The Sherlock Holmes Megapack: 25 Modern Tales by Masters: 25 Modern Tales by Masters (33 page)

Now Holmes, everything I have described in my letters from Bottle Hill up to this point was commonplace enough, but at this moment, as we made that turn in that deeply shadowed gorge, it seemed we were all dropped into a hashish dream or into Alice’s Wonderland. From that moment, all the laws of reality ceased to exist, and, frankly, looking back on it, I don’t honestly know what was real or not.

We rounded that turn—and beheld a small elderly deformed man about four feet tall pacing in front of a small cave entrance with his short arms clasped behind his back. Under his cocked green hat (with a feather in its band) that seemed too big for his big head, he had long unkempt white hair, a grey terribly wrinkled face with large lips, red, piercing eyes that never seemed to stop moving, and a sharp, pointed nose. Despite his extraordinary appearance, my impression was that he was worried, and thus his pacing. His heavy green fur great coat sported a wide bright red collar and was draped over his entire body like a tent so that it was impossible to see his torso, legs, ankles, or feet. In addition, he had a pronounced hump that instantly reminded me of Lon Chaney’s hunchback in “The Hunchback of Notre Dame.” This hump caused the fellow to bend in a distorted and apparently uncomfortable manner during our entire interview. And before we could in any way wonder aloud at his sudden appearance, the little man spoke in a loud raspy, angry voice:

“There you finally are. I’ve been hearing you for a devilish long time. You’ve made enough noise to wake the dead.” We were still so shocked that none of us knew how to respond. Then the little man demanded, “Where do you think you’re going?”

“We are doing an inspection within the boundaries of my own property,” McCabe answered gathering his wits about him, “and just who are you?”

The little man broke into howls of laughter. “
Your
property!” he gasped through his laughter. “Why, man, this and everything that you can see in any direction from the top of that hill” (he pointed in the direction of Bottle Hill which, when all was said and done, was our real destination) “is
my
land and you are the ones who are trespassing!” McCabe could hardly contain himself he was so outraged by both the creature and his utterances.

“Your land! I suppose you will tell me next that you are a fairy and this is all fairyland.”

“As a matter of fact, I am one of the fair people—I am Brian of Knock Magh, honorary possessor and guardian of this enchanted land.” He pulled at his red collar proudly and added, “I am an important leprechaun.”

I tell you, Holmes, I didn’t know what to think.

“Don’t be absurd,” said McCabe. “You are a dwarf who is either greatly enjoying wasting our time, or you should be institutionalized! Where are you from?”

The fellow who called himself Brian of Knock Magh pointed to the cave behind him and shrugged. “Didn’t I just tell you? Here is my home, and all the surrounding land.”

“And just why do you claim that?”

“Because the custom is age-old, of course! Who is it that asks such a stupid question?!”

“I already stated clearly, I am the owner of this property—Lynwood Reginald McCabe, by name!”

“Regardless, Lynwood Reginald McCabe, I cannot allow you to proceed!”

Well you can imagine that McCabe didn’t take that announcement very well. “Get out of my way, stranger!” he bellowed and took a step. But the little man leaped in front of him gesticulating—flailing his arms with the loose material of his fur coat flapping like a great stork protecting its young.

When McCabe saw that, unless he physically injured the little man, they were at a stalemate, Brian of Knock Magh continued. “I wish no malice, and I am not nearly as mischievous as some would believe. Admittedly, some of my kin can rationalize any sort of behaviour, but I am of royal blood. I merely wish to warn you to turn back, for there is nothing for you ahead, nothing at all. But I can see that it will be difficult to persuade you. So can’t you three gentlemen at least tarry for a moment to keep a lonely leprechaun company for a few moments.”

The little man turned toward the cave mouth, and reached for a kind of pot that steamed over a small wood fire there. “Have some refreshment, please. When I heard you coming I heated a traditional drink made from milk, fermented honey, and herbs.”

Naturally there was some argument from McCabe, and he looked at me with a look that merged anger and hopelessness. But Brian was very persuasive and Tieg and McCabe and I each accepted from a small platter a tiny cup hardly bigger than a thimble containing some fluid. Under the circumstances, however, none of us went so far as to actually sip the drink that had been offered us by one who was likely a lunatic. The aroma, I will say, was not unpleasant—you will appreciate that honey was the predominant smell.

