The foot of the mountain was a myriad of tentacle-like vines – as thick as my leg – ensconced around trees that seemed to bulge and lean in upon us. Where there was once mud underfoot I could now only feel foliage.
“Just like the forest on Tempest Mountain,” Ettritch whispered to me as we pressed through.
A brief break in the claustrophobic vegetation and we found ourselves in a small clearing before a cave entrance. Ettritch hurried through to the head of our pack, my sleeve firmly held by him as he pushed us through.
“Set a small camp here,” he said as he ignited a lantern before ushering me into the cave.
Small and dark, it was like many caves I had seen before, but the doctor was positively buoyant in excitement.
“Well, what do you think, Mr Cope?” he asked as he shone the lantern upon a wall nearest to us.
Unlike the rest of the jagged chamber this wall was almost smooth, and the light gave it a yellow hue. Marking the wall was the very reason Ettritch had summoned my services.
“Neolithic drawings...” I hissed as I drew my spectacles from their case.
The illustrations were crude, per usual, but something about them made me pause.
“These are fresh,” I said, squinting in the low light.
Ettritch pointed at me in triumph.
“Yes!” he said. “It took me a little while to realise but even the piece of chalk that was used is still here in the cave!”
I looked again, running my finger nail along one of the lines. Chalk came away from it and I rubbed it between my fingertips.
“What do they depict?” Ettritch asked me.
I took a step back. Having been so intent on discovering the age of the drawings I had completely forgotten to look at what the renderings on the wall portrayed.
The picture stretched from the base of the floor to the level of my eyes, suggesting a person or persons of short stature. At the bottom were crudely drawn stickmen, their arms raised aloft to the deity above them, surrounded by charcoal clouds and white chalk lightning. The ‘god’ was a writhing mass of dark charcoal smudges and red eyes. I gazed closer and found that the eyes had been crafted in blood, the darkness of the liquid giving the picture an unsettling feel.
“If I did not know of your encounter with the primitives of Tempest Mountain I would deduce that this was a practical joke,” I said, turning to Ettritch who was watching me intently, once again assuming the role of tutor.
“The drawing is from that of a primitive mind, “I continued, indicating the wall. “And these offshoots of the Robben family obviously believe that their ancestor is a god of some kind.”
“Or the god,” the doctor said.
We stood in silence, the lantern wavering our forms into shapes as grotesque as the one on the cavern wall.
“What has brought them here?” I asked finally. “Why are they in West Virginia?”
“That’s easy,” said Ettritch as thunder pounded the mountain and lightning filled the dark. “They followed the storm.”
I was relieved when Doctor Ettritch told me that our route would be up the side of Kingham Mountain, and not through the series of intricate tunnels that I suspected sprawled throughout the peak like the channelling of termites.
Outside the safety of the cave we were buffeted by strong winds and torrential rain, the storm growing stronger by the hour, the skies black with its rage. Soaked to the skin we continued, our feet sliding out from underneath us, and soon I began to wonder if the claustrophobic tunnels would have been better than our current position.
The doctor led us to a jagged plateau which sat beneath a peak that jutted out slightly overhead, offering us small protection from the weather. The ground below stretched out from a crater at its centre. As I wiped the water from my face I realised at once what I was witnessing.
“This scorched earth is the same as that of the settlement,” I said, walking towards its cratered middle.
“Indeed,” Ettritch smiled. “And this is where we found one of the settlers’ limbs, near to where you are standing.”
I paused in my sloping descent, suddenly unwilling to press any further. Despite the burnt ground I could see further dark areas. I realised that these were dried blood, and I fancied I could see slivers of bone glinting every time the lightning struck.
I turned away.
“Was there a settlement here?” I asked, trying to reason why the storm had struck this place.
Ettritch shook his head.
“No,” he replied. “I think that this ground was struck as a marker for the Robben descendants to follow?”
My clear bafflement indicated that he should continue.
Gripping me gently by the arm he led me away from the rest of the group as he talked.
“I think the storm is striking the ground to indicate a path that the Robben ‘family’ should follow,” he said, his eyes wide. “I think that they are on a preordained path from Tempest Mountain.”
“Preordained?” I asked, still confused. “By who? And where are they going?”
“I am unsure,” the doctor said, a slender finger pressed against his lips. “I have checked with the meteorological society and they have informed me that the storms have been slowly heading towards the eastern seaboard from Tempest Mountain for a short while now. The path of the storm has cuts across the country to where we are right now – Kingham Mountain.”
“And you think that the storm is leading the... ‘tribe’?”
“Possibly,” he replied, raising his voice as the tempest around us grew in ferocity. “I doubt it is the tribe leading the storm.”
I looked around furtively. “With the storm overhead... they may still be in the area...”
The thought seemed to stun Ettritch. Had he been so intent on investigating the locals’ disappearance he had overlooked the possibility that the attackers were still in the vicinity.
Our answer came in the form of one of our party, rushing toward us. The storm shrouded his words so I asked him to repeat himself once he had caught his breath.
“Gibbs and Bailey have disappeared!” he yelled his eyes wide and his voice shaking. “They were carrying supplies at our tail end. The last we had seen of them was ten minutes ago as we were setting up camp.”
