The Eldritch Isle

by Michael H. Kelly

  As his eyes adjusted, he realised that the clearing wasn't featureless. There was a small pit on one side, next to a fallen log. As he approached, he quickly revised his opinion: the log was not fallen, it had been deliberately placed there. It was much larger and thicker than any of the spindly trees that grew here in the marshes. Somebody – or several somebodies, as it was large and heavy – had carried it here from outside, and laid it down next to the pit, presumably as a kind of seat.

  The pit was shallow, only about six inches deep, its sides reinforced with flat stones. Remarkably in this damp place, it appeared to be quite dry. The clearing had evidently been chosen specifically, one of the very few dry areas for miles around. It had evidently been used to contain a campfire – or rather, many campfires, for the ashes within were quite deep. Danny stooped down and took a sample of the ashes, then noticed that there were fragments of bone among the ash. He very carefully took several samples of this as well.

  Just beyond the clearing with the log and fire pit, Danny discovered an area of mud flats and deeper pools, where the footing was extremely treacherous. Sucking bogs were concealed by thick brush and he found himself having to skirt around the edges of this large area very carefully indeed. He was certainly unable to penetrate deeper into the Curraghs in that direction and he was fairly certain that the wallabies wouldn't be able to either, as the ground was just too soft and muddy. Could this broad swamp be what they were so nervous of? Perhaps, but Danny couldn't really see it, as they had made their home in the Curraghs for many years and surely knew how to avoid a patch of boggy ground and pools.

  He completed his circuit of the surrounding area and briefly climbed up to his hide so that he could take a look at the animals once again. Nothing seemed to have changed in their little group, so he returned to his cottage, taking his samples with him.

  Danny had neither the facilities nor the expertise to analyse the samples himself, but fortunately he knew a man who could. Although his initial lobbying of official bodies had raised very little interest in his project, he had made the acquaintance of Mark Williams, a scientist living on the Island whose expertise was often sought by archaeologists excavating ancient sites. Although he was officially retired, he was always keen to indulge his passions and examine finds from the digs with a view to ascertaining their age and constitution. So when Danny arrived on his doorstep the following morning with a selection of new samples to examine, he was very pleased to see him.

  Mark invited Danny into his living room and the two retired old men from completely different backgrounds sat together smoking, drinking tea and discussing their shared passion for this problem. Mark listened attentively to Danny's account of the wallabies' desperate condition and the strange absence of other forms of wildlife in the remote heart of the Curraghs.

  “I see,” said Mark, raising the small plastic sample cases up to the light one after the other. “So these all represent examples of the flora and the water and earth in the area surrounding the colony, do they? And you want me to analyse them for any toxins or unusual contaminants?”

  “That's the case for most of them,” nodded Danny, “except for this last batch. These are ashes and bones taken from the remains of the fire I found in that clearing. I'd really like to know just what these are. It was literally in the middle of nowhere. It couldn't have been an ordinary campfire, as there's precious little solid ground to camp upon! So naturally I'm wondering if someone has been in the area scaring the wallabies. Even a group of teenagers sneaking into the Curraghs to drink and cook burgers might be enough to disturb the animals.”

  “Weird place to go and have a barbecue,” shrugged Mark, “but I'll certainly check. It'll take twenty four hours or so to get any results.”

  “I'll pop back tomorrow afternoon then if I may,” said Danny. “I'm quite eager to know what you find.”

  “I'll do my best,” nodded Mark. “I'll get things under way at once. It's always nice to feel useful. To be honest, though, I'm doubtful of finding anything much to tell you. I can't imagine that there's any kind of contaminant in the Curraghs that wouldn't have already become evident in neighbouring areas.”

  “You may be right,” said Danny, “but at least I'll be able to eliminate it as a possibility if that's the case.”

  Danny allowed himself a lie in the following morning and permitted himself a late breakfast. There was no point heading into the Curraghs today: he'd just wait and go to see Mark in the afternoon to find out the preliminary results of his tests.

  He had some lunch after spending a couple of hours catching up on his reading, then pulled his coat and gloves on and gathered together his things. He left the cottage, locking the door behind him, and walked towards his car. He had almost reached it when the sense of wrongness that had been nagging at him finally succeeded in alerting him to what he was seeing in his peripheral vision. Danny stopped walking just a couple of paces from his car, then slowly turned to look back at the cottage.

  The garden, being on the fringes of the Curraghs, was perpetually wet and muddy. That mud was now trampled and churned, as if by a great many feet. It seemed that sometime between last night and this morning, several people had been trudging through his garden, congregating especially at the front and rear windows, as if trying to look in.

  Danny walked cautiously closer to inspect the prints. The mud was stirred up by many shuffling feet, but here and there he could make out distinct prints. There were a few clear impressions made by heavy boots: some wellington boots and some work boots. He couldn't help but suspect that Parker had been nosing around with some of his cronies. But there were also two or three prints which were much more difficult to interpret. Some of the feet seemed to be enormous, and very flat and splayed, almost as if the person had been wearing flippers on his feet. This was obviously a ludicrous notion, and Danny found himself at a loss to explain them.