But this moment of respite didn’t last long. McCabe in his impatience, pushed his cup back into the man’s grubby hand and motioned us to follow him.

“You cannot go on!” rasped the little man. “I cannot answer for the consequences that will result from your continuing! I warn you! Bottle Hill is not for the likes of you mere mortals. Your lives and many others hang in the balance!”

“Get out of my way, stranger. Not even for your proverbial pot of gold could you dissuade me from my purpose.” Brian tried once more to block McCabe. “Get out of my way, I said!” McCabe cried, and the little man in flamboyant green and red finally acquiesced and allowed us passage.

“Do not progress for there is only danger ahead. I beg you! Danger, death and destruction. Fairyland is not for you. Never for humans at all. I cannot answer for what will happen from here on out.”

Naturally, we ignored him. Little did any one of us know how right he was!

“Don’t say that I didn’t warn you!” cried Brian as we rounded another bend.

In consequence of this peculiar episode, I suppose, Tieg picked up a stout stick he found on the trail, which I supposed could be used for as a weapon. His staff ground noisily into the earth. It was the only sound except for our own breathing and of our footsteps, as Brian’s cries faded into the distance. The air was preternaturally quiet with no breeze at all. And there was no trace of movement anywhere.”

McCabe was especially quiet and seemed lost in thought, and, as the quiet was beginning to trouble me and as I was lagging behind, I quickened my step. It was only about 30 minutes later that the gorge seemed to end abruptly and suddenly we were facing a lofty vertical rock crag at the foot of which was a moraine of boulders, the residue of some ancient landslide.

We moved to examine the cliff which was deep in shadow. It didn’t make a lot of sense that a trail—whether made by fairies or anyone else—would just stop at a wall.

Before too long, of course, we found a cave entrance that was thoroughly camouflaged by shadows, jutting rocks, and various seams of coloured minerals blending in peculiar manners. If you weren’t looking for it, it would have been totally invisible from any angle. In that sense the entrance was expertly veiled. Tieg reached into his pack and pulled out the three electric torches and passed two of them to us. I made sure my revolver was safe in my pocket, and we loosened the straps by which we carried the shot guns. We stepped into the cave. I for one was full of curiosity!

We were still within sight of the light from the tunnel entrance when we came to a crossroads. To both the left and right, glimmering in our lights were veins of red marble, violet limestone, and pink quartz. We could see just within range of the light beam that the left hand tunnel seemed to end in cavern—large or small I could not know—resplendent with pointed and sharp stalagmites meeting stalactites. We could see all this from where we stood, but right then and there we needed to decide which road to take. There was bit of a breeze issuing from the right tunnel, so it was decided that we would turn right.

Just then McCabe reached into his pack and pulled out a ball of twine and smiled. “I was supposing we would find a cave for our trouble, and thought that marking our trail would save us from getting lost. Rather like Hansel and Gretel.” He grinned at his joke as he anchored the end of the string under some stones, and we went on.

I must admit that we slipped and fell on loose rock several times until we got the hang of it. McCabe stopped every now and again to wrap the string around some protrusion or another. Then, as another challenge, we learned to watch our step, and slippery slimy substance, some sort of moss I suppose. We had not yet entered the world of fungus!

Finally, we reached the end of the tunnel and we were fortunate that we weren’t rushing, because the tunnel unexpectedly opened onto a vast grotto with great thick boles of calcium reaching from floor to ceiling; titanic green, yellow, and black pillars that looked for all the world like they were supporting the vast domed vault that itself sparkled nearly miraculously with the reflected lights of thousands of crystals of every imaginable colour! Across the floor, far below, we could see a stream meandering through a forest of stalagmites.

In a few minutes, we found a natural and easy enough road that led all the way down to the stream. From the perspective of the cavern floor, we became aware that at several places in the walls were fissures and holes that were doubtlessly entrances into other caverns. Tieg had been ahead of McCabe and me, and now we saw him bending down by the stream. His whole body was aglow with orange light from his electric torch reflecting from the naturally polished surfaces all around us.

