Ghouls of the Miskatonic (The Dark Waters Trilogy) (44 page)
Read Ghouls of the Miskatonic (The Dark Waters Trilogy) Online
Authors: Graham McNeill
The fire at the frat house had, thankfully, been entirely specific to its plot of land, much to the relief of its neighbors. Not so much as a single ember or brand had gusted from the blazing structure to ignite nearby properties, and little remained to indicate that a building had stood there at all. The
Arkham Advertiser
did not report the fire, though a small piece in the
Gazette
reported that a faulty gas main had been responsible for the tragic fire that had consumed the AQA building.
The
Miskatonic Crier
lamented the passing of so many fine young men, while subtly managing to insinuate that it had been the fault of those within the house that had seen it burned to the ground. Of the part its inhabitants had played in the disappearance of so many of Arkham’s brightest and most beautiful young woman, nothing was mentioned, and none save a few hardy souls were even aware there
was
a connection.
No one would ever know how many had died in the fire, as the temperatures reached by the blaze had been so great that not a single body could be recovered from the ashes. By the time the fire department’s trucks arrived, much of the frat house had been swallowed whole by a vast sinkhole that had mysteriously opened up beneath its foundations. And if anyone thought it strange that the interior faces of the sinkhole were vitrified, turned to glass by heat more commonly found in the heart of a volcano, then those thoughts were never voiced.
The mystery of the fire on Church Street would never be solved, but such was the way with mysteries in Arkham, and that suited the townsfolk just fine. They had glimpsed a measure of their home’s dark underside, and were quite content to allow the façade of everyday life to be re-established. Nothing good ever came of knowing too much, and ignorance was a collective state of mind favored by the majority of the good citizens of Arkham.
Those who dared to voice dissenting opinions were quietly ridiculed, and by the time a week had passed, the matter of the blaze at the frat house was old news and no longer the subject of corner store gossips.
As September moved into October, the panic that had taken hold of Arkham seemed to loosen its grip. In the absence of murder and mayhem on the streets of the town, some of the stores that had previously been closed once again opened for business. After all, the business of America was business. Slowly, though none could explain the reason for the shift in perception, Arkham began returning to normality.
Or as near to normal as Arkham ever could be.
* * *
Amanda Sharpe returned to classes alongside Rita Young, both young girls bearing up surprisingly well after the horror of their captivity. When questioned by the police, neither was able to shed any light on the identity of their captors, though Detective Harden remained convinced that there was much the girls were not telling him.
That was true, of course, but their lips were sealed.
* * *
Finn Edwards recovered from his injuries, though he too was tight-lipped on how he had come by such brutal wounds. His hospital bills were paid anonymously, though the Irishman seemed in no hurry to be discharged, as he was enjoying resting in a comfortable bed, with three meals a day brought to him by pretty nurses with whom he flirted mercilessly.
At his own request, he received no visitors, and spent his convalescence flicking through directories of various American cities. Whenever the nurses would ask him what he was doing, Finn would smile and tell them that he fancied a change of scenery.
Chicago was looking good, or maybe Los Angeles.
Anywhere far, far away from Arkham.
* * *
Rex wrote up the entire fantastical story, sparing no details, but was persuaded by Alexander and Oliver not to publish it. Though they had no story they could give their boss, their first-hand account of the blaze on Church Street persuaded Harvey not to fire them, though Rex knew they were on thin ice.
Reluctantly, he filed the incredible story in a safe deposit box at the First Bank of Arkham, alongside Minnie’s incredible pictures of the night the frat house had burned. Though taken under extreme pressure, her pictures displayed unimaginable scenes of a sky alight from horizon to horizon, and would surely have won Minnie numerous awards had anyone been allowed to see them.
One photograph was all that remained outside of the box, and Rex hid that one in a secret place.
Not even Minnie knew he had kept the photograph, but he needed it close to him, and would take it out every now and then to study it intently.
He would stare at the captured image of the conflagration raging in the heavens—a glimmer of its fire reflected in the black of his pupils.
* * *
In the newly restored laboratory of the Tyner Annex, Kate Winthrop took samples of the curious rock she had brought back from her incredible voyage to another world. As she had hoped, it had proven to be key in her research, and while Dr. Dyer and Professor Pabodie attempted to rebuild the new technologies they had developed for the now-delayed Antarctic expedition, she confined her studies to perfecting her flux stabilizer.
The work was going well, but even as Kate drew closer to a solution, she failed to take into account that most basic principle of the universe.
Like attracts like.
* * *
Charles Warren stood at the window of his office as the DCV
Matilda Rose
sailed from New York Harbor. The missing piece of the device had been delivered by one of the Travelers six nights previously, and fitted aboard by the island folk with the burnished bronze skin. He’d fired every other worker the day before, and with the silver sphere installed, those same island folk climbed aboard to crew the vessel.
