Aetheric Elements: The Rise of a Steampunk Reality

by Travis I. Sivart

“It’s our curse.” Trudy yelled at her brother. “The Tridington family’s ‘shadow legacy’ has brought this terrible thing upon us!”

  Spencer stared at Trudy as they stood in the center of the smoking crater where their camp had been minutes before. She brushed at the soot on the men’s clothes that she wore, smearing the ash across her beige plaid waistcoat. This had become her preferred style of clothing, more often than not, since taking up the mantle of adventurer with her brother and their guide. Jack Tucker was checking the tree line across the river, looking for the beast that had charged out of the portal that had opened moments before.

  “You said that about Mister Tucker’s missing friend and the Rakshasa that burned that village to the ground,” Spencer answered, straightening his handlebar moustache, “but we had nothing to do with that. We merely received a telegram from a school chum of hers, asking Mister Tucker to check on their mutual friend. You said the same thing about the family curse when your paramour kidnapped my intended. But I tracked him down, and returned Abigail Brewer to her family, unharmed. And you said that about Uncle’s disappearance. You’ve been blaming everything on that curse that since we left Northern Gallia, and sailed for Drungia.”

  “Emery Vance was no paramour of mine. And I am right!” Trudy adjusted her walking cap, leaving delicate fingerprints in the powder that coated it. “And this is not the first mysterious hole in the air that has appeared and some monstrous horror has burst forth from within! This is a curse that our Great Uncle brought upon the family.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” Jack interrupted from the top of the depression, a silhouette in a fedora with the morning sun behind him. “A curse is magic. A legacy is something that is handed down, but can be refused. You two chose to accept this. And just so you know, the beast has fled. Now come out of that hole before it happens again.”

  The twins climbed to the rim, Spencer assisting Trudy on the steep, slippery parts. The three looked where their camp had been an hour before. The sun had just risen and they had put tea on, when the fire erupted into a flaming circular portal and a creature had burst from it, creating an explosion that destroyed the camp as it did. Spencer had been inside the heavy canvas tent, shaving, and was protected from the flying debris and heat. Jack had been in the brush, answering the morning call of nature. Trudy though, had been a dozen paces away, carrying a bucket of water from the river. The blast had made her dump it over herself, which saved her from being burnt, other than a few, minor places.

  “Why are they following us?” Spencer asked, placing his pith helmet on his head and adjusting the goggles above the brim.

  “It’s a curse,” Trudy huffed, squeezing water from her brown pants.

  “No,” Jack corrected, “it is a temporal spatial beacon, and they are drawn to it.”

  “You mean the equipment?” Spencer pulled his coat on. He had recovered it from the tent before exiting to investigate the wreckage of the camp. He was very proper that way.

  “Yes, I do,” Jack answered. “The items I brought back from my last journey,”

  “From the past,” Trudy interrupted, “because you were the one that brought the time machine plans to our uncle!”

  “Yes,” Jack answered with patience, “as I said before, I last saw your Uncle Waldorf, nearly thirty years ago. I was on expedition in Drungia seeking a huge magnetic flux that may be a natural portal through time and space. I met him with his father, your Great Uncle. It seems Waldorf’s father did not disappear into the wilds of the Dark Continent, Drungia, but into some sort of vortex of energy which I was investigating. It appears when your uncle used the machine, the two things resonated with each other, and Waldorf not only freed his father, but also was reunited with him. This is your ‘Shadow Legacy’.”

  “Why didn’t the portals and monsters start thirty years ago then?” Spencer asked.

  “I can only guess, my lad,” Jack said, “but I would think it has to do with the machine your uncle made. You said there were creatures in the lab, trying to gain the plans, right?” The twins nodded, Spencer standing head and shoulders above his sister. “Waldorf had set it back thirty years, to find his father. And that worked, but created the very vortex here in Drungia that your Great Uncle had been lost within for the past three decades.”

  “That is impossible.” Trudy said, with a superior sniff. “If the portal wasn’t first created until our uncle went backwards in time, then it didn’t exist until now, and his father would have never been trapped.”

