Drome
A Weird-Scientific Serial
By John Martin Leahy
The Story So Far
Milton Rhodes and Bill Carter penetrate the caverns of horror beneath Mount Rainier, and kill a huge demon—an ape-bat—that has attacked them. They rescue Drorathusa, the Sibylline priestess of the Dromans, from being dragged to death by the dying struggles of the ape-bat, and in company with Drorathusa and her companions they wander into a veritable Dante's Inferno beneath sea-level, on their way to Drome. Carter, waking suddenly as the Dromans and he are slumbering, sees a monstrous ghostly shape coming straight toward him from the roof of the cavern.
Chapter 30
The Moving Eyes
I jerked out my revolver; I reached over and gave Rhodes a shake that would have awakened Epimenides himself, then grabbed the electric light and flashed it upon the descending monster.
I could scarcely believe my eyes. Nothing but the empty air. The monster had vanished.
"What's the matter?" came the sudden voice of Rhodes. "What in paradise is going on now?"
I rubbed my eyes and stared upward once more.
"Look there!" said I, pointing.
"Tell me, do you see nothing there?" "There isn't anything there, Bill—now."
"But there was something there a second ago—and it didn't go away."
"What did you see?"
"I thought at first that it was a demon, phosphorescent or something. It was up there. I tell you it was up there. And it was coming down, coming down straight toward this very spot."
"Great Cæsar's spook!" exclaimed Rhodes.
"I can't understand," I told him, "where the thing went. It was there, and the next instant it wasn't."
"Turn off your light," said Rhodes quickly. "Turn it off, Bill."
"Great Zeus, what for? You'd better have your revolver ready."
"Revolver fiddlesticks! Off with it, Bill; off with the light!"
The light went off. And look! There it was again—almost directly over us. It was not descending now but was hovering, hovering, as though watching, waiting. Waiting for what? And it seemed, too, to thrust out arms or tentacula. And look! Something started to drop from it—phosphorescence (I shall call it that) dropping to the floor, where it writhed and crawled about like a mass I of serpents. Writhed and crawled and grew dimmer—faded, faded.
We sat staring at this mysterious, inexplicable phenomenon in amazement, fascination and horror.
"What on earth can it be?" I asked, my voice a whisper.
"Who," said Rhodes, "would ever have dreamed of such a thing as that?"
"I'm afraid," I told him, a shudder passing through my heart, "that our revolvers can't hurt a thing like this. It seems to be watching us. Look! Aren't those eyes—eyes staring at us, moving?"
"Eyes? Watching us? Oh, Lord, Bill!" said Rhodes.
"As for sending a bullet into it, don't," he added, "do anything so foolish."
He arose, stepped over and awoke Narkus. The monster was still hovering over the spot. The Droman bestowed upon that ghost but a cursory, careless look, then yawned sleepily.
"Yam-yump!" said Narkus, stretching himself.
Rhodes laid a hand upon the other's shoulder and pointed an interrogative finger up in the direction of the phantom. The Droman gave a careless, airy toss of the hand.
"Drome," said he, then lay down again.
It was obvious from this monosyllabic answer, to say nothing of the manner of Narkus, that there was nothing to apprehend from this mysterious apparition hovering above us. Certainly, though, there had been no remarkable clarification. Indeed, in a way, Rhodes and I were more puzzled than ever. Drome, Drome! What could be the meaning of that word? Drome!
"It seems, Bill," said Rhodes, "that we are on our way to a very strange place. As for that ghost up there, it must be a fragment, as it were, of the light of this subterranean land."
"Suppose it is—a harbinger, so to speak—then what on earth can that light be?"
"That, of course, we can not tell. It may be phosphorescent or auroral, or its origin may be one of which no man of our own world ever has even dreamed. I believe that I forgot to mention, when we were speaking of this the other day, that even human beings sometimes evolve light.[1] One thing, however, is certain: there is light somewhere in this underground world. And I believe, Bill, that we are drawing near to it now."
"I certainly hope that we are. But look at our ghost. It is moving again—thank heaven (even if it is only a mass of light) away from us!"
"Yes," said Rhodes. "But look down there. There is another one coming."
It came, and another and another. I don't know how many. On they came through the cavern, now lingering, now hovering; on they passed like some unearthly, ghostly procession. And, even though one knew that these phantoms, so dim and so misty, were perfectly innocuous, were as natural (as though there is anything that can not be natural!) as the light of the firefly, as the glow of the auroral arches and streamers—all the same, I say, the sight of that spectral company, passing, passing, was one indescribably strange and uncanny.
However, a man can get used to anything. I got used to them and ere very long was asleep once more. In the morning, not a single ghost was to be seen. Nor did we see one until near midafternoon. That ghost was all by its lonesome and so dim that it vanished when our lights drew near. But soon they were about us in all directions. One of these phantoms, large, amorphous, writhing (its light so strong that it was visible in the rays of the lamps but not of the electric ones) came crawling along the floor straight toward us. Rhodes and I, as if by instinct, moved aside; but Drorathusa and the others walked right into it. As they emerged from the spectral, phosphorescent mass, the light clung to them like wraiths of fog, to be slowly dissipated as they advanced in little streams and eddies behind them.
It was during this, afternoon, too, that Rhodes made the first discovery of life in this fearsome place—little fish, totally blind, like those in the Mammoth Cave. But, though they could not see, they could feel the light. When the rays fell upon the stream, they would drop to the bottom and seek the concealment of the shadow-places. Poor little blind things! What an existence! And yet how like them, after all, are we poor humans!
Yes, blind are we, though we have eyes; our souls shrinking from the light to wander, lost and happy, in psychic caves and labyrinths more terrible even than this cavern through which we were making our way—making our way to we knew not what.
We journeyed on until about 7
o'clock, when we reached another
depot and halted for the night.
All were much fatigued, but the Dromans
were in high spirits, and ours
rose, too. Whether we were drawing
near the end of our strange journey
was not clear; but there could be no
doubt that a great change was imminent.
To the surprize of Rhodes and myself (nothing in the place seemed to surprize Drorathusa and her companions) not a single light-wraith was anywhere to be seen. The cavern was as black as the deepest pit in Erebus.
And it was still the same when we awoke. How I would have welcomed the appearance of the faintest, loneliest ghost—as we called these apparitions of light.
We noticed that Narkus and Thumbra, and the ladies also, were at some pains to have their bows in such a position that they could be drawn from the quivers at an instant's warning. Narkus saw us watching, and, sweeping a hand toward the darkness before us, he said: "Loopmuke."
