During the same twenty-year period Johnson’s wealth had grown and he was now a very important man. He lorded it over Glasgow society, throwing wild parties that were famed for their debauchery. The press loved him, for his larger-than-life persona and his sense of style. They called him The Glasgow Capone.
Andrew followed his enemy’s progress with great avidity, and was even more interested when an ancient Arab began to be mentioned in some of the reports.
He knew that the time was getting near—he had been studying the stars in the ancient eastern manner, and they all told him the same thing... a great ceremony would soon take place.
He began to pay even closer attention to Johnson’s activities, and when a gathering was announced at Johnson’s highland home, Andrew made sure he was an uninvited guest.
Andrew traveled to a remote part of the Highlands, to a dark, brooding house perched on a rocky outcrop above a raging sea. It was a stormy, windy night, wind lashing through the winter skeletons of the trees and black clouds scudding across the face of the full moon.
The coven had already gathered in the house, and Andrew was able to slip into the grounds without notice. He could feel the sleeping power in the place, the sense of doom hanging in the air, and he knew that he would have to be quick—the time was very near.
He slipped into the house through a patio window at the back. It had been locked, but locked doors were little problem for Andrew—his physical skills had grown apace with his magic, and he was an adept burglar.
The faint sound of chanting drifted up from beneath him. He knew that they would be in some kind of cavern beneath the house; he had felt the ancient power there in the first glimpse he had of the house. His movements took on a new urgency—he didn’t have much time. There was no guard in the hallway—Johnson was too sure of his own strength, too cocky. Andrew intended to make him see the error of his ways. He was smiling as he made his way down into the depths of the earth, the chanting ringing louder in his ears as he descended.
The coven was in a circle, with the amulet on an altar in the center. There was no sign of the old Arab, but Andrew knew that he would be in the area somewhere—he was needed for the ritual. He suspected that Johnson was about to do a bit of showing off for his acolytes— summoning the amulet’s beast into existence for their pleasure. Andrew smiled to himself. The ritual hadn’t gone too far—he could still stop it.
Andrew strode into the center of the coven and, before anyone could move to stop him, lifted the amulet in his left hand.
The amulet seemed to squirm in his grasp, surprising him so much that he nearly dropped it. A sudden wind blew up, swirling and shrieking through the narrow confines of the room, strong enough to cause some of the coven to fall to the ground, weeping and wailing.
Johnson strode out of the crowd, making for the amulet, but Andrew held it away from the big man. Under his breath he was chanting a spell, an age-old protection, but he was suddenly frightened, aware that he might be out of his depth.
The wind dropped as suddenly as it came, and silence fell on the room, bringing with it the foul stink of the amulet’s creature. Andrew knew it was time to leave, but his legs were refusing to obey orders, and he could only watch, stunned, as the swirling rainbow lights signaled the arrival of the old Arab—or whatever it was he had become.
Johnson began to laugh as the tentacles of the creature began to come through. Andrew hated the man, a deep lasting hate, and it was that hate which fuelled his next move.
He called up a spell from the grimoire of the mad Arab, one that had carried severe warnings against its use, but one that he knew he needed—it promised control of the creature.
Andrew felt the strength leave his legs, felt it flowing through him, and into the amulet. It burned in his hand, a deep emerald green, its glow throwing the room into dancing shadows, causing the coven to cower away from him in fear.
All except Johnson. He still had his eyes on the creature that had now fully materialized. He pointed a finger at Andrew and shouted one harsh, monosyllabic word.
Andrew enjoyed the confusion on the big man’s face as the creature refused to do his bidding, and took even more pleasure in the fear in his eyes as the creature moved towards him, tentacles gaping greedily.
Andrew just had enough strength left to crawl to the cavern’s entrance. He had one last look back and saw the creature leaning over Johnson, the coven watching on, too terrified to move. The last thing he heard as he made his way up the stairs was Johnson’s dying screams. He was smiling as he made his way upwards, into the light.
At the top of the stairs he paused, holding the amulet aloft. He called once more on its power, realizing that he was draining something vital to his well-being, but wanting to finish it.
He shouted, his cry echoing around him like ghosts in the wind, and walls began to tremble. There was only one scream, quickly cut short, as the catacomb below collapsed in on itself in one long rumble of stone clashing against stone.
Smiling now, Andrew staggered out of the house into the clean, fresh sea air. And in his left hand, the green glow from the amulet pulsed strongly in the darkness.
I came fully awake with a start once more. I didn’t spill any whisky though—some things are done on instinct. Had I been dreaming? Or was Dunlop’s story still unfolding? In my befuddled state I wasn’t sure, but I didn’t have time to think about it as Dunlop continued.
Although he won the battle, Andrew was never to be a strong man again. He spent the reminder of his life writing down as much as he was able, leaving copious notes for the protection of his family against the amulet, and it’s power. He died two years later, and although he was only thirty-six years old, his hair and beard were pure white and his eyes were the eyes of an old man.
Dunlop took another sip from the glass by his side before continuing.
