Steven rubbed his stiff limbs, then made himself some breakfast. It was nearly an hour before his two companions came out to join him. They didn't say much, but sat down looking dazed and confused. Occasionally they would smile beatifically when they recalled the pleasure of the previous evening. Steven smiled too: he knew they were under the spell of the Goat of Mendes, even though they had neither perceived him nor knew him. They would return with him tonight to the shredding place of their own free will, he would not have to coax them along as he had the previous day.
It was supposed to be their last full day camping, a glorious sunny Sunday before they caught the bus back to Douglas on Monday morning, with the new term and exams looming just a few days later. This should have been the high point of their outing. But any passer by would have been hard put to recognise it as such. They simply sat there all day outside their tent. After breakfast, they didn't even have anything further to eat. They just sat around the ashes of their campfire, saying nothing to each other, staring into space, taking only sips of their drinks when the heat of the day made them parched enough to temporarily shake loose from their trance states. They sat there, waiting for the setting sun to trigger their ecstasy once again. How Derek and Becky would have trembled if they had realised that their ecstasy was not the same as Steven's ecstasy, but they were bewitched and there was nothing they could have done about it even if they had known. But the Goat of the Woods is not unduly cruel, and just like human abattoir workers, he stuns his beasts before the slaughter.
At the close of the long summer's day, the shadows lengthened and the sitters stirred, all simultaneously standing as if they had heard a silent cue.
Their wits seemed to be returned to them, but only strictly within the bounds of their enchantment. Derek looked at Becky, grinned and promised her, “I'm going to screw your brains out!”
“You'd better,” she leered back, “but you'd better have the stones for it, or I'll grind you to powder. There'll be no letting up tonight, boy.”
“Not here, though,” said Steven calmly. “Down by the waterfall. That's the place.”
“All right, short arse,” said Derek. “We know. Let's got a move on, my boner is making it difficult to walk.”
They walked down through the shadows that gathered beneath the canopy of leaves, and it was as though they descended a deep, green tunnel into the depths of the earth. The sound of the rushing water seemed to carry them further down, miles with every step, their heads swimming in intoxication. When they finally reached the waterfall and its pool, it seemed to open into a large cavern, rippling and shimmering amid the deep, deep dark.
Steven sat down heavily on a tree root and his eyes glazed over as his inner vision carried his mind far away, reaching out for the Goat.
Derek and Becky tore each others' clothes off and thrashed around in the pool, the chill of the water contrasting with the heat of their passion. They rutted in a primeval fashion, groaning and roaring in their desire, oblivious to all else. As their lust mounted and their coupling became more frenzied, the very air seemed to become charged, rippling and wobbling as if it was a mere reflection and not real substance at all.
Steven was aware of this rippling, but he could see beyond it, he could perceive the tunnel at its centre, a vortex growing ever wider, connecting this place with many others. And through that vortex, the great Goat was coming, and his Dark Young moved with him, his extra-dimensional spawn. Steven's vision suddenly stretched into infinity, his mind extending into impossible gulfs. He stood bolt upright, screaming in triumph and ecstasy and power. His mind opened...
And as Steven's mind opened, the waterfall opened too. A whirling hole, a window into the Outer Abyss, yawned wide, and out of it came striding the Horned One. His head was indeed goat-like, though serpents writhed at his shoulders and his torso resembled a crocodile's. Man-like arms and hands raised themselves in triumph as his mighty voice echoed through the glen. The old farmers living nearby shut their doors and windows and huddled inside, waiting for morning, knowing that he had come again, even as he had come before in the tales their mothers had told them at the knee. His legs were shaggy and hoofed, an erect phallus extending from a yawning vagina, hermaphrodite. Great leathery wings extended from his back and he spread these wide, reaching up as if to seize the stars.
He did not come alone.
Hundreds of smaller figures, roughly human-shaped and sized, sprang through from the Abyss with him. They were dark and hairy, covered in a shaggy coat. They walked upright like men, but had the legs and hoofs of goats. Their hands had vicious talons upon the fingers and their mouths were full of razor-edged teeth. Large eyes like black wells stared along their snouts and they each had a pair of horns, some stubby and short, others long and curved. They made a hideous, high pitched chittering noise as they scampered and hopped along.
Derek and Becky had ceased their tempestuous lovemaking as soon as the fabric of reality had torn apart before them. It's fair to say that they were both shocked out of the trances they had remained in all day, but they were too stunned by the enormity of the event that they were unable to act. They cowered in terror as the hordes of goat creatures encircled them and slashed at them with their talons.
“Steven! Help us! What's going on?” cried out Derek in desperation. But then he turned and looked over his shoulder at Steven and desperation turned to sheer despair and hopelessness.
His younger brother was smiling at himself and Becky, his eyes utterly black, great wet wells of darkness. His teeth were now pointed and sharp and tiny nubs of horns had pushed through his forehead. He smiled and giggled as he slew his brother and Becky, chewing upon their entrails. When their agonies were over and the Horned One had feasted upon their fear and pain, the other goat folk fell upon the bodies, devouring Steven's leavings when he had eaten his fill. When the herd departed, moving on to another world just before dawn, Steven leapt between realities with them, his horns growing longer and stronger with every fresh slaughter.
