“Perhaps He did,” replied Matt. “Are you familiar with cabalistic magic?”
“I have no idea what that is,” admitted Ron.
“It is the idea that certain symbols and substances have some power in warding off evil,” noted Matt. “The idea might go back to the idea of the Passover, when the Children of Israel placed blood on the lintel of their doorposts so that the angel of death might pass them by, even as that angel killed the firstborn of the Egyptians. Note, I say might. Many legends have a basis in truth. Suppose there was something that could ward off the drells, a symbol or more likely the material from which the symbol was fashioned.”
Matt removed a small box from the pocket of his smoking jacket. He opened it to reveal what looked like a common stick of chalk, a bit thicker than that used in a modern classroom. “I came by this by a most remarkable set of circumstances. Some months ago I was visited by a rather mysterious guest from the British Museum. His credentials impressed my executive assistance so he was granted an interview. He presented me with an indeed old hand written book and this special piece of chalk that was said to be effective at warding off evil spirits. He claimed that this chalk was the last of its kind, an artifact from their vault. It dated back to the dark ages nearly a thousand years ago as did the book. He offered them to me as a gift for all that I had done for the museum over the years. He said that I might find these items of use in the coming months. It was an odd claim. Then again one does not look a gift horse in the mouth, I graciously accepted it. I later had a piece of it analyzed. It was common chalk but highly enriched with the elements iridium and osmium.”
Ron looked indeed shocked. “Wait a minute, doctor, those elements are incredibly rare. They weren’t even discovered until the last century. How could they be in a piece of thousand-year-old chalk?”
Matt smiled. “That is quite a story, young man, a legend, really. It was to be found in the hand written book that accompanied the chalk. The book tells the tale of a cursed village in the highlands of Scotland and a certain Scottish priest and part time alchemist by the name of Kyle McClendon. It seems that the children of the village were falling prey to a terrible sleeping sickness from which they could not awaken. Furthermore, the horned devil and his minions lurked in the woods by night terrorizing the villagers and killing off livestock. Does that tale sound familiar?”
Ron was astonished. “The drells.”
“It sure sounds like them,” noted Matt. “The book said that Kyle had prayed and fasted for two weeks when he had a strange vision. He was told to travel into a remote mountain wilderness where God would show him the way to defeat the demons that had plagued the village and rescue the children. He was in the wilderness for several days, cold and hungry when he saw the bright light in the sky. It plummeted to Earth burning a part of the forest and leaving a gaping hole in the ground.”
“A meteorite?” posed Ron.
“It sounds like it,” confirmed Matt. “From the crater he pulled three large black stones, incredibly magnetic. In fact, they so attracted his knife that he could hardly pull it loose. There were also traces of a mysterious white powder which he also collected. He gathered them all up and made his way back to the village. He placed the black stones around the heads of the sleeping children and gave them an elixir that contained a small amount of the mysterious white powder. They all recovered almost immediately. He formed a ring of protection about the village and the beds of the children using the powder he had gathered. The demons could not come near it. Eventually they departed. He had saved the village.”
“Incredible,” gasped Ron.
“I only wish that the story had a happier ending,” lamented Matt. “It was only a short time later that Kyle McClendon was brought up before a tribunal held by a local lord on a charge of witchcraft. The villagers did what they could to defend him but it was to no avail. Some mysterious and influential person was bent upon his destruction. Inevitably he was burned at the stake and the stones and powder were lost, all save the portion you see before you. I managed to duplicate the compound just a few weeks ago. I will be sending some of it with you when you leave. I do not know how it works or even if it works but I will give you a sort of crash course on basic cabalistic magic. Perhaps it will do some good.”
“So the magnetic field of FENS acted in much the same way as the stones did,” deduced Ron.
“Yes, I would assume that is correct,” confirmed Matt. “You lost Debbie’s soul again because you didn’t complete the ritual. You needed to administer the elixir, which I assume contains trace amounts of osmium and iridium.”
