Tales From The Wyrd Museum 2: The Raven's Knot

by Robin Jarvis

  ‘Pray tell,’ he began solemnly, ‘didst the dame have aught to say?’

  Lauren frowned at the creature in disbelief. ‘It's really talking!’ she exclaimed. ‘Not like a parrot at all—how on earth..?’

  ‘Well, answer him then,’ Neil told her.

  ‘There was something,’ the girl, murmured. ‘When I left her she was babbling, but not making any sort of sense. Something about a crimson weave.’

  Quoth swallowed fearfully and his wedged tail drooped as his beak opened to emit a forlorn whine.

  ‘A crimson weft,’ he corrected with dread.

  ‘How did you know that?’

  Leaning upon the table, Neil peered at the raven quizzically.

  ‘You're remembering something, aren't you?’ he marvelled. ‘Tell us, please.’

  Quoth turned to him, his one eye nearly bulging from his head.

  ‘Go not up yonder deadly stair,’ he muttered, mortified. ‘She who waits above is beyond all help and hope. The chambers of this wretch's mind are locked no longer and canst recall the nature of the evil that wakes in this land—alas for Quoth, would that he could not!’

  ‘You know what these bird women are?’ Tommy asked.

  The raven hung his head as he sorted through the disordered jumble of released memories now crowding his thoughts.

  ‘In the distant days when this hapless booby didst serve another,’ he began softly, ‘after the Ash had fallen and the ogres of frost were abashed and didst retreat away, Quoth's Lord had dominion over all things. Yet over destiny His power was as naught, for the three sisters hadst yoked that burden unto themselves and so His resenting festered and He became wrath with them.’

  ‘Look,’ Lauren butted in, ‘we have to get that doll away from my stepmother!’

  Tommy put his hand upon her shoulder as she moved towards the stairs. ‘No, girlie,’ he said gently, ‘hear the little fella out.’

  ‘A god He was,’ Quoth continued darkly, ‘yet subject to the Spinners in the Wood, same as any base beast or lowly worm. Thus, in his envy and rage, He misused His wisdom to perform a heinous deed and so didst sink into madness and folly.

  ‘From the dread night, the first master of Quoth did invoke spirits of death and despair and unto them He sacrificed maidens, in which they made their earthly abodes.’

  ‘Oh, my God,’ Lauren murmured.

  ‘Twelve such terrors there were, fiends of savagery and carnage, and into them He poured His might and strength. To mock the Fates they didst choose those who went to die in battle and all feared and reviled their hated name.’

  Quoth paused and looked at each of the three people in turn.

  ‘Valkyrie,’ he cawed hollowly.

  Tommy fidgeted with the buckles of his satchel and glanced nervously at the windows, where the darkness seemed to press and push against the glass.

  ‘And these things are here now?’ Neil muttered.

  The raven bowed, ‘To overthrow the Nornir they were created long ages since. A loom of their own devising didst they fashion in their vileness. Spears were its frame and entrails of the slaughtered did form the warp—weighted below by hacked, hewed heads. An arrow was the shuttle, carrying a weft of crimson and from this devilish web a river of gore didst flow.

  ‘Against the circling mists they rampaged, yet the enchantment of the Fates could not be breached and the host of Woden wast scattered or slain. Now ‘twouldst seem the Twelve are rising once more. He hath summoned them a second time. The ending battle draweth near, Master Neil.’

  Lauren pulled away from the tramp's restraining hand. ‘I've got to stop it!’ she cried. ‘I can't let that thing take her over again.’

  ‘Too late!’ Quoth rapped sharply. ‘Thy mother hath already been claimed by a fell spirit. When the Twelve unite there canst be no road back.’

  ‘But the last doll was only sold today!’ the girl insisted. ‘There's still a chance.’

  Suddenly, from her parents’ bedroom, there came a horrific, terrified scream and Lauren bolted to the steps in despair.

  ‘It's got her!’ she yelled. ‘We've got to save her!’

  Upon the table Quoth shook his wings in fright and leapt up and down, squawking, ‘Hold hard! ‘Tis too late—stop the dumpy one!’

  Both Neil and Tommy charged after the girl to drag her back whilst, from the first floor, Sheila's blood-curdling howls were joined by frenzied bangs and crashes as the furniture was hurled aside.

