Machina Mortis: Steampunk'd Tales of Terror

by Derwin, Theresa

  He tried swallowing again, this time with little better effect. Once more and he was finally able to force his throat to work correctly again.

  “Yes. Yes, child. Come in, my darling.” He stroked gently on his pepper-gray goatee, as he often did when lost in thought. His students used to mimic him when they thought he was not looking. But he did not mind. He preferred to remember them that way, than….

  The latch clicked and the large door swung inward. A patch of curly blonde hair appeared around the door edge, followed closely by the pretty little face underneath. The girl smiled.

  Keep stabbing!

  His beloved granddaughter stepped into the room, her gloved hands smoothing down her ruffled pink dress as she curtsied. “Mother wanted me to tell you that Master Anthony Newt is here to see you. Would you like him brought up, sir?”

  He smiled, though a dark sadness remained in his eyes. She looked so lovely in her matching gray gloves and button-up boots. He squinted his eyes and could see the hint of silver around her neckline. Good. She still wore the necklace he gave her upon returning to country earlier this year. It was about the only thing keeping him from slicing off her head and burning her body. He would do anything to keep his loved ones protected from Them; even if that meant dispatching each member of his family with his own hands. He could do it so that they would feel little to no pain. And it would save them the eternal damnation they faced otherwise.

  She looked concerned. “Sir?”

  His smile returned. “Yes, dear. Um… hmm, I mean no. No, dearest one. I will meet our guest in the foyer.” He stepped around the desk, moving deliberately as was his way. Decades lecturing students and exploring unknown ruins instilled in him patience and a careful step.

  The little girl’s eyes widened. “Are you going out, Grandfather?”

  “Why yes,” he said. After a brief pause: “I believe that we will go to the park.”

  The girl let out a squeal, but quickly silenced herself. She was simply about to burst with excitement, he could tell. He hadn’t thought of that. She loved to go to the park. If only she realized how dangerous it was just inside the house, let alone walking the streets of London. And what They would do to a little girl!

  He sighed. He could not deny her.

  “Well, go on. Get my hat. And then you can get your parasol and accompany us. But you must get your mother’s permission, first.”

  Her smile grew three sizes. She leapt toward the chair where his top hat rested and grabbed for it. Shadowy arms reached out like tendrils from around the chair. He looked up at the ceiling; the worms moved in unison toward the shadow creature, and the arms hesitated. The moment was lost. His granddaughter skipped safely back toward the desk. He slipped the cane sword back down as the arms retreated into the darkness and the worms continued their trace of the ceiling patterns.

  The girl stopped just before getting to her grandfather and regained her composure. She gently handed him the hat, which he took with a nervous smile. Hat in hand, he followed her from the room. Turning back once, he let his eyes dart around the study. They were there, so many of them. He didn’t mind them around him as long as that meant they were away from everyone else. But he knew shutting the door would not keep them locked in. They were not just in his study, but everywhere: around every corner, under every cushion and behind every cabinet. Worms. Shadows. Creatures of damnation and horrors from beyond the stars. They were drawn here, like goats vying over the last patch of grass on a barren hillside. And they would never leave. Mankind’s only hope was to keep them fighting among themselves.

  The door latched behind him.

  ***

  Mr. Anthony Newt stood nervously in the foyer; his head bobbed gently as his eyes never stopped dancing from room to room and from hallway to door. He noticed immediately as the Professor topped the stairs. No movement was lost to Mr. Newt, and the Professor was glad for it. The Professor appreciated his friend’s heightened attentiveness, as it had saved their lives more than once throughout the years and was the sole reason they had just returned from the Orient. But whispers surrounded their return. They said Mr. Newt was just paranoid and delusional, but the Professor had crept to the edge of sanity, peered into the abyss, and leapt in. He heard his doubters laughing. Whispering in the darkness. Most men were fools. Others were pawns of the dark ones, directed to discredit his warnings. All of them were doomed.

