The Devourer Below

by Charlotte Llewelyn-Wells

  “What’s eating you?” The question came sharper than Leo had intended.

  “Nothing.” Donny glanced at his hands, then back at Leo. “You ever think about how it would’ve been? Y’know, if we hadn’t shipped out to fight the Kaiser?”

  “I’d probably be working in a cannery,” Leo shrugged. “That, or drunk and dead like my daddy.”

  “I can’t even remember before. And when I do, it’s like I read it in a book or something.”

  “Everybody came back different.”

  “Those who came back.” Donny’s lips twitched. “I can’t even talk to regular people anymore. All I can think about is how they’d look with a bullet in their gut, or scattered across a half mile of mud by a German mortar.”

  “Lotta guys have trouble adjusting to civvy life,” Leo said. “That’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

  “I ain’t ashamed of nothing.” Donny’s lips drew back from teeth that flashed white in the moonlight. “I just get so mad when I see them laughing, or dancing, or drinking at a speakeasy. Where do they get off acting like that? Like there ain’t thousands of us face down in France; and who knows how many more who’ll never walk, or talk, or think straight ever again.”

  Leo gave a tight-lipped nod. When Donny was in one of his moods there was nothing for it but to let him play himself out.

  “Animals, just tearing at each other.” Donny’s voice was a low growl, barely audible over the rumble of the motor. “We saw it – over in the Ardennes, at Epieds – didn’t we, Leo?”

  “I reckon we did.”

  “Sooner or later, they’ll see it too.” Donny’s smile was ugly. “We’re all of us nothing but meat.”

  They drove in silence after that.

  Leo glanced over at the broken mirror, the bullet scars along the side of his car. It would all be worth it when he had that ten large – enough to get the prohis off his back and set up a few stills. Johnny V had crossed a line when he gave the feds the Canada route, and Leo knew more than a few bootleggers who might want to have a few hard words with the self-styled “Baron of Boston”.

  They crossed into Massachusetts just after midnight, stopping only to gas up at a little all-night place just outside of Amherst. Leo knew the owner from way back, and always tried to slip the man a few extra bills when he came through.

  Donny stepped out for a smoke, dragging on the cigarette like he was about to face a firing squad.

  “Not far now.” His expression was unreadable as he got back into the car.

  “I don’t want to risk main roads with all these bullet holes.” Leo started the car. “Still, we should make decent time.”

  Donny nodded, then went back to staring out into the night.

  •••

  They were just rounding Providence when the Model T caught up with them. It was concealed behind a stand of hemlock just off the road.

  This time, it didn’t bother with the headlamps.

  The car rammed Leo’s car just behind the passenger side door. Leo managed to get a hand up in time to stop his head rebounding from the dash. Donny slammed into his side, cursing and flailing.

  Leo shoved him away, laying on the gas, but the Model T had forced his rear wheels into the loose dirt at the edge of the road, and they couldn’t get enough traction.

  Their attacker flicked on his headlamps. Leo heard a door slam, then boots on gravel.

  “My rifle!” Donny fumbled around the seat. He’d hit his head on the dash – a nasty cut that oozed purple-black in the sudden light.

  A man stood silhouetted in the glow.

  “Think you could give me the slip again, Alighieri?” He dragged Donny from the car.

  Leo reached for his Colt, only to have the cold barrel of a revolver pressed into his cheek.

  “I’m not after you, but I won’t hesitate if you try any funny business.” The man was square-jawed and handsome, with close-cropped brown hair sticking out from under a tan fedora. He wore a dusty overcoat, pale red tie poking from the shirt beneath, but what Leo was most interested in were the revolvers he held in each hand.

  Leo swallowed an exasperated sigh. He was getting awfully tired of having guns aimed at him.

  “Where is it?” Fedora pointed the other pistol at Donny, who was struggling to rise.

  Donny mumbled nonsense under his breath, a stream of harsh consonants that seemed nothing but sharp edges. Poor sap must have hit his head harder than Leo thought.

  “I’ll have none of that.” Fedora kicked Donny in the ribs.

