by Неизвестный
“What do you mean?”
“I mean by giving him a second chance I have not saved him; he committed such a ferocious murder and it was instinctive, that instinct will linger with him and I am sure he will kill again. But apart from that, and much more importantly, I have done something that I almost never get to do. I have punished you, let he who is without sin cast the first stone… you were so quick to judge him,” she said with a wry smile. “And you will spend eternity without him anyway. The next time you see him he will love another and not remember you.” Belial clapped her hands together with glee. “It is far from often that I get to punish the good.”
“But…” Alana started to protest. Belial cut her short.
“Enough of your twittering. Go back to where your holier-than-thou attitude is appreciated.”
Tears flowed from Alana's eyes as she ascended to heaven.
Musth
By Dave Carne
“Yes.” Hissed a shuffling figure, as a dark, wrinkled face came into view over a beer stained bench. “I know of the beast.” I took a startled look toward a high backed bench in the corner of the Inn and instantly felt awkward. Had my words been that loud? I turned back to the landlord and forced a wry smile. He was a portly man with a round face and thick red beard; he placed a tankard of ale onto the bar and turned his eyes toward the corner dweller “That’s James that is” he said, his face stern and without emotion. “He’d tell you anything you want if you have a mind to keep his mug full.”
***
To enlighten you to my present situation, I feel it proper to explain the events and circumstances of the last five years that have led me to this sleepy Welsh Tavern in the late spring of 1894.
My name is Herbert Salter; I am a thirty-five year old doctor of medicine. I reside with my wife in the Strand, London, with no more than a manservant, cook and two maids. I administer a small medical practice and regularly teach human anatomy at the London school of medicine. In return for my lectures I am accorded the use of their laboratories and research libraries. With this declaration I am sure you understand that I am also the possessor of a rather curious disposition.
Early in my medical career I assisted a well to do gentleman with a certain predicament he had acquired, after experiencing my medical skills and discretion we took to debating our shared interest in spiritualism. What he made of me then I never learnt but shortly after he invited me to become an associate of a very select gentleman’s society. Although no secret, the society enjoyed a degree of confidentiality. We considered ourselves an underground university, with no rules or agenda, just a common goal to seek answers in the dark. How did we work? Let’s just say, those who needed help in the supernatural found their way to the Lunar society.
One such person was Miss Elizabeth Bainbridge, a charming young lady with a delightful presence and beguiling smile. We had received a compellingly earnest letter from this young lady and on Saturday 17th July 1889. Miss Bainbridge took tea with myself and other Lunarians at the Marlborough club, Islington.
We learnt from Miss Bainbridge that she was the daughter of Thomas Henry Bainbridge, a once respectable entrepreneur who had recently seen his wealth and standing diminished by the most unfortunate series of events. Her father had been a commissioned officer with the East India trading company until in 1876 when she was only eight years old her father embarked on a venture to bring rare and exotic animals to a Zoological Garden near Hampstead Heath. The Zoo, as it was known became a popular attraction and enjoyed a growing success, indeed I recalled a visit there myself as a student. Lavish gardens were housed in bespoke glass buildings that replicated the warmer temperatures of Britain’s new colonies. Thomas Bainbridge employed the most industrious gardeners to produce grand displays of rare trees, scrubs and plants; in turn these new habitats sustained remarkable insect and reptile collections. However, the big attraction for the crowds that packed the zoo was always the exotic animals. At the centre of the zoo Thomas Bainbridge built large animal pens, to house the vast assortment of lions, zebra, wildebeest, monkeys, antelope apes and bears that he had imported to be exhibited at the zoo and the biggest attraction were his Elephants.
The Elephants had become favourites for all who visited the zoo. Surrounded by high iron bars was a large holding pen with a huge red brick constructed elephant house. This was home for two Indian elephants, lovingly nicknamed Porgy and Bess. The elephant enclosure always drew large crowds and people clamoured to get a view of the magnificent creatures. Miss Bainbridge told us how the elephant house alone entertained the crowds even when the gardens were at their most frugal. The zoo was a success
The Bainbridge family moved to a newly built manor. Thomas Bainbridge and his family enjoyed a comfortable lifestyle. It was at this time that he began to speculate in stocks and shares, at this point Miss Bainbridge speaking with some grief added.
“Unfortunately for father, his judgments were not always prudent, I fear he had been poorly advised and his credibility is dependant on an investor in the zoo. He was sure that the situation would redeem itself but a recent tragic accident is turning out to be disastrous.”
I recall being transfixed at this beautiful young woman as she dignified herself whilst in some distress with her story. She took her time, gently lifted a glass of water to her lips, and then began.
“Last Sunday, it was a particularly busy day at the zoo, and very hot. One of the elephants, poor Porgy went berserk, he charged at the iron cage and tragically a young girl was killed” Miss Bainbridge was now in tears.
“Porgy just reached out and grabbed her with his trunk.”
We all went very quiet and waited for her tears to dry until Charles Gill; one of my colleagues directed a gentle question at Miss Bainbridge.
“So young lady how can we help you?” Elizabeth Bainbridge tightened her hands around a small kerchief and took a deep breath.
