Ancient Exhumations +2

by Sargent, Stanley C

  With feline indifference, the griffin coolly replied, “I do nothing to you, human. Your second wish stipulated you should never be long separated from your Ellen. Brachamashoot is reaffirming that wish as well, so your essence is compelled to join Ellen in the Black Abyss.”

  Panic struck Martin as he clung desperately to one of the metal support poles upholding the structure of the house above. The force being exerted upon him increased, and he knew he would not be able to resist its draw much longer. He pleaded with the demonic griffin to help him, swearing he would do anything if only she would save him.

  Achsheilah seemed irritated by Martin’s slobbering display of weakness and fear. “None may interfere with the obligations of another demon,” she stated. “It is the law.”

  Martin’s hysterical begging continued as his grip upon the pole gave way to the irresistible emanation pulling him to the circle. Torn from the brace, he teetered at the brink of the chalky curves, as if poised before the entrance to Hell.

  The she-griffin eyed the whimpering human with total disdain. “I will admit that, despite your disgraceful demeanor, you have unknowingly provided me a great opportunity. You have foolishly opened an ancient portal through which my herd can return to tread upon your world once again. I will show my appreciation by granting you a merciful death; you will not burn as you caused your spouse to do. I swear your death will be a swift one.”

  Instantly, Martin’s body hurtled through the air and into the circle. Achsheilah casually reared up on her hind legs and snatched him from the air with her front paws. Keeping her promise, she swiftly silenced his howling with a single forward thrust of her lethal beak, neatly severing Martin’s head from his body. She flung the twitching torso away, beyond the outer reach of the circle.

  Returning to all-fours, she gripped Martin’s head gingerly in one paw and began to push it back and forth across the floor, using the bleeding stump to reconfigure details of the sigils drawn upon the floor beneath her feet. In just a few moments, she altered the symbols to create a dimensional port through which she and her unnatural ranks could gain access to Martin’s world at any time in the future.

  Having completed her artwork, Achsheilah lifted the bloody head up once more and addressed the late scholar. “My word I have kept, but your head I will not, for it bears a less than regal quality.” With that, she dropped the mutilated head to the floor and disdainfully trod upon it.

  Martin Dodd’s decapitated corpse was discovered three days later. Ellen Dodd’s whereabouts were never established. The police theorized that the crime had been committed by some unidentified Satanic cult intent on human sacrifice, but the murder or murders were never solved.

  The mutilated remains of Professor Richard Waltham and two of his undergraduate assistants were discovered exactly one month later, victims of an apparently related crime. Yet the police have never explained how the trio died of drowning, locked inside Waltham’s library, where no amount of water was present. The most bizarre aspect of the case, however, that the victims’ heads were found attached to the wrong torsos without any indication of surgery having been performed, was never divulged to the public.

  Waltham’s original manuscripts, along with Dodd’s translations, became a permanent part of the rare book section of the Miskatonic University Library in 1936. Copies of Dodd’s translations have since been available to the public for the price of postage and copying costs. The lengthy list of individuals who have requested copies over the years includes such notables as R. Hess, R. Speck, C. Manson, M. Pahlavi, E. Amin, J. Jones, M. Qaddafi, and S. Hussein, to name but a few. The librarian in charge of the manuscripts, a giddy individual, frequently mentions the “top secret” copy ordered by J. Edgar Hoover, pointing out that Hoover’s body had to be buried in a lead-lined coffin for reasons never adequately explained.

  Nothing has as yet emerged from the portal that Martin Dodd initially opened, although it remains open to this day. The Annihilating Swarm undoubtedly still prowls the threshold, patiently awaiting the day when it will pour through the gate, plunging our world into a final, tragic apocalypse that will cleanse all organic life from the face of the Earth. The Faceless One will surely be pleased.

  The Hoppwood

  Tenant

  “What the hell kind of critter makes a hole like that? This damn thing goes way back into the hill. The mouth alone is big enough for a man to squeeze through, ‘though I’ll be damned if I’d be one to try!” exclaimed Delbert.

  His younger friend, Pete, stared into the fissure that retreated into the dark interior of the mounded hillock. The pair had discovered the tunnel by accident as they tore through a fall of dead brush in search of game.

