indiv 2: I have no notion.
indiv 1: Hold on. What’s your interest in all this?
indiv 2: I already told you. I want what is owed to me. I want my family’s gold.
indiv 1: If you’ve been reading along, Vasco Cuellar never touched the gold, and when Rafael Duran took his share, he left the rest of it in the pyramid.
indiv 2: It’s gone. Historians and archaeologists have been searching for centuries. But that Sopay grows angrier with each disappointing decade. That’s why Quiroga assembled the best researchers and built a new team. That’s why you were chosen.
indiv 1: Quiroga? Who is Quiroga?
indiv 2: Who do you think you’re running from?
indiv 1: I’d say the police.
indiv 2: Perhaps. And who do you think owns the police? Whose harem did you disturb during your daring escape? Who is it you think everyone is afraid of?”
indiv 1: I’m not sure.
indiv 2: Gaspar Quiroga, the Grand Inquisitor; those are his wives. He chose you to find the hoard.
indiv 1: So, an undead Grand Inquisitor has corrupted law enforcement in the process of sponsoring archaeological excavations to find stolen Inca gold. Is that what you’re telling me?
indiv 2: Indeed. He needs the best people in the world working on it. He needs you. Quiroga became something different when he gave himself to that Sopay. And Sopay wants his gold back. It belongs to him. It sustains him.
indiv 1: No, then why did they come for me at the Archive? Why did they lock me up in the Alcazar if I was supposedly working for them?
indiv 2: Because you found something unexpected - not the hoard, but a dangerous book. A book long thought to be legend. But if it exists, Malleus Momias is the only thing left that can harm him.
indiv 1: That day when your granddaughter saw me, that whole thing about me being damned – that was all some gypsy game, right? You were just trying to get me to work with you.
indiv 1: So I’m not damned?
indiv 2: Possibly not, but Sopays are powerful corruptive forces. You’re already too close.
indiv 1: It still doesn’t make sense. Quiroga, or the Sopay, whatever – it wasn’t him who brought me onto the project. It was Michelle.
voice activation mode: disabled
Negromonte looked down at the table. I heard the first notes of the flamenco music outside as the dancers began practicing their moves.
Michelle, can we talk?
Imp
age:
ageless and timeless
occupation:
guardian of Sopay’s treasure, transformer of souls
education:
n/a
personal:
n/a not human
hometown:
ancient pre-Inca pan-Andean pyramids
hobbies:
n/a
food/bev:
n/a
life goal:
n/a (not alive)
fav movie:
n/a
obscurity:
always carries a sword
June 28, 2011
Segovia, Peru
Leon Samples
Is anybody reading this? If so, can you please send the police, a team of doctors, an exorcist, and an assload of rum? I don’t know how else we’re going to get through this.
We didn’t have power yesterday, so I wasn’t able to get back online until this morning. That’s when I saw Kim’s post. If I knew she was going to go inside the pyramid, I’d have gone after her immediately. But when she didn’t show up for dinner last night, we all figured she went into town. And I wish she had.
I don’t understand all of what’s going on here, but I’m well past the point of doubting the undead mummy thing. So when I read Kim’s post, I knew she was in mortal danger. The color drained from Bolivar’s face when I told him, and he has precious little color to begin with. He strapped on his guns, and we ran.
It was early. The sun was just coming up, but something was off. The sky was puffy with low clouds, and arcs of far-away lightning snapped all over creation.
This gloppy pyramid is spooky on a good day, and this wasn’t a good day. The bricks seemed to be pulsating just faintly, like light architectural breathing. And there was something else wrong – there was a smell coming from inside. It smelled like candy. It smelled like those hard nasty sugarless candies that diabetic old ladies suck on.
We climbed up to the entrance but Bolivar held me back. I’ve been inside a hundred times. There’s not much there except for an empty vault, probably a burial chamber for some noble a thousand years ago, but at this point I was deathly afraid of what we might find. Bolivar inched his way inside, and I followed.
