by Cave, Hugh
It was Jeremy who leaped for the fallen gun, and Murgunstrumm who fell upon it with the agility of a snake. The man in evening clothes, advancing very slowly, pointed his own weapon squarely at Jeremy's threatening face and said distinctly:
"Back, or you will taste death."
Then Murgunstrumm was up, to his knees, to his feet, clutching the retrieved gun in quivering fingers. Like an ape he stood there, peering first into the stark white faces of Paul's companions, then into the drilling eyes of his master. And Paul, at the same instant, staggered erect and stood swaying, clutching at his shoulder where blood was beginning to seep through the coat.
At sight of the blood, the creature's eyes widened hungrily. He glided forward, lips wide. Then he stopped, as if realizing what he had forgotten. To Murgunstrumm he said harshly:
"Remove that—that abomination! Tear down the cross and rip it to shreds!"
And Murgunstrumm did so. Protected by the menacing revolver in Costillan's hand, and the gun in his own fist, he tore the white cross from Paul's chest and ripped it apart. To Kermeff and Jeremy he did the same. And when he had finished, when the rags lay limp at his feet, the creature in black and white said, smiling:
"Upstairs it will be more pleasant. Come, my friends. This is Murgunstrumm's abattoir, unfit for the business of fastidious men. Come."
Outside, two more of the macabre demons were waiting. They came close as the three victims filed out of the chamber. One of them was the man who had fled from the upper room where lay that other half-naked body with twin punctures in its crushed throat. The other was the companion of the smiling Costillan—the second of the two who had been left in the central room under Allenby's guard.
In grim silence the three horribles led their victims out of the pits, with Murgunstrumm limping triumphantly behind.
Cold dread clawed at Paul's soul during that short journey out of one world of horror into another; dread combined with a hopelessness that left him weak, shuddering. Somehow, now, the resistance had been drawn out of him. Further agony of mind and spirit could drag no more response from flesh and muscle.
He had been so close to success! He had learned every secret of this grim house of hell, and had shown Kermeff the same.
But the truth would avail nothing now. Paul, climbing the stairs slowly, mutely, glanced at Kermeff and moaned inwardly. Kermeff was convinced. Kermeff would have freed Ruth, signed a statement that the girl, after escaping from this house of evil seven months ago, had been not mad but horrified and delirious. But now Kermeff himself would never leave; there would be no statement. Ruth would remain indefinitely in the asylum.
A sound rose above the scrape of footsteps—a sudden hammering on some distant door, and the muffled vibration of a man's voice demanding entrance. The creatures beside Paul glanced at each other quickly. One said, in a low voice:
"It is Maronaine, returning from the city."
"With good fortune, probably. Trust Maronaine."
"Murgunstrumm, go and open the door to him. Wait. One of these fools has the key."
"This one has it," the cripple growled, prodding Jeremy.
"Then take it."
Jeremy stood stiff as the innkeeper's hands groped in his pockets. For an instant it seemed that he would clutch that thick neck in his grip and twist it, despite the danger that threatened. But he held himself rigid. Murgunstrumm, key in hand, stepped back and turned quickly into the dark, swinging the lantern as he limped away.
The revolver pressed again into Paul's back. His captor said quietly, in a voice soft with subtlety:
"And we go in the same direction, my friend, to pay a visit to your friend Allenby."
Allenby! What had happened to him? How had the vampires escaped from the prison chamber where he had been left to guard them? Pacing through the gloom, Paul found the problem almost a relief from the dread of what was coming. In some way the monsters had overcome Allenby. Somehow they had forced him to open one of the doors, or the windows
"Did you hear that, my friend?"
Paul stopped and peered into the colorless features of his persecutor. Kermeff and Jeremy were standing quite still.
"Hear what?"
"Listen."