  “But the villainous Doctor Terrible, and the creatures that came with him had something else, didn’t they? They were in tune with the energies. I think that is why they hunt us. They want what we have, and are attracted to it, like a moth to a flame. Besides, that is why they are here in this time, instead of thirty years past when your Great Uncle disappeared. Because it started now. But if they can go back to that time, then they can stop us from doing what we will do.”

  “What we will do?” Spencer asked, furrowing his brow.

  “What will we do,” Trudy pressed, “and how do you know? Have you been to the future? You do know how to time travel, don’t you?”

  “Ah, time enough for that later.” Jack smiled at his pun. “We need to collect whatever remains of the camp that is salvageable, and get on the boat.”

  “You mean, ‘The Drungian Queen’? Our glorious vessel!” Trudy said, gesturing with grand motions.

  The little boat wasn’t much. Less than ten meters from stem to stern, and just over two meters from side to side, it didn’t give the three much room. A copper boiler stood in the center of the deck with a tiller just behind it, which led to the pilot sweating quite a bit as the heat drifted off the equipment that powered the propeller. The squared off aft portion had a bench going around the rail, and a canvas tarp above for shade. A small cabin was in the fore of the steamboat, providing some privacy or protection, as required. Crates of supplies were stacked around the crowded deck, giving extra seating or a way to secure a tarp when sleeping on deck.

  They loaded the gear they could and set off. The sounds of the savannah rose in their ears. Crickets sounded on the endless sea of grass on either side of the river, and the call of a predator or its prey could be heard on occasion. Jack steered the vessel, smiling and whistling like he was born to the task. He avoided sand bars more by instinct than looking for the telltale ripples on the surface of the water that indicated such dangers. They passed distant cousins of deer, which they knew from their country. These animals had long straight horns that spiraled upward, dark haunches, but ocher bodies. They had seen a dozen different herbivores, each odd and new. Some with stripes, some with spots, some with long necks, and others which were no larger than a housecat. The twins knew a few breeds from the Royal Zoo, but Jack named them out loud as they traveled.

  Jack had put his vest and coat away, rolled up his sleeves, and wore breeches with braces and an ecru shirt, in addition to his standard brown fedora. He was not a tall or imposing man, and smile lines could be seen around his eyes and under his goatee. He dressed in the outdated fashions of North Mirron, but the younger companions enjoyed seeing such things from the continent across the Talic Ocean. Trudy had cleaned up and still wore her yellow blouse, vest, and light brown knickerbockers, which came to just below the knee and ended with a snap. Spencer insisted on wearing his full kit, even in the heat of the day, though he paid for his choice in sweat.

  They chugged along the sluggish waterway for hours, chatting and fanning themselves in the morning heat. Just after noon, as they watched a herd of gazelle drink from the embankment, Jack spotted a disturbance in the river. Removing his pipe from his mouth, he pointed out the churning area to his young compatriots. A blue ring of light could be seen below the surface, far deeper than the channel should have been. The muddy water turned sea green as foreign currents emerged in front of them. The river suddenly widened and water spilled into the plains, as tentacles rose into sight ahead of the boat.
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  Spencer rushed to fetch the carbine meant for hunting elephant and other large animals, as a kraken twice the length of the Drungian Queen surfaced, flailing with its eight limbs. Jack pulled the wheel hard to port, aiming for the flooded embankment, confident the flat bottomed steamer wouldn’t become beached. Trudy stared, then reached for a pointed pole which was used for catching the shore, and held it like a harpoon. The beast thrashed, falling halfway on the opposite bank. A gigantic reptilian head broke the surface, dwarfing the squid, and captured it in its toothy jaws, gobbling it down in three bites.

  The new monster had a spiked turtle-like shell just below its neck, and webbed flippers supported it, spanning the whole river as it lifted itself from the water. The wake rushed over the low sides of the boat, flooding the deck and bringing up a cloud of hissing steam from the boiler. The beast turned its aquamarine iguana-like head and looked at the vessel with one eye that was wider than a man was tall. It lunged for them.