That, as we well knew, is the Droman word for ape-bat. Also, he tried to tell us about something else; but the only thing intelligible in his pantomimic explanations was that it was about a creature even more formidable than a wild loopmuke.
It was with keen anticipation on the part of Rhodes and myself that we set out that morning. For an hour or so, there was no change. Not a single light-wraith had shone in the awful blackness. Then, after passing through a particularly broken and tortuous place, be began to see them, not many, however, and all were faint. Another hour passed, and of a sudden the walls drew together, and the roof came sloping down, down and down until we had to go bent over. Narrower and narrower grew the way, crowding us at last to the water's edge and then into the very stream itself.
Drorathusa and Narkus were leading, Rhodes and I bringing up the rear. Fortunately the current was a gentle one; had it been otherwise, the place would have been simply impassable.
"I certainly," said Mil ton at last, "admire the man (maybe he was a woman) who first came through this awful place."
The next instant he made a rush forward. Delphis, the white-haired girl, had slipped out into deep water. Rhodes caught her just in time to save her from immersion and drew her back to the shallow water by the wall. Not a cry, not the faintest sound had escaped her, and now she only laughed. Beauty was not the only quality that these Droman ladies possessed to win your admiration.
For ten minutes or so, we toiled our way down that tunnel, now hugging the wall, now following the shallows out into the stream and at times to the other side. Then of a sudden there was an exclamation from Drorathusa, and the next moment we had issued from the tunnel and the stream and found ourselves in a great lofty cavern.
"Great Rameses!" I exclaimed as we stepped forth. "Look at those things."
Rhodes, I found, had already halted and was gazing' up at them—two colossi, one on either side of the mouth of the tunnel. These carven monsters (we were, of course, standing between theii' bases) were seated, and one was a male, the other a female. They had not been fashioned in situ but clearly had been brought to the spot in sections. But how had those massive pieces of rock, the smallest of which weighed tons, been raised into their places? Who can tell? It remains, and probably always will remain, one of the mysteries of that lost and mysterious land.
We were getting rather used to strange things now; but, so remarkable were these great statues, for some minutes we lingered there before them.
The Dromans had moved on. We followed, to find ourselves in a few moments before a monstrous carven human head. There was the great pedestal, and there, lying face upward before it, was the great head—that and nothing more.
"Poor fellow," said I as we walked around the caput, "where is the rest of him? And why did they leave the head lying like this?"
"I have an idea," Milton returned, "that there was no rest of him, that this head was all that was to be placed upon that pedestal."
I suppose that Rhodes was right. One wonders what happened there so long ago, why the great caput was never raised to the place which they had prepared for it. No man can tell that now. All we know is that there the great head lies, that there it has lain for untold thousands of years.
At last Milton Rhodes climbed up and stood upon the chin, in order, as he said, "to get a good view of the poor gink's phiz." And not only that, but he stood upon the poor fellow's nose—yes, balanced himself on one foot on the very tip of it!
I turned my look to the Dromans with some apprehension, for I did not know what superstitious ideas they might entertain, feared that to them this aerobatic stunt of Rhodes might be sacrilege itself. My misgivings, however, were groundless. The Dromans were delighted. They burst into merry laughter; they applauded vociferously. Even Drorathusa laughed outright.
Little wonder, forsooth, for a pretty figure Rhodes made balanced up' there on the poor fellow's olfactory protuberance. A fine posture truly for one of the world's (I mean our world's) great scientists; and I could not help wondering what certain dignified old fellows (Milton called them fossils) would have thought could they by television or some miracle have seen him there. And what would the Dromans themselves think? Well, I was glad when he came down and there was an end to that foolishness.
And I put in a prompt remonstrance.
"We," I told him, "have—or, at any rate, we ought to have—a certain dignity to uphold. For we are the representatives, as it were, of that great sunlit world above, the world of Archimedes, Kepler, Galileo, Newton, Darwin, Edison—not a world of Judys and Punches!"
"Aw, Bill," said Rhodes, "now quit your kidding."
What can you do with a man like that?
We soon quitted the spot. The
light-masses were all about us
now. Some came slowly gliding,
some crawling along the floor; some along the walls and the roof. Others
floated along overhead or hung motionless
in the air. The changes of
form were sometimes very rapid and
certainly as unaccountable as the
masses themselves. Occasionally we
would see a mass slowly take form in
the darkness and as slowly fade into
darkness again. Where did the light
come from, where did it go? And the
explanation of this uncanny phenomenon?
Undoubtedly some electric
manifestation, said Rhodes, analogous
perhaps to the light of the
aurora. That, I objected, really explained
nothing, and Rhodes admitted
that that was just what it did
explain—nothing.
The spirits of the Dromans rose higher as we toiled our way onward and down. They quickened their pace, and, as we swung along like soldiers marching, they suddenly broke into a song or rather a chant, the wonderful contralto voice of Drorathusa leading, the sounds coming back from the dark secret places of the cavern in echoes sweet as the voices heard in fairyland.
The light-masses were steadily increasing in number and volume. Especially was this pronounced in the great chambers. Fungoid growths were seen, coleopterous insects and at last a huge scolopendra of an aspect indescribably horrible. From this repulsive creature, the Dromans and myself drew back, but Milton Rhodes bent over it in a true scientific scrutiny and ecstasy.
"Look, Bill, look!" he cried suddenly, pointing. "The body has thirty-five somites or segments."
"Thirty-five segments?" I queried, scratching my head and wishing that the scolopendra was in Jericho. "What is there so wonderful about that?"
"Why," said he, "in the Scolo-pendridæ of our own world, the segments of the body never exceed twenty-one. And this one has thirty-five. Really, Bill, I must keep so remarkable and splendid a specimen."
"Great Gorgons and Hydras! Keep it? Don't touch the horrible thing. It may be venomous, deadly as a cobra. And, besides, you'll have plenty of time to collect specimens, and probably some of them will make this one look like the last rose of summer. Leave the hideous thing alone. Why, the Dromans will think that you are dippy. Fact is, I believe that they are beginning to think so already."
"Let 'em!" said Rhodes with true philosophic indifference. "People thought that Galileo was crazy, and Newton and Darwin; Columbus was non compos mentis,[2] Fulton was dippy and Edison was looney. Yes, at one time the great inventor bore the beautiful sobriquet of Looney Edison. Listen to me, Billy, me lad: the greatest compliment that a scientist can ever receive is to be called a sap by sapheads."
All that, I admitted, was very true and truly cogent in its place; but this was not its place, and the Dromans certainly were neither sapheads nor saps. To my relief and, indeed, to my surprize, I dissuaded him from taking the thing as a specimen, and on we went once more.