  “You don’t look like a prohis,” Leo said. “You one of Johnny V’s guys? Maybe we could work out a deal.”

  The man shot Leo a derisive glance. “There’s only one thing I’m interested in.”

  “The night whiskey,” Leo replied.

  That got Fedora’s attention.

  Donny shifted with a groan. “Don’t tell him anything!”

  “I’m not about to get ventilated over some hooch.” Leo raised his hands. You could always make more money, making more life was a harder proposition. “Listen, friend, you’ve chased us over the better part of three states. From what Donny tells me, this stuff is worth a pretty penny. Let’s say we cut you in. Everybody walks away with plenty in their pockets.”

  The man’s jaw pulsed. “You think I want to sell it?”

  “What gives? You some temperance hack?” Leo blinked. No one but the straightest arrow would turn up their nose at a payday like that.

  “My employer paid me to burn the night whiskey and bring Mr Alighieri back alive.” The barrel of Fedora’s revolver dug into Leo’s cheek. “She didn’t say anything about you.”

  “Easy,” Leo said. “It’s under the back seat. Hidden compartment.”

  Donny let out a sound that was half-moan, half-snarl, and Fedora favored him with another kick.

  “Get it.” The man gestured with one revolver. “Slowly.”

  Leo turned in his seat and reached down to trip the hidden latch, careful to keep his hands in view. In the back seat, fallen just behind the shadow of the rear door, lay Donny’s rifle. Despite the sudden flush of hope, Leo gave no indication he’d seen it. Being dealt a bad hand didn’t mean you were out of the game, best to wait and see how things played out.

  The back seat lifted, revealing the carefully packed crates.

  “Christ.” Something akin to fear flickered across Fedora’s face. “There must be forty bottles there.” He gestured with his pistol. “Unload it, and be care–”

  Donny lunged up from the ground.

  Fedora’s revolver flashed, the shot going wide as Donny fell upon the man, eyes wild, his fingers hooked into claws. Fedora clubbed him with his other pistol, the heavy blow barely seeming to shake Donny.

  Leo dove into the back seat to snatch up the rifle. The car rocked as Donny slammed Fedora into the rear door. Leo stood to see the man had almost brought his pistol to bear. Whatever wild rage animated Donny, Leo bet it wouldn’t survive a bullet.

  The rifle stock made a very satisfying noise against the back of Fedora’s head. Leo reversed the rifle as the man stumbled away.

  “Throw the pistols into the woods.” He aimed at Fedora’s chest. All things considered, Leo much preferred being on this side of a gun.

  “Shoot him!” Donny shouted.

  “I’m a bootlegger, not a button man.” Leo didn’t consider himself a religious man, but he’d seen enough killing for a lifetime. No need to add to the tally. “Drop the pistols, pal.”

  Fedora tossed his revolvers into the bushes. “You don’t know what you’re dealing with.”

  “Neither do you,” Leo said.

  “Kill him!” Donny’s voice had risen to a maddened screech.

  “Get in the car, Donny,” Leo said.

  “But–”

  “I’m not gonna te
ll you twice.” Although Leo kept his eyes on Fedora, he could see Donny practically shaking with fury. It didn’t bother Leo one bit. Since last night he’d been beaten, chased, shot at, and run off the road. Let Donny stew, it wasn’t his car sporting a double fistful of bullet holes.

  Jaw tight, Donny slid into the passenger seat.

  “You’re making a mistake,” Fedora said.

  “Wouldn’t be the first.” Leo shot out the Model T’s tires, then slipped back into the front. Scowling, he threw the engine into low gear and rocked his car out of the gravel pit.

  “What the hell was that all about?” he asked, as they sped away.

  “How should I know?”

  “He sure seemed to know you.” Leo glanced over, sure that Donny was holding something back. “Who was that man?”

  “Meat.” Donny crossed his arms.

  Leo sighed. It really was no use talking to him when he got like this.

  •••

  Leo’s profession necessitated more than a few clandestine meetings out in the sticks. He liked fresh air and nature as much as the next man.

  Arkham Woods was different.