And near the top of the Dhoon, a sign still warns of the dangers of the Goat's crossing place.
· The Curraghs
Danny Kennaugh had long known that there was a colony of wild wallabies living in Ballaugh Curraghs. This came as a surprise to some people, who wondered what such a stoutly Antipodean creature was doing breeding and flourishing in the Isle of Man. The fact was that some wallabies had escaped from the nearby Wildlife Park some years earlier and had established themselves in the wild. They were now accepted and protected. Contrary to popular belief, the wallabies' natural habitat much resembled the Isle of Man in terms of climate, and the wetlands of the Curraghs made an ideal home for them.
The Curraghs – a Manx Gaelic word meaning swamp or marshland – were a broad region of flat, marshy ground covering a large area of the North of the Island. They were a tangle of trees, shrubs, mud and pools, home to a large variety of wildlife. Now that Danny had retired, he had decided to rent a cottage at the edge of the Curraghs and devote his remaining years to a study of the area and its inhabitants. He had no illusions about being any kind of expert – he had worked his whole life for the Highway Board – but he was a keen amateur, and for the last few years one question had puzzled Danny enormously: if the wallabies had succeeded in establishing a colony in the Curraghs and were breeding, why on earth weren't there many more of them?
He had posed this question to the staff at the Wildlife Park, who cared for the wallabies who were still in captivity there. He had also asked it of the staff at the Manx Museum, whose specialities embraced a wide variety of subjects. But in all cases, he was met with blank stares or shrugged shoulders: people who weren't interested in the question, let alone the answer. So in the end, he had decided to find out for himself.
Danny had leased the little cottage in the Curraghs for a year, a remote little place, and he had rented out his own home in town for a similar term. He settled himself in and was looking forward to the challenge he had set hims
elf, something very different from the working life he had previously known.
In between unpacking, he made his first forays into the Curraghs, striding boldly over farmers' fields until he entered the marsh. It was tough going in places, as the undergrowth was extremely thick, with a tangle of trees preventing him from penetrating very far. But as the days passed, he began to find, one by one, the secret entrances into the swamp's most notorious depths. At the end of his first week's exploring, he was frustrated that he had not yet seen a wallaby.
When he asked some of the farm workers about the animals, he quickly learned that they didn't know where the wallabies' habitat was either. Or perhaps they did, but were deliberately misleading him? Whatever the case, the few directions they offered did not lead to wallabies.
In the course of time, after a few days' exploration, he inevitably managed to find traces of the wallaby colony himself, first in the form of droppings and prints in the muddy ground, then at last by direct sight. They were currently in a very remote part of the Curraghs and seemed to be confining themselves to a very restricted area, which seemed strange to Danny. But he noted their location on his map and determined to come back and establish a proper hide in one of the nearby trees, from which he could observe them properly.
He did this the next day, working under a grey sky and enduring a light but miserable drizzle until he had at last constructed a makeshift wooden structure amid the branches and covered it with canvas and tarpaulin. He settled himself inside, glad to be out of the fine, mist-like rain, which had seeped in through his clothing and left him as thoroughly soaked as if it had been a full blown storm. Shivering slightly, he lit his small stove for a little heat for a few minutes, took out his binoculars and prepared for a few hours' watch, accompanied by his notebook, flask and sandwiches.
He saw several wallabies coming and going that first day. By the time the sun had set and he climbed down from his hide to go home for the evening, he had already made two puzzling observations in his notebook. The first was that the wallabies were extremely nervous and jittery. At first, he had considered that this might be due to his own presence: perhaps they were able to scent him or something, even if they couldn't see him. But he soon discounted this theory, as even the animals on the far side of their den seemed jumpy and afraid. The wallabies were scared of something, and were sticking close together as a consequence, not roaming far from the immediate area of their lair. The second thing he noticed, that alarmed him a great deal, was just how few of them there seemed to be. For a colony that had been breeding in the area for some forty-plus years, there should have been well over a hundred individuals. But Danny could count only a scant two dozen.
Danny took himself home, troubled by the fact that the wallaby colony seemed to be in such dire straits, but glad that he had at least now found them and could focus on the work he had assigned himself to do. If the wallabies really were in trouble, perhaps his study might help to prompt some proper official assistance for the creatures at last. He made himself some dinner, took a bath and went to bed, looking forward to resuming his vigil the next day.
The next morning, Danny rose early and made himself a couple of boiled eggs and some toast for breakfast. As he ate, he checked the battery level in his camera. He wanted to get a few photographs today so that he would have something concrete to question the experts about. His meal was interrupted by a rapping at the door, however.
Danny frowned. He wasn't expecting anyone. In fact, precious few people knew that he was staying here. The only explanation was that it must be the landlord, perhaps calling to ask if he had settled in all right. Danny grumbled to himself, as he was still in his pyjamas and dressing gown, not the way he would prefer to receive a visitor. But he supposed he had no alternative, so he went and unlocked the door, opening it and peering out.