  “I doubt you’d likely fit what with all them extra pounds you’ve put on since you was married,” Pete joked. As he cleared more shrubbery from the narrow entrance, he noted that the top of the slit-like opening rose more than five feet above the ground.

  “Don’t know who or what made this,” Delbert offered, “but it goes right through rock that’s weathered smooth, so it’s been here for some time; I’d hazard it dates way back to when the redskins lived here. We all know the Hoppwoods never ‘llowed no huntin’ in these woods for better’n three generations. Maybe that critter ol’ Miss Hoppwood was always rantin’ about lives right in this here hole.”

  Pete ignored Delbert’s last remark.

  “There used to be bears around here, they say. Maybe it’s nothin’ more than an ol’ bear’s den — or maybe Big Foot lives here!” Delbert suggested.

  “Bears don’t dig caves, Del,” Pete observed, “they only squat in ones they find, natural ones. This one ain’t natural, though, ‘cos the entrance is lined with rough cut stones. Must o’ been Indians that made it ‘cos the Hoppwoods just let all this grow wild — wouldn’t even hunt ‘round here themselves!”

  The pair had been trespassing since dawn. The owner of the land, Miss Hoppwood, had passed away two days earlier, and the men simply could restrain themselves no longer; they had to be the first to hunt the virgin wood. Their fantasies, involving hordes of pheasant, rabbit, ‘possum, and quail, had proven altogether unrealistic, however; as they had failed to sight any game at all, despite traipsing through miles of tangled undergrowth and waist-high brambles. As dusk approached, only their fascination with the curious tunnel kept them from realizing their exhaustion.

  “I bet this is where Miss Hoppwood meant her tenant lived,” Delbert insisted.

  His friend’s gullibility struck Pete as absurd. “Don’t hand me that! Ever’body knows the Hoppwoods was all nuttier than a squirrel’s lunch and just made up all that stuff about a monster living here to scare off trespassers.”

  “Well, we’re trespassin’ right now,” Delbert snickered. “But they couldn’t o’ made it all up ‘cos the Indians declared this land off limits long before any settlers got here. My grandpa said it musta taken something pretty awful to drive the redskins out. He swore even the most fearless braves’d rather o’ been skinned alive than set foot in these woods.”

  “And you believed him?” scoffed Pete.

  “Well,” Delbert responded, “what with you delivering Miss Hoppwood’s supplies for so long, you musta heard more of her tales than anybody else. What did the old witch have to say about her ‘tenant’?”

  Pete suddenly struck a fighting stance. “Don’t be callin’ Miss Hoppwood a witch! I mean it.” He gritted his teeth as he attempted to calm his sudden fury. “She may have been an old woman who never got married, but that don’t make her no witch!”

  Delbert, realizing he had gone too far, apologized, but felt obliged to add that it wasn’t natural for any woman to remain a virgin all her life. He believed such things led to off-color gossip.

  The apology seemed to satisfy Pete, who spoke of the deceased beldame with a certain reverence in his voice. “She weren’t no witch; she was a real nice old gal once you got to know her. Truth is, I felt sorry for her, living alone out here for all t
hese years. She was awful lonely; that’s the only reason why I listened to her wild tales. It was her grandfather who told her all she knew about the Indians and their dealing with the monster, and she believed ever’ last word of it.”

  “Okay, so what’d she say?” Delbert queried impatiently.

  Pete tested a sapling birch to see if it would support his weight before he chanced to lean against it. “Her gramps was real friendly with a big shot Hopewell called a ‘shaman.’ Grandpa Hoppwood wanted to settle on this land somethin’ fierce, but this shaman claimed the place was bad medicine. He said some kind of monster had dug itself into the tribe’s biggest burial mound and wouldn’t leave. When the tribe’s best warriors tried to drive it out, they was wiped out to the last man quick as a flick. So this shaman feller, he got himself all doped on magic weed, figuring he’d fix things up ‘tween the monster and his people. He took on the form of his animal soul, whatever that is, and dropped right in on that there monster for a visit.