  But whether the prints were plain or peculiar wasn't really the issue. The important point was that if there were groups of people snooping around Danny's home at night, he had every right to find the fact both disturbing and somewhat frightening. He would have to be very careful indeed from now on, though he really couldn't understand what he had done to attract the unwelcome attention of these people.

  He unlocked the door, went back into the house and brought out his camera, taking a number of photographs of the footprints. There was little more he could do about it at the moment, so he stowed the camera in his car with his other gear and drove off to meet Mark Williams.

  Mark greeted him warmly and ushered him through into his living room. Danny took a seat in one of the old armchairs, accepted the offer of a cup of tea, and sat back to listen to what his friend had to say.

  “Well, the first thing I have to tell you, Danny, is most definitely a piece of good news,” announced Mark. “There are a few longer term tests to do in order to be absolutely certain, but I can be reasonably sure that the water and soil samples you brought here yesterday contain no traces of toxic contamination. They're precisely what you'd expect from a marshy area like the Curraghs.”

  Danny sighed and puffed out his cheeks in frustration. He saw Mark's expression and chuckled wryly. “I'm sorry if I seem a little despondent at your findings, Mark. I should be glad that the Curraghs haven't been poisoned. But it means I still haven't an answer to what's happening to the wallaby population.”

  Mark grimaced. “Ah, well I may be able to shed a little light upon that score. They're being eaten.”

  “They're being what?!” Danny sat bolt upright.

  “I examined the other samples you left with me,” explained Mark. “The ash and the fragments of bone from the fire pit.

  “And the bone?...” prompted Danny quietly.

  “The bone is from a wallaby,” said Mark. “No doubt about it. Somebody killed it, cooked it and ate it. Now if we assume that this wasn't an isolated case? … You get the picture?”

  “My God,” breathed Danny. “It's no
wonder the wallabies are staying in one small area: they're scared of being taken and eaten if they wander off. But who could be doing this? The locals?”

  “That I can't tell you,” said Mark. “But if there's someone – or some group of people – willing to catch and kill one and then cook it over a campfire in the middle of the swamp...”

  “Yes?” asked Danny.

  “Well … you just be careful, that's all. Don't let anyone know what you're up to.”

  Danny smiled ruefully. “Actually, I think it may be a little late for that...” He went on to tell Mark about Parker's aggressive visit and the footprints he had found outside his windows this very day.

  “I really think you ought to go to the police, Danny old boy,” said Mark seriously as he finished looking through the pictures on Danny's camera. “There'll be precious little they can do at this stage, but at least it'll make them aware of the situation; maybe encourage them to take things seriously if anything unpleasant should happen in future and you need to call on them for assistance.”

  Danny did go to the police, who were every bit as unhelpful as he had anticipated. The first deadpan question they asked when he showed them the pictures of footprints outside his window was, “Could it have been your landlord? Are you behind with your rent?” After stating quite categorically that it was neither the landlord, the milkman or the mail, he was told that they'd keep an eye on matters and that he should contact them if there were any further developments.

  Before he returned home, Danny went and bought himself an axe. He would need one anyway for chopping wood when winter came, and right now he would feel better for having one within reach in the house. He then drove back to the cottage.

  Danny spent a quiet evening charging his camera's battery and preparing for his outing into the Curraghs the following day. He would visit his hide again and then cast around to see if he could find any further evidence of people hunting wallabies. He was unsure what he would do if he did. They weren't a protected species and there were no laws on the Island's statute books that he could call to his assistance. The best he could probably do would be to highlight the creatures' plight and hope to raise a large public outcry, sufficient to compel apathetic officialdom to act.

  He went up to bed with a book at ten o'clock, determined to have an early night so that he could get a good start the following morning. He made sure the axe was leaning against the wall next to the front door and that both doors were locked and all windows firmly closed.

  He awakened suddenly and with a start, his heart pounding. He felt very disorientated, having plunged instantly from a very deep sleep into full wakefulness. He tried to calm himself and discover what had woken him. The room was pitch black, except for the digital readout from his clock, which read 2:20. So he must have been asleep for over three hours. He lay back, trying to quiet his thumping heart and devote all his attention to listening. Something had startled him out of his sleep and he wanted to know what it was.

  There it was: he could quite clearly hear voices outside. They were trying to whisper, but evidently belonged to that class of people who were too stupid to realise how loud they were actually talking, or how far sound will travel on a still country night. He couldn't make out any words or phrases, but they seemed to be arguing. Perhaps they were debating how best to put the frighteners on him?

  He silently slipped out of bed, pulled on his coat and crept downstairs. He slid his feet into his wellington boots, took the axe in his hands, and then sidled over to the front room window. Very, very gently he inched the curtain open a crack and peeped out.

  He could see them now, three of them, still arguing. One of them was holding a large stone in his hand. Danny listened carefully. Their debate seemed to be over whether they should slash the tyres of his car or hurl the stone through the living room window. Two of them were arguing volubly for lobbing the stone, but the third was urging that they really, really didn't want to piss the landlord off, or there'd apparently be hell to pay.