  Jack piloted the boat over the flipper in their way as the wave from the creature’s movement washed under them, and Spencer fired his gun into the beast’s eye. The maw opened, large enough to snap the tiny boat in half, and Trudy threw the makeshift spear with all her might, diving to the deck afterwards. It flew true and embedded itself in the back of the behemoth’s throat. The mouth closed on the canopy, tearing it away, as the leviathan thrashed backwards, the wake of its efforts threatening to capsize or ground the vessel. Jack opened up the throttle, feeding as much steam as he could to the single propeller, struggling to keep the boat in the river.

  The monster noticed the fleeing gazelle, and turned to easier prey, snapping up a half dozen of the unfortunate animals in one mouthful. The Drungian Queen steamed past the danger, guided back to the center of the channel by Jack. Trudy sighed in relief.

  “The rope!” Spencer shouted, pointing at the coil of hemp attached to the spiked pole that was in the sea beast’s gullet. It was unwinding, whining and smoking on the rail as it did. Spencer dropped his weapon and dove for the supplies. Grabbing a hatchet, he leapt to his feet as the boat was yanked broadside, throwing him to the deck again. Scrambling to the railing, he chopped at the rope as Jack threw the engine into reverse to avoid being beached.

  The beast’s head jerked as the line went taut. It focused on its original quarry once more. The cord separated and the boat was free. But they were still sitting sideways in the waterway. Jack spun the tiller and fired the throttle forward again, attempting to get them back on course and away from the attacker. The sea monster threw itself towards them, landing flat in the water, and creating a wave that threw the boat forward and tipped it sideways at the same time. Crates flew into the water as the crew grabbed for anything to hold to stop from plunging into the water.

  The wave carried them forward as the immense head landed a meter from the rear of the boat. Trudy stared into the bloody frothing of its orifice, her eyes wide. The boat righted, found traction, and began to pull away as the beast floundered in the shallow river, before sliding back into the hole from which it had come. The Drungian Queen chugged onward.

  They took stock of their remaining supplies as the day wore on. They had lost quite a bit, but were not willing to go back to recover the crates that floated along the river. They would have enough food to get to their destination, but they may need to hunt or fish on the way back.

  “Oh no!” Trudy gasped as she took stock. “We have lost the parts we brought to fix the machine. They must have fallen overboard when that creature attacked us!”

  “Damnation and bloody hell!” Spencer swore.

  “Spencer Theodore Matthew Tridington!” Trudy exclaimed as she stood. She put her hands on her hips, furrowed her brow, and pursed her lips. “Just because Mister Tucker has granted you permission to wear a moustache does not allow you to use such language, especially in front of a lady!”

  “I may say what I feel, in front of whomever I please. And there are no ladies here. Ladies wear dresses, not trousers,” Spencer said with his chin in the air, but he had been chastised and quieted.

  “It’ll be fine,” Jack said. “I am confident we’ll be able to make do with what we have to fix the situation.”

  “I don’t know how you think we will do that,” Trudy turned her ire towards their guide. “Do you think we shall just use the old copper boiler and whip it into the delicate equipment we need, and for which we no longer have the plans, since they were stolen by Spencer’s arch enemy, Doctor Terrible?”

  “No,” Jack sighed, “we won’t need the plans or the equipment.”

  “What do you mean? What would we use instead?” Spencer asked, leaning forward. “What are you keeping from us?”

  “Well, I haven’t been completely forthright with the two of you. But, if I’m correct, then it’s you we need to fix this.”

  “Yes,” Trudy grumbled, “we know you need us to fix this, which is why you asked us to join you.”

  “No, dear sister.” Spencer’s tone spoke of suspicion and dawning understanding. “I think he means more than merely that. Think for a moment. Mister Tucker could have asked anyone to do this. Experienced safari hunters, military men, or brought a score of hired guns. But he didn’t. He brought us, and only us. There is a reason for that, and I think I have figured it out.”

  “Go on then,” Jack said with a crooked smirk when the lad paused, “let’s see how keen your deductive skills really are, my friend. And once again, please, call me Jack.”