Candles lit the room, hundreds of them. Little candles, burnt down nearly to the base, they were flickering out one by one. At the back of the room, a section of wall had been removed. The adobes were stacked the way an archaeologist would stack them. I’m pretty sure Kim did it.
More candlelight emanated from behind the wall. Bolivar got his guns out and crept toward the opening in the wall. I followed. We heard laughter coming from the other side – Kim’s laughter. We looked inside.
She was kneeling in the center of the room. Her legs folded underneath her, she was surrounded by candles. And she was naked. A line of blood ran along her throat and down between her boobs. She smiled warmly when she saw us.
I rushed through the wall, but Bolivar yanked me back. I felt something flutter in front of me as I fell back. I saw it only out of the corner of my eye. It looked kind of like a misshapen dwarf, but when I tried to get a better look, it faded away.
Bolivar called out, but Kim laughed at him. And every time she laughed, more blood dripped from her throat. Say what you want, but I love this woman. I know she doesn’t love me, but that’s not the point. Nobody hurts my Kim. I shoved Bolivar aside and jumped back through the wall.
That thing was on me in an instant. It grabbed me by the face. I suppose I could have tried to break free, but I was petrified. At that moment I saw it clearly; it was little, like a one-legged dwarf, but not quite human. It had mean eyes.
I’ve seen this image depicted on pot sherds. There’s also a painting on the wall at the Inca temple at Pachacamba, but I never imagined it was a real monstrous thing.
It grinned at me, revealing a mouth full of crooked razor teeth. I saw the tumi in its hand, the short round sword favored by the warriors of Peruvian antiquity. It drew back the tumi to strike me, and Bolivar shot it.
The bullet drove it back into the wall. It screamed, then squeezed itself into a crack in the floor and disappeared, leaving a puddle of green sludge that smelled like bargain tripe on a hot day.
“What the hell was that?” I yelled. Bolivar raised his gun at me and pulled the trigger, dropping another one of the things that crept up behind me. It wiggled through the floor as well, leaving another sludge puddle.
“Imp,” Bolivar said, as if that explained anything.
I turned to Kim and saw another one, another imp, caressing her chin. It was laughing. Kim was laughing too. I started towards her but Bolivar pushed me back through the wall. Then he went for her.
He kept shooting, but this imp was faster, as was its friend. Bolivar switched guns, then grabbed Kim by the hair and dragged her out, shooting all the while. He didn’t stop until he had pulled her through the wall.
“We’re safe here,” he said. “The imps can’t leave the chamber.” He gestured to the room we had just left. “This is where the gold was.”
We turned and stared at Kim. She stood and looked back into that haunted room. “It’s all gone now,” she said. “The gold is all gone now.” Then she threw her head back and coughed repeatedly, revealing the deep cut along her throat that the rest of her blood now poured from.
June 29, 2011 Seville, Spain
Bruce Wheele
r
IS SHE OK???
Leon, please tell me Kim is going to be OK. How much blood are we talking about? If she can still stand and still laugh, then can I assume her injuries are not life threatening? Or is this something more? Leon, please tell me she’s OK. This is Kim we’re talking about – my friend, your friend.
Can we maybe also ask some of the other contributors to this blog to provide some input, you know, maybe some of you who have some experience with this sort of thing?
June 29, 2011 Lima, Peru
Michelle Cavalcante
Bruce, it’s Michelle. I’m in Lima. I just met with a senior diplomat at the American Embassy. They’re not sure what to make of the story I told them, but they’re sending someone up to have a look at Kim. If she’s injured, they’ll medevac her to Lima, or to Miami if needed.
Bruce, please keep it together. I know you’re scared. We’ve all been through a lot, but we’re going to be OK. Kim will be fine. You’ll be fine. We’ll be fine. We’re going to be together, Bruce. You have to trust me. There is a logical real world, non-supernatural explanation for what’s going on here. There has to be.