  “The critter put pictures and noise in the shaman’s head to show him its home on a dark world located way the hell out from the sun where it was colder’n a witch’s tit. It called the place ‘Hugot,’ ‘Hugoth,’ or something like that. Its kind lived there underground ‘til some things that was part insect and part crab came from another star and dug him up. The insect-crab things were small but powerful strong and mean. They slapped great big wings or sails on the monster’s back and rode him clear through space ‘til they got to Earth, using what the shaman called ‘winds of the sun.’ They landed right here in these very woods. The passengers were lookin’ for some metal they was fixin’ to mine, and when they didn’t find it here, they up and tore the wing-sails off the monster and just left it here to fend for itself while they went on up North. Since it couldn’t bear the light, the monster climbed in the nearest shelter, which turned out to be a hollow burial mound, and made itself right t’ home.”

  Delbert, who didn’t believe a word of what he was hearing, felt compelled to scoff at such silly superstition. He ventured, “And it’s been holed up here ever since, right? Well, what’s the damned thing supposed to look like anyway?”

  “Accordin’ to the shaman feller, it was big as hell with slimy black, rubbery skin. But mostly, he said it stood on four great big leg posts and ‘minded him of an elephant that’d been squashed flat; it didn’t have no eyes nor face; it depended on its sense of smell and on hearing vibrations through the ground. And seein’ as how it was so rubbery, it could squeeze through small places or stretch out like an umbrella when it was of a mind ta.”

  Pete paused as if he had completed the story, but Delbert wanted more. “Go on,” he called, “tell me how the Hoppwoods ended up with the land. Did they kill off the shaman guy and just steal it, or what?”

  “They didn’t kill nobody, you jackass. The monster’d been driv’ out of one home, though, and wasn’t about to ‘llow that again. The shaman made a deal with it, so’s it promised not to kill no more as long as it was left in peace right where it was. Old Man Hoppwood had to swear an oath never to allow nob’dy to bother it, otherwise the Indians wouldn’t o’ sold him the land, which they ‘ventually did. To seal the deal, the shaman gave Grandpa Hoppwood a vision of the monster just ta put the fear o’ God in him so’s he’d keep his oath. Must o’ been some vision, ‘cos the Hoppwoods all made it their sacred duty to keep ever’body out of these woods. Wonst her parents died, Miss Hoppwood was a-feared to marry lest her husband dishonor the oath. She made it her mission to ensure her tenant wasn’t never bothered.”

  Delbert gave Pete a skeptical look. “So what do you think?”

  Pete paused again before replying, “Well, mostly I just tried to be polite and listenin’, actin’ like I believed all she was sayin’. She was a sweet ol’ gal, a little off maybe, like the rest of her family, but that didn’t make ‘em bad people. That’s why I get a fire in my gut ever’ time you call her a witch.”

  A full minute passed before Delbert deigned to ask, “What with Miss Hoppwood gone, I guess that makes you the expert on her tenant. So tell me, how much of her story do you believe now that we’ve found ourselves a mound right here where she said it was, probably a burial mound too? Do you s’pose there’s a big rubber alien in there waiting to gobble us up for botherin’ it?”

  Pete contemplated the possibility for a moment before answering. “I sorta doubt it, but if you’re right and this is a burial mound, we might find ourselves some treasure in there You hear tell of the gold folks say the Indians fished off the bed of the Mad River?”

  That prospect had not occurred to Delbert. He suddenly had visions of making a fortune selling Indian gold. Only Pete’s next declaration disturbed his reverie.

  “I’m going in there and take a look-see,” Pete said. He leaned to one side, allowing his backpack to slip over his shoulder and to the ground. Next, he squatted down and searched through the pack until he located a traffic flare and a box of kitchen matches. Smiling as he rose, Pete asked his friend if he would like to accompany him, knowing full well the chubby Delbert could not possibly squeeze through the slight opening. He was also aware that Delbert was the type to let others do all the work for him.

  “Well, I sure as hell ain’t stickin’ my head in no hole so’s I can ‘howdy-do’ a damn bear or Lord knows what else. You’re the brave one, so go on. I’ll stay right where I’m at, thank you very much.” It suddenly occurred to him that Pete might become lost or injured inside the tunnel, in which case it would be up to Delbert to rescue him; the thought made him uneasy.