  ‘Let me go!’ Lauren bawled, battling to tear herself free. ‘It's attacking her!’

  ‘Bain't nowt we can do,’ Tommy warbled, cowed by the awful shrieks and clatterings above.

  Scampering from one side of the table to the other Quoth squealed in fear, but his bleating voice was drowned by the woman's resounding screams.

  ‘The midnight spirit possesseth her,’ he jabbered. ‘Thou art the only human maid here now and on the morrow she wilt be enslaved for years unending, with no respite. When the Twelve art together the charm is complete.’

  ‘NO!’ Lauren wept, her flailing arms sagging as she ceased her struggles and sank to her knees.

  ‘The Valkyrie draweth its violent breath only to slay and berserk,’ the bird added. ‘If it doth not fly from here, it shall scent us out and hunt our blood.’

  Everyone turned their faces to the stairway, Sheila's voice was changing. The agonised howls were now raucous screeches—grating, gutteral and totally unhuman.

  ‘That's it!’ the old man whispered in recognition. ‘That's the racket Tommy heard last night. That's what was in his barn. Oh, Lord, send us angels—save us!’

  Neil shivered and his skin crawled. The creature's voice was hideous and he slowly backed away from the stairs, cursing himself for ever yearning to be involved with the Websters’ business again.

  At that moment there came the noise of splintering glass, followed by a deranged, riotous battering which vibrated and hammered throughout the entire house.

  ‘What's it doing?’ Neil muttered. ‘Why doesn't it just fly out the window?’

  Still kneeling upon the floor, Lauren gasped in alarm. ‘Oh, no,’ she said, rising shakily and gripping Tommy's sleeve. ‘The shutters, I nailed them closed. That monster's trapped up there!’

  ‘No, it ain't,’ the tramp amended, his voice trembling. ‘There be another way out.’

  Neil stared up at the bedroom door. ‘Lock it!’ he cried.

  ‘There's no key!’ Lauren answered. ‘Wait, listen. The noise, it's stopping.’

  Upstairs the insane, pounding clamour ceased, but the tense silence which followed was almost worse.

  ‘What's happening?’ Neil murmured, turning to look for Quoth.

  ‘Death approacheth,’ the raven cawed.

  Behind the bedroom door, a muffled scrabbling began and the people in the kitchen looked at one another in dismay as they realised the creature was clawing at the handle.

  ‘Fie!’ Quoth barked. ‘Flee! Retreat! Escape! The Valkyrie is upon us!’

  At once the clumsy, raking noises came to an end, then everyone heard the ominous squeak of hinges as the door slowly opened.

  Tommy stumbled backwards, blundering into the dresser whilst Lauren held her breath and waited—too afraid to move. By the table, Neil glanced around for something to use as a weapon and, chittering like a captured rabbit, the raven scurried inside the shopping bags to hide himself amongst the bread and biscuits.

  Upon the landing an immense, dark shape appeared.

  Throwing back its ghastly head, a high, prolonged, piercing screech blasted from the nightmare's gullet.

  Downstairs, everyone clapped their hands to their ears as the horrendously shrill note ripped through their nerves. Then, with a tremendous, shattering roar, the windows split and cracked. Glasses shattered upon the shelves, bottles smashed, jam-jars fractured and, up in their sockets, the lightbulbs exploded.

  Darkness engulfed the Bed and Breakfast. Neil heard Tommy sobbing wretchedly and Lauren cried out,
whilst in the plastic carriers Quoth was quailing.

  And the Valkyrie descended.

  Chapter 21 - Hlökk

  Down the stairs it came—an apparition of feather, claw and beak.

  Paralysed with fear, the three figures swamped in the gloom could only gape at the evil spectacle—hearing its great barbed quills scrape against the walls, biting through the patterned paper and scratching into the plaster beneath.

  Large and cruel were the hooked talons which stole down the creaking steps, snagging and ripping rents in the carpet. From powerful, splayed toes covered in scaled, leathery skin they stabbed—great curved blades capable of tearing metal and crunching through bone.

  Its massive wings furled in order to squeeze its hulking bulk down the narrow stairs, the Valkyrie was a malignant vision of despair and hopelessness.

