Authors: Graham Masterton
Tags: #Science Fiction, #Horror, #General, #Fiction
Deputy Martino handed me his coat,
and I hung it around my shoulders to keep me warm. All the same, my teeth were
chattering like crazy, and I knew that I was going to have to find dry clothes
and
a stiff
bourbon if I didn’t want to go down with
pneumonia.
‘So what?’
I asked Dan. ‘You’ve found a whole
system of dry caves.
So what?’
Dan laid his hand on my shoulder.
‘So we lay a charge just under the surface of the lake here, or rather Pete
Lensky does, and we blow a hole clean through to the dry caverns. The water
pours from the flooded caverns into the dry caverns, and we drain the whole
structure down to a much lower level.’
‘Leaving Chulthe stranded again?’
‘That’s right.’
I ran my hand through my dripping,
freezing hair. ‘Dan,’ I told him, ‘you’re worth something after all.’
‘I always knew you cared,’ said Dan.
‘Now pick up this cat of yours, and get back up the surface.
Pete says it won’t take more than
ten minutes to fuse the charge, and then we’re all getting the hell out of here
for good.’
I paused for a moment. I looked
around the pillared cavern, at the dark lake waters into which so many people
had been dragged. There wasn’t any doubt at all that it was the vestibule of
hell, the entrance to an ungodly world where men behaved like beasts, and
beasts walked the earth like men. I shuddered, and then one of the officers led
me away. Shelley followed behind, disdainful of my offer to pick him up. He
didn’t like getting wet, you understand.
We squeezed our way back up the
tunnel to the cave of albino bats, and there was a harness waiting for me. I
buckled myself up, held Shelley firmly under my arm, and then tugged the rope
to be hoisted up above the ground.
It was still raining as the drilling
rig lifted me out of the hole and up on to the Bodines’ back yard again. The
drilling crew were hunched under waterproof hats and coats, and the police were
all wearing their raincapes. There was an intense smell of fresh air, and the
arc-lights glared and sparkled in the wet, and not far away a cluster of police
cars and ambulances were waiting, their beacons flashing red and blue in the
darkness.
I was helped to the side of the
drill-shaft,
and unbuckled from my harness. Two medics came
across with a stretcher, and asked me how I was feeling. ‘Sick,’ I told them,
‘and tired.’ One of them, his spectacles beaded with rain, gave me a miniature
bottle of Yukon Jack, which I drank in one gulp. I coughed, and sat on the
stretcher for a while, letting the rain sift down on to my head.
After a moment or two, I was ready
to go to the ambulance. I let them take off my wet clothes, and give me a shot
of antibiotics in case any of my lacerations were infected. But I wouldn’t let
them drive me off to New Milford hospital until Dan and Deputy Martino were out
of the hole, and I knew that the charge had gone off.
The medics tried to talk to me, but
I was beyond talking. I lay back in the ambulance wrapped in blankets, and all
I could think about was that huge wrinkled black maggot, that devil-beast called
Quithe, or Chulthe, or Satan. That thing that had left its horrifying mark so
strongly on human life that, even after thousands of years, its memory had
lingered.
That thing that brought out man’s most sadistic,
lustful and self-destructive feelings.
That thing of
the dark, subterranean caves beneath Connecticut, which was determined to break
loose.
It was no wonder that there had been
witch-trials in Massachusetts, with Chulthe sleeping in the water systems of
New England. It was no wonder that Celtic fishermen had talked of Shellycoat,
the crab-creature which lured seafaring men to their death.
None
of the stories and myths of evil spirits seeemed ridiculous now; none of the
far-flung theories about gods from the stars.
They had all originated
from the beast-god Chulthe who had ruled Atlantis, the beast-god who wanted to
rule again now. They were all true.
I closed my eyes and I could see the
devil’s obscene illusions again. I could see women’s thighs slippery with
blood. I could see men’s agonised faces as they deliberately mutilated
themselves. I could see children crushed for the passing pleasure of strange
creatures.
Suddenly, a hand touched my face. I
opened my eyes. It was Dan. His face was grimy, and he stank of caves and
sweat, but he grinned, and said: ‘We’re almost ready. Pete’s wiring up the
detonator now. Will they let you out of here to watch?’
The medics looked at each other, and
pulled pessimistic faces. But I said quietly: ‘I don’t want to watch. Just do a
good job, huh? Just empty that water out of those caves.’
Pete Lansky appeared, and looked in
at the tail of the ambulance. His woollen hat was sparkling with rain. ‘How do
you feel, Mason?’ he asked. ‘You look like you went to hell and back.’
‘You could say that, Lansky. When
are you going to set off the dynamite?’
‘I’m off to do it right now. You
just tell those medics to stay right here. You’ll hear something like you never
heard before.’
‘Okay, Lansky. You hear that, guys?’
The medics shrugged, and nodded.
