The Night of the Left Hand Path
Chapter 1
Artie opened his eyes. He was in complete darkness. Where was he? The train? Someone's home? A hospital? He had no idea. Nor was he sure that what had happened over the past week had really happened. It felt more like a dream. A horrible dream. His head was pounding, his aching limbs refused to move, and his upper back felt like it was on fire. Wherever this was felt safe, so the questions could wait until morning. He closed his eyes again.
A moment later he heard someone enter the room. His muscles tightened up and he opened his eyes once more. Whoever it was had a light step; maybe it was a woman. He heard a window open and the squeak of a shade being raised. Now his face felt warm.
The steps came closer and he felt a hand on his brow. A second person entered the room. Heavier steps. A man.
"He's awake." A girlish voice.
"That's good, that's fine." A man's voice. He sounded elderly.
"Good morning, son."
Morning?
* * *
A week earlier, he and Jim rode through Kansas on a mission to a remote prairie town. Shekinah was thought to be a utopian community similar to those that had been founded earlier in the century in various places, but recent reports from travelers had caught the attention of Washington. Groups of people passing through on their way to California, traveling salesmen, a theatrical company – of all who entered Shekinah, many fewer left it. The rest had simply disappeared without a trace. Those who made it through attested that Shekinah was anything but utopian.
"Is it possible that this was just a practical joke?" Artie asked. "We've been riding for the last two days, and the only living thing we've seen is grass. "
"It's not living things I'm interested in. I haven't seen any water all day, and we're starting to run low." Jim replied.
"Whaddya say we turn around and get a wagon?" Artie asked. The maps the previous travelers had drawn did not match one another, and Artie didn't want to take the chance of dying of thirst in the middle of nowhere.
" I think I see some trees up ahead. Where there are trees, there oughta be water."
After about a mile, something told Artie to dismount. He obeyed and began leading his horse by the reins.
"Whaja do that for?" Jim asked. Their progress, if he could even call it that, was agonizingly slow. Walking would just make it slower.
"I don't want to be thrown."
"What?"
Artie walked alongside and looked up at Jim with confusion in his face. "I dunno – something told me. Why would I do that?"
"You're asking me?" Jim replied with a raised eyebrow.
Artie noticed that the ground under his feet was vibrating. Slowly at first, but with increasing intensity. From the east a black cloud moving toward them. As it neared, they saw that the cloud was no cloud at all, but hundreds – if not thousands – of black horses, all galloping at top speed. Jim's horse reared up in terror. Fortunately, because of where he stood, Artie was able to catch Jim before he hit the ground. Artie's own horse had taken off in the same direction as Jim's.
There was nowhere to hide. The trees were in view, yet at the rate the horses were moving, it would all but impossible to reach the them in time to avoid being crushed under thousands of hooves. As it was their only chance, both began to run.
While running as fast as he could – so fast it felt as if his heart would explode, Jim looked over his shoulder to see that the horses were fading – literally. Hoofbeats were still audible, the ground was still shaking, but what had been black was fading into pale gray. For a brief moment, Jim wondered if he'd lost his mind.
He slowed a bit to process the scene. When Artie realized that Jim had fallen behind, he looked back to urge him on. He too saw that the horses had faded in color and were still fading, as was the noise. By the time the horses were within a hundred yards the noise ceased, and slowly the horses faded away completely.
Both men dropped to the ground, gasping for breath.
"If I've gone insane, would you be a pal and let me know?" Artie asked, his chest still heaving.
"Funny, I was about to ask you the same thing. Now what?"
"Let's ride toward the trees." Artie got up and whistled for his horse. Both horses cantered back from wherever they had hidden.
Once mounted they turned to face the trees which, when the horses disappeared, were a half mile distant. Now the trees appeared to be less than twenty yards away. And they weren't any kind of tree ever seen on the prairie before.
"Weren't they–?" Artie stammered.
"Yeah, they were," Jim said. His confident tone successfully disguised his apprehension.
As they neared, they saw that what appeared to be a thicket of trees was really only three very strange-looking trees planted close together.
"What's wrong with them? Some kinda tree disease?" Jim asked. They were about a fifty feet high, with trunks that were at least twenty feet in diameter.
"They're baobabs. What they're doing in Kansas I have no idea. They grow only in Africa and Australia ," Artie answered.
Upon reaching the trees, they saw that there was a shallow creek which seemed to have just bubbled up out of the ground. Jim dipped his hand in and tasted the water. It was fresh and cold.
"Water the horses and let's load up our canteens."
"Water! I couldn't be happier!" Artie splashed some on his face. "Ah, nothing like it. So glad the good Lord didn't want us dying out here."