So Bruce, please turn yourself in. Go to the Consulate or go to the police. You’ll at least be safe. I can’t stand the thought of anything happening to you.
June 29, 2011
Seville, Spain
Vasco Cuellar
Is she going to be OK? Bruce, is that your question? A scientist you call yourself, and you yet ask? Those creatures drained the blood from her body, and let it seep down below the floor where it pools, fueling the dark part of eternity. No, she’s not going to be OK. The hunger will start soon.
Oh, she’ll walk. She’ll speak, which is more than can be said for you. The storms are gathering, Bruce. He’s coming for you. Sopay knows your name. He can smell your breath. He’ll send someone for you.
I implore you, as I have before, take your own life before it is too late, before you come face to face with what you fear most. Go to the police? Go to the Consulate? They’d deliver you to their master within minutes. He’ll burn your life away, and then things will really go downhill. Understand something: if you find this book, this Malleus, if it is indeed real, then you’re the only thing left in the world who can hurt him.
He’s sending someone for you now, someone who knows you, someone you trust. You must be stopped, you understand. That’s why your girl wants you to turn yourself in. She’s been his for a long time now.
June 29, 2011
New York, NY
Rafael Duran
It would seem Cuellar is off his medications again. Vasco, please consider a sedative of some potency. You do tend to rant. The boy is asking for help. One would hope that wisdom acquired over the centuries could be brought to bear on the events at hand. But one wonders how much wisdom you have accumulated.
That being said, Cuellar is not completely without reason. When that girl was bled, fuel was added to a fire that burns in the unquiet heart of a torment. I don’t understand what that torment is, but I am an aspect of it, as is Cuellar. I know he felt her blood drain away because I felt it too.
So no, she’s not going to be OK. Unless of course you consider me OK, or Vasco Cuellar. Cuellar is an insane cannibal given to gloomy grandiosity. And I am a soulless ghoul living in a skyscraper. A hunger deepens in me, and I spend much of each day trying to keep it at bay.
I had thought the last of the Sopays was long gone, but I’m no longer certain. If one still exists, then Vasco is correct – your life is in danger. And no stone will be left unturned until you are delivered to him. Your girl is almost certainly his. She’ll come for you. It will be someone you trust who comes for you.
You could kill yourself as Vasco suggests. It would certainly save you the heartache, not to mention millennia of soulless anguish. Your torture will be ceaseless. On the other hand, you could find what you’re looking for and kill that Sopay instead.
June 29, 2011
Seville, Spain
Bruce Wheeler
Bullshit. Michelle isn’t part of this. She’s not some demon hag, and she doesn’t want me to get hurt. I don’t know what or who I’m up against, but I am not without my own certainties about the world. And I am certain that Michelle loves me.
So fuck you, Vasco. I’m not going to kill myself. I’m going to finish this, and finish you off as well when the time comes.
And fuck you too, Duran. You’re just as crazy. Michelle ISN’T PART OF THIS!
I’m going to finish this. You know what I’m doing right now? I’m sitting in my bedroom fishing through stolen wallets to plan out who I will be over the coming days. Then I’m going to figure out what the Archivo Rota is. I’m going to figure out what exactly Malleus Momias is. Then I’m going to kill this Sopay.
Hold on, there’s a knock at the bedroom door. Folks, that’s a little odd, because I share a room with three middle-aged pickpockets, and they don’t knock. OK, I just shouted out for whoever it is to come in.
Holy shit. It’s Cyrus! Cyrus Sanderson in the flesh.
June 30, 2011
Segovia, Peru
Leon Samples
You know what can really help keep you from unraveling after coming face to face with a demon? Mescaline. Unfortunately, we’re all out, so I spent the day completely sober, contemplating the remnant wisps of my sanity. Every time I started thinking about what happened, I’d start to shake.