We waited four or five minutes. Then
we heard a shrill whistle blow, and some of the drill-rig crew came past us in
the rain, back out of danger. Another whistle blew, twice, and we guessed that
this meant Lansky was about to press down the plunger.
Dan stayed by the ambulance. At
first, there was nothing. But then we heard a deep, deep rumbling sound, which
shook the ground under our feet. The rumbling was followed by a loud groaning
rip, as the rock walls which divided the flooded caverns from the dry caverns
were breached, and then the ground shook again as millions of gallons of water
collapsed through the hole that Lansky’s dynamite had blasted open, and
cascaded down cave after cave, vault after vault, emptying out the devil’s
cathedral, and the strange cavern where Chulthe fed and dwelt and dreamed,
foaming and splashing through tunnels and galleries and underground chasms.
After a while, there was silence.
Dan looked at
me,
and sajd ‘That’s it. It sounds like
we’ve done it.’
‘Is anybody going to check?’
‘Maybe later.
But that’s the county’s
responsibility. Let them handle it. If I were you, I’d go right back to being a
plumber.’
I said to the medics: ‘Let’s go,
guys. I don’t think there’s anything else to wait for.’
One of them said: ‘Your cat’s
sitting up front. I hope you realise that animals aren’t strictly allowed in
medical emergency vehicles.’
I closed my eyes. I was very tired.
I told them softly: ‘Shelley’s no animal. Shelley’s my friend.’
Dan closed the ambulance tailgate,
and I think I heard the siren begin to whoop as they drove me away to hospital.
I couldn’t be sure.
Rheta came to see me the next
morning. I was sitting up in bed, reading a dog-eared copy of McCall’s, and
occasionally looking out at the rain which ran down the hospital windows. I
felt stiff and bruised, and a little distant, but I was anxious to get home and
sort out my flooded living-room. I was anxious to get back to normal.
Rheta was wearing a plain black wool
suit which made her look severe but very sexy. She sat down by my bed, and laid
her hand on mine, and gave me a smile that made me feel better than a whole
week’s course of penicillin and two anti-tetanus jabs.
‘How are you feeling?’ she asked me.
‘Fine, I guess.’
‘Your still haven’t told us what
really happened.’
I dropped my gaze. ‘Give me some
time. We could talk about it over dinner one evening.’
She kept on smiling. ‘Maybe,’ she
said.
‘Is Dan okay?’ I asked her.
‘He’s fine.
Just
fine.
Oh, and I talked to my friend at the sheriff’s office. They found
that man Karlen. You know the one they thought was missing, and had turned into
a crab-creature? He was in Philadelphia, seeing some woman. It was all pretty
complicated, but he was alive, and well, and he hadn’t turned into anything
nasty.’
‘Good,’ I nodded. I didn’t know what
else I should say.
Rheta said: ‘You’ll probably want
some help fixing up your house again.’
I laced my fingers between hers. ‘I
could sure use it.’
She looked me straight in the eye.
‘Well, we’ll be glad to help. If you need anybody to wash drapes, or clean
rugs, we’ll come up next weekend, and give you a hand.’
I paused. The television in my room
was turned down low, but it was so quiet that I could hear one of the girls in
As
The
World Turns say: ‘This is it, then?
The finish?’
‘We?’
I asked Rheta.
Carefully.
She smiled. ‘Kenny Packer. I guess
you could say we’re engaged.’ I kept my fingers interlaced with hers. It would
have been childish to break free. It would have seemed like jealousy.
‘You’re going to marry Pigskin
Packer?’ I asked her. ‘I mean, really marry him?’
‘Yes,’ she said, very soft.
I closed my eyes. I could imagine
Rheta as the devil had offered her to me, in that flame-red bra which.
exposed
her nipples; in those scarlet stockings and that
tiny red G-string. I could see the way the tight elastic came up between the
white cheeks of her bottom.
No wonder, I thought. No wonder. No
wonder people served the devil, and made deals with him. No wonder people used
to worship the beast-gods who lived in the sunken mountains of Atlantis. There
are always moments of regret, of frustration, of lust for somebody or something
that we can never hope to have.
And as long as men and women are
susceptible to greed, and jealousy, and wanton desire, then the dried-up
remains of Chulthe, in their caverns under Connecticut, will always be a threat
to us.
When it thunders hard, and it rains
hard, and nights get dark, then Satan could very easily stir again.
I said to Rheta: ‘Make sure that
Shelley’s getting his chopped liver, won’t you?’
She smiled. ‘Sure I will. But I know
you can trust Dan.’
She bent forward and kissed my
cheek. She smeiled warm and fragrant and I probably wouldn’t feel
her this
close to me again. She whispered: ‘I’ll always be
fond of you, Mason. You know that.’
After she’d gone, and left me with a
couple of Florida oranges and a copy ofjaws 2
,1
muttered under my breath: ‘Like hell you will.’
The End
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