I felt something like a cold hand pass through my hair. I said:
“Say that again, McCann!”
He said, patiently: “Better let me go on an’ tell this in my own way, Doc.”
Bill said: “I know what you’re thinking, Alan. But let McCann go on.”
McCann said: “The Eyetalian won’t tell what scared him. Just jabbers, and shivers, an’ keeps crossing himself. They get he’s telling ’em the house in the middle of the stones is cursed. Tells ’em it’s the Devil’s house. They pour more liquor in him an’ he says the Devil is taking his toll. Says out of more’n a hundred men that come with him, half have died by stones falling on ’em. Says nobody knows where their bodies went afterwards. Says the gang was recruited from distant cities an’ nobody knew each other. Says about fifty more have since been brought in. Says only men without any families were hired.
“Then all of a sudden he gives a screech an’ ducks an’ covers his head with hands an’ runs out the door an’ disappears before anybody can foller. And two days after, says the old goat, they find him washed up on the shore about a mile away.
“He tells me they all figure the Eyetalian’s drunk or crazy. But I don’t believe him. He looks too agitated. It don’t take any eagle eye to see there’s something queer here. He says, though, that some of the lads cruise around in boats trying to get a look at this rockery. But they can’t see nothing. That don’t mean it ain’t there, because the rocks are steep around the point an’ where they ain’t there’s big trees growing.
“Anyway, they bury the Eyetalian an’ pay their taxes to the poor farm with his money. I’m telling you about that poor farm later,” said McCann.
“Well, it seems to me that by then the old goat gets the sudden idea what he’s been telling me ain’t selling talk, for that place he’s picked out for me. Anyway, he shuts up and waggles his beard and considers me. So I say that every word he’s said only makes me more interested. Tell him there’s nothing I like better than a good mystery, an’ the more I hear him the more I yearn to settle right down close to a real-life one. We take another drink, an’ I say if he can only dig up some more stuff like he’s been telling me, I’m as good as sold. Also, I’m paying cash. Also, that tomorrow we’ll go an’ take a look at this ranch he’s got in mind. I feel it’s better to let all this sink in, so we have another drink and I go to bed. I notice he’s looking at me darned peculiar as I go.
“The next day—that’s Wednesday—he’s up bright an’ early, pert an’ panting. We pile into his bus an’ start out. After a bit he starts telling me about this feller that seen the dogs. ’Lias Barton, he calls him. He says ’Lias is more curious than ten old maids peeking out behind the curtains at a house with a bride just moved in. Says curiosity is like a disease with ’Lias. Says he’d pull out a plug in Hell for a look in, even if he knew it’d squirt in his face. Well, ’Lias gets brooding and brooding over this wall an’ what’s behind it. He’s been all over the old Partington place dozens of times an’ he knows darned well what it’s like, but this wall’s like his wife putting a veil over her face sudden. He’d know he’d see the same old face but he’d have to lift the veil just the same. An’ for the same reason ’Lias just has to look over that wall.
“He knows there ain’t a chance by day, but he reconnoiters an’ crawls around, an’ at last he picks a place down near the water. Eph says there’s breasts of rock each end of the wall into which the wall is built an’ you can’t get over ’em from the water. ’Lias figures he can row down, slip to land and climb the wall. So he picks a night when it’s full moon but clouds obscuring the moon frequent. He packs a light ladder an’ sculls down cautious. He lands an’ puts up his ladder an’ when the moon’s under a cloud he swarms up. An’ there he is on top the wall. He draws up the ladder an’ flattens out an’ peers round. It’s ’Lias’s idea to drop the ladder on the other side an’ prospect. He waits till the moon comes; he sees it’s an open meadow below him out again an’ dotted with big bushes. He waits till another cloud comes an’ he unslings the ladder an’ starts down—
“An’ when he gets to this point in his story, Eph shuts up an’ heads the bus to the side of the road where we halt. I say: ‘Yeah, an’ what then?’ Eph says: ‘Then we pick him up next morning rowing round and ’round the harbor an’ crying “keep ’em off me—keep ’em off me!” ‘We take him in, he says, an’ get him calmed down some an’ he tells us what I’ve told you.’