  The Professor walked slowly down the stairs, smiling to his old friend. Mr. Newt smiled back. Both smiles were painted on; illusions of civility in a world filled with chaos and destruction. Their eyes screamed “Run! Run and don’t turn back!” But the words never passed their lips.

  The Professor could imagine the click-clack sounds of the sliver creatures that lived around the stairwell as they scurried away from the aura emanating from his talisman. Their movements were swift but subtle and all but invisible to the naked eye. Someone standing on the landing might assume the movement just part of the Professor’s shadow.

  The two men had encountered tribulations beyond those of most mortals and did not falter. Blood-soaked, from enemy and friend alike, each man stared into the face of his fears and became acutely aware of the faces that stared back. There is a point beyond heroism, even beyond recklessness, when you keep fighting even though you know it doesn’t matter. But you don’t give ground and you don’t give up. You just keep fighting because that is what you have to do.

  A small brass box-like object with protruding antennae and a single claw arm rolled up next to Mr. Newt and emitted a chime similar to the clock in the Professor’s study. It looked rather like a self-propelled ottoman. With a click and a churn of gears, it spoke. “May I get you an aperitif before lunch, sir?” came a droll voice.

  The Professor missed his servant’s old voice, but had acquiesced to his daughter’s request as a compromise. She begged him to upgrade the butler drone to a new humanoid model, but he flatly refused. Gadget IV was a gift from an old friend who had been lost on their trip to Asia, and the Professor refused to scrap it just to keep up with the neighbors. Besides, he was convinced there was something special about the drone. He noticed the house horrors all kept a respectful distance from the little robot.

  ***

  “We will be going out for lunch today, Gadget.”

  “As you wish, sir,” replied Gadget IV, reversing his treads to back out of the room.

  “Gadget, hold. Miss Stephanie will accompany us, and you will see to her safety.” The Professor raised a finger as his granddaughter stopped on the stair and turned, about to protest. “Do not start, young lady. There shall be no compromise on this. Gadget will accompany you or you will not go.”

  Any desire to fight slid from her face, replaced with solemn resignation. “Yes, Professor,” she replied and continued down the stairs and around the corner. Gadget IV whirred around the corner close at her heels.

  The Professor reached the bottom of the landing, still carrying his top hat and cane. He switched them both to his left hand and offered his right to Mr. Newt.

  “Good day, old friend,” said the Professor.

  “Have you gone mad, Professor?” said his friend through clenched teeth.

  “Mad as ever, Anthony. And you can stop smiling now, sport.”

  “I mean it this time. Lunch out – with the girl? Out there in that living land of nightmares? And I assume you intend the park as our destination?” The Professor tilted his head in a nod, shrugging slightly.

  “Oh, you have gone stark raving, you have. You’ve slipped off the end of the wharf!” Mr. Newt continued, a slight stutter forming around the hard syllables. “Have you forgotten the challenge I face every time I come here? I see them in the streets, waiting and watching. Sometimes I think they even see me, too. You’ve even got them in your bloody house! Why, they are….” His raving dwindled away as he looked at the Professor, who stood nonplussed as he put on his coat and gloves.

  “It will be all right. Trust me,” he said
, tapping his cane lightly on Mr. Newt’s shoulder.

  Mr. Newt walked to the hat rack and retrieved his satchel and bandolier. He double-checked each pouch, and the Professor knew he was mentally running through his standard checklists.

  “I hope you know what you are doing, Professor. For all our sakes.”

  They both turned toward the sound of footsteps.

  “I am ready,” said Stephanie, smiling broadly. She had added a flowery hat and parasol to her ensemble. Stephanie was the picture of precious innocence, like a crowning decoration on a birthday cake. And the Professor knew They were waiting to devour her.

  “Do not forget your re-breather, darling one,” said the Professor as he pulled the nostril plugs down from his top hat. “I understand the air is quite bad today.”

  ***

  “Through me the way is to the city dolent;

  Through me the way is to eternal dole;

  Through me the way among the people lost.”