  “Wouldn’t be proper, would never do, sir. But to go on with my theory, you need us, and specifically us. That would mean there is something special about the two of us. You called this our ‘shadow legacy’ meaning it is handed down, and tied to the family. So, in conclusion, you never needed any parts, but just need us to end this dastardly plot against the entire civilized world!”

  Spencer ended with a triumphant flourish, hand in the air.

  “Overly dramatic much, brother of mine?” Trudy said as she rolled her eyes at his theatrics.

  “I allow you to use your overly complicated words and prattle on like you were a university professor that had been spliced into an auctioneer, and a town gossip, so you can allow me this.”

  “Fair enough. But Mister Tucker has not answered yet. You may yet be wrong.”

  “He isn’t,” Jack said.

  “Oh, then are you some diabolical fiend,” Spencer gasped, “taking us to the scene and planning to carve us up for some ritual?”

  “Wouldn’t he just have killed us and brought what he needed,” Trudy teased her brother, “if that were the case, dear Spence?”

  “Not at all,” the lad continued, not noticing his sister’s tone. “He would need us fresh, maybe even need to drain us of blood, and conjure his demonic cohorts while it is still warm!”

  “Spencer, Trudy,” Jack said, as patiently as he could, “I assure you, I don’t need any body parts, and won’t harm you. Well, I may need some blood, but you can draw that for yourself. Or each other, I don’t give a fig. The machine was attuned to your uncle and his father, and I think it will be attuned to you two also. But there is no longer a machine. It is gone. However, the portal that was created when it exploded should still be able to recognize the family blood.”

  “Wait a moment,” Spencer interrupted, “you said you saw our uncle, thirty years ago. Now, that explains why he has said you are his oldest friend, but not why he didn’t just come along with you.”

  “Honestly, I am a bit stumped about that too. I am not sure what made the vortex flare up, and trap your uncle and his father.”

  “Terrible!” Trudy said, leaping to her feet with a smile and clapping excitedly.

  “I beg your pardon?” her brother asked. “Why would you be so happy if that is so terrible?”

  “No, silly!” Trudy bounced as she spoke. “Doctor Terrible. He stole the plans, and built a new machine, and went back in time and trapped poor Uncle Waldorf and his Papa!”

  “H
m,” Jack said, “maybe. But more likely, if the two machines were both activated at the same time, they created a feedback loop, being so close to each other.”

  “But then, why wasn’t he trapped also? Or was he?” Spencer asked, twirling his thin moustache.

  “No,” Jack paused to draw from his pipe and collect his thoughts. After a moment he pointed at them with the stem and said, “I think the things you saw in the workshop, which came through the residual portal from your uncle’s passage, helped Doctor Terrible out.”

  “Why?” Spencer stopped playing with his lip, a concerned look on his face.

  “Because they were scouts, and need to open the door for the rest of their army, or something much larger and more dangerous. We must lay things to rest, specifically the horrors that came with the opening of the portals, as well as stop anything that may be waiting to enter our world. But for the moment, we need to discuss where we shall sleep.”

  The sun was making its way to the horizon, and they debated if they should make camp on shore or on the boat. They couldn’t travel on the river at night due to not being able to see places they could run aground, snags mid-river, and other dangers. They could sleep on ship, and that may be wiser than having another portal opening up their camp. They would run the risk of another river gateway and monster, but would be able to avoid any natural predators. All three agreed to sleep onboard, and take shifts to watch for danger. Trudy claimed the cabin for her use, since she was a woman and needed privacy.

  After a nervous but uneventful night the journey continued. Another day on the river passed, with Jack deciding they would stop at a village they were passing and try to resupply. As they tied the Drungian Queen to the dock they noticed the small collection of huts were abandoned. Spencer climbed a tree to see if he could see any people or activity. After a few minutes, and finding nothing, the trio left without further discussion or investigation. Minutes after they had launched and turned a bend in the river, a snapping sound of a portal opening came from the village. Staring over the treetops they could see a white electrical rift in the sky.

