Dark Seed

by Simon West-Bulford

  I decided to retrieve the Moon Box, cautiously, while the others were not looking. Breswick turned before I could make a step, but although his attention had returned to Stromany, I made no further attempt to reach the box for fear of being detected.

  Breswick’s voice was low and threatening. “What did you do with her eyes, you monster?”

  Stromany simply shook his head in his hands.

  “She didn’t do anything to you,” cried Beatrice, distraught. She was stooped at Elizabeth’s side, on her knees.

  “Drenn,” Breswick addressed me aggressively. “We need to tie him up.”

  I was unable to take my eyes from Elizabeth. “I don’t think he did this.”

  Breswick looked affronted. “Who else, man? His guilt is clear. He murdered her. Took the poor woman’s eyes, for heaven’s sake!”

  “Why?”

  “Why?” Breswick was beside himself. “Who knows? Does it matter?”

  “All I am saying is that the murderer had a purpose in this act. I don’t see why Stromany would have reason to do this, and it seems more likely to me that he’s telling the truth. I think he did exactly what we did and ran to help her. And he’s right. He would not have had time to do this before we arrived at the scene.”

  “Are you seriously attempting to defend this man? He could have been running from his crime and then turned back when he saw us,” Breswick said, but I saw a flash of uncertainty in his eyes.

  “And he could be innocent.”

  “Then who did this?” Breswick said. “Answer me that.”

  I looked away.

  Stromany removed his hands from his face, and I saw something new in his expression. He was still shaking, but his eyes no longer had the look of panic. I saw sorrow there instead. He glimpsed at me briefly, and I thought I detected a hint of thanks there before he rose. With slow but obvious purpose, he approached Elizabeth’s body. Beatrice backed away instantly and Breswick moved to intervene, but Stromany put a gentle hand on his shoulder to move him aside. “I did not kill her,” he said quietly.

  Breswick, apparently confused by Stromany’s composure, stepped aside. The strongman scooped Elizabeth’s body from the chair as easily as one might pick up a china doll, and made for the door.

  “Where are you taking her?” Breswick asked.

  “I am going to bury her.”

  “You’re what?”

  Stromany refused to answer and continued to the door.

  “Where are you going?” I asked. “There’s nowhere to take her.”

  “I will bury her outside in the grounds.”

  “Are you mad?” Breswick turned to me. “He’s mad. We have to stop him or he’ll let those demons inside. I made that mistake once. We mustn’t let it happen again.”

  But Stromany was already out of the room and heading for the main entrance. We followed him urgently, but Breswick hesitated when Stromany turned to face us. The huge man repositioned the body so that it was over one shoulder and one of his hands was free. He eyed us both with warning in his expression, then turned and unbolted the door.

  Moon Box Segment Translation 16

  Countless days I wait

  The archaeological diary of Edward Cephas Hargraven

  16th September 1891

  Joseph did an excellent job reporting what he found, but I was still unprepared for the grandeur of it all, and his description did no justice to how large the chamber was. I am still astounded that this one area alone was beneath the feet of so many explorers for so long. The Kur’hukayians had done an admirable job of concealing it by building their own city over the top of it some two hundred years later.

  After placing lamps around its perimeter, we measured the dome in which we stood as having a circumference of over three hundred and fifty feet. Other than statues of ugly skeletal gargoyles and copper sconces for lighting, there was very little decoration; the focus was on the bizarre bulbous growth at the heart of the chamber. It looked as if a depraved sculptor had attempted to carve the likeness of a rose out of bone, but the compacted petals were thick and jagged. Curling, ropelike strands sprouted from its base to penetrate the walls and roof, impressing me with the notion of being frozen between two moments of time, shrunk to the size of an insect, observing the electrical arcs of a Van der Graaf machine. But instead of electricity, bony fossil roots. Having never seen anything like this before, I was speechless. Astounded.

  It seems perfectly logical to me that the inhabitants of the City of the Innominatum held this bizarre object at its center with awe and reverence, and I suspect they may have built this entire temple around it. Exactly what it is, I have no idea, but Haynes, who was uncharacteristically silent the whole time we were there, seems convinced that we were in the presence of the long-dead Innominatum itself.

  17

  It is difficult to explain why none of us attempted to stop him. Perhaps it was fear of Stromany’s response, but for my part, I believe it was because the weight of our plight became so very real to me as Stromany swung the door open. Elizabeth’s demise had wounded us, and after the initial shock, something inside me had withered.

  The mist rolled in around our feet and, despite the heat of the fires outside, cold currents of air crept in over it. In part I was glad of Stromany’s action. The outside air was a welcome relief to the death-polluted atmosphere stagnating within the school, but more than this, I felt a sense of finality. A resignation. The last few days had been a living hell, and I wanted it to be over. I think we all did. If the beasts came as they did before, at least our end would come relatively quickly. There would be a few minutes of savagery and violence, but it would be a mercy compared to a lingering and mournful demise within the walls of Hargraven Manor. And, murderer or not, I could not help but admire the man’s courage.

