Necropolis: Book 3: Pharaoh

by Michel Weatherall

  Jebediah turned to his brother for confirmation.

  Ezra looked frustrated. “Ah, shit. You ready Jeb?” The two exchanged a knowing look. Jebediah smiled. If it could be said that Jebediah was an ugly man, he was downright frightening when he smiled. His ear to ear grin was filled with his tiny teeth. He nodded his head ‘yes’, a string of drool escaping his lips.

  “Fine,” Donita continued in English, “On three, yes?” All five men nodded their understanding.

  “One...”

  Otto and the two Arabs dug their heels in.

  “Two...”

  Ezra leaned into the crowbar, but Jebediah began pushing. The stone began inching forward.

  “Shit!” Donita mumbled under her breath. Maybe Jebediah couldn’t count. “Three!” she shouted. “Push! Push! Push!” Then she put her back to the Stanton brothers. While facing the men on the rope she yelled at them, “Pull! Pull! Pull!”

  The stone shifted and slid slowly. Jebediah managed to get the leverage he needed and the stone turned on its base, its grinding sound growing louder in the confined corridor of the catacombs.

  A long drawn out spectral groaning escaped from the newly opened gap into darkness. Sounds started issuing from the tomb’s entrance.

  The two Arabic labourers dropped their rope and ran, yelling in terror. Otto abandoned his rope and charged forward to help Ezra with the crowbar.

  Donita was shouting in Arabic after the fleeing men, “It’s just air! It’s just the air rushing in!”

  Jebediah managed to gleefully squeeze his bulk through the opening, finding footing against the wall and put his entire strength into his shoulder.

  The massive lintel stone, dislodged, tumbled freely into the corridor. The dust thrown up by it greedily sucked into the gaping black entrance into the Pharaoh’s tomb.

  Dr. Schäfer entered with his lantern extended forward. Half dragged across the tomb’s threshold and now torn to rag-like pieces by the lintel stone, was the desiccated remains of a skeleton. Clearly it was crushed millennia ago beneath the stone.

  Dr. Schäfer entered further into the tomb. Donita, Otto, and Ezra followed closely. Dr. Schäfer’s shoulders slumped. The crypt wasn’t particularly large. Scattered about the tomb were the dried remains of five other skeletons. None were laid out, but seemingly scattered around the crypt haphazardly. They were not ceremonially buried here but just left to die. Clearly, there was no sarcophagi; no Pharaoh; no true tomb, and no Eye of Osiris. This was a dead end. The archaeological dig was a fruitless failure for Dr. Schäfer.

  But that wasn’t where Otto and Donita’s interests lay. They scanned the walls, the engraved inscriptions, the hieroglyphics... Otto hadn’t realized he was holding his breath until he tried to speak. He whispered to Donita, “Well... is it...?” He didn’t know if she hadn’t heard him or was ignoring him or was too wrapped up in her own thoughts.

  Donita’s blue eyes scanned back and forth, deciphering the hieroglyphics.

  “Well?” Otto asked stressfully again.

  Donita’s lips parted silently in awe. “It’s here. The Music of the Spheres. We’ve found it!”

  ..................

  Diary of a Madman

  IV: Shores of Sanity

  June 4th, 1998

  It is only during these shortest days of winter that the sun and moon change to elliptical. They seem to coincide with the ocean rising to the beaches.

  This is the fourth time I have observed this bizarre event. I do not believe my mind is slipping, nor do I believe these two celestial bodies are actually changing shape. It must be some kind of atmospheric phenomena causing a sort of lensing effect. It could be gravity lensing but what could possibly create such an effect?

  ~

  June 17th, 1998

  The ocean rose up to the cliff-face, up to the sandy beaches again, as it was wont to do during the short days of winter. I retreated to the furthest point I could find inland, away from the ocean’s insane edge; the bats’ cave.

  But this time I had decided to attempt to build a more permanent shelter. Truth be known, I needed something to distract my imagination from the ocean’s edge.

  I was collecting leaves, branches and vines when I inadvertently stripped a stone bare. The revealed stone was carved. Half-buried in the soil and protruding at an odd angle, it appeared as a chiseled block or rectangle. No, it was more queer in its shape then that; more of a parallelogram or a rhombus shape with strange angles, but clearly man-made. It had aged and weathered symbols or hieroglyphs covering it.