I realised that a rugged camp had indeed been created. Tents were being securely fastened in the shadow of the mountain, trying to keep the wind from ripping the tarpaulins from their moorings. The men struggled to catch tent flaps whipping violently in the wind. A couple of the men stood at the line of trees that descended the side of the mountain from the plateau’s edge, peering downwards but not venturing into the thick, tangled vegetation.
Ettritch was rushing toward the edge of the camp, myself and our tracker – Tomlin if I recalled his name correctly – close behind. Reaching the two men I stood there and could not hear their words over the storm.
“I’m not one for superstition,” Tomlin said, his small demeanour meaning I had to lower my shoulder so he could shout in my ear. “But I’d say this storm is bringing us bad luck!”
Shortly, we had fastened our belongings and tents as well as we could. I helped a couple of the men out as Doctor Ettritch argued with Tomlin about whether they should send a party into the woods to find the two men. The argument continued in our small tent.
“We cannot leave two men out in this storm!” Tomlin exclaimed, his hand indicating the opening of our tent that flapped in the strong wind.
“They are both experienced members of my team,” Ettritch said as he dried his hair and face with a small towel. “The shelter of the trees may help them.”
“I told you we did not lose them in the trees!” Tomlin’s face was one of exasperation. “They stood at the edge of the camp one moment, gone the next! They would have told us they were going to venture into the forest below.”
“We have fourteen men left, including us,” said Ettritch. “I can’t afford to send anyone else from our camp on what may be
a wild goose chase!”
In the low lantern light hanging from the support above us I could see the doctor’s face was strained and worried, and I sensed he was unhappy being placed on the spot by our tracker.
“Once the storm has abated we could look then,” I said, trying to mediate.
I failed and incurred the wrath and desperation of Tomlin upon myself.
“Listen to this storm!” he said. “It doesn’t sound as if it’s going to blow itself out soon! It’s here to stay!”
I knew he was correct. Our tent was buffeted by the tumultuous weather outside, and I fancied I could hear a pack of pans and cutlery being swept away.
This was followed by the scream of a man.
The three of us all but tumbled from our tent in a bundle of limbs, but Ettritch managed to extract himself and scrambled to his feet, leaving Tomlin and I rolling in the mud.
Other men had left their tents, most of them carrying lanterns, many of which died instantly in the wind despite their coverings. They shouted to each other, trying to determine who had screamed, and why.
“Miller!” someone cried, indicating a man I believed had been the group’s local historian, although I could not be sure. I had not the time to be introduced to everyone before we had set off in a rush.
People ran to and fro, covering as much of the plateau as possible. I could not bring myself to venture toward the scorched ground at the centre, instead inwardly pleased that two of the others ran down there.
I found myself gravitating toward the doctor and Tomlin, the three of us heading toward the plateau edge and the treeline below.
One of the men was pointing down towards the trees and I could see a backpack halfway down, its contents littering the mud and blowing around in the wind. The ground itself was also marked, as if something or someone had been dragged through the wet dirt.
“They took him from inside his tent!” the pointing man yelled.
“Who?” I cried. “Who took him?”
“The beasts!” he shouted back. “The savages from Tempest Mountain!”
I stole a glance at Ettritch. It may have been a trick of the lightning, but I swear I saw him smile briefly at the news. The moment was lost as a bolt of lightning struck the ground behind us, in the same spot that had already been scorched by a bolt.
Lightning had struck the same place twice.
Before I could press the importance of this upon anyone, the man next to me yelled and attracted our attention back to the slope.
We pressed forward and what we saw would stay with us for the rest of our lives.
Emerging from the trees in a flurry of movement and howls that we could hear even above the wind, was an image of horror. Short, pale primeval beasts streamed forward in their droves, stampeding up the incline toward us. I knew what the animals were as soon as I saw them, and fear spurred me to turn and flee.
Some of the men were so astounded by the sight they remained rooted to the plateau edge, watching until it was too late to run. I stole a glance over my shoulder and saw two of them fall under the claws of the screeching animals. No man had a chance to unsling their rifles or guns before we were fallen upon.
I could hear their guttural sounds and various screaming as they attacked, even over the power of the storm that battered us. Running became a chore, and the smell of burning where the lightning bolt had struck was strong in my nostrils. I could see the men around me stumbling and slipping in the conditions, but another glance revealed our pursuers had no such dilemmas; they bounded on strong feet or switched to all fours when desired, eating up the terrain between us.
It was not their movements, or their pale white hairless bodies that filled my heart with fear, but their eyes which seemingly glowed red as they approached us, and the terror drove me onwards.
Guilt shrouds me to this day, as I saw Tomlin stumble before me, but I clambered over him and continued my flight. His screams pierced my ears then, as they do in my nightmares now. I try to console myself with knowing that if I had stopped to help him, then there would be another dead man on Kingham Mountain.
The remainder of us scrambled by foot and hand across the plateau and through the crater I had been too unnerved to enter earlier. Distantly my mind realised that the ground was hot to touch due to the bolt from the sky. I paid it no heed and pressed on, the sounds of the primeval creatures behind us providing us with the spur we needed.