  ***

  Mr. Newt pulled the townhouse door closed and nodded to the Professor, who flipped the switch on the panel before him. The glass surrounding them adjusted from an opaque green to a slightly tinted, but transparent window. Their goggles adjusted quickly to the bright light of the sun as the lift lowered the passengers slowly to the ground. Both men kept their eyes moving as the girl put her hands on the elevator glass, gawking at the small wing of airships hovering near Big Ben. The ride down to the ground floor would only take moments, but old habits die hard, and both men continued to search their surroundings. Finally the Professor’s eyes settled on a haberdashery two blocks to the west.

  A large skeletal creature with appendages the color of bronze and rusted iron shifted in its perch near the roof. If it were not for the slight movement and the Professor’s experience, he would have been just like the throng of human sheep scuttling about below and never noticed it. Now that he was gazing directly at the creature, he noticed the other dozen or so just like it lining the building’s roofline. One even appeared to be feeding on the worms like those in his study, but it was difficult to discern from this distance. At least they would not need to pass that direction; the park was to the east.

  Being in London, their protection was limited. Each man carried a steam-fused laspistol, but they were stowed away in shoulder bags and not easily retrievable. The laspistol packed a powerful punch, enough to dispose of any single creature they had encountered in the past. But they had no recharger small enough to carry with them, so it was just the one shot each.

  The Professor also carried his cane and a vibrodagger that could cut through any metal known to man; hopefully that translated to the hides of any beast. But the dagger required close quarters, something both men would prefer to avoid. Finally, Mr. Newt concealed a repeating .22-caliber pistol inside the right sleeve of his plated leather overcoat. His left arm, lost during an ill-fated dig on the Dark Continent, had several useful attachments, including a bright-burn personal torch, which he had engineered into quite an effective weapon.

  The lift slowed and settled to a stop at the edge of the walk. London’s mid-day streets were as crowded as always, filled with pedestrians and all kinds of motor traffic. A horse carriage pulled to a stop, halting traffic for a moment to let out the rear-turbine omnibus that serviced their stop. Unfortunately, it was the last bus heading east for the next hour or so. Mr. Newt raised his good arm, attempting to wave down the vehicle, but it was already lost to the bustle of traffic.

  “What a bother!” said Stephanie. “Now we will not make the park.” Her voice was only slightly muffled by her pink re-breather.

  “It will be fine, child. We will walk,” said the Professor. He ignored the glare offered in response by his friend. “It is a nice enough day for a walk, and the park is not far. Come on, come on. ” He ushered the others forward down the walk.

  The two men fell back as Stephanie skipped ahead, taking in every sight along the way. Gadget shadowed her closely.

  “This is a fool’s errand, Professor. I simply cannot understand your motivation. It is inconceivable!”

  Both men lifted their hats in unison to a lady walking a dog as she passed by them on the walk. As they replaced their hats, the Professor tilted his head toward his friend.

  “We are getting old, sport. We could use some help.” Stephanie stopped at a balloon hawker and looked back to her grandfather. He smiled and waved his hand, causing her to clap her own. Stephanie pointed to a yellow balloon, and the hawker handed the string to her. Sounds of gears turning and metal clinking against metal emanated from Gadget, and a small compartment slid out of his side. The hawker bent down and scooped the coins out of the compartment, which quickly snapped shut. The hawker nodded his helmeted head to the Professor, who touched the brim of his hat in return.

  But as his gaze crossed the faceplate of the hawker’s helmet, the Professor was back in a small tunnel in Asia Minor. Dust stirred around his feet as he moved around and around, keeping distance between him and the entities that surrounded him. As if they were made of shadow themselves, his torch’s glow grew dimmer as they closed in.

  “What’s wrong, Professor?”

  “What?” The Professor looked around him. The park was just ahead, and Stephanie was standing at a street corner holding onto a strap that hung from the side of Gadget.

  “Is there something wrong? Did you see something?” asked Mr. Newt.

