The All-Seeing Eye

by Mike Mignola

  Oh God, how long would this go on for? How long would it be before something happened? Although Cassie was dreading what her captors might be planning to do to her, there was a part of her that thought the worst thing of all would simply be to be left here to die slowly in a dark agony of cramped limbs and gnawing hunger.

  When it finally came, however, the sound of footsteps somewhere above her head offered her no relief at all. Her head jerked up as a new fear gripped her, and she started to shake once again, her guts turning to water.

  The footsteps were muffled, measured, ominous. They moved in a diagonal across the ceiling. And then, shockingly close, a door somewhere to her left clunked and creaked, making her jump.

  And suddenly Cassie could hear breathing, the rustle of fabric, the faint sounds of movement. There was someone in the room with her! She whimpered, shook with terror, tried vainly to shrink into herself, as the footsteps came slowly across the room towards her.

  —

  Getting in was easy. At the back of the house was a conservatory, its glass panels speckled with green mold. The door leading in to it was flimsy. Hellboy simply leaned on it until the lock gave way with a soft crunch.

  He went in first, and the others followed. All three had their weapons drawn. The conservatory was full of squashy, lived-in furniture. Well-thumbed magazines about gardening and home improvement were stacked on a small side table. There was a bookcase; a selection of pottery frogs on one windowsill; a cushion in the shape of a cat. It all seemed very ordinary, homely even. Liz hoped they hadn’t been sent on a wild goose chase, hoped Jess Hipkiss’s fear, which Liz would have sworn was genuine, hadn’t been an act, after all.

  The door from the conservatory into the kitchen was unlocked. Again, Hellboy went in first. The kitchen was spacious, but unremarkable. There were a couple of rinsed-out milk bottles on the draining board, an up-to-date calendar on the wall with nothing marked on it. A red zero on the display panel of the dishwasher showed that the machine had been switched on earlier and had now completed its cycle. Liz opened a cupboard and saw breakfast cereal—Special K, Weetabix, Cheerios.

  Abe glided across to Hellboy, silent as a fish through water, and pointed at a solid-looking door tucked into an alcove in the far right-hand corner of the room.

  “I see it,” Hellboy whispered. He too could be remarkably quiet when required.

  “Should we check it out?” whispered Liz, moving across to join them.

  Hellboy considered for a moment. “Let’s cover the rest of this floor first, then come back.”

  They moved into the long, tiled hallway, where a Victorian grandfather clock sonorously ticked away the seconds. There were framed batiks on the walls, original stained glass in the front door through which the insipid light from outside glowed dimly. The tasseled shades around the ceiling lights looked as though they might have been purchased in a Turkish bazaar. A long, high bookcase was stuffed full of paperbacks.

  There was nothing to suggest that the house was the center of operations for a group of murderous occultists. On the contrary, it seemed like a friendly house; it possessed an aura of Bohemian academe. Liz could imagine a middle-aged university professor and his wife living here. She could imagine such a couple bringing up a family within these walls, children who had now grown up and moved on, perhaps to university, perhaps to start families for themselves.

  Again she wondered whether they had been outwitted, out-maneuvered. She would almost have welcomed an attack by Eye acolytes, because then at least they would have known they were in the right place.

  The next room they entered was the sitting room. More big, squashy furniture—the sofa had some sort of throw with an ethnicky print draped over it. In the far corner was a tall wooden sideboard bearing a music system and a shelf of CDs, with another shelf of ornaments above it. In the alcove beside the fireplace was a Victorian washstand with a black marble top. Candles and decorative glassware were arranged on the mantelpiece. The bay windows were curtained floor to ceiling by red velvet drapes.

  Hellboy produced his torch from his belt and shone it around. Even the extra light failed to reveal anything untoward. Liz was looking at one of the paintings on the walls—a smeary abstract of reds and blues—when, as if he’d been reading her thoughts, Abe said, “There is something unusual.”

  Liz turned to him. “Oh?”