Jim filled his canteen. Once it was full, he accidentally dropped the cap into the water. Reaching for it he slipped into the creek and sunk like a stone. What had appeared to be only eighteen inches deep was actually far, far deeper.
Artie heard the splash, but thought nothing of it until he turned to see Jim surface, coughing and sputtering. His shock turned to horror when he saw that closing in on Jim was an huge alligator.
He rushed to the bank. "Jim, gimme your hand!"
Jim, treading water, offered his hand, then sank. He broke the surface once more and was able to grab hold of Artie's hand. He was pulled from the water mere seconds before the alligator would have torn his leg to shreds. As soon as Jim was out of the water, the alligator submerged.
Jim fell onto the grass, soaked and still coughing. Artie sat beside him, and tried to think. He could be dreaming or hallucinating, or they could have been drugged, or... .. His mind couldn't accept that any of this was really "real." There were no gators in Kansas. And no baobab trees.
Something told him to jump into the water – that same something that told him to dismount. Artie rose in obedience to the silent direction.
"Where are you going?" Jim asked between coughs.
"For a swim."
"What??"
"I'd like to work on my backstroke," Artie said as he began to remove his clothing.
Jim sat up. "Are you out of your mind?"
"No."
"Artie, don't do it!"
"Jim, I – I have to. Don't try to stop me."
Jim attempted to scramble up, in order to pull Artie away from the water, but for some reason his wet clothes bunched around his arms and legs and, by the time he got free, Artie was already in.
The alligator returned, but Artie felt no fear. It was as if the something that told him to jump in was in control.
"Artie, get out of the water! Now!" The alligator was steadily heading for Artie, and Jim was becoming frantic. "Artie, are you out of your mind?? Get out NOW!!"
Artie held up a hand, "Jim, relax, relax."
Aghast, Jim went for his gun, but it wouldn't come out of its holster. He had to get it out before the alligator reached Artie, because by then it would be too dangerous. If there were a struggle in the water, there was risk of accidentally shooting Artie.
Artie was treading water, calmly watching the alligator approach him. It was a very strange feeling; he was not the least bit afraid. The gator might as well have been a kitten.
Jim became overwhelmed with horror and frustration. Artie, unconcerned that an alligator bearing down on him. Not willing to abandon him, yet even less willing to watch him get torn to pieces, Jim became sick, retching behind one of the trees.
Artie looked back to see that Jim was no longer watching, and he felt even calmer. The gator was now within an arm's length. Artie reached out to touch its nose. It was cold and clammy, as he expected, but it didn't feel quite solid. When he took his hand away, the gator turned and started off in the other direction. Soon, it began to fade just as the horses had done.
Coming out from behind the tree, Jim was met by a dripping Artie, walking to where he'd piled his clothes.
"Nothing like a good swim, Jim." Artie grinned as he tossed Jim's lost canteen cap to him.
Jim didn't answer. He was livid. At Artie, for not considering the risk. At his fear. Yes, mainly at being so afraid. The fearless Jim West so afraid it made him sick. Sullenly he picked up the cap, and put the canteen in the saddle bag. Artie began whistling, which made him even angrier.
As he buttoned his shirt, Artie noted that Jim's expression was exactly the one he'd display just before a blowing up at someone. This time he was that someone, which was a shame – he was in a great mood since his swim. He stopped whistling, hoping to avert the explosion.
Unfortunately, Jim was just gearing up.
"You disgust me, you know that?"
Artie couldn't help but laugh. They'd nearly been stamped to death by horses and torn apart by an alligator. Both of which disappeared. And now they were standing under trees that didn't even belong in the western hemisphere – what else to do but laugh?
"What the hell's so funny?"
"Jim –"
"Damn you, I'm really pissed at you–"
"Jim, please – your language. This is Kansas, not the Bowery." Plenty of times if he took this tack, it managed to diffuse the situation.
"I oughta knock your brains out."
"Sure. Whatever makes you happy."
"You're a real jackass, you know that?" Jim's anger increased since Artie wasn't putting up any resistance.
"Nobody's perfect."
"Do you even appreciate situation we're in?" Jim asked as he mounted his horse.
"More than you do, apparently. Somebody's playing a game with us – just a game. Personally, I'm always interested in learning a new game."
"You're a jackass," Jim muttered again.
Artie hid his smile as he mounted his horse. They rode about a mile on the flat plain before he looked back to see that the baobabs were gone.
* * *
The first building they saw was a typical prairie dwelling. One story, with only one or two rooms. The only difference was that it appeared to be made of yellow granite. The July sun was at its most intense, and its rays shone like gold on the walls of the house.