It came again, the sound that had at first been so soft and muffled that Paul had not heard it. A girl's voice, pleading, uttering broken words. And as he heard it, a slow, terrible fear crept into Paul's face. The muscles of his body tightened to the breaking point. That voice, it was—
The gun touched him. Mechanically he moved forward again. Darkness hung all about him. Once, turning covertly, he saw that the gloom was so opaque that the moving shapes behind him were invisible. Only the sound of men breathing, and the scrape of feet; only the sight of three pairs of greenish eyes, like glowing balls of phosphorus. There was nothing else.
But resistance was madness. The demons behind him were ghouls born of darkness, vampires of the night, with the eyes of cats.
And so, presently, with deepening dread, he stumbled through the last black room and arrived at the threshold of the central chamber. And there, as his eyes became accustomed again to the glare of the lantern which stood on the table, he saw Allenby lying lifeless on the floor, just beyond the sill. The door closed behind him and he was forced forward; and suddenly the room seemed choked with moving forms. Kermeff and Jeremy were close beside him. The three macabre demons hovered near. Allenby lay there, silent and prone.
Murgunstrumm was standing, bat-like, against the opposite barrier which led to the night outside, glaring, peering invidiously at two people who were visible at a nearby table. These were the guests whom the innkeeper had just admitted. Man and woman. The man, like all the others, was standing now beside the table with arms folded on his chest, lips curled in a hungry smile. The girl stared in mute horror straight into Paul's frozen face.
The girl was Ruth LeGeurn.
11. Compelling Eyes
"You see, your friend possessed a weakling's mind."
The man with the gun kicked Allenby's dead body dispassionately, grinning.
"He had no courage. He was bound with fear and unable to combat the force of two pairs of eyes upon him. He became—hypnotized, shall we say? And obedient, very obedient. Soon you will understand how it was done."
Paul hardly heard the words. He still stared at the girl, and she at him. For seven mad months he had longed for that face, moaned for it at night, screamed for it. Now his prayers were answered, and he would have given his very soul, his life, to have them recalled. Yet she was lovely, even in such surroundings, lovely despite the ghastly whiteness of her skin and the awful fear in her wide eyes.
And her companion, gloating over her, was telling triumphantly how he had obtained her.
"There were three of them," he leered, "in a machine, moving slowly along the road just below here. I met them and I was hungry, for nothing had come to me this night. There in the road I became human for their benefit, and held up my hand as befitting one who wishes to ask directions. They stopped. And then—then it was over very quickly, eh, my lovely bride? The boy, he lies beside the road even now. When he awakes, he will wonder and be very sad. Oh, so sad! The older man hangs over the door of the car, dead or alive I know not. And here—here is what I have brought home with me!"
"And look at her, Maronaine!"
"Look at her? Have I not looked?"
"Fool!" It was another of the vampires who spoke. "Look closely, and then examine this one!"
Eyes, frowning, penetrating eyes which seemed bottomless, examined Paul's features intently and turned to inspect the girl.
"What mean you, Francisco?"
"These are the two who came here before, so long ago, and escaped. Look at them, together!"
"Aii! " The exclamation was vibrant with understanding.
"These are the two, Maronaine."
A white hand gripped Paul's shoulder savagely. The face that came close to his was no longer leering with patient anticipation of sa
tisfaction to come, but choked with hate and bestial fury.
"You will learn what it means to escape this house. You have come back to find out, eh? You and she, both. No others have ever departed from here, or ever will."
"They should be shown together, Francisco. No?"
"Together? Ali, because they are lovers and should be alone, eh?" The laugh was satanic.
"Up there"—an angry arm flung toward the ceiling—"where it is very quiet. You, Maronaine, and you, Costillan, it is your privilege. Francisco and I will amuse ourselves here with these other guests of ours."
A grunt of agreement muttered from Maronaine's lips. His fingers clasped the girl's arm, lifting her from the chair where she cringed in terror. Ugly hands dragged her forward.
"Paul—Paul! Oh, help!"
But Paul himself was helpless, caught in a savage grip from which there was no escape. His captor swung him toward the door. Struggling vainly, he was hauled over the threshold into the darkness beyond, and the girl was dragged after him.