  “There are no photographs. In a house like this there are usually photographs. Children. Grandchildren. Weddings. Graduation ceremonies.” He shrugged. “It’s just an observation.”

  Hellboy nodded, his tail weaving lazily behind him like a snake. “Don’t think it’s a convictable offense, but yeah, you’re right, buddy. It is a little odd.”

  He wandered over to the sideboard, the beam of the torch shrinking to a bright circle of light. He peered at the CDs, not quite sure what he was looking for. Demonic chanting perhaps? The Lord’s Prayer read backwards? But all he saw was Dvoˇrák and Mendelssohn and Strauss. Nothing unusual; nothing sinister.

  He turned, about to suggest they try the door in the corner of the kitchen. But as his torch beam swept round, Liz gasped.

  Before Hellboy could ask her what was wrong, she had collapsed. For no discernible reason her legs simply buckled beneath her and she dropped to her knees, throwing up her hands as if to defend herself against a swarm of stinging insects. She grunted and cried out as she twisted and turned, uttering short, sharp sounds of pain and distress.

  “What the hell—” Hellboy said, and took a step towards her. Then, on the far side of the room, he saw the same thing happen to Abe.

  Elementals, he thought, as the amphibian crumpled, writhing, to the ground. He had seen this kind of thing a couple of times before. It was a psychic bombardment, usually laid as a trap, and it apparently felt as though you were being mercilessly pummeled by invisible assailants. There was no way to defend yourself and no way to fight against it. All you could do, if possible, was vacate the area, put yourself out of attack range.

  Hellboy moved forward, with the intention of scooping up his friends and carrying them from the room. But he had taken no more than a step when he felt the first blow on his shoulder. It was hard and sharp, like being whacked with a steel cudgel. Almost immediately it was followed by a second blow, to the back of his head, and then a third, in the small of his back.

  Within seconds the bludgeoning assault escalated, and suddenly what felt like vicious blows were raining on Hellboy from all angles, smashing into his ribs and shins, battering down on his head and shoulders. He grunted, instinctively sweeping his arms from side to side, even clenching his fists and punching at thin air. But there was nothing to fight against. And meanwhile the stinging blows continued, seeking out every vulnerable, exposed spot on his body, never letting up for an instant.

  Liz and Abe were crumpled heaps on the ground now, both battered into unconsciousness with savage, rapid efficiency. Hellboy was made of sterner stuff, but with no means of defense even he felt himself gradually succumbing to the tumultuous attack. He tottered back and forth like a boxer on the ropes, his hooves stamping the ground. He bellowed in fury, as if that alone would be enough to overcome the pain, or even drive it away.

  Little by little, however, he felt consciousness seeping away, his defensive resources breaking down. His thoughts began to fragment, his muscles to weaken. He howled like an animal as his legs gave way and he crashed to the ground. With nothing to fight against, he simply began to hit out at whatever was closest to hand. A footstool was smashed to firewood; a door was ripped from the sideboard in the corner; the expensive music system was destroyed with a single devastating punch.

  But none of it made any difference. The physical and mental bombardment continued as remorselessly as ever. Hellboy felt

  himself dwindling, becoming detached from his beleaguered body. He felt reality narrowing, darkness bleeding in from all sides. He fought to the bitter end, clinging tenaciously to the ever-crumbling cliff of consciousness
.

  But eventually, inevitably, the cliff gave way, and Hellboy tumbled into darkness . . .

  —

  He was chained. That was the first thing he realized when consciousness returned. Even before he opened his eyes he was flexing his aching muscles, trying to break free, but the chains were too plentiful and too heavy duty even for him.

  He had been chained before. He had been chained on many occasions, in fact. However, he couldn’t honestly say he had ever gotten used to it—on the contrary, it never failed to royally piss him off. It was undignified was what it was. In the movies it was always the giant apes and the dinosaurs which got chained. But Hellboy wasn’t an ape. He wasn’t a savage, mindless beast.