  Stromany strode outside in full view. He waited, Elizabeth’s limp form dangling over his shoulder, a line of glutinous blood hanging down from her head in the mist. The pyres were still roaring with impossibly high flames, casting their fierce, sunset light over him as he stood there as an open challenge to the beasts.

  “Stromany!” Breswick called. “Come back.”

  But Stromany marched out farther, his feet spread wide apart. He called into the night: “We bury our dead. If you are an honorable enemy, come no closer.”

  I watched, holding my breath, and as Stromany laid Elizabeth’s body gently on the soil, I caught glimpses of stirring amidst the fire. The creatures were moving. They came slowly, like curious animals drooling at the scent of a carcass. Stromany stood his ground, and I wondered what he would do next. He had no shovel to dig a grave. No weapon with which to fight.

  One beast, then two, tested their advantage and loped forward, and behind them I thought I could see . . . no feel the titanic form of the Behemoth observing us all with suspicion.

  “I’m shutting the door,” Breswick said, and he began to pull it closed, but I placed a hand on his sleeve. “Wait!”

  The first beast loomed over Stromany. I wondered then if the man was indeed guilty of Elizabeth’s murder and that, in remorseful repentance, he had offered himself to the enemy. I had no desire to see Stromany ripped apart. In our more recent encounters I had averted my eyes, but now I was held by Stromany’s defiance surfacing through his fear—as if he knew something that we didn’t. The monster was poised with its great claws spread wide. Its back was arched, and several orifices covering its spine belched out thick gusts of the glittering mist as if in triumphant expectation. Stromany’s knees buckled as it prepared to attack, but the second beast did not concern itself with him. It had its attention on us and began striding our way.

  “I am shutting this door, Drenn.” But he hesitated.

  I did not answer. The beast was still coming for us, and from the pyres came more of them still, as if the actions of the first two had emboldened them.

  “Go!” The roar came from Stromany, shuddering, but still standing. At first I thought the command was directe
d at us, but I suddenly realized he was actually commanding the beast towering over him. Astoundingly, it took a step back.

  “Go!” Stromany roared again. The thing held its ground this time, its great ugly head slowly bobbing up and down as if assessing its prey with new respect. Even the other creatures slowed. The second beast was still focused upon us, now a mere stone’s throw away. If it decided to rush us, I doubted that Breswick would have time to bolt the door.

  “Can you believe this?” I said. “Is he . . . ?”

  “The devil looks after his own,” Breswick said in a low voice and moved to close the door.

  Impulsively, I put my foot in the way, and the door juddered. Breswick observed me with a new look in his eye. I saw anger and indignation but most of all a hostility I had not expected to view in the expression of my old acquaintance. He shouldered me aside and shut the door, bolting it.

  “Damn it, Alex, what were you thinking? Do you actually want to get us killed? Is that it?”

  “But they weren’t attacking. You saw—”

  “They weren’t attacking him. They were still coming for us.”

  “Even so, if we can find out why they chose not to attack, we may be able to use that to our advantage.”

  “I told you. He’s the devil’s man, Drenn. Think about it. We don’t really know if he is who he says he is. He probably murdered that other man—who may well have been the real George Stromany all along for all we know, and remember that we found this fellow with a bloody weapon standing over Elizabeth’s corpse. What more evidence do you need?”

  “I agree that the evidence looks damning, but to say that he’s working for the devil is . . . well, it’s pure fantasy. Stromany was frightened out of his wits. Surely if—”

  “He may not even have known he killed them,” Breswick said. “He may have been possessed.”

  “That’s preposterous, if—”

  The deafening howl that expedited the beasts’ previous departure came again. Equally as loud and terrifying, it rattled the doors and windows and sent us to our knees. I heard Beatrice scream. At the point of its fading, Breswick stood again and strode away from the door, heading for the colonnade, no doubt to discern whether the creatures were retreating. I was already convinced of the fact, and without a second thought, I unbolted the door and opened it.

  “What are you doing?” Eyes reddened by tears, Beatrice had drawn up beside me. “Is he dead? Is Stromany dead?”

  “I don’t know.”

  We stared out into the grounds. The creatures had gone, and all I could see through the thin veil of mist was the silhouetted shape of Elizabeth’s body in the soil. Breswick came back at that moment, staring at me with incredulity.

  “Why do you insist on leaving us defenseless?” he said.

  “I’m not. They’ve gone. See for yourself.”

  “We cannot guarantee that—”

  “We have to know what happened.”

  “He’s dead, of course,” Beatrice said. “And good riddance.”

  “We don’t know that,” I said. “He isn’t there. I can’t see any remains.”

  “You couldn’t possibly see from here,” Breswick said. “Now shut the door.”

  “No. I’m going to find him.”

  “If you go out there, I’ll shut and bolt this door. I’m warning you now.”

  “Thank you, Chaplain,” I said with a little more malice than I intended, and stepped outside. The door slammed and locked behind me as I stood in the glare of the tall fires. All I could feel at that moment was a fierce determination. I wanted to find Stromany. I wanted answers, and I wanted to vent my fury at Elizabeth’s death, but I did not know how long it would be before my passions would revert to fear. So confused was I by the eclectic nature of my emotions, I simply stood in the mist, staring at the actress’s body. The dark hollow where her eyes should have been gaped back at me, and all at once terror came with that empty stare. Terror not just at where I was and what I was seeing but the strangling fear of not knowing my own mind. I felt like the waves of the sea—shifting and surging not of my own volition but at the mercy of the elements. And my head pulsed with that unrelenting, sickening ache.