  Towering above the people huddled below, its two round, jet black eyes penetrated the shadows of the kitchen and fixed upon their petrified forms.

  Her heart beating wildly, Lauren could not wrench her stricken gaze from the deformed abhorrence which stalked ever closer, and tears streamed down her cheeks as the rancorous, repulsive travesty of a face emerged from the deeper murk which eclipsed the landing.

  Framed by a mane of spiked, ragged feathers, like the black petals of some sickly, poisonous flower, the mordant, misshapen head was a nauseating fusion of human features, combined with that of a monstrous raven.

  Grey, scab-ridden grave-flesh crusted the grotesque, pitiless countenance that was dominated by a vicious, spearing beak which slowly opened and closed, as though savouring the fear which flowed up to greet it.

  Crowned by a knotted profusion of quill and bristling hair, tangled with twigs and thorns, the abomination reached the lower steps and a bass, discordant rattle issued from the venomous gullet like the warning hiss of a cobra before it strikes.

  Pressed against the dresser, Tommy threw his hands before his face and slid to the floor, cringing behind his satchel and gibbering for divine protection.

  ‘Gabriel, Uriel, Michael help us. Oh, sweet heaven, protect Tommy and his pals. Only angels can save ‘em now.’

  But all he heard in answer was a repugnant, chilling shriek as the monstrosity eyed its victims greedily.

  Quoth's bald head reared from amongst the shopping, his one eye goggling in terror at the foulness which loomed beyond the table. Sickened and scared, he saw the repellent, loathsome face move with deliberate slowness from the tramp upon the floor, over to the girl and finally at Neil.

  ‘Hlökk!’ the raven squealed. ‘Shrieker is here! We art already slain!’

  Backed against the table, Neil stared at the savage, blood-craving horror, frozen with fear. Not since he had first witnessed Belial rise above the bombsite had he known such dread, but then The Wyrd Museum had been close by, with the blessed water of its drinking-fountain to help. This time he was trapped in a building in the middle of nowhere, with an enemy equal in ferocity and motivated only to slaughter and destroy.

  The evil-brimming eyes flickered momentarily as they settled upon him and a low, menacing gargle began to sound in the dark, dry throat.

  ‘Master Neil!’ Quoth cried, tumbling out of the bag. ‘Beware! Beware!’

  The bird's warning came too late, for in that instant the Valkyrie screeched and the kitchen became wrapped in an even greater veil of shadow as the huge wings suddenly unfurled. With shrill, murderous shrieks gurgling from the ravening beak, it lunged straight for Neil's throat.

  Before the boy could dodge aside, the fiend was upon him.

  Sharp, clattering quills thrashed and beat upon his face and cruel claws came ripping through the shadows to seize him by the arm and waist, smashing him violently to the ground.

  Neil yelled in terror but Hlökk pinned him down, sending the table and chairs flying across the room with a careless smack of its powerful wings as it pressed a curved talon over his windpipe, to crush and choke until the boy's voice became a strangled, retching gasp.

  Against the cupboards the table crashed, its legs scraping a frightful note across the quarry tiles and from its surface was flung the carrier bags and one wailing raven.

  Shaking its vile head, the Valkyrie crowed in triumph then, with sadistic malice, it lowered its razoring beak to rip out the life of its wriggling prey.

  As the distorted, harrowing face descended, Neil snapped his eyes shut and waited for the blow, when suddenly his attacker let out a furious screech and he stared up to see Lauren gripping the great, hideous head in her hands, battling to drag it back.

  The lethal beak snapped ferociously as the creature tried to twist itself free from the girl's desperate grasp.

  Lauren cried out in pain and panic. The feathers were like razors; they sliced deep into her hands and she knew that she could not keep hold much longer. Bucking and writhing before her, the apparition yammered and shrieked, bellowing a terrible outraged screech. But, as it shifted and tried to throw her off, the monster's deadly claw lifted from Neil's throat and the boy squirmed out from under it.

  Now Lauren was in peril. The Valkyrie tore its head away and the girl was left clutching a handful of barbed feathers.

  Incensed, the unclean spectre reeled about, stretching its wings out wide as it glared at her.

  Bubbles of frothing spittle dripped from the enormous beak as the horror pounced. Lauren fled before its ravaging fury and Hlökk thundered in pursuit.