“We’ll need to determine at what concentration iridium and osmium become toxic,” said Ron.
Matt nodded, pulling out another item from his pocket. “I’m not sure why I had this made, but I want you to have it.” Matt handed Ron a small silvery pentagram hanging from a fine chain. It was surprisingly heavy for its size. “It is composed of an iridium osmium alloy. I’d hazard to guess that it is practically unique. It might repel a drell, it might not. We might soon find out.”
It all seemed almost medieval. Ron had long ago abandoned his Catholic roots. It all seemed so formal so ritualistic. He didn’t consider himself an atheist but he certainly wasn’t one of the faithful. Now he might have to reevaluate that stand.
“Well, let us adjourn to the dining room,” said Matt. “I want to hear more about your research.”
Over dinner and for hours thereafter Ron got an education of a sort he had never imagined; a crash course in medieval cabalistic magic. Through it he was confronted with a new window unto a previously unseen world, a world beyond the flesh and blood realm. He also got to know his aunt as he never knew her before. The events of the last couple days had turned his old world upside down. He figured it was unlikely to be up righted anytime soon.
It was Saturday evening, past eleven, as engineer Karl Lund stepped from the door of his suburban home with his dachshund, Neutron. He had spent the whole day, and much the night, running the diagnostic program on the FENS instrument. After a twenty-minute walk around the neighborhood with Neutron, he’d be back home, ready to hop into bed with his somewhat neglected wife. It was a thought that quickened the pace of the nightly ritual.
It was a damp and chilly night for early June, and the nearly full moon faded in and out of the high clouds, as he made his way along the well-lit sidewalks. He’d strolled less than a block when a strange rolling mist caught his eye. It clung to the ground, gliding across the neatly trimmed lawns before him. Neutron went crazy, barking and wining mournfully.
“What’s wrong, girl,” he laughed, “afraid of the fog?”
Yet, a second glance at the encroaching vapor brought an uneasiness to his soul as well. It seemed to be faintly glowing, or was it just a trick of the light? And how did it move so swiftly when there was not so much as a breath of wind. An instant later, Karl lost his grip on her leash, and Neutron bolted free.
“Damn it, Neutron!” he shouted, as she scurried out into the empty street, away from the cold luminous vapors, that a moment later, engulfed her master. “What the hell!” he exclaimed, swinging around to behold nothing but the mists. He turned again to see the orange glow of two huge eyes. A cold gray hand grasped him by the throat and effortlessly lifted him from the ground. “Oh God!” he gasped.
“Not exactly,” said a powerful voice that seemed to emanate from everywhere.
“What do you want from me?” whispered the horrified engineer, as the grip of the ghastly creature grew ever tighter about his throat.
“I haven’t decided,” it replied, “perhaps your arm.”
The demonic creature reached out with its lower right hand and twisted Karl’s left arm like a soft pretzel. It ripped the limb off at the shoulder in one clean motion, leaving a shredded bloody stump. Karl’s scream seemed muffled by the mists, restricted by the tightening fingers that wrapped completely about his neck.
“Perhaps not,” said the beast, tossi
ng the mutilated appendage to the side. It thrust its sharp claw like hand into its victim’s chest, twisting muscles and internal organs, pulling forth a fist full of entrails. It examined them impassively, much as one might inspect links of sausage at the butcher’s shop. “What a mess. It always amazes me just how easy you humans come apart, and there’s no putting you back together.”
Karl’s eyes rolled back and his body went limp as the creature cast his internal organs chaotically about the ground, before tossing the lifeless body aside. “All too easy,” lamented Lex Ton, as he and the shroud of fog vanished, leaving the engineers remains scattered with the dew upon the freshly mowed lawn.