  I was not alone for long. The dark form of Stromany returned from the mist, shovel in hand. He stopped when he saw me. “Are you here to help me bury her?” he said coolly. “I found a store of equipment, near the ice house. Take a shovel if you are well enough.”

  I looked at the pyres. The creatures were still stirring but made no attempt to approach. “Why didn’t they attack you?”

  “They would have were it not for that cry from the school.”

  I shook my head. “No. Even before that, they seemed . . . hesitant.”

  “Take this,” he said, offering the shovel. “I will get another.”

  I waited for an answer to my question, but he simply stood there, and I realized he was either unwilling to explain or did not know himself. “Are there any other tools in there we can use as weapons?” I said, taking the shovel from him. “Hargraven may even have had hunting rifles.”

  Stromany turned and disappeared into the mist. I glanced only fleetingly at Elizabeth’s dead face before pushing the shovel into the soil. I would have enough strength only to remove two or three shovelfuls before Stromany returned; the fatigue was setting in again already, but I set to work, keeping one eye on the pyres in the periphery.

  My second push into the dirt met resistance, and when I scraped the soil aside to see if I could find the edge of the stone I thought I had hit, something else was revealed: oily metal. It was more of the segmented bone structure we had found in Hargraven’s laboratory, but this was much larger. The curvature suggested it was the size of a motorcar’s tire. I went on hands and knees to scoop the mud from around it. It was a vertebra, and I looked up at the fiery trees through the fog, wondering if they were connected. I did not have to dig much farther to see that some of the connected segments were even larger, and I began to picture a vast network of these skeletal conduits running through the entire village. Perhaps what I had seen infesting the laboratory and the church were the fibrous endings of something like a lung or a tree—a circulatory system of some kind—but gargantuan in scale.

  “What is that?”

  Stromany’s voice caused me to jump. “I don’t know, but we keep seeing it everywhere. It’s like a parasitic weed has run amok through the whole village.”

  “Did the demons put it there?”

  “I don’t believe so. I think they spawned from this somehow. Before I entered the school, I saw the creatures dropping off from those trees in the fire.”

  Stromany crouched down to examine it. “Can we break it?”

  “I don’t know. My shovel didn’t seem to—”

  Stromany drove the blade of his shovel downward, and a loud thunk sounded as it struck the metal. There was a slight split in the dark skin, revealing the glisten of gray flesh underneath. Stromany was about to strike again, but I did not like the way the creatures shifted in the mist.

  “We should finish burying Elizabeth,” I said nervously. “We can come back to this later when we are better equipped.”

  Stromany glanced behind him and nodded, staying his weapon. Between us, with Stromany doing most of the digging while I watched for activity from the creatures, we managed to create a grave deep enough for the body, circumventing the metal segments. It took longer than I expected, and my weariness had increased tenfold by the end of it. Still, I knew there was one more thing required.

  “I’m going to get Theo. It’s only right that our chaplain should say a few words, don’t you think?”

  “You believe he will come?”

  “I will insist.”

  Moon Box Segment Translation 17

  To eternal night

  The archaeological diary of Edward Cephas Hargraven

  17th September 1891

  I could not help but wonder if the fossilized object we were examining was once the so
ft and vulnerable central organ of some hitherto unknown plant species that once dwelt there until time and decay had glutted upon it. Perhaps, like some species of tropical mushroom, it expelled hallucinogenic properties that caused its worshippers to imagine the hellish stories they had recorded on the walls of the antechamber.

  Around the edge of the stamen (as I am now calling it), there is a wide gap where it punched its way through the ground, and upon lowering a lamp into the deep hollow beneath, I could see the stupendous stem that supported it. This too had fossilized roots splayed out from it, providing further evidence that we had encountered the remnants of a prehistoric botanical miracle.

  18

  I returned to the school and was relieved when Breswick did not keep the door closed against me. His mood had changed. It was not so much an air of amiability he projected but rather a polite caution. Beatrice observed me with a colder eye, and I had the distinct impression that I had been the subject of decisive conversation during my brief absence.

  With Stromany’s help it took only a small amount of persuasion for Breswick to concede to improvise a eulogy for Elizabeth Fortroy, and when we stood over her shallow grave—a modest headstone fabricated from some wooden castoffs in the toolshed—he performed the task admirably. It may have been a foolish assumption on our part, but the enemy kept their distance, and a wary intuition informed us that the threat was not immediate. It afforded us the dignity of a brief funeral throughout which Beatrice wept inconsolably. The one advance I made to comfort her was met with a frustrated step away from me, and in the momentary glance from her bloodshot eyes, I saw suspicion and anger. I lost all hope that her conclusions about my time with her daughter might have been softened by our most recent events. My failure to tell her what happened could only have served to fuel morbid speculation and inflame her distrust of me.