At length we left the stream, which went plunging into a more fearsome place, into which no man could ever dream of following it. Soon after that, the descent became very steep. The going, however, was good, and we went down at a rapid pace. This lasted for two or three hours, and we had descended many hundreds of feet. The slope then suddenly became gentle, and we were making our way through a perfect maze of tortuous galleries and passages, which at times opened into halls and chambers.
The light was no longer in masses but in streams—streams that crawled and shivered and shook, as though in it spirit things were immersed and were struggling to break from it. The fungal growths were everywhere now. There were mushrooms with pilei bigger than umbrellas. Shapes as grotesque as if seen through the eyes of madness. There were growths, too, that one could almost think beautiful, and masses hideous and slimy as so much octopi. A strong and most unpleasant odor filled the place. And here and there, almost everywhere in the strange fungoid growth, were things creeping, crawling—things for which I can find no name, and for some of them I am glad that I can not.
It was a weird scene, an indescribable scene, one horrible, mysterious and yet strangely wonderful too. A place gloomy and weird as any ever conceived by Dante or Doré. And through it human forms were moving, and its stillness was broken by human voices, raised in song; and moving with these human beings, these inhabitants of a world as alien as that of Venus or of Mars, were Rhodes and I, we two modern men from the great modern world above—the wonderful, the awful world of the sun.
Of a sudden an exclamation rang out—an exclamation that stilled the song on the instant, brought the party to an abrupt halt and the bow of Narkus and that of Thumbra from the quivers.
The exclamation had broken from Rhodes; he was pointing into the gloom off to our right, a tense, expectant look on his face.
I peered with straining eyes but could see nothing there. A few moments passed, and nothing was seen. I then turned to Rhodes to ask him what it was; but the words I was about to speak were never uttered. Instead, I gave something like a cry and whirled round. For a sound had come from out the fungoid growth and the darkness behind us—a sound as of a slimy thing moving, slipping.
Nothing, however, was to be seen there, and silence, utter silence had fallen upon the spot—silence suddenly broken by another exclamation from Rhodes.
"Great heaven!" I cried as I whirled back to the direction in which he was pointing. "They are all around us!"
"Look, Bill—look at that!"
I saw nothing for a second or two. And then, off in the darkness beyond the reach of our lights, it was as though, in one spot, the darkness itself was moving—yes, the darkness itself.
"See that, Bill?"
I saw it. And the next instant I saw two great eyes, eyes that were watching us—and moving.
Chapter 31
"Gogrugron!"
They were visible for a second or two only—those great eyes burning with a greenish fire.
"Where did they go?" exclaimed Rhodes.
"And," said I, "what can it be? An ape-bat?"
"That is no ape-bat."
He turned to Narkus.
"Loopmuke?" he queried.
No; it was not a loopmuke. But what it was neither Narkus' pantomime nor Drorathusa's could tell us.
"I don't think," Milton said, "that they know what it is themselves."
"There!" I cried, whirling round. "There's that other thing again—the thing behind us!"
"I heard nothing."
"I heard something, I tell you. That mystery with the eyes is not the only thing that is watching us, watching us and waiting."
Some moments passed, perhaps minutes, in expectant waiting, our glances incessantly darting about the cavern, through which the light-mist was moving in troubled, writhing streams, the nebulous, spectral glow of it seeming to enhance the fearsome gloom of that dreadful place.
"I see nothing," Rhodes said at last, "and the cavern is as silent as a tomb."
"But we are seen. And, if we don't get out of this, it may be our tomb."
"I don't think it's so bad as that. But the Dromans are signing to us to come on—let us hope to a place more pleasant than this one."
I had turned to quit the spot, my look, however, lingering in that direction whence had come those low, mysterious sounds—a direction right opposite to that in which the moving eyes had shone. And scarcely had I taken a step forward when I fetched up, cried out and pointed.
"See that! See it moving?"
A large fungous tree, its form one indescribably grotesque, was quivering. It began to shake violently. Some heavy body, hidden from our eyes, was moving there—moving toward us.
Of a sudden the tree was thrust far over, there was a squashy, sickening sound, then down it came, the spot where it fell involved in a cloud of phosphorescence, which thinned and faded in the air like dust or mist as it settles.
"Shades of the Gorgons," I cried, "what is in there?"
A sound from Rhodes turned me round on the instant.
"The eyes again!" he cried. "There they are. Have we at last got into Dante's Inferno itself?"
I was beginning to think that we had got into something worse.
Yes, there the eyes were—nearer this time. And yet the thing itself was hidden in the shadows.
Rhodes raised his revolver, rested it on his left arm, took careful aim and fired.
The report seemed to bellow like thunder through the cavern. There was a scream from the Dromans, none of whom, save Drorathusa, had. ever heard a firearm before; and I doubt that even Drorathusa knew what had killed her demon. On the instant, whilst the report of the weapon and the cry of the Dromans were ringing in our ears, came another sound—came a shriek high, piercing, unearthly, one that seemed to arrest and curdle the very blood in our hearts.
It sank, ceased. But almost instantly it came again, rose until the air seemed to quiver to the sound.
The effect upon the Dromans was most sudden and pronounced.
A nameless fear and horror seized upon me as I saw it.
They started from the spot as if in a panic, signing to us with frantic gestures to follow.
I started; but Rhodes, for some inexplicable reason, stood there, his look fixed on the spot whence came those horrible, demoniacal shrieks. The eyes had disappeared, but, in almost that very instant that I turned, they shone again. I gazed at them as though in fascinated horror, forgetting for the moment that there was something behind me.
Up the eyes rose. A black thing was visible there in the darkness, but its shape was amorphous, mysterious. Up the eyes rose, seeming to dilate, and the fire in them grew brighter and brighter, became so horribly unearthly that I began to winder if I were going insane. The eyes swayed, swayed back and forth for some moments, then gave a sudden lurch into darkness. The shrieks broke, then came again, more rible, if that were possible, than before.
"Come on!" I cried, starting.
"For heaven's sake, let's get out of this, or I'll go mad!"
"What in the world," said Rhodes, reluctantly turning to follow, "can it be?"
"Let's get out of this hellish place—before it's too late. Remember, there is something behind us! Maybe things in other directions too!"
"Well," said Rhodes complacently as he followed along in my wake, "we have our revolvers."
"Revolvers? Just see what your revolver has done! A revolver is only a revolver, while that thing—who knows what that monster is?"
"The Dromans know—or think that they do."