Sunday afternoons were usually peaceful times at the Martin Neurological Institute. Most of the staff had the day off, and the laboratory and office corridor was typically quiet and dark. The visits of friends and relatives to the in house patients in A wing represented the high point of an otherwise languid day. This was not such a Sunday. The staff had lost one of their own as a result of a senseless and brutal act. Many had converged upon this place they had shared with Karl Lund to vent their frustration, anger, and grief.
No one was more troubled than Dr. Wilson. Karl had shared his vision for this project for so many years. Now he was gone. “Who would have done such a despicable thing?”
He had his suspicions, though he gave them no voice. His eyes momentarily avoided the man at the far side of his desk. He placed his open palm upon his forehead, yet said nothing of the throbbing pain within, a pain that threatened to blur his very reason.
“And he had no enemies you’re aware of?” said police detective Alan Hicks, making a quick note in his report book.
“To my knowledge, Karl didn’t have an enemy in the world,” replied Wilson. “Do you have any suspects, any at all?”
“We don’t have any leads right now,” replied Hicks. “That really mystifies me. In a quiet neighborhood, no one heard him scream or witnessed anything unusual. He died on a neighbor’s front yard. They were home, but they heard nothing, nor did any of the other neighbors. To me that doesn’t make any sense. How could there have been no witnesses? It was not so late at night, the man must have cried for help, but no one heard a sound.” The detective paused. “The two of you had been working together for several years. He wasn’t involved in any sensitive research here that might have been a motive for murder, was he?”
“Nothing like that at all,” said Dr. Wilson, his eyes focusing upon the detective. “He was involved in medical research, instrument design, nothing secret about it. Virtually everyone here at the center knew what we were doing.”
The middle aged officer made another note in his black book. “I didn’t think so, but I thought I’d best ask just the same.” The detective paused for a moment, “You know, I’ve been at this job for over twenty years, and I’ve seen a lot of gruesome things, but I’ve never seen anything quite as grizzly as what occurred last night. There was no apparent motive, Mr. Lund wasn’t robbed. Forensics tells me that Mr. Lund’s arm wasn’t sliced, the assailant literally ripped it off. As for the gaping hole in his chest, it was a ragged wound, not cut with a sharp metal instrument like a knife. No, someone or something tore out this man’s vital organs with its bare hands.”
“You say someone or something,” noted Dr. Wilson. “What kind of thing are you thinking of?”
“A bear, maybe,” suggested the detective.
“A bear, this close to the city?” scoffed Wilson.
Detective Hicks scowled. “I’m grasping at straws here. Tell me, is there any kind of drug that could give a guy that much strength? I mean the strength to rip a man’s arm clean off?”
“None that I’m familiar with,” admitted the doctor. “Ripping a man’s arm off would take more force than you might imagine. Dislocating it, yes, but actually removing it, pulling apart all of the connective tissue and the muscles; I’d have to say it was impossible for a human being to do.”
“Yeah, I sort of thought you might say that.” The detective placed his card on the desk and rose to his feet. “Thank you for your time, Dr. Wilson. If you think of anything that might help us in our investigation, please contact me.”
“Certainly,” said Dr. Wilson, walking to the office door with the detective. “I hope that you find this monster.”
The detective paused, his expression was grim. “Whoever this guy is, I don’t know if I’d want to cross paths him, not alone, anyway.”
Ron waited for several minutes in the hallway outside Dr. Wilson’s office before venturing in. His worst fears had been realized. Already it had begun. “I heard the horrible news, I’m afraid we’re in for some serious trouble.”
“We already have serious trouble,” said Wilson, looking up from his desk. The doctor appeared angry, forlorn at the death of a close friend, but unafraid.
Unafraid; that was more than Ron could say for himself. Right now he was terrified. “Debbie was right, the drells are real. They’re behind what happened to Karl, I’m certain of it. I know how incredible it all sounds, but we’ve got to defend ourselves.”
“Against the drells?” asked Wilson, all traces of emotion bleeding away. “So how do we do that?”
“Well, I’ve talked with my aunt and the head of Martin International Foundation.”