  During this fourth winter, any distraction was welcomed over the dreaded worry and fear of waiting and imaging what horror may or may not find themselves onto the beaches.

  ~

  June 30, 1998

  I have scouted and cleared the perimeter of the cavern’s mouth. What I had believed to be natural rock formations encircling the cave entrance I have now discovered to be some sort of ruins. All the stones surrounding the cave’s mouth are of the same material, the same odd cut angles, and all with faded hieroglyphics.

  Only during the noon-hour sun do I venture out into the island in search of more of these hidden stones, but to no avail. They can only be found in the ruins around the pit entrance of the central cave.

  I fear my searches and new discovery has severely hindered my attempt at constructing a shelter; it being little more than a large lean-to perched on an upper escarpment within the cave. The thought has occurred to me to build a strong rope of vines and explore further down the cave’s throat and into the abyssal pit.

  ~

  December 5, 1998

  During one of my daylight-hours climb down the outer cliffs to gain food from the lower island’s tidal pools, I slipped and fell...

  I am confused. I must have fallen nearly a 150 feet... onto stone.

  I know I broke my leg. I can see the bone protruding. My shoulder is crushed and my right arm hangs limp. My lower abdomen is bloated and bruised black-purple. I’m sure there’s internal bleeding. But worst of all, I can’t see out of my right eye and my skull is soft and mushy on one side.

  I don’t know how I survived. Maybe I haven’t. Maybe this is what death begins like.

  ~

  December 6, 1998

  I admit it. As I lay broken on the stones, I was relieved. I welcomed death. It would have been an easy escape from this island. I’ve been marooned here for four years now. I wanted to die.

  But the thought of those bloated walking dead things finding my remains sickened me – let alone that thing that fed upon them!

  I struggled and endured and climbed back up the cliff to die on the dry shores of sanity on the island above.

  I awoke the next morning to find myself alive. I don’t understand.

  My right arm and shoulder hurt, but were functional. It is too painful to eat and my belly has turned a purple-brown colour now.

  Although the bone in my leg still protrudes, skin had grown over it. Walking is incredibly painful but no longer impossible.

  I still cannot see out of one eye.

  ~

  December 9 (?), 1998

  I have hovered in and out of consciousness. I don’t know how many days I’ve been unconscious for.

  I am famished.

  My belly is no longer bruised and my shoulder and arm seems to function perfectly now. There is no pain. However, my leg hasn’t seemed to healed right – I don’t know what else to call it. It would seem to appear that my wounds have indeed healed.

  I can walk, but only slowly with a limp. I fear my leg might have healed permanently lame. My vision in my right eye has returned but is always unfocused.

  Last night I dreamt of descending down the central cavern again. I have began collecting long strong vines. I think I will begin seeing how long of a rope I can manufacture. Something calls out to me. I can’t tell whether it’s dream or not. I haven’t eaten in days. I fear delusion may be setting in.

  ~

  Decemb
er 20 (?), 1998

  The more vines I remove around the central bats’ cave, the more hieroglyphic stones I am discovering.

  Why are they only here in the island’s centre?

  I feel much better having eaten. It is only while dreaming that I can hear it calling.

  CHAPTER V: WHAT LURKS BELOW

  The Eye of Osiris

  Ancient Egypt,

  The Catacombs of Nyarlathotep’s Temple,

  circa 1242 BCE

  (3168 years ago)

  Pharaoh’s only fear was Moshe. Moshe, his rebel half-breed son. A Symbiot-hybrid. The fool chose to speak Hebrew. He sided with the Slaves, turned against the Gods – turned against Pharaoh himself! Resist and deny the inevitable. Yes, Moshe was the danger now. Moshe was a real threat.

  As was Moshe’s lot as a Symbiot-hybrid, he was hypersensitive to the psychic ether. He could somehow sense and feel the presence and manipulations of transdimensional phenomena; Gateways, Gatespheres, dimensional portals and windows. Even teleportation. He could follow its trail – effectively track it – like a dog; like a bloodhound!