"And look at the Dromans! Fear has them. Did you ever see fear like that before? See how they are signing to us to come on. Even Drorathusa is shaken to the very soul."
"After all, 'tis no wonder, Bill, that she is. Those shrieks! How can it continue to shriek and shriek like that?"
Ere long we had come up with the Dromans, who at once quickened their pace. On we went, casting apprehensive glances into the gloom about us. The frightful sounds sank as we moved onward. They became faint, fainter still, and at last, to my profound thankfulness, were no longer to be heard, even when we paused to listen.
"If that," said I during one of these pauses, "is a good sample of what we are to have here in Drome, then I wish that, instead of coming here, I had stepped into a den of cobras or something."
Drorathusa's eyes were upon me. As I ceased speaking, she raised a hand and pointed in the direction whence we had come.
"Gogrugron!" she said.
And I saw fear and horror unutterable well up in her eyes as she said it.
Chapter 32
"Lepraylya!"
Steadily we made our way along and downward. The light-streams were increasing in volume, the luminosity becoming stronger and stronger, the vegetation more abundant, the weird shapes larger and more unearthly than ever. The silence was broken by the drone of insects—creatures meet inhabitants, forsooth, for a place so indescribably strange and dreadful.
The cavern we were following was very tortuous, our route even more so, what with the twists and turns which we had to make in order to get through that fantasmagoria of fungal things. I do not mean to say that all of those growths were horrible, but most of them were, and some were as repulsive to the touch as they were to the sight.
As we toiled our way through them,. my heart was replete with dire apprehension. I could not banish the horror of those great burning eyes, the horror of those shrieks, which perhaps were still ringing out. What if we were suddenly to find ourselves face to face with one of those monsters (or more than one) here in this nightmare forest?
Gogrugron! Gogrugron! What on earth was that monstrosity known to the Dromans as a gogrugron? Well, most certainly, I was not desirous of obtaining first-hand knowledge upon that interesting item for the great science of natural history.
At length the light no longer lay in streams and rifts in the darkness, but the darkness, instead, lay in streams through the light. The Dromans quickened their already hurried pace, and there were exclamations of "Drome! Drome!"
"Drome!" echoed Milton. Rhodes. "I wonder what we are going to find."
"Something wonderful," said I, "or something worse, perhaps, than anything that we have seen."
Rhodes laughed, and I saw Drorathusa (Narkus was leading the way) turn and send a curious glance in our direction.
"Well," I added, "anything to get out of this horrible forest of fungi."
Some minutes passed, perhaps only fifteen, perhaps a half-hour. Of a sudden the great tunnel, now as light as a place on a sunless day, gave a sharp turn to the right; a glad cry broke from the Hypogeans.
"Drome! Drome!" they cried.
We all hurried forward.
"Look!" I said as we reached the turn. "The mouth, the mouth! The tunnel ends!"
There, but two hundred feet or so away, was the great yawning mouth of it—nothing visible through the opening but light, pearly opalescent light, mystic, beautiful.
"Drome!" cried Delphis, clapping her hands.
A few moments, and we were standing at the entrance, gazing out over the weird and beautiful scene.
"Drome!"
I turned at the sound and saw Drorathusa, her figure and mien ineffably Sibylline and majestic, pointing out over the strange landscape, her eyes on the face of Milton Rhodes.
"Drome!" she said again.
"Drome!" echoed Milton. Then to me: "I wonder, Bill, what this Drome really is. And I have an idea that this is only the outskirts that we see. Can we at last be near our journey's end, or is that end still far away?"
"Who can tell? This place seems to be a wilderness."
"Yes; a forest primeval."
"What," said I, "are we destined to find down there?"
"Things stranger, Bill, than explorer ever found anywhere in that strange world above us."
"No gogrugrons, I hope."
Rhodes laughed.
"Gogrugron!" said Drorathusa.
And I saw that horror and fear again in her eyes.
The cavern had come out high up on a broken, jagged wall, which went beetling up for hundreds of feet, up to the roof, which arched away over the landscape before us. We were fully half a thousand feet above the floor, which was a mass of luxuriant tropical forest. Glimpses were caught of a stream down to the left, perhaps the one which we had followed for so long. I judged the place to be more than a mile wide; Rhodes, however, that it was perhaps not quite a mile in the widest part. Down this enormous cavern, the eye could range for three or four miles, at which distance the misty light drew its veil over the forest, the dark walls, and the roof arching across.
At times the light quivered and shook, and there were strange flickerings and dartings of opalescent streaks through it—streaks ineffably beautiful and yet, strangely enough, terrible too, terrible as the blades of plunging swords in hands savage and murderous.
Once more Drorathusa raised a hand and pointed into the misty distance.
"Lepraylya!" she said.
Again her eyes were on Milton Rhodes, and, as she spoke that name, I saw in those wondrous orbs of hers the strangest look, I do believe, that I have ever seen. I wondered if Rhodes too saw it. I found his eyes upon Drorathusa, but there was in them so abstracted an expression that I believed his thoughts were far away and that he had not noticed. When I turned to Drorathusa again, it was to find that the strange look was gone.
What a mysterious creature this woman was! Try as I would, yet I feared her.
"Lepraylya!" she said again.
"Lepraylya," Mil ton nodded. "I wonder who or what this Lepraylya can be, Bill."
"King maybe—or something worse."
"Queen, I hope," said Milton Rhodes.
He drew forth his note-book and pencil and handed them to Drorathusa, pronouncing as she took them that mysterious name: "Lepraylya?"
A few strokes with the pencil, and Drorathusa had given us the answer.
"You see, Bill?" said Rhodes, smiling. "A woman—undoubtedly, too, the queen."
Drorathusa's Sibylline look was upon him once more—and she did not smile.
Chapter 33
Face to Face
We pound the wall even more broken and savage than it had appeared from the entrance. It was almost destitute of vegetation, a circumstance that contributed not a little to the difficulties of the descent. Indeed, making our way down over those pitching naked rocks was a ticklish, unpleasant business, I want to tell you—at times really precarious.
We had halted to rest above one of these difficult spots, and everyone was either seated or leaning against the rock, when of a sudden Milton, who was nearest the edge, arose and pointed, pointed down and off to the right.
"Hello!" said he. "What's that?"
All of us arose, moved forward and looked.
"Where?" I asked.
"Down there by that strange clump of sycadaceous trees. But 'tis gone now."
"What was it?"
"I haven't the faintest idea, Bill. But there was something there, something moving. And, if I were imaginative, I would probably say that it was watching us, that, the moment I arose and pointed, it glided back to the concealment of the trees."