I am unsure how many of us reached the other side of the plateau, but it was not the same sixteen men that had left on the expedition. Two had disappeared into the woods, and then at least three more that I knew of. Survival enthralled us, and we sped on, each mindless of the next man; each hell-bent on extending his own life over the life of the men around him.
We reached the far side of the area, howls and screeches pursuing us as we fled through a narrow crevasse between the rocks. The passageway allowed us in two men at a time, shoulder-to-shoulder, and the men behind us pushed and urged us on faster. The man beside me fell and was trampled underfoot. I realised with horror his misfortune would more than likely bring us a little more time as the beasts fell upon him.
We burst from the passageway and onto another ledge that expanded to an embankment on our right and towards the treeline of the Monongahela Forest once more.
“Into the trees!” Ettritch called, and I suddenly realised I was pleased to see that he was alive and relatively well.
“No!” yelled another man. “You’ve seen how those things move! They’ll cut through those woods and bring us down one by one!”
Our group paused, each man looking from face to face, waiting for someone to make a decision.
That man was me. In an instant I weighed up the potential of hiding in the forest, or running higher up a mountain and becoming stuck at an elevation while watching my death clamber up towards me; so I chose.
Sprinting for the forest I could hear the men follow suit, and soon we were all sliding down the embankment, scuffing knees and ankles, tearing clothing in our flight.
The beasts followed us, and I saw them pour over the lip of the embankment as we burst into the forest.
I had forgotten to take into account just how thick the tree-life and vegetation had become, and cursed myself at forgetting the stories of the fauna on Tempest Mountain becoming thicker, bigger, and seeming to take on more life than they already possessed. Trees impeded us, branches whipped our faces, and it almost seemed as if the thick vines crawling the trees and ground ensnared us at every opportunity.
The density of the forest became almost as entrapping as the thought of the thin tunnels inside the mountain, but blindly I flayed onwards, pushing branches out of my way with one arm while the other shielded my eyes.
I could hear and sense the rest of my party crashing through the woods around me, but I also knew that the animals behind were gaining on us every second. The forest protected us from some of the storms’ anger, but it also enabled us to hear the bestial grunts and howls of the pursuing pack.
Onwards I fought, every second imagining I could feel the animals’ hot breath on the back of my neck. I pushed on, my breathing ragged, my limbs aching and my lungs bursting for air in the damp humidity.
How long I ran in this manner, I am unsure, but eventually I broke into a small clearing where the vegetation had thinned and I was able to see fifty yards all around me. Pausing to catch my breath I heard men screaming and animals howling as I stood with my face upwards, drinking in as much rainwater as I could.
The lightning illuminated my surroundings, and I saw I was in a small grassy area. I wiped the rain from my face and looked back from where I had come, the trees so close together I could see nothing through them.
I did not wish to linger, so I hurried toward the opposite side. As I reached the tree line I heard something burst from the same area of trees that I had emerged from moments before.
I looked around and paused at the monstrosity that stood glaring at me.
; The beast was similar in appearance to the smaller horrors that had pursued us, but on a much larger scale. The white-skinned beast stood over six feet tall on its muscular legs, and its fists clenched in fury as it expelled white-hot breath from its fanged mouth and flared nostrils. My mind recalled an old text book that illustrated what the author believed the ‘Missing Link’ to look like, and this creature was not far removed from the picture.
It stepped forward, breathing hard, its eyes boring into me as I stood transfixed. So paralysed with fear was I that I let it approach me slowly... step by tortuous step...
And then the air filled with static and an overpowering rumble that shook the teeth in my skull. Finally able to tear my vision from the sight before me I looked skyward at the very storm that now seemed centred above us.
Black clouds bubbled unnaturally overhead as I stared at this new terror, my eyes blinking hard in the rain. I could sense rather than see the beast approaching me across the glade, but the storm above was too terrifying and beautiful to wrest my gaze away.
Lightning exploded around us and I could see the bolt strike downwards then felt it hit the ground between us. I now returned my attention to the creature as it strode forth, walking through the hot, scarred earth with its bare feet, glowing red eyes still intent upon me.
Something about the creature’s eyes caused me to again look at the sky, and beneath the clouds, rain and lightning I believed that I could see a face scowling at me, and at the very middle of the tempest I imagined that I could see two glowing red eyes...
A second lightning strike rattled me to my core, shaking me physically and mentally, snapping me alert.
With a final glance up at the sky and toward the beast advancing upon me I turned and ran further into the Monongahela Forest.
This time my flight was more measured and less panicked as I managed to rely on my faculties to help me escape. Instead of being whipped by branches I ducked under them; instead of tripping over sprawling roots I jumped over them.
I controlled my breathing and kept my eyes ahead despite the rage and anger of the animal pursuing me. My escape felt like hours, and I was hard of breath and near to unconsciousness by the time I emerged onto the path that led back to Petersburg. By a stroke of luck I was found by a large party of merchants who picked me up from the mud and put me into one of their caravans where I succumbed to exhaustion.
New Tales of the Old Ones Page 6