Sherlock Holmes: Cthulhu Mythos Adventures (Sherlock Holmes Adventures Book 2) (25 page)

“And also about the henge, the standing stones which in the records of the vicarage be named the Devil’s Ring,” I said. “It is a very old construction, far older than the tribe of Picts which used to inhabit this land, even older than the Caledonii that predated the Pictish peoples. Geological examinations of the henge reveal it may be the oldest stone ring in Scotland, perhaps the British Isles.”

“And an archaeological examination…” Holmes prompted.

“Aye, ye come to the rub, Mr Holmes, for I am a geologist and paleontologist, nae an archaeologist,” I admitted. “I tried to interest several archaeologists, first in Edinburgh, then elsewhere, and finally in London, but none were willing to even entertain the notion of a megalithic circle older than the period in which such stones were raised.” I paused. “It was nae only for me tolerance of Lidenbrock’s supposedly daft notions of the world within that I was sent to Coventry.”

Holmes nodded.

“I have spent all me life here, man and boy, and knew well all the old stories whispered by nannies and servants from the village, told on dark winter nights by me cousins,” I said. “Yet they were nae but bonny stories to me, campfire tales to raise a chill, for I had always had a scientific turn of mind, even as a wee bairn. However, as I delved deeper into the mystery of the henge, especially when I found meself so cruelly rebuffed by those who should have been most interested, I was drawn to the old stories, going through the ancient annals and consulting the writings of folklorists.

“When people think of Scotland and its legends and lore, they inevitably look to such odd beasties as Nessie of the Loch or the Uabhas that supposedly haunt the lonely ballochs lying in wait for travelers unaware; either that or they turn to such haints as ghosts and banshees, wee folk like the Brownies, Kelpies and Red Cap Goblins. But, I tell ye, Mr Holmes, all those stories are really rather recent, like patina upon a rock, hiding the ancient surface beneath. As I have been able to reconstruct the old stories, the Earth was at one time home to, and ruled by, a race of vast monster-gods, long afore the advent of mankind. The further one goes back in time, the less we hear of our familiar bogies and hobgoblins, the more we encounter such names as Byatis, Yig, Cthulhu and Atlach-Nacha. Any of those names familiar to ye?”

Holmes frowned a long moment, considering the weird names, longer than I thought necessary. In the end, he shook his head.

“Very few people, even mythologists and folklorists have heard o’ them, and those who have are often associated with study of the occult sciences in some way,” I said. “Until I began to delve into the mysteries of the region, the henge in particular, I was as ignorant of them as the next man. According to me studies, humanity’s relation to these beings was a cross between worshiper and prey, but at some point in time the Old Ones, as they are often called, were banished from this material realm, either beyond the dimensions of time and space or in some artificial prison, perhaps underground or in some ancient structure, as Cthulhu is supposed to be contained, somehow, in the city of R’lyeh beneath the Pacific Ocean.” I searched his face for some betraying sign, but saw none. “I ken how this must sound to ye, Mr Holmes.”

“Many faiths hold that the physical world revealed by our senses does not comprise the length, breadth or height of creation, that there exists a reality unperceived by ordinary means,” he said. “Many believe forces beyond our knowledge are involved in an eternal war, a conflict usually interpreted as a struggle between good and evil. Though I would never describe myself as a man of faith, at least how the term is used in the vulgar tongue, I would be a fool to believe our senses reveal all there is to know. Also, science is now revealing worlds once unseen by use of waves and beams. I may not understand it, but I cannot deny it.”

“But monster-gods, Mr Holmes?” I queried, wondering if the lad was merely patronizing an old man.

Holmes shrugged. “As with Professor Lidenbrock’s claims, if there are hidden lands, there may also be hidden inhabitants. I do not know, therefore the possibility cannot be discounted.”

“Fair enough,” I agreed. “I see ye are nae a gullible man, nae prone to fancy, and neither am I. As I investigated the ancient lore, I was led to seek sites deeper in the forest, among the reeking bogs, along the lakes and rushing rivers, and finally the henge.” I paused. “I take it ye saw the henge with yer own eyes today?”