  They were interrupted by a fourth voice from a source that Danny couldn't see, but which was so guttural and horrible that it set the hairs on the back of his neck on end. It sounded like the bubbling of hot fat, as if this guy had so much mucus in his throat he was choking on it.

  Whoever it was that had spoken, it seemed to galvanise the other three into action. Apparently, it was now decided that as a compromise they would first slash the tyres of Danny's car, then throw the rock through the front windscreen. They started to shuffle towards the vehicle.

  Danny had heard quite enough. It was time to put an end to this. He carried the axe in his right hand and picked up a powerful halogen light in the other. He quietly unsnicked the lock on the front door and eased it open. Once he was through, he switched the lamp on and turned its blinding beam directly upon the three intruders. They turned, startled, and threw their arms over their eyes as the light dazzled them. Danny advanced, waving his axe threateningly. “Get out of here, you miserable bastards!” he yelled. “Go on, get out! Or so help me, I'll chop you in pieces!”

  The three men turned and ran, stumbling and cursing as their night vision was ruined by the glare.

  “Go on!” Danny bellowed after them. “And don't think I don't recognise you, Mr Parker! I'll be calling the police in the morning!”

  The sounds of their clumsy departure faded rapidly in the distance. They evidently had been unprepared to be caught out. Danny tried to bring his racing pulse back under control as he turned back towards the house.

  That was when he heard it again: that horrible, gurgling sound, almost like a sneering laugh this time. He shuddered involuntarily. At first, he simply couldn't place it, but then on a sudden impulse he looked upwards, automatically swinging the lamp up to follow his gaze. What he saw made him shriek in horror and he dropped the light onto the footpath, where it shattered and went out.

  He saw it for only a split second, then the light went out, but the thing was already moving, leaping away, moving at incredible speed. A large, hunched figure had been standing on his roof, stooping over like a gargoyle to observe what was happening below. He had seen a massive, muscular torso, with incredibly long, sinuous arms. The blunt head was hairless, with a wide mouth and large, pale, unblinking orbs as eyes. The rest of the face was flat and featureless. The texture of the skin was lumpy and unfinished, the dark green colour of wet moss.

  Then he was left standing there alone, his eyes and mouth wide open in mute horror, as he heard the thing crashing away into the undergrowth at high speed, moving deep into the Curraghs.

  Danny had originally intended to make good on his threat to call the police, but after seeing that thing leaping from his roof he no longer knew what to do. He spent the remainder of the night sitting in his kitchen, staring blankly ahead, trying to blot the horror from his memory.

  When sunlight began penetrating the blinds, Danny drew a deep breath and tried to shake himself into some semblance of normality. He stood up and opened the blinds, then walked upstairs to get dressed. He was thinking over his options all the while.

  He finally decided that he would indeed call the police. He would tell them what he had overheard the men saying, and that he had recognised Parker as one of them. That should be enough to get something done, at least to warn the intruders off sufficiently. There was no need for him to breathe a word about the thing he believed he had seen after the men ran off, something he now fervently hoped was but a hallucination caused by his levels of stress.

  Before he could carry out this plan, however, he heard a firm rapping on his front door. He went downstairs and opened it. His landlord, Ted Kneen, was standing there, with the glowering figure of Parker behind him. Danny immediately bristled, but he forced himself to be polite as he said, “Good morning, Mr Kneen. Come to see that I'm settling in and having no problems?” He shot Parker a meaningful glare.

  “Not exactly, Mr Kennaugh,” said Kneen in his slow drawl, taking off his flat cap and pretend
ing to examine it. “The fact of the matter is, I was wanting to talk about problems you're causing, not problems you may be having.”

  Danny was dumbstruck for a moment. “Causing?” he croaked at last. “What the devil do you mean?”

  “I'm talking about you running about in the middle of the night, shouting at the top of your voice and chasing decent folk with an axe,” said Kneen. “Mr Parker here is a valued employee of mine, and I don't take kindly to mad axemen chasing him and his workmen when they're trying to assess a job for me.”

  “At two o'clock in the morning?” spluttered Danny. “How did you expect me to react when strangers intrude at that time of the night?”

  “I don't expect people in their right mind to go chasing others with axes at any time of the day or night, Mr Kennaugh,” said Kneen firmly. “That's totally unacceptable behaviour by any standards. When I took you as a tenant for this cottage, I thought you'd be a quiet, retired gentleman, not a madman. I want you out of here, Mr Kennaugh. Today. If need be, you'll be allowed back in accompanied by myself to collect your remaining things if you can't shift them all immediately, but you'll be out of this house by tonight.”

  Danny was flabbergasted. When he finally recovered his voice, he said, “You can't do that! I have rights, you know. We signed a lease for a year. And you know damn well that I've rented out my own house for a year while I live here. Where do you expect me to live? Well, I won't have it. I'm staying put, Mr Kneen, and you'll be hearing from my lawyer with words to that effect.”

  “If you're not out by this evening, we'll inform the police that you chased my men with an axe last night,” said Kneen quietly. “My word carries a lot of weight in these parts, Mr Kennaugh. I can assure you that it would pose no problem at all to have you locked away as a dangerous lunatic. And that's a promise.” He smiled tightly. “By this evening then?”