"Well, did it?"
"It certainly seemed to do so, Bill."
I peered down there again, but I could not see anything moving. There was silence for some moments. The Dromans stood watching, waiting; stood expectant, puzzled.
"Oh, well," Rhodes said, turning a quizzical look in my direction and then to the face of Drorathusa, "we must expect to find live things in that forest."
I saw Drorathusa's eyes fixed upon his face, then, a few moments after he ceased speaking, return to the clump of cycads.
"Live things?" said I. "There may be things in this place of mystery more terrible than any live thing."
"Come, Bill, come. It can't be so bad as you think it, or our Dromans wouldn't be here. I wish," he added, "I knew what that thing is that I saw."
"Hello!" I cried the next moment, my look raised up to the vaulted roof, "what does that mean? Good heaven, what next?"
The light, which was brightest up along the roof—in fact, it seemed pressed up against the rock canopy like glowing, diaphanous mist—was changing, fading. The wonderful opalescence of it was disappearing before our eyes.
Of a sudden the spot where we stood was involved in a gloom strange, indescribable, unearthly. Up above, the light-mist was quivering and flickering, pale and dreadful.
"What on earth is it?" I said.
"Queer place, this!" said Milton Rhodes.
"What can it mean?"
He did not answer. He sent a questioning look toward Drorathusa and her companions. Mine followed. The faces of the Dromans seemed to glimmer ghostlike in the thickening, awful darkness. Upon those pale features, however, was no discoverable sign of alarm, uneasiness even.
The gloom deepened. Pitchy darkness came down with a rush. Far away, and up along the roof, there were pale flickerings and flashes. Then the light burst out, so sudden and so strong that pain shot through the eyes.
Came a cry, and I turned to see Drorathusa pointing, pointing down toward the cycads.
"There it is, Bill!" said Mil ton. "There it is again! See it moving?"
I saw it but for a fleeting moment only. And, I thought, I saw something else.
"Nearer this time," Rhodes told me.
"It is moving over," I said, "to lie in wait for us. And, unless I'm much deceived, it isn't alone."
"Hum," said Rhodes. "Queer place, Bill, to go into. Our Hypogeans don't seem to know what to make of this apparition."
They were conversing in low tones, casting searching, apprehensive looks along the ragged margin of the forest.
The gloom was falling again. Denser and denser it grew about us. Fainter, more and more dreadful became those distant flickerings. The stillness was utter, terrible. There was not the gentlest movement of air. The light gave a last faint, angry gleam and went out altogether.
Abruptly, from out of the darkness, a voice came sounding, and, though I knew that the voice was Drorathusa's, I started violently and almost gave a cry. I pressed the button, and the rays of the lamp flashed out, lighting up the spot and showing the tall figure of Drorathusa with arms extended upward in some mystic invocation. The others were kneeling, and the words that Drorathusa spoke were echoed, as it were, in their low responsive voices. It was a strange scene—the dark, savage masses of rock, the tall Sibylline figure of the woman, the kneeling forms of the others and we two men from the sunlit world looking on in wonder and in awe.
Minutes passed. The wondrous, eery voice of Drorathusa never ceased, though there were moments when those echoing voices were silent.
Look! Far away, there was a faint, ghostly flicker. Another and another. Brighter they became and brighter still, at last opalescent; soon rocks and forest, the whole weird landscape was again bathed in the mystic pearly light.
"What in the world," I said, "was it?"
"An eclipse," smiled Rhodes. "Queer place, this."
"Queer place? Can't you hit another tune? You don't have to keep telling me that this is a queer place. I am not likely to forget that fact. And I wonder if these 'eclipses' are a frequent phenomenon. Certainly I hope that they arc not."
"I wish that I could tell you, Bill."
"And," I added, "that forest, when the light goes, must be a queer place truly—gosh, I'm catching it from you! But I'll tell you what: I wouldn't like to find myself, in the depths of those woods, face to face with a loopmuke or a gogrugron or something and in that instant have the darkness come down."
"It would be rather unpleasant, I fancy. But unfortunately our likes or our dislikes are not likely to alter in any way the scheme of things."
The Dromans, all standing now, were singing a low and sweet song of thanksgiving and gladness. Yes, so sweet were the tones that they seemed to linger in the air, for some moments, even after the song had ceased.
We east our looks along the margin of the forest, but not a single glimpse was caught of that mysterious object, or objects, that we had seen moving down there.
It was patent that the Dromans knew no more what to make of that apparition than we did ourselves and that they looked forward with no little apprehension to our entry into those trees.
The descent was resumed. Were eyes, somewhere below, watching our every movement? I feared that it was indeed so, and, as I well knew, every other member of our little band feared it, too. There was nothing, however, that we could do except descend and face the issue. To turn aside would be futile, for the watcher, or the watchers, would turn aside also to meet us.
Ere long we reached the talus, and
our troubles were then over—that
is, as regards the descent. But
heaven only knew what troubles were
awaiting us somewhere in that forest,
to which we were now drawing so
very near. As we made our way
down over the reek-fragments, amidst
which shrubs and stunted trees were
growing, more than once did we
pause and send keen, searching looks
and glances into the silent recesses
of that mysterious wood. Some of
those sylvan depths were enshadowed,
gloomy; others were pervaded with
the strong, transparent light-mist—the
objects involved in which cast no
shadows.
At the foot of the talus, almost beneath the branches of the great palm-trees, there was a pause.
"Now for it!" said Rhodes solemnly.
The Dromans were clustered together in earnest but laconic dialogue, their eyes employed the while in a keen scrutiny of the forest aisles and recesses, before us and on either hand.
Insects were in the air about us; one or two shadowy butterflies flitted past; and that was all. Not a leaf stirred; the air was without the slightest movement. No song, no call of a bird broke the silence, which seemed to press dowm upon us and about us as though it were a tangible thing. It was as if the spot, the forest itself had never known either the voice or the movement of. any sentient thing. But, somewhere in that forest, hidden and close at hand, there was something sentient—something, in all likelihood, watching us, watching us and waiting. Waiting for what? Or, came the sudden thought, even now it was stealing toward the place where we stood.
"This suspense," said I to myself, "is simply awful—as terrible even as that we knew when moving across the bridge."
Drorathusa turned to us and pointed in a rather vague direction out into the trees.
"Narranawnzee," she said.
"They plan to strike that stream," said Milton.
"I pray heaven," I told him, "that we live to see it."
Whereupon Rhodes laughed outright—the effect of the sudden sound curious and startling, so great was the tension of our nerves.