The door rasped shut. The last Paul saw, as it closed, was a blurred vision of Jeremy and Kermeff flattened desperately against the wall, staring at the two remaining vampires; and Murgunstrumm, crouching against the opposite barrier, cutting off any possibility of retreat.
Then a voice growled curtly:
"Go back to your feast, Murgunstrumm. We have no use for you here. Go!" And as the two victims were prodded up the twisting stairs to the upper reaches of the inn, the door below them opened and closed again. And Murgunstrumm scurried along the lower corridor, mumbling to himself, clawing his way fretfully toward the stairway that led down into the buried pits.
It was a cruel room into which they were thrust. Situated on the upper landing, directly across the hail from where that pitiful feminine figure lay on the musty bed, it was no larger than a dungeon cell, and illuminated only by a stump of candle which lay in a pool of its own gray wax on the window sill.
Here, forced into separate chairs by their captors, Paul and Ruth stared at each other—Ruth sobbing, with horror-filled eyes wide open; Paul sitting with unnatural stiffness, waiting.
Powerful hands groped over Paul's shoulders and held him motionless, as if knowing that he would soon be straining in torment. At the same time, the door clicked shut. The candlelight wavered and became smooth again. The second vampire advanced slowly toward Ruth.
A scream started from the girl's lips as she saw that face. The eyes were green again. The features were voluptuous, bloated beyond belief.
"We will show them what it means to escape this house. Her blood will be warm, Costillan. Warm and sweet. I will share it with you."
The girl struggled up, staring horribly, throwing out her hands to ward off the arms she expected to crush her. But those arms did not move. It was the eyes that changed, even as she cringed back half erect against the wall. The eyes followed her, boring, drilling, eating into her soul. She stood quite still. Then, moaning softly, she took a step forward, and another, faltering, and slumped again into the chair.
The creature bent over her triumphantly. Fingers caressed her hair, her cheeks, her mouth—the fingers of a slave buyer, appraising a prospective purchase. Very slowly, gently, they thrust the girl's limp head back, exposing the white, tender, lovely throat. And then the creature's lips came lower. His eyes were points of vivid fire. His mouth parted, his tongue curled over a protruding lower lip. Teeth gleamed.
Paul's voice pierced the room with a roar of animal fury. Violently he wrenched himself forward, only to be dragged back again by the amazingly powerful hands on his shoulders. But the demon beside Ruth straightened quickly, angrily, and glared.
"Can you not keep that fool still? Am I to be disturbed with his discordant voice while—"
"Listen, Maronaine."
The room was deathly still. Suddenly the man called Costillan strode to the door and whipped it open. Standing there, he was motionless, alert. And there was no sound anywhere, no sound audible to human ears.
But those ears were not human. Costillan said curtly:
"Someone is outside the house, prowling. Come!"
"But these two here . . ."
"The door, Maronaine, locks on the outside. They will be here when we return, and all the sweeter for having thought of us."
The chamber was suddenly empty of those macabre forms, and the door closed. A key turned in the slot outside. And then Paul was out of his chair with a bound. Out of it, and clawing frantically at the barrier.
A mocking laugh from the end of the corridor was the only answer.
No amount of straining would break that lock. An eternity passed while Paul struggled there. Time and again he flung himself against the panels. But one shoulder was already a limp, bleeding thing from that bullet wound, and the other could not work alone. And presently came the voice of Ruth LeGeurn behind him, very faint and far away.
"They said. . . someone outside, Paul. If it is Martin and Von Heller.. . "Who?"
"I escaped from Morrisdale last night, Paul. Martin told me how to do it. He met me outside the walls. We drove straight to the city, to find you. You were gone."
Paul was leaning against the door, gasping. Wildly he stared about the room, seeking something to use as a bludgeon.
"Martin went to the hospital, to plead with Kermeff and Allenby for both of us, Paul. Your letters were there. He knew the handwriting. We traced you to Rehobeth tonight and—and we were on our way here when that horrible man in the road—"
"But Von Heller!" Paul raved. "Where does he come into it?"