He watched as the
Matilda Rose
sailed past the Statue of Liberty, the ridiculous gift from the French that promised freedom and liberty to all. He pictured her submerged beneath dark waters, only the tip of her upraised torch visible above the surface.
Warren smiled and turned away as the vessel disappeared over the horizon.
He made his way from his office, pausing only to dip his finger in a sticky pool of congealing blood smeared across the desk of his erstwhile secretary. Warren put his finger in his mouth, and the taste of the blood sent a delicious thrill through his body. The coppery flavor took him back to Europe when he had first eaten the flesh of dead men in the devastation of what had once been beautiful woodland.
“Good times,” said Charles Warren.
* * *
Oliver Grayson and Alexander Templeton returned to their teaching duties at Miskatonic, though there were stern questions to be answered after many of their students had repeatedly arrived to class to find neither man there to teach. Unexplained absences were unacceptable, and only after lengthy debate and a week’s suspension were both men allowed to return to work.
Alexander and Oliver met with Gabriel, Rex, and Minnie at Aunt Lucy’s one last time to discuss Arkham’s recent events in full, with Oliver and Stone recounting all they could remember from the frat house. With one arm still in a sling from his machete wound, Stone told of how he had shot down a great many of the corrupted members of the AQA fraternity, while Oliver explained how he had found Amanda in the basement.
Though there was a great deal left unresolved, it seemed this current horror had been ended, though no one could say for sure if all the killers had died in the destruction unleashed by the unnatural firestorm.
Believing that Henry Cartwright may have unwittingly been behind that aspect of the night, Oliver paid a visit to Arkham Asylum, only to be told that Henry had lapsed into a catatonic state from which no external stimuli would rouse him.
Whatever answers Henry might have been able to provide were locked inside him forever.
With his daughter’s murderers brought to justice, Gabriel Stone departed Arkham in his battered Crossley. He offered no heartfelt offers of friendship, but told his fellow survivors that he stood ready to help if trouble reared its ugly head in Arkham again.
Though he added that he hoped never to hear from them.
* * *
Ten days after the destruction of the AQA frat house, Oliver opened the pages of
Around the World in Eighty Days
and began to read. It had been too long since he had delved into the world of fiction. Life had taken too serious a turn of late, and it would be refreshing to lose himself in the humorous exploits of Phileas Fogg and Passepartout as they attempted to circumnavigate the globe. Oliver had barely finished the first page when the telephone at the edge of his desk began ringing.
Without knowing how, Oliver knew this was a call that would prevent him from escaping into the worlds of his beloved Verne.
“Yes,” he said into the receiver.
“Professor Grayson?”
“Speaking,” said Oliver.
“I have a Morley Dean on the line for you.”
The line crackled as plugs were slotted home and the connection was established.
“Oliver?” said a voice on the end of the line. “Are you there?”
“Morley? Is that you?”
“Yes, but I won’t be on for long.”
“Heavens, man,” said Oliver, ignoring the tremor of warning in his former colleague’s voice. “It’s good to hear from you, Morley.”
“Whatever you are doing Oliver, stop it now,” stated Morley. Ever since the Alaskan expedition, Morley had been afflicted with an intensity that many found disturbing. Even over the telephone, that intensity was ever so slightly off-putting.
“You got my letter then?” asked Oliver.
“I did,” confirmed Morley. “I thought I had made it clear that I was breaking off contact for your own safety. There are things that no man should willingly know, and I had hoped to spare you from them. It seems I have failed.”
“Morley, listen to me…”
“No, Oliver,” said Morley. “You listen to me. I read the transcriptions you sent me. And though every fiber of my being resists the idea of being drawn once again into such terrors, I can remain idle no longer. I have sought the writings of Nereus-Kai, and you must come to New York immediately.”
“New York? Why?” asked Oliver.
“Something terrible has begun in your little town,” said Morley.
“No, it’s all right,” replied Oliver, letting out a breath of relief. “We prevailed.”
Morley laughed, the sound a bitter bark of frustration, sorrow, and regret.
“You’re wrong, Oliver,” said Morley. “I fear the horror has just begun.”
End of Book One
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Hailing from Scotland, Graham was first exposed to the horrors of the uncaring cosmos when he came across the works of H.P. Lovecraft in the sci-fi section of his local library. Haunted by the experience, he narrowly avoided the sanity drain of a career in surveying to join Games Workshop’s Games Development team, which, frankly, was a lucky escape. He worked there for six and a half years before taking the plunge to becoming a full-time author. With a
New York Times
bestseller under his belt (and a replica of Snaga, the axe of Druss the Legend, which he received after his novel,
Empire
, won the 2010 David Gemmell Legend Award) and twenty novels in his back catalog, he reckons he chose the right path.
Table of ContentsGraham lives and works in Nottingham. You can keep up with what he’s up to by visiting his website at
www.graham-mcneill.com
.
Part Two: Ripples on the Surface, 1926