  The girl tried to run to the door, but her enemy was swift and the way was barred by a fence of quill and feather.

  In the darkness, Neil heard Lauren's piteous screams and, though his neck was bruised and the air wheezed in his throat, he snatched up one of the dining chairs. Lifting it above his head, he charged towards the horrendous mass of towering shadow.

  Snarling, he brought it crashing down upon Hlökk's briar crested skull and the Valkyrie let out a deafening roar.

  Still cowering against the dresser, Tommy peeped out from behind his satchel only to see the terrible bird woman rear up—its bristling, thorn-tangled hair scratching upon the ceiling.

  In the gloom he could see Neil, still with the chair in his hands preparing for another strike, but with a flash of the monstrous claws the seat was plucked from the boy's hands and hurled out of the window.

  The creature's shrieks were unbearable now and Tommy felt as though his brain would burst.

  Rigid with terror, all he could do was watch as the foul, black shape knocked Lauren to the ground then lashed out at Neil.

  Across the floor a much smaller patch of darkness scampered and hopped, wailing and yowling as it ran towards its master.

  ‘The Valkyrie cannot be defeated!’ Quoth squealed. ‘When host and doll art joined, all efforts art in vain. Alack and woe! Fie and damnation!’

  With hideous, brutal force, a massive wing threw Neil across the room and he landed awkwardly upon the floor, his head striking one of the cupboards.

  Dazed, he moved his head to see the monster lumber towards him, dragging a struggling Lauren behind it.

  ‘The controlling doll!’ Quoth howled, desperately flapping his wings but unable to take to the air.’ ‘Tis thine only hope. If I wert thrice and thirty times as big...’ “

  With a contemptuous flick of its talons, Hlökk sent the irritating raven careering over the floor to sprawl tail upwards in a puddle of jam and broken glass.

  Groggily, Neil glanced up at the devilish, corpselike face that now floated above him but this time he was too stunned to challenge or contest it.

  The suffocating blackness which lay beneath its wings came crushing over his face, smothering and choking as the terrible claws closed about his side and went ripping through his shirt.

  Neil winced when the talon pierced his skin and a trickle of blood oozed out, but his fight was over now—the Valkyrie had both him and Lauren and that was an end of them.

  In another moment a dreadful scream resounded in the kitchen.

  Picking himself
out of the jam, Quoth wheeled around and saw a flurry of feathers thrashing in the darkness.

  Still shrieking its nerve-shredding screech, Hlökk fell backwards. Its grotesque head cracking the quarry tiles and in a frenzied chaos of swarming, flailing wings, its clawed feet tore everything in their raking path.

  His head still resting against the cupboard, Neil blearily opened his eyes to see the toppled black shape seized by violent, convulsing spasms which racked its entire, vile being. Uncontrollably, the monster twitched and jerked, the shadowy awning of its wings battering the air as it tried unsuccessfully to right itself.

  Neil groaned as the pain in his head started to play tricks on him but then, becoming more alert, he propped himself up and leaned forward.

  Hlökk was shrinking.

  The giant, repulsive shape of the Valkyrie was dwindling, the great span of its mighty wings was already diminished and the claws which scraped along the tiles were retreating back into the scaly flesh of the splayed toes.

  Amazed and relieved, Neil suddenly heard Lauren's elated voice cry, ‘Tommy—you did it! You saved us!’

  Standing just out of the yammering, withering creature's reach, the old tramp blinked at the sight before him and nodded dumbly. In his large hands he held the crow doll he had torn from the monster's neck and stared down at the now lifeless cloth effigy in disgust.

  Pattering over the tiles, leaving sticky, strawberry footprints in his wake, Quoth hurried over to Neil.

  ‘Art thou injured?’ he asked.

  ‘I think I'll live,’ he replied, grimacing when he ran his fingers over the bloody but shallow wound in his side.

  ‘Tommy's collection was what saved the day,’ the tramp muttered, patting his bag thankfully. ‘It's them what gave his braveness back. But he'll not touch this filth no more. Get gone you dirty nasty!’

  Unable to bear holding the crow doll any longer, he cast the cloth image across the kitchen where it spun over the floor and was lost beneath one of the splintered cupboards.