  Those few roads that meandered through the somber trees were thick with fallen branches and creeping brush. Even the lightest shower seemed to turn them to a boggy mess, and Leo had lost more than a few tires to sharp stones that seemed to constantly worm their way up through the earth.

  “The cave is just up that hill.” Donny leaned forward in his seat, eyes bright in the dappled shadows of the Studebaker’s headlamps. The woods seemed to have restored Donny’s good humor, although he still remained infuriatingly tight-lipped on the subject of their strange pursuer.

  Leo glanced over his shoulder. For a heartbeat, he thought he saw distant light through the trees, but it was probably just his nerves. There was no way Fedora could still be on their tail. Then again, he had tracked them across a hundred miles of New England backwoods.

  At Donny’s direction, they turned onto a narrow switchback almost buried by elm and oak. The trees seemed to hunch close as Leo drove by, branches swaying in the stagnant air.

  The road leveled as they crested the low rise, opening into a wide clearing, bounded by sheer rock cliffs on either side.

  Leo braked, but didn’t turn off the engine. The car’s headlamps revealed a carpet of moss and switchgrass broken by a scattering of broken stone. At first, Leo thought the rocks had fallen from the cliff above, but they looked too regular. As he looked, he realized the stones had words etched into them, weathered to faint shadows by age and the elements.

  He squinted at the stones, trying to decipher the dates. Arkham was littered with graveyards and family crypts, but it seemed odd to find one so far from town. A sense of morbid unease tickled up the back of Leo’s neck. Midnight meetings were the stock-in-trade of a bootlegger, but what kind of buyer chose to conduct business in a dilapidated graveyard?

  Donny twisted to unlock the hidden compartment in the car’s back seat. Glass clinked as he fished a bottle of night whiskey from the straw-packed crates.

  “They’re going to want to sample the goods.” Donny got out of the car, ambling amidst the shadowed stones like he was taking the air on a country jaunt. He paused in the glare of the car’s headlamps.

  “You coming?”

  This time, Leo brought his shotgun.

  The headstones seemed scattered at random, many broken as if some drunken farmer had driven a herd of cows through the clearing. Even so, Leo could see the outline of graves, the soil loose and dark like they had only recently been filled in. The sight conjured an all-too familiar roil in his gut. He realized he was gripping his shotgun too tightly, and forced himself to relax.

  Donny led him into the trees. There, almost completely hidden by bracken and twisted vines, was the cave.

  In the dim glow of the car lights, Leo couldn’t see more than a few feet inside. The walls didn’t have the rough lines of a natural cave, nor did they bear the telltale marks of pick and shovel. Rather, they were striated by hundreds of meandering lines that reminded Leo of the trails wood beetles bored beneath tree bark – almost as if the cave had been gnawed from the mountain.

  Donny walked into the entrance, and, cupping a hand to his mouth, gave voice to a keening wail. It echoed down the cave, distorted into a strange, shuddering howl by the snarled acoustics.

  From deep inside the tangled dark, there came an answering cry.

  Leo smelled them long before he saw them. It came as a musty reek, the sharp scent of ancient, creaking flesh overlaying a sickly sweet odor of putrefaction. Leo pressed a forearm across his mouth and nose to stifle the smell, and was immediately glad he had, for it served to muffle his gasp as the first of the things crawled into view.

  Although roughly man-sized, it was human only in the broadest sense. Grub-pale skin stretched across an armature of knobby bone, its flesh seeming almost too thin to contain the wiry ropes of muscle that coiled around its emaciated frame. The creature’s eyes were little more than hollow shadows beneath a heavy brow, thin lips stretched back to reveal teeth like broken glass. Its tongue wriggled, wormlike, in a mouth that seemed to stretch across the whole of its face, the beast’s wide, underslung jaw like the muzzle of a vicious dog.

  Leo had seen corpses in every stage of decomposition, carpets of broken men and horses littering no-man’s land, torn bodies strung like marionettes across tangles of barbed wire. But none of it had prepared him for the abomination that now stood before him.

  A low moan snaked its way through Leo’s clenched jaw as he leveled his shotgun.

  Donny stepped into his shot. “Easy there, corporal.”