“He was my grandfather. I never met him, but I have read all his notes, and followed all his advice. The care of the amulet fell on me, and I’ve done my best “ he said.
I nodded noncommittally—I wanted to start playing things a bit closer to the vest until I really understood what was going on. The trouble was, I didn’t think I’d ever understand this case—it was certainly different from my usual line of work, and I’d never complain about being bored again.
Dunlop was still talking.
“Since Andrew Dunlop died, my family has kept the amulet, binding its power with strong spells. Over the years we’ve tried to discover how to harness it’s power properly.”
“Don’t tell me...John Harris “ I said.
“My, you have been thorough “ he said. “Yes. Poor John almost got us there. But his mind snapped, just as I was about to take control, and it slipped away from us again.”
“Okay “ I said. “I get that bit. But where does the gangster crap come into it?”
Dunlop smiled.
“I’m afraid I’ve got myself a bit of a reputation. But you see, my grandfather’s notes held a great deal of esoteric information, and I have studied magic all my life. I know places to send people who cross me—places where they’ll never be found, places you wouldn’t want to go to look for them.”
“And the art thefts?” I said.
He waved his hand around the room.
“I have a lifestyle to maintain “ he said. His smile reminded me of D.I. Hardy—they both had the same, cold certainty that they were right.
Dunlop continued. “There have been several attempts to steal the amulet by magical means, all of which we have been able to repel, but they mostly took place more than forty years ago, and my father had the task of dealing with most of them. I’m afraid I have been concerning myself with more worldly matters—not the least of which was marrying my wife.”
It had been a relatively long speech for a sick man and he had to stop again as another bout of coughing hit him hard. A dark bubble of blood burst in his mouth before he wiped it away with a handkerchief.
“I’m afraid I
have grown weak “ he finally continued. “We didn’t anticipate a human agency, especially after all this time—the burglary took us completely by surprise. I’m sorry that you got so deeply involved. Until two nights ago we thought it was just a common thief.”
He lapsed into another fit of coughing. His wife went over and stood at the edge of the circle, a worried look on her face.
She didn’t enter the circle though, even when the coughing got worse and he was forced to double up in agony on the floor, curled into a fetal ball.
She took up the story when it was obvious he wasn’t going to be able to continue.
“Two nights ago, Arthur came under psychic attack from creatures from the Outer Regions.”
She said it as if I was expected to know what she meant. I decided not to bother with questions at the moment—things were weird enough as it was. But there was one thing bothering me.
“So what was all that stuff about him being out of the country? Why didn’t you fill me in from the start?”
She smiled for the first time that night.
“You were only told what was necessary—we didn’t want to frighten you off the case.”
I had to admit she was right. If there had been any hint of mumbo-jumbo I would have turned her down. She had used her beauty and wiles to make me help them. I smiled back at her as she continued, just to let her know I understood.
“He was only just able to fight them off, but it took most of his strength. Since then, there have been periodic attempts to get to him. He thinks he is being punished for keeping the amulet in hiding, and also being distracted from trying to find it again. But that’s not the worst thing.”
I wondered what could be worse, but again said nothing, contenting myself with sipping the whisky.
“The stars are right again, and we feel that an attempt will be made to call up the Old Ones. We need to know how you managed to find the amulet. You might know something important, and we must stop them.”
It looked like it was my turn. I gave them the story, missing nothing out. I noticed a sharp intake of breath when I mentioned Durban, and another when I described the old Arab.
By the time I finished dawn was beginning to spread in the sky outside the windows and I felt tired enough to sleep for a week—no, make that two.
Dunlop spoke first, addressing his wife.
“We must stop them. It will be tonight, at the old place.”
She nodded, and for the first time he stood, unsteady at first, then more confident as he stepped out of the circle.
“I think they will have more things to worry about than attacking me.”
He turned to me.
“Do you want a chance to save your friend?” he said, and I replied instantly.
“If there’s a chance. I got him into this, so I suppose I’d better get him out. But I’ve got a few questions.”
He waved me aside.
“They will have to wait, I’m afraid. We must go to Arkham House...Johnson’s old retreat. I’m sure that’s where they will do it. We’ll talk on the way.”
He stood over me and took the whisky glass out of my hand.
“In the meantime, try to get some sleep—you look done in. It will be a few hours before we can leave. I have preparations of my own to make.”
My mind was full of questions, but my body was dog-tired and the wound in my arm was throbbing angrily. Dunlop showed me up a huge flight of stairs and into a bedroom bigger than my whole flat. I didn’t bother undressing; I fell flat on my face onto the soft sheets and was immediately asleep.
I dreamed, but not about food this time.
I was in blackness—deep, thick black. There was no up or down, only a never-ending sea of velvet softness.
Somewhere, Doug screamed. I made for the sound, aware that I could walk, but I didn’t seem to be treading on anything solid.
I walked and walked and the darkness kept on going, and the screaming didn’t seem to be any closer. Then, hours or days or months later, I caught my first glimmer of light and made for it.