  If Moshe was anywhere near he would know and surely he would pursue Pharaoh.

  Pharaoh knew he had no choice. He couldn’t stay buried and entombed to slowly desiccate, mummify or fossilize away in the darkness.

  Psychic tendrils unwove from Pharaoh’s multimind and gingerly explored his surroundings; perversely caressing the other minds entombed in this Stygian darkness with him. He could hear their thoughts, what little thoughts the undead had. Confusion, a silent quiet fear, and a forgetful dull sense of urgency.

  One was trapped; pinned and crushed beneath the entrance’s collapsed stone. Pharaoh’s mind’s eye could see in the dark. He could see the zombie’s cells, their atoms, and the spaces between the atoms. The forces and vortices and dark undead energies that bound and glued the thing together. And as Pharaoh’s alien psychic powers attempted to undo and untie these dark energies, the amulet on his chest, beneath his wrappings, glowed brightly.

  The Eye of Osiris – that cursed alien artifact – stitched the undying thing’s energies back together – held it whole and intact. Its energy slowly leaked away, syphoned off and consumed by Pharaoh as the crushed and maimed soldier pitifully struggled against a force no amount of physical effort could resist. Its cries only agitated the other undead things.

  Pharaoh could hear the wet slopping sound of the other eviscerated corpse as it dragged its innards behind it. It had become animated by the crushed soldier’s cries. It hungered and blindly searched the blackness.

  The crushed soldier’s cries became frantic as the gutted-thing found him in the darkness, his cries becoming louder and louder.

  Pharaoh’s lips parted into a leering smile beneath his mask of linen. Just as his symbiot-facet fed off the soldier’s dead energy, so too did he thrive and feed off the soldier’s fear. He took an aroused and perverse pleasure in the man’s screams of fear and pain as the other zombie began feasting on its undying flesh.

  Although Pharaoh had ample energy now to unbind himself and remove the dagger embedded in his chest, he didn’t. He lay in the darkness relishing the influx of energy and fear. The soldier’s screams and blubbering were music to his ears. The choking sounds he made as he gagged and drowned on his own blood. The slobbering and ripping and tearing sounds the gutted-thing would make as it fed. This could go on indefinitely, Pharaoh mused with glee! He was intoxicated in the debauchery; drunk with the fear and power.

  Then, Pharaoh sensed it! Too late! Too long! He had waited too long! His ecstatic state had caused him to miss that telltale warning! Moshe was here; in the temple above! Pharaoh could sense him, could feel him.

  The energy unfurrowed out of his mind like wildfire. His binding linen ripped and tore apart. The ceremonial dagger lodged in his chest extracted itself! The very air in the sealed tomb was pregnant with energy as he teleported away.

  When Pharaoh disappeared so too did the cursed Eye of Osiris. The undead things collapsed, true death claiming them in the entombed darkness.

  ..................

  Moshe exited the portal and stepped into the bright light of day. Cloudless cerulean skies arched overhead as he stood atop the temple. He had to be sure the Egyptians followed his lead. He had to be sure they finished this job. He had to know Pharaoh Nyarlathotep was finished.

  Two Egyptian guards were surprised by Moshe’s sudden appearance. Both raised their khopesh sickle-swords, unsure of Moshe’s intent.

  In one hand Moshe readied his staff for combat while with his other hand he simply raised it. His eyes became brilliant and shone with a green-gold energy. His mind reached out and touched the minds of the soldiers. He could taste their fear nearly at the boiling point of terror. He removed the fear and calmed their minds.

  As Moshe lowered his hand, so too did the soldiers lower their weapons.

  “Peace be with you,” he spoke in their heads, “I bring no harm.”

  His mind was still in contact with the soldiers’. His peace of mind spilt over onto and into them. Moshe took a deep breath, then slowly exhaled. The calm permeated the air. The skies themselves seemed to slowly sigh and exhale the tension.

  Then, without warning, the psychic ether became violently leadened with chaos! The soldiers winced and recoiled. Moshe immediately broke off contact. The blue sky seemed harsh and metallic suddenly. The sun made his eyes squint.