It wasn't the landlord. Instead, it was a heavily built man who appeared to be somewhere in his forties. He wore wellington boots, a heavy waterproof jacket and shapeless work trousers made of some tough material. His chin was jutting out, which Danny interpreted as a rather aggressive piece of body language.
“Good morning,” he said cautiously. “Can I help you at all?”
“Your name Kennaugh?” demanded the man.
“I'm Mr Kennaugh,” emphasised Danny. “What's it to you?” He had already decided that this was a man who was used to being a bully and getting his own way. But Danny had worked his whole life on the high road and he wasn't going to be intimidated by anyone.
“Heard you've been bothering the wallabies,” said the man. “You stay clear of them, d'you hear? They're none of your business. I look after the wallabies.”
“And who are you then?” demanded Danny.
“My name's Parker, and the wallabies are my responsibility. You keep your nose out of things that don't concern you.”
“On whose authority are they your responsibility?” asked Danny, folding his arms and tilting his head back to look the bulky visitor right in his eye. “Because I went through every department in government, and couldn't find a single soul interested. So you tell me the name and department that authorises you to exclusively 'look after' the wallabies, and I'll go see them right now.”
Parker seemed confused and put out that Danny hadn't immediately given in to his demands and run off with his tail between his legs. “I've always looked after the wallabies!” he blustered. “Always.”
“And a piss poor job you've done of it if my observations are correct,” snapped Danny. “Now it seems to me, Mr Parker, that you have no authority of any kind. If you want to look after the wallabies, that's fine, it's not my place to interfere with you. But you can keep your damn nose out of my business and don't interfere with me either, because you've got no more exclusive authority than I have! If you really want to look after the wallabies, I'd expect you to be glad of my project. Now kindly get off my doorstep, I have work to do.” He deliberately closed the door, forcing Parker to jump back.
The man's silhouette could be seen on the other side of the frosted glass for a moment, clearly uncertain what to do. Then he thumped the door hard and could be heard stomping away.
Danny sighed and shook his head irritably. That was all he needed: to attract the attention and hostility of the local wallaby carer. Seriously, though, his question to Parker still stood: if the man cared for the wallabies so much, how come there were so few of them and they were all so frightened? Something stank about this visit and Danny decided he would have to keep his eyes and ears open. But first there was work to be done.
After getting dressed and getting his kit together, Danny stepped outside. He looked around him to make sure he wasn't being observed, but there was no one to be seen. He then made his way into the Curraghs, stumbling and wading through the undergrowth until he reached his hide. He climbed up into the tree and settled down in his concealed lair to begin his day's observation.
The wallabies still appeared to be very nervous, spending most of their time huddled in the small, sheltered spot they had chosen as their living space. And there still appeared to be far too few of them. Danny wondered if they had fallen victim to some kind of disease which had decimated their numbers. The colony had originally flourished, descended from a single pair of escapees. So what had reduced them to this? He took many photographs this day, focusing close up with his telephoto lens, so that he would have the evidence to reinforce his observations and notes.
When darkness fell, he descended from his hide and picked his way back through the tangled woods to the cottage. He fixed himself a meal while the photos were uploading to his laptop, then he sat down with a cocoa and browsed carefully through them all. In spite of their obvious nervousness and small numbers, the animals all appeared to be in fairly good health as far as he could judge. He decided that he would spend half of the next day increasing his area of exploration in a circle around the colony. Perhaps he might find some clue about what they were so afraid of, or perhaps there was a se
cond group of wallabies close by, which might help to explain the reduced numbers of this current group. Whatever the case, it would certainly be helpful to increase his knowledge of the animals' immediate habitat.
The following morning, he set out earlier, so that he could cover a lot of ground whilst still being wary enough to avoid alarming the wallabies he had found. He decided to begin by doing a large circuit of their living area, at a distance of about fifty yards, so he angled his approach accordingly.
It was quite rough going, for the undergrowth was particularly thick this deep inside the Curraghs. He had to keep shouldering aside massed numbers of spindly branches, and far too often he stepped into a deep puddle or a soft mud, sinking almost to his shins before he could work his foot out of the sucking grasp.
Danny noticed another strange fact as he trudged through this muddy tangle: although there had been plenty of birds, insects and other wildlife on the fringes of the Curraghs, just as you'd expect, there were none this deep within. He paused for a moment as this realisation sunk in, cocking his head to listen. There was no sound of birdsong, no chirruping of insects, no buzzing of tiny wings. The silence was oppressive. Perhaps this had some bearing upon the low numbers of the wallaby population and explained their caution? He resolved to take some samples, fearing some toxin present in the water or the plants that was inimical to animal life. Fortunately, he had brought a small field kit with him today, and he was able to snip off a selection of leaves, blades of grass, flowers and some water and mud samples, sealing them in small, stoppered plastic containers for later analysis.
Danny pushed on, changing direction slightly as he circled the area where the wallabies lived. Then, suddenly, he stepped out of the brush and into a small clearing, which was dry underfoot. The grass around his feet was lush and green and when he looked up, the sky was deep blue overhead. The silence was supreme, and he had the uneasy feeling of being somewhere unutterably alien.
The Eldritch Isle Page 14