“I did,” he confirmed. “I spent the last hours of the afternoon there before my return.”

“ And what was yer impression of the henge?”

“Surprisingly well constructed and geometrically complex,” he replied. “All the megaliths of Britain display sophisticated skills in engineering and geometry, but your example goes far beyond that. Also, the stones are not native to the area.”

“Nay, nay they are nae from here,” I agreed. “They are composed of a rare black form of diorite, the nearest source of which is hundreds of miles to the northeast. ‘Tis a very hard mineral to quarry without explosives, even harder to transport, dress and place. Yet all that was done by a people who must have lived long afore the Pictish races.” I paused, looked at the young man with a measure of trepidation, then asked: “Did ye…sense anything else about the henge?”

Holmes tilted his head, as a hound might when confronted with a master who has asked a foolish question, and his eyebrows rose inquisitively. He looked askance at me.

“Please bear with me, laddie, as I try to explain to ye something I’ve nae ever been able to explain to meself,” I said. “Long ago, when I was but a lad, I accepted a dare from me cousins and passed a night in the embrace of the henge. I saw the rising of the moon and the slow swirl of the stars in the crystal sky, heard the rush of the nearby river in me ears. There, I experienced what I convinced meself was  naught but a passing strange dream. I saw black winged shapes pass between me and the stars, and felt the writhing of great beasts within the bowels of the earth. Terrifying, but nae so much as the whispering that came out of the darkness, sibilant words in an unknown tongue. I fled that place and hid in the bole of an old tree once struck by lightning; just afore dawn’s greying, I returned to the henge so I would be found there and the wager won. I told no one the truth of what happened, and have nae…till this moment.

“Over the passing decades I nae only convinced meself that it was but a dream, but denied also the cowardice of me flight,” I continued. “As I researched the old stories, looking for the truth behind them, I again turned to the henge, but this time with the eye of a scientist who has made geology and paleontology his life’s work. I suppose there was a part of me that wanted to dispel the terror of that long ago night, though it is now but a dimly recalled night-haint. As I did when I was young, I found meself within the ring of stones at the fall of night, but now it was a calculated and deliberate decision, nae the result of a childish dare.

“I was nae sure what would happen, but I dinnae expect to be revisited by the same terrors that once sent a lad running in panic.” Here I paused, nae because of any expression of incredulity in Holmes, but to fight the sour fear threatening to rise in me. “But that is exactly what happened, Mr Holmes. I saw winged shapes against the stars, felt the ground writhe aneath me…and heard the terrible whispers from the darkness beyond the henge.”

I paused to empty the fiery liquid in me glass, then refilled it and sipped. Me hands were trembling slightly, nae with an infirmity of age but with anxiety.

“And this was no dream?” Holmes asked. “Are you certain of that? A vivid dream can possess all the solidity of a real memory.”

“Nay, I ken beyond doubt it was nae a dream, just as I ken me previous experience was an actuality,” I averred. “However, it comes to mind that if these creatures that fly by night are beyond ken, mayhaps they be shadows cast upon this world from another, much as the shadows projected upon the walls of Plato’s Cave. Or they may be creatures from beneath; as I perused the old records, I wondered if Lidenbrock saw not dinosaurs at the center of the Earth, but the monster-gods of elder myth, minions of Cthulhu, hence me interest in his work. But I ever come back to that which whispers when the sky is bright above the henge…aye, now there we might make some advance, do ye nae think? For where there are whispers heard there must be nearby…a Whisperer.”

Holmes frowned, and for a moment I feared I had made a mistake in revealing what I had heretofore kept secret. Despite me affinity toward the lad, he was yet a stranger, and a bairn-face at that, likely filled with the natural contempt always held by the young against the aged. When he spoke, however, I let out a breath I had nae knowledge I held.

“We must accept the fact that your experiences at the standing stones were not dreams, otherwise the investigation ends here and must continue with an alienist,” he said. “Likewise, we must assume they are not visions induced by the seepage of gases from beneath the earth—I saw no tale-tell fissures from which such fumes might issue, and if noxious gases could gather in sufficient quantities to affect you in the open air, surely you would have died; at the very least I would have felt similar effects, and I felt none.