  “Hold on a tick,” Delbert insisted. “Seein’ as how you’d get lost in an outhouse, I’ve got an idea.” He leaned his shotgun against a nearby rock and removed his backpack. After rummaging around inside, he removed a length of sturdy rope. Offering one end to Pete, he tied the other end securely about his own waist.

  “Wrap that tight ‘round you and make a good knot ‘fore you take another step,” Delbert directed his companion. With a joking smile, he added, “That way, if you get into mischief in there, I can pull your skinny ass out and be a hero without even gettin’ my hands dirty!”

  Pete laughed and shook his head. Realizing the sense of the plan, however, he applied the rope as instructed. He then turned to Delbert with a feigned look of sadness on his face and teased, “You’d miss me more’n you can say, wouldn’t you, Del Honey?”

  He jumped back to avoid the fist that came flying in his direction. Both men laughed uproariously. Delbert began to make a deprecatory remark in response to Pete’s joking flirt but found he was laughing too hard to get it out. Calming a bit, he said, “Now cut the sweet talk and get your fanny in that hole if you’re a-going — Honey.”

  Pete chuckled as he approached the cave’s entrance, lit the flare with a match, ducked his head low, and thrust one foot into the crumbling portal.

  From behind, Delbert called out in all seriousness, “Watch yourself in there, now!”

  Pete smiled and replied, “Will do, ol’ buddy.”

  As Delbert watched his friend disappear into the darkness, he wondered if greed had overridden his better judgment. Pete was his best friend, after all, and he certainly did not want to lose him or see him hurt. He decided he was worrying too much, so he abandoned himself to imagining the fortune in gold that would soon be theirs. Standing on his toes and weaving from side to side, he managed to follow the faint glow of Pete’s flare as it traveled inward, then disappeared.

  “Do you see anything yet?” Delbert shouted impatiently. A muffled, unintelligible response drifted back to him. “I can’t understand what you’re sayin’!” he responded. “Speak up, damn it!” He held his breath, realizing the slightest sound would drown out Pete’s answer. Reluctantly positioning himself closer to the opening, he yelled, “What?” into the darkness of the hole.

  “I said the tunnel opens up real big —this whole damn hill’s hollow!” Pete shouted. “There must be at least half an acre of open space in here
, and it’s all one big room. I can’t determine how far up it goes ‘cos the light from this flare’s too weak to cut through the pitch dark. There’s four great big, slimy, black columns holdin’ something up, but I can’t define just what.” A choking cough followed. “The smell in here’s ‘nough to gag a maggot!

  Delbert anxiously pushed for further details.

  “It’s full of graves too, Indian graves like we thought. Looks like they just dug shallow circles down about a foot and a half into the ground and threw the bodies in. None of ‘em’s covered over or nothin’. Sure wish I had a better light.” His voice sounded much farther away now. “There’s things in some of the graves that sparkles ever’ time the light passes over, but … hold on!”

  Delbert held his breath, excitement coursing through every inch of his body. Surely the sparkles meant some of the graves contained gold, although mica would sparkle as well. He, or rather they, were going to be rich! Unable to bear the suspense any longer, he cried out, “Hey there, Pete! Whatcha doin’ now? Do ya see any fer-sure gold anywhere?”

  “There must be a hundred or more skel’tons laid out in here,” came the faint answer, “most of ‘em just thrown in ever’ which ways in the graves. Something ‘bout ‘em don’t look right though, not right at all.”

  “Whatcha mean?” Delbert called back.

  “The bones, ‘specially these here skulls, is all mashed, like they been run over by a steamroller.” There was a pause. “I don’t mind tellin’ ya, this place is beginnin’ to make me feel a mite skiddish. I’m startin’ to think I best get outta here!”

  “Don’t leave! Not just yet,” Delbert called out impatiently. “You’ve gone this far, you might as well get something for your trouble. Take yourself a minute more and see if you can find some gold gewgaws before you trot your prissy ass back out here.” When no response was forthcoming, he called out worriedly, “Pete? Hey, Pete! Tell Del what’s goin’ on!” Before he could help himself, he added, “Did you find any gold yet? Dammit, Pete, answer me!”