  Leo didn’t lower his gun. “What in the hell is that?”

  “I know it’s a lot to take in, but I’ll explain everything.”

  More of the things scuttled from the cave, crouching behind bushes or scrabbling up the rock face like man-sized spiders.

  A tremble ran up Leo’s legs, his chest tight, his throat dry as old stone. It was the same feeling he got just before the brass ordered them up and over the trench; a sense of terrible anticipation that seemed almost to press down upon him like a physical weight.

  Against his better judgment, Leo didn’t open fire. He did, however, put his back to the nearest tree – more for something to lean against than to keep from being caught from behind.

  “Remember the Ardennes?” Donny asked.

  “I try not to.” Leo swallowed against the thickness in his throat. It seemed impossible they could be trading war stories while those things crept through the shadows.

  “The Jerries were dug in, and so were we – miles of trenches, tunnels, holes burrowed deep into the earth.” Donny gave an ugly laugh. “I remember the boom of German artillery, crouching in that pit we’d dug, hugging the earth and stone like it was my mother, like it could protect me. And it did.”

  One of the creatures shuffled closer to Donny, and he reached down to stroke its wrinkled head.

  “We winnowed them out, didn’t we, Leo? Hundreds, thousands dead on both sides, their bodies left to rot deep down below.” Donny cocked his head. “Surely you must have seen them, surely you must have heard the whispers at night.”

  Leo shuddered as memories of the war bubbled through the cracks in his resolve – dark shapes crawling from the earth to pick through the tangled dead, the sharp crack of breaking bone, the wet rip of flesh, the smack of hungry lips. They’d had a name for them – the corpse rippers, the body snatchers, scuttling along the trenches at night.

  Ghouls.

  Leo tried to edge back around the tree, but several of the ghouls moved to cut off his retreat.

  Donny spread his arms. “It called to me: the hungry dark, the skittering maw… Umôrdhoth.”

  The unnatural name seemed to blister the very air. Like the screams of men dying in th
e field, it cut to the heart of Leo’s being – simultaneously unbearable, but impossible to ignore. He flinched as if he’d heard the boom of a distant mortar, unconsciously waiting for the deathly whistle of falling ordinance.

  “It saved me, Leo. It saved all of us.” Donny’s smile was almost luminous in the moonlight. “Umôrdhoth is generous, kind. It asks only one thing in return – to be fed.”

  With effort, Leo managed to stop the shaking in his legs, sure that if he balked, even for a moment, the ghouls would be on him like a pack of wild dogs. He nodded at the bottle of night whiskey.

  “This thing has a hankering for booze?”

  “No, this is for us.” Donny pulled the cork, then tipped the bottle into the mouth of the creature by his side. “Drink up, lad.”

  The night whiskey flowed over the ghoul’s cracked lips, dark and thick as molasses. It gulped at the thick brew, sucking at the bottle like a drunk after Sunday mass.

  Leo watched in horror as the thing began to change.

  Jagged fangs lengthened as the creature’s jaw stretched wide in a hideous shriek. Its claws became hooked talons, spiked bits of bone ripping through pale flesh. Bruise-purple flame seemed to ignite within its eyes even as its gaunt frame bulged with heavy, corded muscle.

  “We’ll be unstoppable.” Donny raised his arms to the night sky. “Umôrdhoth shall feed!”

  Leo shook his head. “Christ, Donny. This… This is…”

  “Inevitable.” Donny extended a hand to Leo, grinning like a country preacher mid-sermon. “No one could see what we saw, do what we did, and come away sane. I know you feel it. We don’t belong to this world anymore, Leo. Come with me, and we’ll make a better one.”

  Leo’s shotgun blast sent the ghoul behind him tumbling off into the brush. He spun, dodging between the trees as the ghouls gave voice to snarling shrieks. One leapt from the shadows to Leo’s left. He unloaded a round in its gut, then pumped the forestock before pivoting to fire blindly into the forest behind. His pursuers ducked behind trees and rocks, scattering through the forest.

  Breathing hard, Leo staggered into the cemetery. He vaulted over a tumbled headstone, almost twisting his ankle on the churned earth beyond.