  Grouchy as all hell and spoiling for a fight, he opened his eyes. He was in some sort of cavern or chamber, a vast amphitheater, composed entirely of rock. It was hard to tell whether the chamber had been naturally formed or whether it was a man-made structure, hewn from the earth. Not that it mattered. The only important thing was whether he could get away, whether he could stop the world from turning to crap, and whether his friends were okay.

  The last of these questions was answered almost immediately. From somewhere over his left shoulder he heard Abe say, “Hellboy.”

  He twisted his head. To his surprise, Abe was standing, apparently untethered, on a circular platform of rock, etched with what appeared to be runic symbols. Liz was standing on a similar rock platform beside him—but curiously she appeared to be asleep on her feet, her arms hanging limply, her head drooping forward so that her hair formed a curtain over her face.

  “Hey, buddy,” Hellboy said, his voice echoing across the cavern, bouncing back from the rock walls, “what’s happening?”

  Abe glanced down at the platform he was standing on. “We seem to have been restrained by psychic bonds of some sort.”

  Hellboy looked down at his hands and feet, and was surprised to discover that he wasn’t chained, after all. Like Abe, he was simply standing on a flat, raised stone into which a complex pattern of symbols had been carved.

  In some ways this was even worse than being chained. This was as if someone was trying to make him look stupid. Grunting with effort, he tried to lift a leg, and found that it was impossible. He clenched his stone fist, flexed his muscles, and once again attempted to move his arm. But although he could see the bicep bulging and feel the ache of his straining sinews, he couldn’t shift the limb even a fraction of an inch.

  “Dammit!” he roared, his voice once again echoing around the cavern.

  “Don’t waste your energy,” Abe said. “We’re not going anywhere.”

  Hellboy took a deep breath and had a good look around. The cavern was dominated by a jagged spar of rock, which jutted up from the center of the stone floor. The spar was maybe ten feet wide and thirty feet high and surrounded by an intricate pattern of occult symbols. The now-familiar eye symbol had been carved into the base of the spar itself.

  Beyond the spar, set into the circular wall at regular intervals, were a number of arched openings, through which only darkness could be seen. The cavern itself was lit by myriad candles, each one as long and thick as a child’s arm. Some of the candles were set into sconces attached to the wall, whereas others were arranged at various points around the chamber, jutting from copper-colored

  candlesticks, each the height of a tall man. A thin breeze ran through the cavern, causing the flames to flicker, shadows to loom and dwindle in the hollows of the uneven wall.

  “I guess that must be the center of operations,” Hellboy said, nodding at the spar.

  “The lodestone,” said Abe.

  “Was there anything in Kate’s notes about it?”

  “Only in a roundabout way. Remember the theory of London being a kind of occult grid, with certain buildings positioned where the grid lines cross?”

  Hellboy nodded.

  “Well, Kate found various references to a lodestone—a kind of central axis point, which the energy released via the campaign of occult placement would be fed into. She didn’t find any hard evidence to support the theory that the lodestone existed, but all the references to it said more or less the same thing—one, that the main mass of the lodestone was beneath the surface of the earth, and two, that it acted as a . . . a storage battery for the energy, which would then be used to fully open the Eye after the final sacrifice.”

  “Final sacrifice,” Hellboy muttered. “I don’t like the sound of that.” He was thoughtful for a moment, then he said, “So that thing there is pretty much just a gigantic squirt gun, sucking up all the bad juju and then spraying it out.” He was silent for a moment. “So what do you reckon would happen if we broke the squirt gun?”

  Abe shrugged as best he could. “My guess is the energy would still erupt outwards and cause just as much devastation. The only difference would be that the All-Seeing Eye wouldn’t be able to use it and direct it. It would be out of their control.”

  “But a mad dog is still a mad dog, whether it’s on a leash or not,” said Hellboy.

  Abe nodded.

  “In that case I guess we have to cut off the supply at its source?” Hellboy said.

  “I guess,” said Abe.

  “And how do you reckon we do that?”

  “I don’t have a clue,” Abe admitted.

