of repeating this game since we have shown so clearly that we are not to be trapped by it.’

  Rex frowned. ‘I don’t know what he’s been up to. Looks like you’ve been given a mighty bad time. But not to worry. It’s over now. Come on.’

  ‘You filth, get out!’ Richard shouted. ‘Get back to Hell where you belong.’

  Rex swiftly raised a hand. ‘Quiet, for God’s sake, or you’ll wake some of those bloody Satanists. Then I’ll never be able to get you away.’

  Simon’s words came thickly from his dried-up mouth. ‘Get us out of this circle, you mean, so your Infernal Master can set his ghouls upon us. No thanks.’

  The light was just strong enough for the white, thinly-spaced grains of salt which made a trail round the inner circle of the Inca calendar to be seen. Looking down, Rex grasped their significance, and said, If this wasn’t so darn serious, it ’ud be a laugh. I guess he’s been sending ab-humans to lure you out of your fortress, and you think I’m one.’

  ‘You are,’ croaked the Duke, making the sign of the Croes. ‘Avaunt thee, Satan.’

  To the amazement of the three, instead of wilting and disappearing under the anathema, Rex burst out, ‘You bloody fools! Can’t you tell a live man from an apparition?’ Then he stepped over the barrier of salt into the circle.

  15

  The Raising of the Whirlwind

  Simon and Richard cowered back. Nearly exhausted from the horrors they had faced earlier in the night, they now felt that the end had come. It could only be that the Prince had exerted his powers to the utmost to enable this manifestation in the form of their friend to cross the barrier. They expected that, within a moment, the smiling face would become distorted with malevolence and hatred, that the form would suddenly turn into some monstrous creature that would seize upon and destroy them. Sweating with fear, they shrank away, their arms extended to fend off this menace that the Prince had called up from Hell.

  But de Richleau stood his ground. The figure before them had not only ignored the sign of the Cross and his abjuration. It had actually stepped on the line of salt spread round the circle. For him that could mean only one thing.

  With a gasp he thrust out his hand, grasped Rex by the arm and cried. Then it’s really you!’

  Next moment he laughed and hurried on, ‘After the apparitions we’ve seen tonight, I just couldn’t believe it. Oh, thank God, you’ve come to us! We couldn’t have held out much longer. But from the way you behaved this evening, I thought …’

  ‘No time to talk of that now.’ Rex cut in. ‘We’re not out of the wood yet, by a long sight. And we’ve not a moment to lose. If anyone is awake and challenges us, leave everything to me. Come on now.’

  Hardly able to take in the fact that they had survived the night’s terrible ordeal, and now stood a good chance of escaping, they followed Rex as quietly as they could out of the circular room and along a succession of corridors until they came through a doorway to a courtyard. Eagerly they breathed in the fresh, cold air and looked upwards to see the myriad of stars above.

  On the further side of the courtyard a flight of over a hundred steps led downward. They were very steep, broken in places, and had no handrail alongside them. One false step and anyone could have hurtled head over heels to the bottom. With Rex still leading and the others, each with a hand on the shoulder of the one preceding him, they made the perilous descent in safety.

  A walk of two hundred yards brought them to the airstrip. It was in darkness, and No one was about. Telling the others to wait where they were, Rex boarded one of the two smaller passenger ‘planes and flashed a torch on the instrument board in the cockpit. A moment later, he was back on the ground and said in a low voice:

  ‘No good. She’s practically out of gas. And we daren’t refuel her. The noise would rouse those lousy Andeans. Several of them sleep in that hut near the pump. I’ll take a look at the other. If she’s dry too, we’re scuppered.’

  Anxious moments passed while he clambered into the other aircraft and made a swift survey of her fitness for flight. Then he leaned out and beckoned to them. When they had scrambled aboard, and settled themselves in the bucket seats, he said:

  ‘She’s nearly full, thank God. Ample gas to take us to the coast. But I dare not attempt a night flight through the mountains. We’d sure end up as deaders. But I can fly us across to Potosi, the old Inca city south-east of the lake. I went over there out of curiosity not long ago. It’s now an area of ruins, with only a handful of peasants squatting in some of the courtyards, where they’ve put up shacks and lean-tos. Plenty of places there where we can lie up for the rest of the night. Then, come dawn, we’ll fly down to Iquique.’

  The others caught his last words only indistinctly, as he was already revving up the engine. It vibrated for two minutes, then the aircraft took off smoothly. The moon was now in its first quarter. Its light silvered the placid water of the lake and, as they flew over the land on the far bank, was sufficient to throw up groups of trees here and there in a flattish landscape. They had been in the air for barely a quarter of an hour when Rex brought the ‘plane down with the expertise of long practice. For a couple of hundred yards it tore through low scrub, then came to a halt.

  As they were about to climb out, Richard said
huskily, ‘My throat’s like a lime-kiln. I’d give fifty quid for a drink—even a glass of water.’

  ‘Me, too,’ agreed Simon. ‘So dry I can hardly swallow.’

  ‘Soon put that right,’ Rex replied cheerfully. “These aircraft are always furnished with supplies for several days, in case they have to make a forced landing in this bloody wilderness. Look in the tail, and you’ll find lots of liquor.’

  Without losing a moment, Richard and Simon opened up the several small hampers containing emergency stores of tinned food and drink. Hastily pushing aside bottles of Pisco and Brandy, they seized on some Coca-Cola and, together with the Duke, avidly quenched their thirst.

  Rex had left the aircraft. When they joined him on the ground, he pointed to a low rise about half a mile away. On it there was a patch of black, one end of which made a sharp angle which stood out against the sky line. As they looked in that direction, he said:

  ‘We’re in luck. I doubted whether at night I’d be able to locate that place so as to land fairly near it. But it’s sure the building I had in mind for us to lie low in. Let’s get going to it.’

  Richard turned back to the ’plane. ‘O.K. But I’m still as hungry as a hunter. We’ll take some of those emergency stores with us, so that we can have a meal when we get there.’ Simon followed him back to the aircraft, and together they repacked one of the hampers with their choice of things to eat and drink.

  When they emerged, carrying the hamper between them, the four friends set off through the low scrub. It proved hard going; but, twenty minutes later, they reached the rise, and saw that the ruined building on it had been a church.