“So I’ve heard,” interjected Wilson. “From what I’ve heard you actually had dinner with the director.”
Ron’s mouth literally dropped open. “You know?”
“I do,” confirmed Wilson. “And I’d like to know how you pulled that off. Do you realize how difficult it is to arrange a personal meeting with Director Matthew Martin, no less have dinner with the man? I got a phone call from his personal secretary just two hours ago. Normally I’d be angry with you for going over my head and talking directly with our primary financial backer without even consulting with me, but not this time. As a result of your meeting they will be forwarded an additional $500,000 into our grant account on Monday. These sorts of things just don’t happen. Yes, Dr. Griego I need to know how you pulled it off. I need to know exactly what you and Director Martin talked about.”
“I never intended to go over your head,” replied Ron. “I never dreamed that I’d actually get a chance to meet with the director. I’d only planned to consult with my aunt on spiritual matters. The rest was pure serendipity. I knew that she was involved with a non-profit organization, but I thought she was just an accountant. I never realized that she was actually on the board of Martin International. She’d never said anything about it to me.”
And so the story was told. Wilson came to understand something about this enigmatic figure who had rescued his life’s work from oblivion. Yes, Wilson had believed Debbie’s story but to have Director Martin believe strongly enough to increase his funding was almost inconceivable.
“My reality will never be the same,” admitted Wilson. “Defending ourselves with magic circles of iridium and osmium, that’s just crazy.”
“I don’t know if it’s crazy or not,” admitted Ron. “I don’t know if it will even work, but that was what Director Martin recommended. When he or his staff learns anything more they’ll get back to us.”
Wilson nodded. “A police detective was just here a few minutes ago. If I told him this story of drells and stolen souls, I’m not sure just how he might have reacted. I’m not at all sure I’d want to find out. I think we need to keep it between us for now.”
“Yes doctor, I completely agree,” replied Ron.
Wilson hesitated. “I think it would be best if you didn’t even tell Connie what you just told me. She is pretty upset as it is. I don’t want to make things worse.”
“But she’s in danger too,” objected Ron. “I think she has the right to know.”
“To know what,” objected Wilson, “to know that we’re being stalked by monsters? We’re not all that sure of our facts, and until we are we keep this between ourselves, understood?”
Ron nodded, though he did
n’t agree. “Yes doctor.”
“Good,” replied Wilson. “Connie is running the diagnostics program on FENS and I think she would appreciate your help. I’ll drop in later to see how the two of you are getting along. For now, I need to sort things out.”
Throughout the remainder of the day, every unexpected sound caused Ron to turn with a start, almost expecting to behold one of the dreaded drells creeping up behind him.
“What’s gotten into you, Ron,” said Connie, setting a cup of coffee upon the console beside him. “You’re a bundle of nerves.”
“Sorry,” apologized Ron, “I suppose Karl’s death has really gotten to me.”
“I know,” she replied sitting by his side. “He and I worked together for years on this instrument. He was in his glory. It’s hard to believe he’s gone.” She gazed through the control room window at the instrument she had labored so long to construct. “I was only three days out of college when I started working for Dr. Wilson on this project. I’ve hardly taken a break from it since. I was so sure that it was going to work, that it would save lives. I just can’t understand what went wrong.”
It took all of Ron’s restraint to resist blurting out all that he had discovered. They needed help and they needed it badly. He just wasn’t all that sure where it was going to come from.
Chapter 10
“Debbie’s EEG is unchanged,” said Ron, stepping into the control room of the FENS lab. He shook his head. “I sure wish I knew what was going on over there in that other world.
Connie glanced up from the open circuitry cabinet. “So you believe Debbie’s story?”
Ron shook his head and placed the clipboard with Debbie’s test results on the control room table. “After all that I’ve seen these past few days I really don’t have much choice. I also believe we’re in deep trouble.”
Connie looked at Ron in surprise. “From what?” Then she answered her own question. “The drells.”
The Realm of the Drells Page 13