“An’ then,” said McCann, “an’ then—” He poured himself a drink and gulped it—“An’ then the old goat shows he’s the best liar or the best actor I ever rode range with. For he says after that ’Lias goes like this an’ Eph’s eyes roll an’ his face twitches an’ he sort of screeches—‘Hear the piping! Oh, hear the piping like birds! Oh, God—look at ’em running and hiding in the bushes! Hiding and piping! God—they look like men—but they ain’t men. Look at ’em run an’ hide!…’
“‘What’s that? It sounds like a hoss…a big hoss…galloping…galloping! Christ! Look at her…with her hair streaming…look at the blue eyes an’ white face of her…on the hoss…the big black hoss!’
“‘Look at ’em run…an’ hear ’em pipe! Hear ’em pipe like birds! In the bushes…running from bush to bush…’
“‘Look at the dogs…they ain’t dogs…Christ I keep ’em off me! Christ! keep ’em off me! The hounds of Hell…dear Jesus…keep ’em off me!’”
McCann said: “He made me crawl. I’m telling you I’m crawling now.
“Then he started the bus an’ went on. I managed to ask: ‘Then what?’ He says: ‘That’s all. That’s all we can get out of him. Ain’t never been the same since. Mebbe he just fell off the wall an’ hit his head. Mebbe so—mebbe not. Anyway ’Lias ain’t curious no more. Goes round the village sort of wide-eyed an’ lonesome. Get him started an’ he’ll do for you what I just did.’ He cackled—‘But better.’”
“I said, still crawling: ‘If what looked like men wasn’t, an’ the dogs that looked like dogs wasn’t, then what the hell were they?’
“He says: ‘You know as much as I do.’
“I say: ‘Oh, yeah. Anyway, ain’t you got any idea on who was the gal on the big black hoss?’
“He says: ‘Oh, her, sure. That was the Frenchman’s gal.’”
Again the icy hand ruffled my hair, and my thoughts ran swiftly…Dahut on the black stallion…and hunting—what…and with what? And the upright stones and the men who had died raising them as they did of old…as of old in Carnac…
McCann’s narrative was going smoothly on. He said: “We ride along quiet after that. I see the old goat is pretty agitated, an’ chewing his whiskers. We come to the place he’s been telling about. We look around. It’s a nice place all right. If I was what I say I was, I’d buy it. Old stone house, lots of room—for East. Furniture in it. We amble around an’ after awhile we come in sight of this wall. It’s all the old goat said it was. It’d take artillery or TNT to knock it down. Eph mutters not to pay attention to it, except casual. There’s big gates across the road that look like steel to me. An’ while I don’t see nobody I get the idea we’re being watched all the time. We stroll here an’ stroll there, an’ then back to the other place. An’ then the old goat asks me anxious what I think of it, an’ I say it’s all right if the price is, an’ what is the price. An’ he gives me one that makes me blink. Not because it’s high but because it’s so low. It gives me the glimmer of another idea. Nursing that idea, I say I’d like to look at some other places. He shows me some, but halfhearted like an’ the idea grows.
“It’s late when we get back to the village. On the way we run across a man who draws up to talk. He says to the old goat: ‘Eph, there’s four more gone from the poor farm.’
“The old goat sort of jitters an’ asks when. The other man says last night. He says the superintendent’s about ready to call in the police. Eph sort of calculates an’ says that makes about fifty gone. The other man says, yeah, all
of that. They shake their heads an’ we go on. I ask what’s this about the poor farm, an’ Eph tells me that it’s about ten miles off an’ that in the last three months the paupers have been vanishing an’ vanishing. He’s got that same scared look back, an’ starts talking about something else.
“Well, we get back to the Beverly House. Thar’s quite a bunch of villagers in the front room, an’ they treat me mighty respectful. I gather that Eph has told ’em who I’m supposed to be, an’ that this is a sort of committee of welcome. One man comes up an’ says he’s glad to see me but I’ve been too slow coming home. Also, they’ve all got the news about these vanishing paupers, an’ it’s plain they don’t like it.
“I get my supper, an’ come out an’ there’s more people there. They’ve got a sort of look of herding for comfort. An’ that idea of mine gets stronger. It’s that I’ve been wronging Eph in thinking all he wants is a profit from me. I get the flattering idea that they’re all pretty plumb scared, an’ what they think is that mebbe I’m the man who can help ’em out in whatever’s scaring them. After all, I suppose the Partingtons in their time was big guns ’round here, an’ here I am, one of ’em, an’ coming back providentially, as you might say, just at the right time. I sit an’ listen, an’ all the talk goes ’round the poor farm an’ the Frenchman.
