A lot has happened. This’ll be a long post; I might have to divide it into two parts.
For once, 330 decided to give me a briefing on what she was planning to do ahead of time. The people who had attacked us and killed Peter owned a small office building just outside the city, and 330 was planning to sneak inside. What we were going to do once we got inside was a little unclear; she couldn’t seem to be able to decide if we should be quietly looking for clues, or angrily breaking some heads.
The act of getting inside wasn’t supposed to be that difficult. We drove to an estate out of the city, up to a gated mansion. It looked like the sort of place which once could be described as “lavish,” but since then has adapted “decrepit” as a better adjective. 330 didn’t even bother with the gate; soon as she’d gotten out of the car, she climbed over the fence, opened it from the other side, and told me to come along. I think I may have shouted something like, “You can’t do that!” at this flagrant breaking and entering, but such protests lack effect when it’s obvious that they have indeed done just that.
Now with me wondering if someone was going to call the police on us, we walked across the overgrown lawn to the excessively ominous black door. 330 knocked three times, and a minute later, the most evil looking face I have ever seen answered it. Wasn’t necessarily ugly; it just looked as though sheer maliciousness was pouring off every inch of it. The harsh, “Get the hell of my property,” which he barked at us certainly did nothing to dispel that notion.
“We’re friends of Jacob Marchetti,” was all 330 needed to say in order to make the man more hospitable.
“Ah, I am incredibly sorry! Do come inside.”
You know those stories about the spooky old house that all the neighborhood kids are terrified of because it looks haunted? Then one day someone musters up enough courage to go inside, and they discover that it’s actually a nice place owned by a kindly old man?
This wasn’t that type of house. This was the type that looked just as creepy on the inside, with terrible lighting and creepy paintings all over the walls.
“Let me introduce myself,” the man said. “I am Jonathan Pickman. If you’re here for Mr. Marchetti, might I assume you come on… ghoulish nature?” The creepy smile he put on as he said those last words caused me to shiver.
330 and Jonathan had a brief conversation (I’ll confess, I was a bit too preoccupied by the painting of some red eyed humanoid beast standing over a baby’s crib to hear them,) after which Jonathan led us further into the mansion. The quality of the décor didn’t improve the deeper we went; if anything, the density of horrifying paintings increased. Jonathan caught me staring at a portrait of a scale covered man swimming across a bay at night. “That one’s ‘Innsmouth at Moonlight,’ made by my grandfather, Richard Pickman, back before they filled the bay in. What do you think of it?”
Tried to say it was nice, but I don’t think I was very convincing. Jonathan didn’t seem to mind, thankfully.
“My grandfather was always very talented at drawing his pictures from life. It made holding a job difficult for him, as his employers always became terrified at the realism in his paintings.”
From life? The next image was showing a beast with far more teeth than I thought possible tearing apart an animal carcass. He was drawing that sort of thing from life?
“What happened to your grandfather?” Had to ask, even if I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear the answer.
Jonathan shrugged. “Vanished. Although I once spoke with a man who claimed that his father met my grandfather in the Dreamlands. Apparently he decided to join the native ghouls there.”
Dreamlands? Another word I didn’t understand. The constant mentioning of ghouls was really starting to pick at my curiosity, though. Especially since I’d read about them in Elizabeth’s journal.
Richard took us down to an old wine cellar. Whole place was filled with dust, covering the bottles and racks in thick layers, except for a well walked path down the middle. That’s the path Jonathan led us down, until we reached a trapdoor by the wall. Jonathan opened it, and a horrible stench came out. Ugh. Imagine something similar to death, rotting eggs, and burning tires all mixed together. Couldn’t see anything through it; not even a single light. Jonathan and 330 walked down the stairs into it, and I slowly followed behind. Within a few seconds I was completely disorientated. I could see the dim light from behind me, but that was it; everything else was pitch black. Something grabbed my hand and I almost screamed before I heard 330 say, “It’s alright, it’s just me. Stay with me and you’ll be fine.”
Let her lead me through the blackness. The ground was muddy, squelching and sucking at my shoes with every step, and the odor I had smelled earlier was only growing worse with each passing moment. Sometimes I would swear that I heard something, whispers coming from the shadows or footsteps behind us, but we kept pressing on.
After maybe half an hour, I could see a faint light ahead. First light I’d seen in a long time; hurt my eyes a bit, even if it wasn’t very bright.
The light was originating from a circular room, maybe only a few yards long. The light had been coming from this green fungus which was spread across the walls and ceiling. Weird, yes, but not something I paid much mind to, as my focus was busy with the creatures waiting for us there.
These were the ghouls everyone had been talking about. What I read… really didn’t do them justice. Elizabeth’s description was accurate…. Rubbery skin, slouching, doglike muzzles…. But that doesn’t come close to describing the leering evil coming out of those red eyes. Clutched onto 330’s hand even tighter when I saw them in the greenish light. If she hadn’t been there… probably would have panicked even more than I did.
Jonathan and the ghouls “spoke” to each other, although I didn’t understand the language. Again Elizabeth described it pretty well; “meeping and gibbering” are the most fitting words I could attach to the sounds.
After finishing their conversation, Jonathan spoke to 330 and I. “The ghouls still remember the kindness Marchetti showed them in allowing them to continue living under the city. They will guide you wherever you need to go.”
330 told the address to Jonathan, and he repeated it to the ghouls in their language. Another discussion followed which I couldn’t understand. Occasionally one of the ghouls would glance over at me, grinning to show their sharp fangs….
“The ghouls have tunnels leading there. They can show you the way, but they won’t follow you inside.”
“That’s good enough.” 330 said. “You ready, Lisa?”
Took me a moment to realize she’d spoken to me. One of the ghouls was staring at me, saliva dripping from his mouth as his red eyes bore holes through me….
“Y-yeah, I’m ready….”
“Alright. Lead the way.”
The ghouls walked out of the room, into a black tunnel connecting to it. With 330 guiding me, we followed them.
Once more, I was completely unable to see anything around me. The only sensations I had to go by was the feel of 330’s hand, and the sound of the ghouls walking through the mud. One of them was tailing right behind me the whole way, breathing the smell of rotten corpses down my neck. Twice I felt something brush by my leg, and had to suppress a scream. More time walking through the smell and mud, blind to everything but the occasional flash of a ghoul’s red eyes, hearing strange sounds all around me….
I cannot express my relief when I saw light again. It was fainter than the last light, but it was something.
That light turned out to be the exit we’d been heading for. Turned out to be a small hole in the floor of a maintenance room. Barely large enough for 330 and I to fit through, but we managed. I looked back once I was through, but the ghouls had already left. Apparently they weren’t in the mood to stick around.
“Well,” 330 said, “we’re here. Now let’s get to work.”
Continued here
No comments:
Post a Comment