“Father decided to have the beast destroyed, I know it’s terrible but after the accident his mind was set. They tried electrocution but Porgy survived, they tried to shoot him but still he lived, even though there was great pain and distress his resolve was strong, he would not give in. Now he has become even more aggressive and uncontrollable. Young Peter; one of the assistant keepers was badly injured when Porgy crashed about and broke his restraint free, his chain flashed across the elephant house taking the lad off guard, and things are getting worse. Rumour and idle gossip has spread that the Bainbridge elephant is possessed, that he is a devil beast, many of the staff will not go near him, and head keeper Pickering believes Porgy magical and immortal. Everyone is scared and with every day a new tragedy strikes within the gardens. The reptile house has been vandalized, the apes have gone down with a malaise, two of the wildebeest have died and six of our staff have left without explanation. Last Thursday, the local paper ran a story about the cursed elephant.”
Miss Bainbridge stood up from her seat, and with a look of resolve in her small face she addressed us as a whole.
“I need your help gentlemen, my father’s investor has threatened to pull out of their deal I need you to kill the beast, and remove any silly notions of curses, for the health and good name of my father, and for my sanity too”
We were all very impressed by Miss Bainbridge and I escorted her to the door of the club and hailed her a cab. I told her that I was sure we would look into the situation. I confess to being very taken with her, but being the youngest and newest member of the society I had little say in what we would or could do, but I did try and comfort Miss Bainbridge and assured her that if anyone could help it was us. God forgive us all for what we did the next day,
I remember that the air stank; it was a rancid smell that filled your lungs and left you feeling unclean. Alexander Berg a society member and an army general had arranged for a cannon and a small troop of soldiers to meet us at the now closed Bainbridge zoo. The cannon was in position within the elephant house, and chained against the far wall I took my first sight o
f the demon beast that has caused so much havoc.
The animal was huge, standing at twice the height of his keeper at the shoulder, his skin was dark grey and his face blackened by some unspeakable black substance, his long tentacle trunk slapped against the wall beating out his death toll, but it was the smell, the ghastly stomach turning heavy smell that I’ll never forget. The artillerymen began their dread task. Packing black powder down the barrel of the gun, a well drilled unit who wanted out of the elephant house as quickly as they had come. The doomed beast began goring at the ground with the stumps of his tusks and I could see open wounds to his feet and sides, I told myself, surely this is a most merciful deed, but deep inside my heart I knew different. When I heard the word to fire I strained to turn my head, to avert my eyes of the grisly outcome, but I could not. I was here as much a witness to this killing as an accomplice.
The shot was ridiculously easy but so very deadly, the thunderous booming sound echoed throughout the building and the great beast shuddered against the wall. The cannonball had gone straight through the elephant, thudded against the wall and rolled red hot on the floor, right where the beast now toppled. The putrid smell was now added to by the hideous noise of the beasts blood seeping onto the spent missile and boiling up into a red mist of steam, still this creature lived, still he gasped for air, his head spasmed and in his last moments he let out a heart stopping moan that could have contained all the worlds sorrows and despairs. His torso sank down forming an unnatural shape. One of the soldiers timed the death at two minutes, it seemed like hours.
I’ve been haunted by that deed for the last five years, and the last two I have spent in hunting down the man James Pickering, the head keeper that let the animal out on that fateful day, today I sit across from him in a dank Tavern in a sleepy Welsh village.
I knew James Pickering to be fifty-eight years old but his yellow skin, black cloudy eyes and grained wrinkled features portrayed him as a walking cadaver.
“I knew you would come” he said, “There is always one who must bear the guilt and my time is near done” he moved his body toward me, he stank a smell that had followed me in dreams for years.
“Now you want to know what happened? Well keep your silver doctor, this tale I’ll tell for my own soul.”
The man lent on the table his knurled arthritic fingers toying with some small charm, he began his tale and I listened.
“A young girl Emily Smith had been treated to a trip to the Zoo by her Father, she had been so excited about seeing the elephants, she had not stopped talking about them since she tied on her pink bonnet before boarding the 07:22 from Stows. On that morning I, as the head zookeeper, was in a more sombre mood because I had a difficult decision, Porgy the eldest elephant had not been acting normal; the great beast had developed a habit of rocking his massive frame back and forth violently. He would gore at the earth with his great tusks, turning up ruts of earth like a field plough. When his violent, insane dance would subside, old Porgy would just stare at a wall, where his breaths would come quick, in gasps, his belly heaving as he panted. I could see and smell a thick black oily liquid seeping down his tusks. The poor beast had begun to walk wrong, almost like he was bandy legged. You see he was almost perpetually incontinent with urine dripping down between his hindquarters and legs all the time, this caused an awful rash with an ungodly odour and I could tell how much distress he was in. Even Bess, his mate sensed his pain and quietly stood still in an opposite corner. I wanted to keep the elephants away from the crowds. I wanted to keep them inside the elephant house chained to the walls, but by mid-morning the crowds were chanting and demanding the elephants out in the open. I resisted until a message arrived from Bainbridge himself. It read quite simply -
The paying public must see the elephants. B.