"One would think, Gloomy Face," said he, "that you had just issued from the Cave of Trophonius. 'And he never smiled again.'"
"I have an idea, grinning Shaky Knees," I retorted, "that we have got ourselves into a place more awful than any Cave of Trophonius. I don't blink, that's all."
"Nor, Bill, do I," said Milton soberly. "You know, I'd feel more at ease if it wasn't for the presence of the ladies. Why did they come on a journey so hazardous and so terrible?"
How often had we wondered that! We didn't know the ladies of Drome.
We at once got in motion—Narkus and Rhodes in advance, Drorathusa just behind them, then Delphis and Siris, whilst Thumbra and I brought up the rear. This disposition of our little party was as Drorathusa herself had desired it, and she had been at some pains to impress upon Rhodes and me (though there was no necessity for that) the expediency of keeping our weapons ready at any instant for action.
On we went, deeper and deeper into the wood. Strange forms of tropical vegetation, strange flowers and insects were everywhere. How interesting we should have found the place! But there was that thing, somewhere hidden, watching us perhaps—following.
Came a sharp exclamation, a dull sound from above; but it was only a bird, a thing of silver and gold, launching itself from off a branch of one of the trees which we were approaching. Away it went sailing, lovely as a vision from fairyland, and disappeared amongst the tree-trunks and foliage.
Five minutes or so passed. Another sound, an exclamation from Drorathusa, and the party came to a sudden halt.
Everyone had heard it—a clear, unmistakable but inexplicable sound, from behind. We were being followed!
We stood listening for some moments, waiting; but the sound did not come again. Save for the low, melancholy drone of insects, the spot was as silent as a tomb.
We resumed our advance, every sense on the alert. A few moments passed, and then we heard it. This time it was off to the right, almost abreast of us, it seemed.
We waited, but nothing was seen, nothing was heard.
We had advanced but twenty or thirty feet when a sudden gloom involved the forest. The scene on the instant turned weird, unearthly. This, however, was but for a few seconds; then came the light. The advance was at once resumed. But we had gone only a short distance when the gloom came once more, grew so dense that we had to come to a halt.
It lifted, just as I was on the point of switching on my light. Then like a bolt came utter darkness. And, even as the darkness fell, there was a velvety sound and a faint rustling from amongst the foliage beside us. With frantic haste I sought and pressed the light-switch. At the same instant Rhodes flashed on his light. A cry of horror broke from me. There, thrust over the top of a great log and but a few yards distant, was a long snaky head with a pair of great blazing eyes fixed upon me.
We were face to face at last!
Chapter 34
Another!
I jerked out my revolver, took swift aim, right between those great blazing eyes, and fired.
There was a fearful roar, which seemed to end in a scream, and the long snaky head and neck (no more of the animal had been visible) disappeared.
"Good work, Bill!" applauded Rhodes.
But he had spoken too soon. Hardly had the words left his lips when the monster came. A dark form, with a gleam of something white, rose into the air and came driving straight toward us. I sprang aside and turned to fire but did not do so for fear of hitting the Dromans or Rhodes. There was a heavy, sickening thud; a piercing shriek from Drorathusa, the sound of rending cloth. The monster had her!
I leaped toward it and emptied the revolver into its side, whilst Narkus and Thumbra sent each an arrow into the body. That of the former was driven with such force that the feathered end of the shaft must have been half-way through the lungs. And down the tiling fell dead, though still quivering, there in our very midst.
I turned and hurried to Drorathusa. Rhodes was already beside her. The claws of the monster had ripped her dress, from the thigh down, literally into ribbons; strangely enough, the flesh had escaped even a scratch.
Drorathusa was badly shaken, and little wonder, forsooth. It had been a miraculous escape from terrible injury, from a most horrible death. A few moments, however, and she was as composed as though nothing had happened. Truly there was much to admire in this extraordinary woman.
Rhodes and I turned and examined the body, now lying quite still. It was that of an enormous cat. Strictly speaking, it was not, I suppose, a cat; it was not like anything that we had ever seen or heard of. But a eat I shall call it, not knowing what other word to use. The head was long and of an aspect strikingly, repulsively snakelike. This reptilian resemblance was enhanced by the head's being absolutely destitute of hair, save for the vibrissae, which were really enormous. The body was a dull, shadowy gray and most curiously mottled The breast and the belly were snowy white.
"Hum," said Milton Rhodes. "A strange and terrible creature, Bill. This wilderness must be a real one when we find a carnivore like this—and goodness only knows what others—subsisting in it."
"Yes. And, with such creatures in the woods, our journey through them is likely to prove an interesting one."
"Oh, well," said Rhodes, "we have our revolvers, and the Dromans have their bows and arrows, to say nothing of the swords. And they know how to use them, too."
"And that reminds be," I told him: "I haven't reloaded my blunderbuss."
"Save those shells, Bill."
"What for?"
"So we can reload them."
"Reload them? Do you think we'll be able to do that in this world called Drome."
"Why not?"
"But how?"
Rhodes turned like a flash.
"Hear that?" he said. "By the great Nimrod, another one!"
The darkness still lay impenetrable, pitchy. We flashed our lights into the trees, this way and that, all about us; but no eyes were seen gleaming at us, nothing moving save the shadows, and not the faintest sound was heard.
The Dromans were listening intently, but it was patent that they had not heard that sound which had whirled Rhodes about; nor had I heard it myself.
"Sure," I queried, "that there was a sound?"
"I certainly thought that I heard something."
"Look!" I cried, pointing upward.
Through the openings in the foliage, pale flickerings of light were to be seen.
"Thank goodness," Rhodes said, "we'll soon have it again!"
And we soon did—the strong, mystic, and yet strangely misty, light pervading the mysterious and dreadful wood, the flickerings and flashes overhead soon opalescent and beautiful as ever.
We at once (Narkus and Thumbra having drawn their arrows from the body of the cat) left that spot, to make our way deeper and deeper into that weird forest, which harbored enemies so terrible and so treacherous.
"Why," I queried, "didn't we camp up there on the rocks, where it would have been impossible (save in darkness) for anything to approach us unseen? We had made a day's good journey; and here we have gone and left a place of safety to camp somewhere in this horrible wood."
"What," returned Rhodes, "would that have been but postponing the inevitable? For into these trees we should have had to go, sooner or later, and the thing would have been watching for us just the same. As you say, we had made a good journey for the day; well, aren't we making it better?"
"It isn't ended yet."
"This place, after all, Bill, may not be so bad as it seems."
"Well, there is one consolation," I remarked: "there is no danger of our starving to death in this lovely Dante's Inferno. Look at all the fruit and nuts and things."