  Three spherical creatures emerged. They resembled jellyfish in that they were pale and milky, but the tentacles that hung below the unnatural animals as they drifted were like the kraken’s limbs they had seen the day previous. The bodies looked more like a brain, wrinkled and slightly grey, than the smooth surface of the sea creatures. The airborne monsters drifted, electricity crackling whenever their appendages made contact with each other or any other object. Soon they were out of sight as the boat made its way downriver.

  “I think the portals are following the two of you,” Jack said, “and I am glad we didn’t camp on land.”

  “But why don’t they open on the water when we stop for the night?” Spencer asked.

  “I am not sure, but each seems to be attuned to a specific elemental frequency. The first we were on land, and had a fire, which it used to enter the world. The second we were on the river, and in a deep part. This last encounter was right after you climbed a tree, Spencer, and high in the air. I think the reason they don’t come when we are tied off for the night, is because we are on two elements, and it can’t pinpoint how to send something.”

  “It is confused by mud?” Trudy asked.

  “It’s the best theory I have,” Jack said with a shrug. “You two should get ready, we will arrive at Lake Rikki-Tikki soon, and that is our destination.”

  The sky was dark in the distance. Clouds roiled and lightning danced inside them, though no thunder sounded. The whole savannah was quiet, and carried an eerie and expectant feel. An hour later the Drungian Queen chugged from the river delta onto the lake.

  “My watch has stopped,” Spencer said, tapping at the glass of his pocket timepiece.

  “Check your compass,” Jack said.

  “It is spinning wildly and doesn’t point to magnetic south like normal,” Trudy said.

  “Yes,” Jack said, with small smile, “that is normal here. And I still can’t get used to compasses pointing to magnetic south.”

  “Oh, you’re silly,” Trudy said with a nervous giggle. “Compasses have pointed that way for thousands of years since the poles switched.”

  “I know,” Jack said, “but I am still getting used to it. The reason I insisted on a steamboat instead of an electric motor is because of this area. I knew any of the new magnetic or electrical engines would probably have issues when we arrived.”

  The twins fell silent as they stared at the clouds. Jack pointed at an island in the center of the lake, drawing their attention to another portal. This rift was the height of a two story building. It sparked and crackled with red, blue, and white electrical current. The center was murky and they could see immense shadows of figures moving on the other side. Two silhouettes were suspended in the center, and a hand as large as a wagon was attempting to grasp them. In front of it, half buried in the sand, was wreckage of twisted, tarnished brass.

  “That’s Uncle Waldorf’s machine!” Trudy said.

  “Who is that?” Spencer asked, pointing at three figures which emerged from the tall grass and brush and stood on the shore.

  “Is it Uncle and Great Uncle?” Trudy inquired, excited.

  “No,” Jack said, “that isn’t possible. You will see why in a moment. In the meantime, I suggest you two arm yourselves.”

  As they approached the water erupted into a froth, dozens of tentacles bursting from the inky murk below. Blue circles of light twinkled under the surface of the lake. The appendages were not close enough to each other to belong to a single creature unless it was the size of the lake itself. Jack pushed the throttle forward, jerking the wheel left and right to avoid the searching protuberances which flailed at the boat as they made clumsy attempts to avoid them. One grasped the keel, turning the vessel to port. Jack corrected their course as the twins fired their weapons into the water, forcing the creature to retreat. By now, hundreds of tentacles had broken the surface, and their speed slowed.

  Jack tied off the wheel, set the throttle to full, and joined his younger companions in fighting off the hordes of knobby arms that sought to stop them, slashing at them with a machete in one hand and a hatchet in the other. Wriggling, slimy things thrashed as they were struck or shot, the ones landing on the deck writhing towards the three, still seeking their prey.

  The boat hit the shore, throwing the companions forward in a jumble from the sudden stop as the vessel beached itself, the engine whining as the propeller became exposed to air. Jack kicked the throttle back to idle, and closed the boiler valve as the twins stared at the approaching figures.