  There was a groan from Liz. Slowly she raised her head, her hair falling back from her face. She rotated her jaw, as if to check it was still in place, and murmured, “Must have been a hell of a party.” Then she opened her eyes and looked blearily around. “Oh shit.”

  They quickly filled her in on what little they knew, and on what they had guessed from their surroundings.

  As if a door had opened somewhere, the candle flames suddenly flapped like tiny luminous flags, causing shadows to balloon and shrink in the erratic light. Instinctively all three looked towards the arched openings beyond the lodestone. Sure enough, after a few moments, people began to file silently into the cavern, and to take up what appeared to be appointed positions around the stone itself. Apart from one very obvious characteristic, there appeared to be no common link between them. They were of different races, of both sexes, and looking around, Hellboy calculated the age range to be from around twenty to maybe eighty. Perhaps most incongruous was the fact that the people were dressed in their everyday clothes—some were in suits and ties, while others wore jeans or skirts, T-shirts or dresses, sandals, shoes, or sneakers.

  The only characteristic which did link the people was that, irrespective of sex, age, or ethnicity, they had each shaved their head, and by doing so had revealed that they all possessed a tattoo on their crown, which depicted the now-familiar symbol of the All-Seeing Eye.

  Hellboy watched the people, maybe forty or fifty of them, file into the chamber and gather around the lodestone. Not a single one spoke; not a single one caught his eye, or even so much as glanced in his direction.

  He cleared his throat, and said loudly, “So the floor show’s about to start? About time. I hope there’s a comedian. I always like a good comedian.”

  He was studiously ignored. He breathed a deep, theatrical sigh.

  “I gotta tell you, guys,” he continued, “that bald head/tattoo combination is not a good look. There are so many of you that just don’t carry it off. Especially you, madam, in the blue dress.”

  Hellboy didn’t expect to achieve much with his banter. He was simply testing the ground, searching for a chink, a possible opening. But if he couldn’t find one, he’d simply settle for making a few of these misguided idiots feel stupid or uncomfortable—or even annoyed at the fact that he was undermining their vile and pompous ceremony.

  He had to admit, though, that they were a well-trained bunch. No one batted an eyelid. He had expected the odd glare, or at least a frown or two, but they behaved as if he, Abe, and Liz were not even there. He gave another experimental tug on his invisible bonds, but they were immovable. He racked his brains, trying to work out how he could put
a stop to what was about to happen. There must be something he could do.

  The acolytes had taken their places around the lodestone now, and were peering up at it, silent, motionless, expectant.

  “What’re you expecting it to do, tell you the meaning of life?” he growled. “ ’Cause if you are, then I gotta tell ya, that so ain’t gonna happen. I’ve met hundreds of deluded freaks in my time. Thousands, even. And you know what? You people have all got one thing in common. You go away disappointed in the end.”

  He looked up, sensing further movement around one of the arches—a shifting in the darkness, the impression of someone or something approaching. Next moment he hissed in a breath, his skin tightening with anxiety. Two guys, each sporting the characteristic shaven head and tattoo, had appeared, and between them they were carrying a wooden chair, to which was tied the helpless body of Cassie.

  Cassie was gagged, blindfolded, and clearly terrified. Her head was jerking from side to side, as if she anticipated an attack at any moment. Tears had leaked from beneath her blindfold and formed clean tracks down her grimy cheeks. Her muffled whimpers echoed around the cavern walls.

  Although he couldn’t rescue her, Hellboy knew that at least he could reassure her. “Cassie,” he called, “it’s me, Hellboy. I’ve got Abe and Liz with me, so you’re not on your own. Thing is, we’re prisoners too, so there’s not a whole lot we can do just now. But I promise you, first chance I get I’m gonna get you out of here. Understand?”

  As soon as Hellboy had started talking, Cassie had become very still. Now she nodded eagerly, and Hellboy was pleased to see the tension go out of her body a little. He only hoped he could follow up on his promise. It was fine to tell someone you were going to help them, but it was another to actually do it.