"Yes. From that point of view, the place is a veritable Garden of the Hesperides."
At length we reached the stream,
considerably larger than I had
expected to find it. At this point
where we struck it, the water was
deep, the current a gentle one. The
rich forest growth hung out over the
surface for some distance. There
was a soft rustling of leaves, for some
of the branches dipped into the water
and were swaying to and fro. This
and the faint, melancholy whisper of
the gliding element were all that
broke the heavy deathlike stillness.
It was a placid, lovely scene.
The attainment of this their objective seemed to give our Dromans much pleasure; but, save for the fact that there was now no danger of our perishing of thirst, I could not see that we were any better off than we had been.
I thought that this would be the end of our march, now a long one indeed. But the Dromans merely paused, then started down the stream; and, of course, along with them went Rhodes and myself. At times we had literally to force our way through the dense and tangled undergrowth; then we would be moving through lovely aisles—
"And many a walk traversed
Of stateliest covert, cedar, pine, or palm."
We pushed on for perhaps two miles, never moving far from the stream, and then made camp in a beautiful open spot, over which, however, the great branches formed an unbroken canopy of leaves.
A guard was arranged for the night. Rhodes had the first watch.
It was during my vigil that it came—a sudden, fierce, frightful scream, which awoke every member of our little party. It came from somewhere down the river and was replete with terror and agony, a sound that made the very air quiver and throb. It seemed human, and yet I told myself that it simply could not be. And then it ceased, as suddenly as it had come, and all was still again, save for the gentle, sad whispering of the water.
"What," I exclaimed, my voice, however, low and guarded, "was it? It sounded human, but I know that that sound did not come from the throat of a man or a woman."
"It wasn't human, Bill. What it was—well, that seems to be a mystery even to the Dromans."
I turned and saw Drorathusa, who had just issued from the tent, standing beside Narkus and engaged in hurried and whispered dialogue, the troubled looks which she incessantly directed into the forest, in that quarter whence had come that fearful sound, advertising dread and something for which I can not find a name.
"Evidently," Rhodes observed, "they know but little more about this place and the things in it than we do ourselves."
"And that is virtually nothing."
"Did you," he asked suddenly, "hear something else?"
"Something else? When?"
"Something besides that scream. And while it was filling the air—and just afterward."
"I heard nothing else. Did you?"
"I believe that I did."
"What?"
"I can not say," was his answer.
"I wish that I could."
"Well," said I, "all we know is that there is something sneaking or prowling about in this wood, that it has just got a victim and that, in all probability, it means to get one of us—or all."
Rhodes nodded, rather rueful of visage.
"We were fortunate enough," he said, "to kill one monster; I wonder if we shall be as fortunate the second time. For there is another waiting perhaps—biding its time."
An icy shudder went through me. Another? Yes; but another what?
Chapter 35
A Scream and—Silence
I am afraid that no one slept very well after that.
It was about 7 o'clock when we left that place. And I confess that I was more uneasy, more troubled than I would have eared to acknowledge. For we were headed toward the spot—at any rate, in the direction—whence had come that frightful scream. What would we find there, or would we find anything?
We did.
We had gone about an eighth of a mile. The disposition of our little party was as it had been the day before—Rhodes and Narkus, that is, were in the lead, followed by Drorathusa, then came Delphis and Siris, whilst Thumbra and myself formed the rear-guard. Had my own wishes in the matter been followed, Rhodes and I would have been together. The formation assumed was, as I believe I have mentioned, the one that Drorathusa desired. The idea, of course, was to have the front and the rear protected each by one of the mysterious weapons of the mysterious strange-men—weapons undoubtedly far more formidable in the imagination of Drorathusa and her companions than they were in reality.
Certainly our revolvers were in every way excellent weapons, but I could not help wishing that they carried a more powerful bullet.
As has been said, we had proceeded about a furlong. The dense and tangled undergrowth had forced us away from the stream, to a distance of perhaps three hundred feet.
At the moment a sound had fetched me up and my exclamation had brought the party to a sudden halt.
"What is it?" Rhodes asked.
"We are being followed!"
He made no immediate response to that dire intelligence. We all stood listening, waiting; but a silence pervaded the forest as deep as though it had never, since the day of creation, been broken by the faintest pulsation of sound.
Then, after some moments, Rhodes asked: "Sure, Bill, that we are being followed?"
"Yes! I tell you that I know that we are!"
"Well," said he, turning slowly, "I don't see that we can do anything about it, save keep a sharp lookout; and so on we go."
Whereupon he and the others started. I had turned to follow when that sound, low and mysterious as before, stopped me in my tracks. And in that very instant came another—a sharp interjection from Rhodes, instantaneously followed by a scream, the short, piercing scream of a woman.
I should have explained that we were in a dense growth of fem, a growth some ten or twelve feet in height—a meet place indeed for an ambuscade. Overhead, too, the branches met and intertangled—affording an excellent place for a bald-headed cat or some other arboreal monster to lie in wait and drop or spring upon any human or brute passing below.
Now, as I whirled to that exclamation and scream—the danger there behind forgotten in what was so imminent before—it was to find, to my indescribable fear and horror, that my companions, every single one of them, had vanished.
And that horror and fear which chilled my heart were enhanced by the fact that before me, where Rhodes and the Dromans must be, there was no agitation amongst the ferns, not the slightest movement amongst them. I was alone, alone in that fearful place of dense, concealing vegetation, of silence and mystery. But no; they were there, my companions, right there before me. The ferns hid them, that was all. But why were they so still? What had happened? That exclamation, that scream—the silence that had fallen!
It has taken some space to set this down, but it must not be imagined that the space itself during which I stood there was a long one. It was, in fact, very brief; it was no more, I suppose, than five or six seconds. Then I was moving forward through the crushed ferns, as swiftly as was consistent with caution and, of course, with the revolver gripped ready for instant action.
I had covered perhaps three yards, had reached the point where the way crushed through the fem-growth turned sharp to the left to pass between two great tree-trunks; then it was that I heard it—a low, rustling sound and close at hand.
Something was moving there—moving toward me!
Chapter 36
Gorgonic Horror
Almost that very instant I heard it, that low, rustling sound made by something moving through (as I thought) the fern growth, ceased. My companions! What had happened to them?
I began moving forward, every second that passed enhancing that horrible fear which chilled my heart. For each step took me nearer to, though not directly toward, that spot from which had come that mysterious sound.
Just as I was passing between those great tree-trunks, came a sound that fetched me up in my tracks, came a sudden low voice: "Oh, Bill!"