Doug stood there, transfixed in a green flickering light that had no visible source. His eyes looked like black pits into hell as he turned to me.
“Help me!” he screamed, and reached out an arm. I moved forward to take his hand, and he contorted as a multitude of tentacles burst out of his body in a seething explosion of blood and fat and offal.
There were hundreds of them; swarming and chittering like a nest of demented snakes, and all with one purpose—to get to me. I could see the red lining of their mouths, could see the silvery saliva.
The first one came closer and I turned to run, but I seemed to be moving through black treacle, and the things kept gaining on me.
I managed one last look back at Doug’s body to see the tentacles still pumping in a flood out of his deflating body.
The first of the tentacles caught me by the heel and began to chew.
I woke screaming.
Six
At first I felt disoriented, not knowing where I was.
The door opened, and Mrs. Dunlop was there.
“Are you okay?” she asked. “I thought I heard a shout.”
My clothes were soaked in sweat, and at some point my arm wound had bled through the bandages, the sweatshirt and on to the sheet.
She, on the other hand, looked as perfect as ever. She wore a white cotton shirt and tight blue denims that looked like they’d been sprayed on.
I checked the time on the bedside clock—9:15—I’d slept for little over two hours, and it felt like it had been two minutes.
“Don’t you ever sleep?” I asked her.
“Not recently “ she said. “What with watching over Arthur and worrying about you, I’ve had enough on my mind.”
“Worried about me?” I said.
She laughed. I could watch her doing that all day.
“Don’t flatter yourself. We needed to find the amulet, and you were the best man for the job.”
“Not good enough “ I said bitterly.
I tried to push myself upright, and almost screamed as pain shot through my wounded arm.
She helped me up and out of the bed. I noticed her smell, and the strength of her body. I probably leaned on her a bit more than I should have, but infirmity does have some compensations.
“Thank you...what’s your name, anyway?” I said. “I can’t keep calling you Mrs. Dunlop—it makes you sound like one of my aunties.”
“Auntie Fiona “ she said. “I like the sound of that.”
She led me through to a shower-room.
“Take that sweatshirt off “ she said. “I’ll go and get the first aid kit and have a look at the wound.”
She left me in front of the mirror, and I had to hold onto the washbasin to stop the room swaying wildly from side to side. I let it steady down for a minute before peeling the shirt off and dropping it to the floor. I had a bad moment’s panic when it seemed like my whole upper arm was just one huge, red wound. I took a sponge to it, carefully, and was relieved when the blood washed away to reveal skin underneath.
Doug’s bandage was a sodden, soggy mess, and I peeled it off, carefully.
“That doesn’t look too bad “ Fiona said as she returned. I was acutely aware that my upper torso was naked.
“I bet you say that to all the boys “ I said.
“My, somebody is feeling better already.”
“Nothing a coffee, some toast, and a cigarette wouldn’t cure “ I said, as she efficiently rebandaged my arm. She made me flex the muscle to make sure it wasn’t too tight, and pronounced me fit for action.
“Coffee’s percolating in the kitchen “ she said. “You’ll find some fresh bread and cheese there as well. The coffee’s strong. Just follow your nose. I’ll go check if one of Arthur’s shirts will fit you.”
“Make it white, if you can?” I asked. “And see if he’s got a black tie I can borrow. I’ve got a funeral to attend.” She raised her eyebrows, but didn’t s
ay anything.
I had another thought just as she was leaving.
“You don’t have a picture of yourself in something skimpy, do you?”
This time her eyebrows almost left her face entirely.
“I don’t think Arthur would like that “ she said.
“I’m sorry to disappoint you “ I said. “But it’s not for me—it’s a last favor for an old friend. An old, dead friend.”
She must have seen something in my eyes.
“As long as it’s for a good cause “ she said. “I’ll see what I can find.”
She left me to find my own way to the kitchen.
The coffee was thick and dark. I found a loaf of bread, and the cheese. I think I ate half of both before my stomach and brain both decided enough was enough. The first mouthful of coffee caused my heart to race, and when I lit my first cigarette of the day I felt the caffeine and the nicotine fighting for control of my head.
Fiona came back and handed me a shirt, and a picture. In it she was sitting in a large armchair, one leg crossed over the other. She was much younger, her hair shorter and cut in a pageboy bob. She was also completely naked.
“Eh...thank you “ I said, suddenly embarrassed. “Old Jimmy will appreciate it.”
“Just don’t let anybody else see it “ she said, smiling. “If you do, I’ll have to kill you.”
She may have been smiling, but her eyes flashed. I didn’t think I would be crossing her on this matter.
She handed me Doug’s “grimoire”.
“Your friend will want this back “ she said. “And it’ll give you somewhere to hide the picture.”
I wondered if taking the picture was such a good idea. It only needed the wrong person to find it for the potential of blackmail to be huge. I almost handed it back, but the last thing that Jimmy had said to me was ‘Remember the photo’. I’d ignored Liz’s last plea—I couldn’t ignore Jimmy’s.
The Midnight Eye Files Collection Page 15