McCabe knelt too and stared in the direction Tieg was pointing. In a second I too was looking and saw that they were inspecting a small object near the flowing water. Tieg held his torch down and, falling to his knees, he picked the object from the ground and held it up, a small grey mushroom hardly bigger than his thumbnail. Then we saw that there were dozens of them lining the edge of the stream.

McCabe scratched his head and said. “Who would ever think that anything could grow in this cold and pitch-darkness. Maybe, before now, no light has entered this region for millions of years.” He wrapped the string around a nearby column as he talked and we then again began following the breeze that fate had made our guide.

The vast cavern we were in could be envisioned as a great bubble in Bottle Hill, but it didn’t take long to pick our way over the floor to find a tunnel at the far wall. By now we were pretty inured to all the varied material over and through which we marched. Except for the lights that we brought, we were in a world without light, which was a truly frightening thought. We followed the draft for some time and then realized that it was growing stronger. At the same time we became aware that there was light entering the tunnel from some point ahead.

Finally we saw the tunnel’s end, but unexpectedly I felt a strange pulsation in my ears. We approached the end of the tunnel cautiously, wondering what could possibly be the source of light and air. As we quietly approached, all at once we became aware of furtive movements in the darkness behind us beyond the bends we had just traversed where our light could not penetrate.

These sounds were unexpected and terrifying, but we had few choices. We moved ahead until we came to the end of the road. The tunnel simply stopped dead at the edge of a ledge that overlooked a great canyon deep in the bowels of the earth, far deeper and larger than the vaulted cavern we had left behind.

And what we saw there and experienced from that moment on will haunt me and plague my dreams forevermore! There must be some way to purge my brain of those images and experiences. At least, Holmes, the hideous visions that nearly killed us when exposed to the devil’s foot were inside our own heads. Now, I don’t have that consolation!

In the middle of this new canyon, on the floor, was the source of the light that had attracted us. It was an undulating glowing mass like a living hill. It pulsed and rippled, and waves moved over its jelly-like surface. We stood stunned and stared in horror, not only because of that gargantuan protoplasm-like thing, but because of what we saw surrounding it.

There were hordes of creatures dancing to some impossible tune that we could not hear, but pulsed in our ears nonetheless. They danced in a circle around that monstrous mass. There must have been five hundred yellow-green bulbous things, part fungus and part insect, like sponges with spidery legs and huge multifaceted eyes that reflected our lights. It was as though we were hypnotized and commanded not to look away.

The dance never slowed, but suddenly there was a transformation in the rippling mass. Before our eyes, the top half of it began to metamorphose into something else. It began to grow in a vertical direction, like an unheard of yeast was causing it to rise. As it grew taller, it also grew more narrow and began to take on recognizable form almost as though an invisible hand were sculpting clay, but clay whose mass must have been equivalent to an ocean liner! And then it all coalesced into the shape of a stunningly beautiful woman. What we could see was entirely nude but giant, as giant as an oak tree, with a jutting posture something like the figurehead on the bow of a ship.

Then Tieg gasped and screamed, covered his eyes and fell to his knees.

I looked away from this distraction and back at the woman thing. Though my brain told me that she must be something utterly alien, I could feel that she had some power over me and I was mesmerized by her beauty. Part of my mind resisted; it was like a mental tug-of-war.

Then I forced myself to look down at the lower half of the still-undulating mass. Even as I looked on, I could see it change shape, too, and elongate and turn into a long narrow tube—like a monstrous grey revolting bladder of a termite queen—out of which flowed a continuous stream of gelatinous and translucent ovoids, each the size of a goat, each containing a putrid and twisting infant creature, like those terrible things dancing around her!

[My Dear Watson, shame on you for disparaging the egg-dispensing mechanism of our insect friends! But, given the circumstance, I’ll not fault you overly, old friend!]

I tried t
o look away in disgust, but I couldn’t and was forced to witness her smile change into a demonic grin, a grin that spread literally from ear to ear across her gigantic face and then fill with a myriad of horrible teeth, so that her head came to resemble some hideous cross between a shark and an alligator.