“You are quite correct about manifestations of creatures above and below—they are beyond any possibility of investigation, for the reasons you give, and for others of course,” Holmes continued. “But, the Whisperer…yes, that is the key to this mystery. The Whisperer must be attainable to us, because the whispers heard by you exhibit substance in our physical world. What we call sound is but vibrations upon the air, and any sound may be traced to its source by means as old as the hunter’s art.”

“I’ve tried to do just that, but to no avail,” I said. “As soon as I move from the confines of the henge, the Whisperer seems to move with me, purposely eluding me. That is also how I ken there is an intelligence behind it.”

“Sometimes conducting a solitary investigation is very much an advantage, but in my limited experience at unraveling the skeins of human problems I find my thought processes often facilitated by the presence of a companion,” he explained. “In this case, the presence of another might also work against this Whisperer that seems intent upon bedeviling you. Late tomorrow, we will journey to the henge and await darkness. You shall post yourself within the henge, while I take up a post elsewhere.”

I sighed with relief. It was nae that I dinnae appreciate the lad’s belief and assistance, but it seemed much too simple an answer to a mystery that had, in me mind, built up to imponderable proportions. Then I was reminded of all the times I had tried to pound into me students’ dullard minds the lesson of Occam’s Razor.

“Thank ye, lad, I appreciate it much, whether or nae we bring this to a resolution.”

“Oh, it will be brought to a resolution,” Holmes vowed. “But not, perhaps, one either of us expect. I suggest you get some rest, Professor, for tomorrow’s events will surely tax you to your limits, and beyond.”

“And ye?”

“I have never needed much sleep, and I doubt I ever shall,” he said. “When my mind worries a problem like a dog does a bone, I am at my best, my most alert. It is only when my mind is free of mysteries and puzzles that I am gripped by despair, that I yearn for some escape from the boredom of life.” His lips curved into a wan smile that would have seemed more at home on the face of someone much older. “If you do not mind, I will make use of your extensive library tonight. And there is one other thing.”

“Pray tell?”

“A generous supply of that shag tobacco of yours,” he replied. “I seem to have become quite accustomed to it.”

As I retired for the night, weary from the unburdening of a long-held secret, I glanced at Holmes and could nae help but smile. He was surrounded by towers of old books, and his bairn face was afflicted by a seriousness only the aged should bear, but what brought a smile was the plume of bluish smoke rising from that old clay pipe like a factory ablaze. I had always caught the dickens from Mrs MacDonald and Cook for making the manor house ‘a reeking unfit place to live and please keep it confined to yer study, thank ye very much.’ Whether Holmes was destined to share a marriage bed or to merely share rooms, I pitied the poor devil.

I passed the night sorely troubled by strange dreams, reliving the terrors of youth and seeming to hear whispers no human throat could make. At dawn, Holmes was still shut up in the shag-clouded study, refusing to break fast. I dinnae see Holmes till long past the nooning, and a right wretched sight he was, eyes sunken and face creased with worry, perhaps even a touch of fear.

“Holmes!” I cried. “Have ye nae had any rest at all?”

“Rest is the enemy when the game is afoot.” he said.

“Aye, perhaps, but ‘tis nay a game, is it?”

“No, Professor, not, as you say, a game, but a deadly serious affair,” Holmes replied. “Myths, legends and folklore lack the same weight as facts, but they bring a preponderance of evidence to a case, much as amassed testimony does in a civil court action. Your woods have always been held in ill repute, first by the Picts and other tribes, then by Romans that penetrated this far, Kelts, Saxons and Normans. Much of the enmity felt by so many people, and even continuing today, stems from that ring of stones.”

“Aye, though I’ve not yet read all the accounts, it did seem a constant theme,” I admitted. “Me cousins and I were but wee lads, shut away from the talk of our elders, but we heard enough to ken it was a dreadful place, home to an ancient evil, hence the dare that planted such a black seed in me brain, to reap such a tainted fruit after all these years.” I paused, pondering a lifetime of nightmares kept hid ‘neath a life spent questing for knowledge. “Aye, a canker in me soul, so to speak. The time to exorcize it is long past.”