“It gets around nine o’clock an’ a feller comes in. He says: ‘They picked up two of them missing paupers.’ Everybody sort of comes close, an’ Eph says: ‘Where?’ An’ this feller says: ‘Bill Johnson’s late getting in, an’ he sees these two floaters off his bow. He hooks an’ tows ’em. Old Si Jameson’s at the wharf an’ he takes a look. He says he knows ’em. They’re Sam an’ Mattie Whelan who’s been at the poor farm for three years. They lay ’em out on the wharf. They must have drowned themselves an’ been hitting up against a rock for God knows when, says this feller.’
“‘What d’you mean hitting up against a rock?’ asks Eph. An’ the feller says they must have been because, there ain’t a whole bone in their chests. Says the ribs are all smashed, an’ the way it looks to him they must have been pounding on a rock steady for days. Like as if they’d been tied to it. Even their hearts are all mashed up—”
I felt sick—and abreast of the sickness a bitter rage; and within me I heard a voice crying: “So it was done in the old days…so they slew your people…long ago—” Then I realized I was on my feet, and that Bill was holding my arms.
I said: “All right, Bill. Sorry, McCann,” and poured myself a drink.
McCann said, oddly: “Okay, Doc, you’ve got your reasons. Well, just then into the room comes a gangling sort of feller with empty eyes an’ a loose mouth. Nobody says a word, just watches him. He comes over to me an’ stares at me. He starts to shake, an’ he whispers to me: ‘She’s riding again. She riding on the black horse. She rode last night with her hair streaming behind her an’ her dogs around her—’
“Then he lets out the most God-awful screech an’ starts bowing up an’ down like a jumpin jack, an’ he yells—‘But they ain’t dogs! They ain’t dogs! Keep em off me! Dear Jesus…keep ’em off me!’ At that there’s a bunch around him saying ‘Come along ’Lias, now come along’ an’ they take him out, still screeching. Them that’s left don’t say much.
“They look at me solemn, an’ pour down a drink or two an’ go. Me—” McCann hesitated “-me, I’m feeling a mite shaky. If I was the old goat I could give you an’ idea how ’Lias yelped. It was like a couple of devils had pincers on his soul an’ was yanking it loose like a tooth. I drunk a big one an’ started for bed. Old Eph stops me. He’s putty-white an’ his beard is quivering. He trots out another jug an’ says: ‘Stay up awhile, Mr. Partington. We’ve an idea we’d like you to settle here with us. If that price don’t suit you, name your own. We’ll meet it.’
“By that time it don’t take a master-mind to tell this is a pretty well-scared village. An’ from what I know before an’ what I’ve heard since I don’t blame ’em. I say to Eph: ‘Them paupers? You got an idea where they’re going to? Who’s taking them?’
“He looks around before he answers, then he whispers—‘De Keradel.’
“I says: ‘What for?’ An’ he whispers: ‘For his rockery.’
“Earlier I might have laughed at that. But somehow now I don’t feel like it. So I tell him I’m interested, but I got to go back to New York tomorrow an’ think it over an’ why don’t they get the police to look into things. He says the village constable’s as scared as any, an’ there ain’t no evidence to get out a search warrant, an’ he’s talked to a couple of country officers but they think he’s crazy. So the next morning I check out saying I’ll be back in a day or two. There’s quite a little delegation sees me off an’ urges me to come back.
“I’m mighty curious to see that place behind the wall, an’ especially what Eph calls the rockery. So I run down to Providence where I’ve got a friend with a hydroplane an’ we fix it to ride over the de Keradel place that night. We go along the coast. It’s a moonlight night, an’ we raise it about ten o’clock. I get out the glasses as we come close. We’re flying about 500 feet up. It’s clear, but there’s a fog rising about this point as we get closer. A quick fog, too, that looks as if it’s trying to beat us to it.