Reluctantly I unlocked the padlocks to Porgy’s chain and with sticks, two lads and me urged him into the bright sunshine. Bess had already obliged and was wooing the crowds with a loud display of grunts and trumpeting. But as Porgy entered the bright sunshine his pain, un-comprehendible to us tormented him to madness. He began to shake his head, the black secretion was building up pressure within his large eye cavities, pressure forcing nerve endings to separate and tear. Every sound and scream from the crowd shrieked through his senses grating through his mind. He began to shake his head, back, then forth, then back then forth, his stinging legs must have ached and he must have felt his head about to split. Why? I tell you dear doctor because poor Porgy was in Musth, a condition common in male elephants, some say it is a passage to adulthood, maybe so but whatever it is, it is something unknown to us. I tried to tell Bainbridge days before when he visited with his daughter but obviously he did not listen. And curse me to Hell for the coward I am, when I got his note I did that man’s bidding. Porgy may have endured the ordeal in the quiet plains and forests of his own land. But here? Not here and not now, here in this strange place, so far away from his home so alien a place with such noise, that noise, the screaming. Don’t you see doctor, he had to stop it, had to stop the screaming.”
My stomach felt sick as James Pickering talked with his stare at the tiny cross in his hands
“That poor young girl, Emily Smith, fell down to the ground; she had been so excited to see the dancing elephant, she thought he wanted to play. But his tortured mind had changed him, he charged the cage and his trunk had snapped through, a few heartbeats later and Emily would have been out of reach, but as she jumped forward, the beast broke the cage and seconds later Emily lie still in her father’s arms.”
I arrived home in London early in the morning two days later, still stunned and shocked by what I had learnt from James Pickering. As I entered the drawing room, I saw that my dear wife was up, dressed and sat in her wheelchair, I moved over to her side and gently lent down to cradle her sweet face in my arms, her spittle wet on her shoulder, her once so bright eyes black, without emotion. My dear Elizabeth, my beautiful wife, we had six wonderful months before the madness took hold of her, now she was as a lifeless doll dressed and cared for by her maid. How could your father have sent that note Elizabeth? I asked her still quiet eyes. He was at Lincoln races that dreadful day. But you were there. You saw the horror. I now realised, that my Elizabeth had sent that note to James Pickering, desperate to protect her father and the zoo, she had forced the hand of the head zoo keeper and then she used her charm on myself and the society to do her evil work and rid her of the poor animal.
How un-kind Elizabeth, Elephants never forget.
The White Room
By F. R. Jameson
When he awoke everything was white. At first he thought it was death, but then he realised he was horribly alive.
He was locked in a room, a perfect square, eight foot in every direction. There were white brick walls, white sheets, white pillows on a white bed, a white toilet and sink, a small white desk and white chair. At the top of the room was a heavy white door, without the smallest window or glint of welcoming light shining though.
The door wouldn’t open. With both hands he tried it, pushing it and pulling it, but there wasn’t even a millimetre’s give towards opening. He grabbed the handle and yanked back with his entire weight, yet all he got was a daunting solidity. It was as if it wasn’t really a door at all, more a painted decoration.
Anxiously he paced the room. He flushed the toilet and ran the taps in the sink, getting pristine water from both. At one point he pulled back the chair and sat at the desk, but found no white paper on which to write upon. The chair was slammed under the table and he paced again. What else did he have to do?
He walked so long his calf and thigh muscles began to burn. His eyes closed but still he didn’t stop, learning to navigate the room without accident, the pattern behind his eyes becoming white. Finally exhaustion took him and he sat on the bed, his hands jammed under the thin white material of his trousers, his white T-shirt dripping with sweat.
What was happening? He sat and waited for an explanation
, some kind of clue. His eyes stared unceasingly at that heavy door. Waiting for it to open, for someone to inform him what he was doing there, how long he had to stay.
There was no clock, so he had no idea how much time had passed, how long he’d been awake. It was as if he’d walked for hours, waited even longer – but there was no comforting tick-tock to let him know where he was in the universe, just endless silence.
Eventually sleep took him, he wasn’t sure how. The last thing he remembered was being fully awake and furious. But the tiredness of his muscles, the weary confusion of his mind, must have overwhelmed him and his head found its way to the pillow and was lost to consciousness.
He awoke thinking it had been a dream, that he’d endured a terrible white room nightmare – but there it was in front of him again. Except not quite. There was something different this time, on the desk was a tray and on the tray was food. He staggered over, still convinced it was a dream, that his hungry sub-conscious was playing fancies with him. But he smelt the tomato soup and saw the steam rising and dipped his finger in and confirmed how real it was.
There was no hesitation. He sat down with the white plastic spoon and a fresh bread roll and devoured it. Next was the main course – roast pork, apple sauce, potato, broccoli, cabbage, carrots, peas and thick gravy. His mouth chewed ferociously, giving him pangs of indigestion. Then the dessert, warm rhubarb crumble topped with delicious custard. He guzzled it, and when he finished, sat back in his chair and burped. There was actually a smile on his face, a grin of satisfaction, the beam of a well fed man. Then he looked around the white room and his happiness vanished.