  He could feel the hatred and fear from below as he sensed Pharaoh’s presence leave; teleport away.

  Moshe could taste his father’s trail. He could sense the enormous distance he traversed! To a land far beyond what any Egyptian or slave ever traveled or dreamed of. And echoing down that teleportation corridor he could feel the taint of something other.

  The two guards blinked and rubbed their eyes. One minute Moshe stood before them – the next he had vanished. Moshe teleported, in pursuit of Pharaoh Nyarlathotep.

  ..................

  Diary of a Madman

  V: The Island Dreams

  November 7th, 2000

  What began as a more permanent living structure in the upper mouth of the central cave has become a surprisingly large dwelling in which I can stand upright and even walk through. My original lean-to structure, I had long since abandoned as a sort of storage shed.

  In some ways I am surprised I have built something so intricate and useful and in other ways I am not surprised, considering I have nothing but time.

  I had developed the habit of scavenging and collecting my building materials during the day with frequent catnaps, and working and building during the night. I had done this to avoid long bouts of sleep, especially during the night. The nightmares haven’t stopped and I suspect have only grown in intensity. The building project had been a welcome distraction, but now that it is complete, I am once again faced with sleep and the nightmares.

  The nightmares, although different, are always the same. Different in that I am not always here on this island. Sometimes I’m back home and it’s so vivid, I awake to the original crushing despair I had suffered through years ago when I was first marooned here. They are the same in that it is always the same person calling out – whispering – to me. No. I cannot call it a person although I feel we know each other intimately now.

  It is always a sea conch-hooded individual; a sea-shell for a head. Its body is large and bloated and its hands and feet... they’re nightmare fuel. They seem to play with your sense of perspective with an odd undefinable and ambiguous textile of both soft and flaccid and bone-like and sharp.

  It has other features suggestive of either flight or swimming – queer flexible fin-like structures that may allow it to fly, or not. Their purpose evades me. I think it is best not to over analyze details of nightmares.

  But worst of all is its face. Most often it keeps it hidden within the hood-like sea conch it calls its head. But sometimes it doesn’t.

  Hidden is best.

  It is an elong
ated mass of tentacles. Some end in eyes. I don’t know if they’re eyes. For if this mass of tentacles were its beard, where its eyes should be are a pair of tightly shut slit-like apertures. I can at least imagine it as some sort of face this way. Maybe they are gills?

  No. Now I’ve failed. I’m giving it anthropomorphic qualities where none exist. It is anything but human. It is anything but humanoid. It is anything but human-like. It is an imaginative creature of nightmares.

  But worst still is what it whispers. It is the ramblings of madness. I believe it was Its whisperings that drove the crew of the Yamayuki mad. I believe it was Its whisperings that guided the Yamayuki to this desolate location. I believe it wanted me here in its loneliness.

  I believe it is on the other island I can see over the east horizon when the ocean is lowest. Its callings tell me so.

  I don’t listen. It is why I do not sleep at night.

  Now that I have nothing to preoccupy my time, I find myself dwelling on it; fixating on its image. I draw its face in the sand. I’ve carved its face on the trees.

  ... I need to stop. I need to find another project.

  Maybe I’ll start working on a long strong rope to explore the depths of this central cave.

  Maybe I’ll chisel its face onto the large stone on my floor. I’ll need to work on a chisel first.

  Yes, first I’ll engrave its face onto the stone. Then... then the rope.

  Diary of a Madman

  VI: The Bats

  Feb. 2nd, 2001

  I’ve decided to weave a web-like net. It is my hope to catch some of the bats as they exit the central cavern at twilight. It would make for a change of diet.

  ~

  Feb. 3rd, 2001

  My bat-net was a success! I had captured one bat the following morning. I killed, skinned, and cooked it. Precious little meat. Hardly worth the effort. I had debilitating stomach cramps for the remainder of the day and evening. I suspect I’m not used to meat any longer.

  ~

  Feb. 4th, 2001

  The next morning my bat-net had caught another bat. I killed it with a rock and hung it out. My mind wasn’t made up yet this morning whether I would attempt to eat it or not. Later that evening I had decided I would finish and cook it. When I returned it was gone.