“There’s a big boat lying off the point, too, in a sort of deep cove. They flash search lights up at us, whether trying to blind us or to find out who we are I don’t know. I give my friend the office and we duck the lights. I’ve got my glasses up an’ I see a long rambling stone house half hid by a hill. Then I see something that sort of makes me feel creepy—like old Eph’s wailing. I don’t just know why. But it’s a lot of big stones all doing ring-around-a-rosy around a bigger gray heap of stones in the middle. The fog’s swirling all around like snakes, an’ there’s lights flickering here an’ there…gray sort of lights…rotten…”
McCann stopped and lifted a drink with a none too steady hand: “Rotten sort of lights is right. Like they’re…decaying. An’ there appears to be something big an’ black squatting on that big gray heap…without no shape to it…shadowy. An’ it quivers an’ wavers…an’ the standing stones are like they’re reaching up to pull us down to this squatting thing…”
He set the glass down with a hand even less steady:
“Then we’re over an’ zooming away. I look back an’ the fog’s covered everything.”
He said to Lowell: “I’m telling you, Doc, that never at no time with the Mandilip hag did I feel as slimy as when we flew over that place. The Mandilip hag had a line into Hell all right. But this is Hell itself—I’m telling you!”
CREEP, SHADOW! [Part 2]
CHAPTER XIII
SUMMONS FROM DAHUT
“Well, that’s all.” McCann lighted a cigarette and looked at me. “But I got the idea what I’ve been telling makes a lot more sense to Dr. Caranac than it does to me. Me—I know it’s black poison. Mebbe he knows just how black. For instance, Doc, why’d you shy so when I made mention of them two paupers?”
I said: “Dr. Lowell, you won’t mind if I have a little talk with Bill. McCann, I apologize to you in advance. Bill, come over here in the corner. I want to whisper to you.”
I took Bill out of earshot, and asked: “Just how much does McCann know?”
Bill answered: “All that we know about Dick. He knows de Keradel’s connection with the doll-maker. And that would be enough for him, if he knew nothing else.”
“Anything about my experiences with the Demoiselle?”
“Certainly not,” said Bill stiffly. “Both Lowell and myself thought too much of the confidential element entered into them.”
“That,” I said, keeping solemn with an effort, “was true delicacy. But have you spoken to anyone except me about the shadowy visitation your imagination drew upon you?”
Bill exclaimed: “Imagination hell! But no—I haven’t.”
“Not even to Helen?”
“No.”
“Fine,” I sai
d. “Now I know where I stand.” I went back to the table and apologized again to McCann. I said to Lowell:
“You remember de Keradel spoke to us of a certain experiment he contemplated? Its purpose the evocation of some god or demon worshiped long ago? Well, from McCann’s story I would say that his experiment must be rather far advanced. He has set up the standing stones in the order prescribed by the ancient ritual, and he has built in their center the Great Cairn. The House of the Blackness. The Shrine of the Gatherer. The Alkar-Az—”
Lowell interrupted, eagerly: “You have identified that name? I recall that when first you spoke it de Keradel showed consternation. You evaded his questions. Did you do that to mystify him?”
I said: “I did not. I still do not know how that name came into my mind. Perhaps from that of the Demoiselle as other things may have come later. Or perhaps not; the Demoiselle, you will also recall, suggested to him that I had—remembered. Nevertheless, I know that what he has built in the heart of the monoliths is the Alkar-Az. And that, as McCann truly says, it is black poison.”
McCann asked: “But the two paupers, Doc?”
I said: “It may be that they were beaten by the waves against the rocks. But it is also true that at Carnac and at Stonehenge the Druid priests beat the breasts of the sacrifices with their mauls of oak and stone and bronze until their ribs were crushed and their hearts were pulp.”
McCann said, softly: “Jesus!”
I said: “The stone cutter who tried to escape told of men being crushed under the great stones, and of their bodies vanishing. Recently, when they were restoring Stonehenge, they found fragments of human skeletons buried at the base of many of the monoliths. They had been living men when the monoliths were raised. Under the standing stones of Carnac are similar fragments. In ancient times men and women and children were buried under and within the walls of the cities as those walls were built—sometimes slain before they were encased in the mortar and stone, and sometimes encased while alive. The foundations of the temples rested upon such sacrifices. Men and women and children…their souls were fettered there forever…to guard. Such was the ancient belief. Even today there is the superstition that no bridge can stand unless at least one life is lost in its building. Dig around the monoliths of de Keradel’s rockery. I’ll stake all I have that you’ll discover where those vanished workmen went.”
The A. Merritt Megapack Page 189