  The balloon barker was surrounded by anxious children and their weary parents. No shadows. No tunnel.

  “Where was I?” asked the Professor.

  “That’s the golden question. Where were you?” asked Mr. Newt.

  The Professor cleared his throat. “We need some help, Anthony.”

  “Yes, Professor. We need help. We’ve needed help since we visited that God-forsaken land. We went to Stone House. A bloody lot of good that did us. Locked up for six months in a padded cell!”

  An elderly woman glared at Mr. Newt, who tipped his hat and forced a smile. “Apologies, Madam.” She turned away in a huff.

  The two men had caught up to Stephanie at the corner, and the three of them navigated the busy crosswalk to the park. The yellow balloon bobbed along as Stephanie skipped through the large iron pergola that formed the park’s entrance.

  “Stone House was a mistake,” said the Professor as he and Mr. Newt took a seat on a long stone bench, close enough so they could keep an eye Stephanie as she watched a group of entertainers, including musicians and a mime. A couple rode by on a self-propelled bicycle, though it moved so slowly most of the pedestrians passed it on the foot path. “We said too much at Stone House and we paid the price. No, we need someone we can trust.”

  “Everyone in that category is either dead or thinks we belong back in Stone House, Professor.” Mr. Newt’s frustration was evident. “Where are we going to find someone we can trust?”

  The Professor watched his granddaughter as she laughed at the mime pretending to be stuck in a box. Mr. Newt watched the Professor for several moments until his head, too, turned toward the small, laughing girl.

  “No.”

  “Yes,” countered the Professor quickly. “She is our last hope.”

  Mr. Newt was unconvinced. “She is just a girl. A very young and naïve girl! She does not know the first thing about….”

  The Professor held up his hand. So many years ago, when his title held any actual meaning, that gesture conjured up immediate silence in the most crowded lecture hall. Instantly. Efficiently. Mr. Newt fell under the same spell.

  “My friend, she is our last hope. And she is of my blood. We have run out of choices.” The Professor stood and lifted his cane in his left hand. The mime looked at the Professor and smiled. But the mouth grew beyond a smile, forming an oval far too large to be natural. Sharp triangle-shaped teeth protruded around the entire circumference of the maw, and a long blue tongue shot out, grabbing Stephanie by the wrist. She opened her mouth, letting loose a blood-curdling scream.r />
  “To arms, Master Anthony!” The sword slid out with a hiss of metal as the wooden sheath fell to the cobblestones. “We have run out of time as well.”

  The ground began to quiver beneath the park in London.

  ***

  “Justice incited my sublime Creator;

  Create me divine Omnipotent,

  The highest Wisdom and the primal Love.”

  ***

  The ground shivered and rolled, toppling statues and people alike. A nearby fountain’s edge cracked, and one piece fell to the side, spilling water across the green. The ground broke asunder as a large purplish green tentacle whipped upward, throwing a horse and its rider into the air, where they crashed into the limbs of a large tree. Neither horse nor man moved again.

  “We’ve been wrong all along, Master Anthony. It isn’t only the creatures from the heavens we should fear, but the denizens of Hell itself!” the Professor shouted.

  Mr. Newt flipped up both arms, freeing the bright-burn torch while also sliding the pistol into the palm of his hand. His jacket fanned out behind him as he assumed a low posture. His agility belied his years, his movements smooth and direct.

  Both men continued to struggle for solid footing as the ground trembled. Men, women, and children rushed around in all directions, trying to get away from the center of the park. Holes opened up here and there. Clawed red hands and blue-black mandibles appeared around the edges of the holes as the creatures poured out. Shadows from the trees and bushes extended beyond any change in light and grabbed at passersby, pulling them back into the darkness.

  The sky grew dark as clouds of indiscernible flying monstrosities descended upon mankind’s flying machines. Caught off guard, many airships fell from the sky, causing more havoc on the ground. But a few alert crews reacted quickly and began firing laser-guided cannons and repeater muskets – all to little avail.