"He was at the Rehobeth Hotel. He—he read the account of your escape and said he knew you would return there."
"He'll be no help now," Paul said bitterly, fighting again at the door. "I can't open this."
Ruth was suddenly beside him, tugging at him.
"If we can find some kind of protection from them, Paul, even for a little while, to hold them off until Martin and Von Helier find a way to help us! Von Heller will know a way!"
Protection! Paul stared about him with smoldering eyes. What protection could there be? The vampires had torn away his cross. There was nothing left.
Suddenly he swept past Ruth and fell on his knees beside the bed. The bed had blankets, sheets, covers! White sheets! Feverishly he tore at them, ripping them to shreds. When he turned again his eyes were aglow with fanatical light. He thrust a gleaming thing into Ruth's hands—a crudely fashioned cross, formed of two strips knotted in the center.
"Back to your chair!" he cried. "Quickly!"
Footsteps were audible in the corridor, outside the door. And muffled voices: "You were hearing sounds which did not exist, Costillan."
"I tell you I heard—"
"Hold the cross before you," Paul ordered tersely, dragging his own chair close beside Ruth's. "Sit very still. For your life don't drop it from fear of anything you may see. Have courage, beloved."
The door was opening. Whether it was Costillan or Maronaine who entered first it was impossible to say. Those ghastly colorless faces, undead and abhorrent, contained no differentiating points strong enough to be so suddenly discernible in flickering candlelight. But whichever it was, the creature advanced quickly, hungrily, straight toward Ruth. And, close enough to see the white bars which she thrust out abruptly, he recoiled with sibilant hiss, to lurch into his companion behind him.
"The cross! They have found the cross! Aii!"
Nightmare came then. The door was shut. The candle glow revealed two crouching creeping figures; two gaunt, haggard, vicious faces; two pairs of glittering eyes. Like savage beasts fascinated by a feared and hated object, yet afraid to make contact, the vampires advanced with rigid arms outthrust, fingers curled.
"Back!" Paul cried. "Back!"
He was on his feet with the cross clutched before him. Ruth, trembling against him, did as he did. The two horribles retreated abruptly, snarling.
And then the transformation came. The twin bodies lost their def
inite outline and became blurred. Bluish vapor emanated from them, misty and swirling, becoming thicker and thicker with the passing seconds. And presently nothing remained but lurking shapes of phosphorescence, punctured by four glaring unblinking eyes of awful green.
Eyes!
Paul realized with a shudder what they were striving to do. He fought against them.
"Don't look at them," he muttered. "Don't!"
But he had to look at them. Despite the horror in his heart, his own gaze returned to those advancing bottomless pits of vivid green as if they possessed the power of lodestone. He found himself peering into them, and knew that Ruth too was staring.
Ages went by, then, while he fought against the subtle numbness that crept into his brain. He knew then what Allenby had gone through before merciful death. Another will was fighting his, crushing and smothering him. Other thoughts than his own were finding a way into his mind, no matter how he struggled to shut them out. And a voice—his own voice, coming from his own lips—was saying heavily, dully:
"Nothing will harm us. These are our friends. There is no need to hold the cross any longer. Throw down the cross. . ."
Somehow, in desperation, he realized what he was doing, what he was saying. He lurched to his feet, shouting hoarsely:
"No, no, don't let them do it! Ruth, they are fiends, vampires! They are the undead, living on blood!"
His careening body struck the window ledge, crushing the last remnant of candle that clung there. The room was all at once in darkness, and the two mad shapes of bluish light were a thousand times more real and horrible and close. Completely unnerved, Paul flung out his hand and clawed at the window shade. It rattled up with the report of an explosion. His fingers clutched at the glass. He saw that the darkness outside had become a sodden gray murk.
Then he laughed madly, harshly, because he knew that escape was impossible. Death was the only way out of this chamber of torment. The window was high above the ground, overlooking the stone flagging of the walk. And the eyes were coming nearer. And Ruth was screeching luridly as two shapeless hands hovered over her throat.