  One man stood back from the others. He was clad in black robes from head to foot, and held a large tome. Beady eyes and a hooked nose could be seen under the hood. The lead companion was a thick man, broad of shoulder and massive of limb, his face a melted distortion of what it had once been. Fine clothes hung in tatters from his metal plated body. One hand was an iron pincer, and the other a tentacle resembling the same ones that flopped on the bottom of the boat. He walked with a broken gait, keeling to one side with each step. The third man was unremarkable in every way, except for his pale skin and surplus of freckles. The only features that stood out was the hunger in his eyes, and his crouched, feral stance, as he licked his lips and crept forward.

  “Come to me, bring me the sacrifice the dark ones require,” the thin man said, holding his hands above his head. His sleeves fell, exposing an odd symbol on his wrist.

  Spencer stared at the tattooed rune, and the world spun. The young man collapsed to the deck, covering his eyes and whimpering. Images of text he had seen years before, in one of the many books in his uncle’s library, overwhelmed him. Memories overtook him and flooded his mind: of terrors seen in the dark of night in the lab, and when he last saw two of these three men.

  “Leave him,” Jack said to Trudy as she turned to help her brother. “I will protect him. Just get to the portal.”

  “‘A blood sacrif
ice of purity and innocence must stain the sands and altar, the blade driven by the hand of passion and lust for destruction’, it is written,” the thin man said. The freckled man let out a hyena-like laugh, and slobbered with anticipation.

  “Written by whom?” Jack said, “No, don’t bother. Your book is just one of many. There are other things that have been written. Such as, ‘a sacrifice that is willingly given shall free all, and innocence shall sleep in peace’. Trudy, run! Get to your uncle!”

  “Wait,” Trudy said, hesitating. “I am that sacrifice, aren’t I?”

  Jack looked at the girl, his eyes filled with pity. “Does it matter? You must do what is right, before they get to your brother and use him. You must trust me.”

  Trudy turned and ran.

  Spencer lay curled in the fetal position, terror and despair washing over him. He felt fevered and chilled in waves. The dark nightmares returned to him, dark things creeping across the earth, and whole towns devoured by grey things in the night. Children’s screams and mothers’ weeping filled his ears.

  Jack twirled his machete and hatchet, and launched himself at the freckled man who was preparing to pursue the girl. With the first blow from behind, the hatchet buried itself deep into the man’s shoulder, passing into the chest cavity. His body flowed around it like jelly, and clear ooze slid up the haft of the weapon, touching Jack’s hand. Jack screamed as acid ate into his flesh. The pale man spun. The hatchet didn’t move with his body. Instead now it jutted from his chest. Clothes melted away as mouths appeared across the man’s body, teeth and lips gibbering and babbling at Jack. The sound tore at his mind and his sanity stretched to its limit.

  Trudy sprinted for the portal, unsure what she would do once she got to it. The man with the iron pincer lumbered after her, the tentacle arm stretching over three meters and wrapping itself around her ankle. She fell into the sand, swallowing dirt as she tried to scream. She felt herself being pulled backwards, and kicked at the limb. It was like kicking steel. The sound of the pincer from behind grew closer.

  “Why?” Spencer mumbled. Music spun in his head, blocking out the black thoughts and images. His mother’s voice sang to him, further separating the fear from his mind. The tinny tinkle of a music box played in his thoughts. Since he was a child, he had nightmares. Not the kind you woke from and hid under the covers, but rather the kind that you woke up to someone shaking and slapping you because your screaming woke everyone in the house except for you. Spencer learned to watch the shadows for things that crept in the places others never dared to look. The only thing that brought light to those horrible moments was the music.

  The music played now. The darkness receded. Spencer opened his eyes, and looked up. The sky above was becoming shadowed with clouds, lightning flitting through the churning layers of mottled greys.

  “Why?” he asked. His back cramped and his muscles ached from being tensed, caught in a rictus of panic and fright. Breathing deep, he flexed his shoulders and arms. Jack’s and Trudy’s screams reached his ears. He sat upright, his hand falling on the elephant gun beside him. Standing, gun in hand, he turned to take in the scene before him. The lightning flashed, and the forest of tentacles in the lake swayed to the rhythm of the pulse of unnatural power in the air.