I gave a smothered cry and dashed forward. Rhodes was safe; at any rate, he was alive. A second or two, and I burst from the fern-growth. Surprize, amazement brought me up, and the next instant an indescribable horror had me in its grip.
The surprize, the amazement will be explained when I.say that there before me stood my companions, every one of them, safe and sound. There they stood, moveless and silent as so many statues, gazing, as though held in a baleful charm, upon that horror before them. Rhodes was the only one that moved as I burst into the scene.
"I wondered, Bill, why you didn't come."
"And I wondered why you all were so silent—after that exclamation and scream. I understand it now."
Shuddering, I pointed with my alpenstock.
"In the name of the Gorgons, what is that?"
"I wish that I knew, Bill."
A silence of some seconds followed, and then I remembered—that rustling sound.
I turned, and another shudder went through me. Drorathusa was standing very near that spot from which that rustling sound must have come.
"What is there?" I asked, pointing.
Rhodes whirled in the direction I indicated.
"Where?"
"In the ferns—behind Drorathusa. I heard something in there, something moving."
"When?"
"Some moments ago—just before you called."
A wan smile flitted across the face of Milton Rhodes.
"That was Drorathusa herself moving through that tangle of flowers."
"But I tell you that it was moving toward me!"
"It was Drorathusa," said Rhodes. "You only thought that the sound was moving toward you, away from us. No, Bill; it was Drorathusa. There was no other sound. To that I can swear."
So my imagination had tricked me! And yet how could I be sure that it had? For, in such a moment, with such a sight before him, Rhodes himself might have been the one deceived. In that case, any instant might see Death come leaping into our very midst.
"Who gave that scream?" I asked.
"One of the girls, when we broke out of the ferns and she saw that. Delphis, I believe."
This turned me again to that thing of horror. No wonder that that piercing, terrible scream had broken from the girl!
The spot into which we had stepped was, for a distance of perhaps one hundred and fifty feet, almost free from undergrowth. The twisted trunks and branches had a gnarled and savage aspect; the light had faded, and what with the gloom that had fallen and the weird shapes of the trees and the branches, the scene was a strange and terrible one. A fitting setting truly for what we saw there in the midst of it.
For, sixty feet or so distant, still, white and lifeless, naked save for a skin (spotted something like a leopard's) about the waist, the toes four or five feet from the ground, hung the body of a man.
That itself was horrible enough, but what we saw up in the branches above—how I shudder as that picture rises before me! It was a shape amorphous, monstrous, of mottled green and brown, with splotches of something whitish, bluish.
There were splotches, too, upon the branches and upon the ground beneath. It was like blood, that whitish, bluish stuff, and, indeed, that is what it was. In the midst of that amorphous mass were two great eyes, but they never moved, were fixed and glassy. One of the higher branches had been broken, though not clean from the trunk, and, wound around this branch, the end of which had fallen upon those in which the monster rested, were what I at first took to be enormous serpents. They were, in fact, tentacula. There was a third tentacle; it hung straight down. And it was from this, the coils wrapped around the neck, that the body of the unfortunate man hung, white and lifeless, like a victim of the hangman's noose.
"A tree-octopus!" I cried.
"I suppose one might call it that, only it seems to have but three tentacles. And that scream we heard last night—we know now what it was."
I shuddered.
"No wonder we thought that the sound was unhuman—in the grip of that thing, the coils around his neck! So near, and we never stirred to his help!"
"Because we never dreamed. And, had we known, Bill, we could not have saved him. Life would have been extinct, crushed out of him, before we could have got here and cut him down."
"I thought of some dreadful things," said I, "but never of a monster like that."
"A queer place, a horrible place, Bill," said Milton Rhodes, glancing a little nervously about him. "But come."
He started forward. The Dromans hung back, but I moved along after him, whereupon the others followed, though with great apparent reluctance and horror.
"What I don't understand, Bill, is this: what happened?"
"Why, the poor fellow was passing beneath the branches, the octopus thrust down its tentacle, wound it around the victim's neck and started to pull him up."
"All that is very clear. But then what happened—to the octopus?"
"The limb to which the monster had attached itself broke under the added weight, and down it came crashing into those branches in which we see it."
"That too is clear," said Rhodes. "But what killed the thing? The fall itself, it seems to me, could not have done so."
The next moment we halted, a few yards from the spot where hung the still, white body of the Droman.
"I see it now," said Rhodes, pointing. "As the monster came down, it was impaled upon that swordlike stub of a branch. See it protruding upward from the horrible body."
This, there could be no doubt, was what had happened. And that Gorgonic horror, in the shock of the fall and its impalement, even in its death throes, had never loosed the grip on its victim.
"We can't leave the poor devil hanging like that," I said.
"Of course not. And to give him burial will mean the loss of time probably more precious even than we think. This is a wood horrible as any that Dante ever found himself in!"
"We must risk it. We can't leave him like that, or the body lying on the ground for the beasts to devour."
Rhodes and I still had our icepicks, and we at once divested ourselves of the packs and started the grave. And, as we worked, try as I would I could not shake it from me—the feeling that, concealed somewhere in the trees, something was lurking, watching us.
Thumbra, mounted upon the shoulders of Narkus, cut down the victim. It took three strokes to cleave his sword through the tentacle. Along it ran two rows of suckers, like those of a devil-fish. So powerful was the grip upon the victim's neck, we could not remove the severed end of the tentacle; and so we buried the poor Droman, in his shallow grave, with those coils around his throat.
Forthwith we quitted the cursed spot, though Rhodes, I believe, wanted to climb up into that tree and subject the monster to a scientific scrutiny!
And, as we pushed on through that dreadful wood, it was as though some sixth sense bore to my brain a warning vague but persistent, sinister:
"It is following!"
This story comes to a glorious conclusion in next month's fascinating chapters.
- ↑ "A very decided luminosity has been observed to proceed from dissecting-room subjects, the light thus evolved being sufficient to render the forms of the bodies, as well as those of muscles and other dissected parts (which are peculiarly bright), almost as distinct as in the daylight. . . Three cases are recorded by Sir H. Marsh, in which an evolution of light took place from the living body. . . The light in each case is described as playing around the face, but not as directly proceeding from the surface; and in one of these instances, which was recorded by Dr. D. Donovan, not only was the luminous appearance perceptible over the head of the patient's bed, but luminous vapors passed in streams through the apartment."—Dr. Carpenter.
- ↑ "The very children, it is said, pointed to their foreheads as he passed, being taught to regard him as a kind of madman."—Irving.