That demon, that imp lifted me off the ground and looked me in the eyes. Had Bolivar waited one more second before shooting, my throat would have been slit, and I’d be a different kind of thing entirely
I lied about being sober. I found a liter of rum in the kitchen, and I’ve been nipping at it steadily all afternoon.
The local doctor came last night. He demanded to be paid before he would even enter the house, so I paid him. But he had one look at Kim and threw the money back at me before leaving.
Kim has been sleeping for more than twenty-four hours now, if you can call it sleeping. She’s breathing, but her body temperature has cooled beyond the point at which life can be sustained.
Bolivar won’t leave her side. He moved her to the couch by the fireplace, and he has her all bundled up. I suggested we get her out of here, take her to the hospital but he was adamant in his refusal. Finally I cornered our caretaker in the kitchen. It was time he and I had a little talk.
“You’re not supposed to go inside the pyramid,” he told me, “not in the chamber.”
“What happens in the chamber?”
“They turn you.” He stared at the floor. “It was common in the past, even during the time of my grandfather. Many of the ancestors still roam at night, but it has been two generations since the last ceremonies, since the last mummies were made.”
“So that’s what they are? Mummies? No cloth, no ribbons, no special preparation? What makes them mummies?”
I felt a hand on my shoulder and nearly jumped out of my skin. It was Bolivar. “Sometimes they used cloth,” he said. “The Inca wound their dead kings tightly in cotton, as did many Indians. But it wasn’t necessary.”
“Then what makes them mummies?”
“The imps - minions of the Sopays. If an imp bleeds a man, he’ll turn. Then he’ll walk.”
“And that’s going to happen to Kim?” I asked, but I already knew the answer.
Bolivar stared at the floor.
“Can we stop it from happening?”
Bolivar looked me in the eyes. “If we burn her before she turns, we can stop it. Once she gets up, there will be no putting her down.”
I felt a chill in the air. I’m half ashamed to say this, but when I looked over at Kim lying there, I swear she never looked more beautiful. I mean to say that there was considerable appeal. It was disturbing. I took another belt of rum.
“It’s my fault,” Bolivar whispered. “I was supposed to keep her safe. I failed, so I will keep her safe now. I will do it tonight. I will build a fire outside
.”
“No.” I couldn’t bear to let that happen. Absolutely not.
“There is no other way,” Bolivar told me.
But I’m not sure he’s right about that. Prior to going inside the pyramid, Kim had translated the fourth entry in Sebastiano’s journal.
Anno Domini Nostri Iesu Christi 1580, 30 Junio // year of our lord 1580, 30 June
After seeing Father Vasco standing in the moonlight of his unholy mass, blood dripping from his face, I experienced a fear unlike any I had ever known. I fled to my house, latched my door, and drew my bed frame up to the door so that nobody could enter.
I was quite willing to die before opening the door again. I begged the Lord to deliver me from this hell. I prayed until the sun was high in the sky, but my prayers went unanswered. The Indian girl who brought my midday meal also brought news of a man who wandered into the church seeking my counsel.
I dined quickly, then I made haste to the church, uncertain what to expect. Upon entering, I saw an Indian kneeling at the altar. A candle had been lit, and he was praying in the style of a Christian.
“Can I help you, my son?” I approached him.
“Padre Sebastiano.” He turned, and I knew him. He was an old man who came to town from time to time to sell his corn in the plaza. I remembered him because his wife had recently died. I said a mass for her, though neither the man nor any other Indians attended.
His name was Acahuna, he reminded me. “Is it true your God offers life everlasting?
I assured him that this was indeed the case, and he asked me to baptize him in the name of Jesus Christ. So delighted was I by the thought of my first true convert that I scarcely remembered the terrors of the night before.
He grasped my hands as I placed a small iron crucifix in his. He had a single tooth left in his mouth, I noticed as he smiled softly. “There is but one thing I ask of you,” he whispered. “My wife, do you recall?”
The Mummies of Blogspace9 Page 9