  Jack’s arm was buried to the elbow in the gelatinous mass of the horror with dozens of mouths, on his knees, hacking uselessly at the bulk with the machete. Trudy was rolling side to side, avoiding the mechanical hand of the monster Spencer had once called the ‘Hideous Man’. In the center of it all, Doctor Terrible was laughing manically, arms in the air, book in one hand, a curved kris blade in the other, calling to his masters, the Troöds, to come and accept the sacrifice.

  Spencer leveled the gun, squeezed the trigger, and let his shoulder take the kick. The bald man’s head exploded. The music box tinkled on in Spencer’s mind. He reset his sight on the mechanical Hideous Man, and fired again. Hitting the monstrosity in the buttocks, its legs flew out from under it, pulling its tentacle loose from Spencer’s sister. The retort of the firearm bucked the boy’s shoulder, and he dropped the gun. Reaching for it, his fingers grasped it, but pain shot up his arm to his shoulder when he tried to lift it.

  Hearing his mother’s soothing song which she sang when he woke screaming during his childhood nightmares, he reached for the rifle with his left hand. Kneeling he balanced it on the rail of the Drungian Queen and aimed at the amorphous mass that the freckled man had become, pointing at the grey blob in the center of the creature. Pulling the trigger again, he smiled and hummed as he saw the gel explode and Jack fall backwards. Sighing with relief that it was over, he dropped the carbine and slumped to the deck.

  Trudy rolled to her back, panting and sobbing in relief. Jack landed in the sand, cradling his hand, which was a red oozing mass of flesh. Lightning struck the sand without a sound, leaving glass craters behind. Three separate forks struck each of their foes. Doctor Terrible shuddered, and his neck burst open as tentacles grew from the bloody cavity to replace his head. The blob of the pale man shimmered and shuddered, then began wobbling back into a mass, congealing and growing. The Hideous Man sat bolt upright, electricity running across his body like a spider web of power.

  “Trudy,” Jack croaked, “run, finish this!”

  Spencer pulled himself up, wondering at the panic in their guide’s voice. Seeing the horrors reawakening, he scrambled for the gun again. Setting the gun on the rail, he sighted down the barrel and pulled the trigger to hear an empty click. Jack scrambled backwards from the restored atrocity in front of him. Trudy pulled herself to her feet and limped to the portal. Standing in front of it, she looked around.

  “What now, Jack?” she shouted, her voice harsh. “What do I do?”

  “I don’t know!” Jack answered, his tone bleak. “Try the machine?”

  Trudy fumbled at her uncle’s broken time machine, pushing knobs and pulling levers. Nothing happened. She turned back to Jack. The man was crawling away from the blob beast, Doctor Terrible was standing upright, his hands held to the sky, blade glinting in the lightning. Spencer was in the boat, trying to reload a large gun with one hand, the stock braced against his chest. The mechanical man was a few yards away, malformed hands reaching for her as he stared at her with dead and melted eyes. She threw herself at the portal. She bounced off of it, wiping her bloody and scraped hands on the surface as she fell.

  The lightning flared, and then stopped. The huge shadowy figure clawed at the murky surface for another moment, before fading away. The red, blue, and white electrical arcs that surrounded the portal faded, and disappeared. Doctor Terrible, the Hideous Man, and the blob of mouths collapsed to the ground, motionless.

  “That’s it?” Trudy asked. “That was a bit anticlimactic.” The clouds broke and the sun shone through, lighting up the small island. Trudy looked up. “Oh. Well, that’s not much better.”

  A hand fell on her shoulder, making her jump and spin around. There stood Uncle Waldorf, white moustache and crazy hair waving in the breeze. He smiled.

  “Maybe,” Uncle Waldorf said, “but the portal is closed and the nightmares have been sent back from whence they came. Now we have to get home. And, I would like you to meet your great-uncle, and my father, now five years my junior.”

 

  The Devil’s Triangle: A Trio of Travelers Tale