"If that is what it looks like, it must've been dragged a mighty long way," Artie said.
"Considering our recent luck, I'd prefer not to express an opinion. I'd just as soon get to the – what did the reports say – there's a rooming house here?"
"A caravansary I think they called it."
"Why the fancy name?"
Artie shrugged. He saw some wisdom in Jim's refusal to express an opinion.
They rode on and began to notice a number of crows flying about. Artie smiled – he was a big fan of crows, having once had a few as pets. "Must be something growing out here other than grass. Soon we'll be seeing trees and farms, I guess."
"Keep an open mind," Jim said.
"Huh? We won't be seeing trees and farms?"
"Something just said to me 'keep an open mind.' Artie, when you said something about not being thrown, you said something told you... right?
"Uh huh."
"Is it – well, is it possible we've been drugged somehow?"
"I don't see how – everything we've eaten we packed ourselves."
"And you haven't let that poison you've been playing with into the kitchen, right?"
Artie sighed deeply. "No. Just once – years ago -- I accidently set the curtain on fire. You forgive, but you sure don't forget, do you?"
"Answer the question." Jim said. He knew what the answer would be, but now that he was feeling better, he'd pay Artie back for going for that unnecessary swim.
"The answer's no. No chemicals or compounds – poison or otherwise – in the kitchen. Anyway, if somehow we had been drugged, it's unlikely we'd experience the same phenomena in the same way."
"I guess that makes sense."
Soon the landscape began to resemble a community – more buildings, all built from what looked like yellow or red granite. There was nothing that could be considered a main street, nor did there appear to be any businesses. There were animals -- horses standing patiently outside a few buildings, dogs loping along the wooden sidewalks, the tags on their collars jingling. Cats could be seen watching from second-story windows. There were no people.
"A settlement without settlers it looks like," Artie observed.
"No, they're here somewhere, I can feel it. There's a lot of them, and –"
"And what?"
"I – " Jim stopped. He couldn't quite explain it, but it felt like a message was trying to plant itself into his mind that would answer the question.
"I what? Huh?"
"They know we're here," Jim said finally.
"Watching us?" Artie looked up at the windows. No one was looking out that he could see.
"There are other ways to see."
"What?" Artie thought Jim was starting to sound like a certain actor who used to stay at his father's boarding house from time to time. The man would rise in the middle of a meal to issue some oddball proclamation, on the nature of everything from the movements of the stars to the perfect temperature for tea.
"Artie, it happened again – I heard it! "
Artie looked at him and shrugged. This phenomenon, well, it certainly couldn't compare with the horses, the alligator, and the boababs. "Is this something we have to worry about?"
"I guess not, but... no, I guess not." came the reply.
"Let's see if any of these invisible townspeople can direct us to the caravansary. I'm going to start knocking on doors." Artie said as he dismounted.
"I'd like to keep riding." Jim wouldn't admit it, but he had a strong feeling something very bad was waiting behind one of those doors, waiting for him.
"See if you can find it yourself. If you can, come back and look for me. Or if I get directions first, I'll look for you. Either way, I don't think it'll take us much time."
"Artie, be careful."
"I was born careful," Artie said jauntily as he led the horse to the nearest hitching post.
"See you soon," said Jim as he rode off.
The nearest building was three stories tall, narrow and built of a material resembling red granite. This was another mystery – granite wasn't mined in this part of the country, and the cost to ship enough to erect all these buildings would have been enormous. A clever builder could have put a similar finish on another type of stone, but stone construction was almost unheard of out here.
Artie, my boy, so far you've seen baobab trees, an alligator, a herd of at least five hundred disappearing horses, and now granite buildings in the middle of nowhere. Wonder what's next.
The door was black and bore symbols painted in red. As he came closer he heard a humming sound - very sonorous and sounding as if it was coming from more than one source.
He knocked, but there was no answer. He tried the knob and the door flew open to show a group of women in black robes, kneeling in a circle on the floor, humming together. The room had only the carpet on which they knelt. One of the women stopped to look up at him, then elbowed the woman next to her. The second woman rose and approached Artie.
"You are a seeker?"
"Of sorts. I'm seeking to get to the caravansary. Can you direct me?"
"You are not a true seeker?" The woman looked at him suspiciously. Her hair was wrapped in a black scarf, also worn by the other women. It was impossible to determine her age. She might have been twenty or she might have been sixty.
"Of course I'm a true seeker, but you see I've just blown into town, and it's my understanding that I can find accommodations at the caravansary.
"You are a lost traveler, then."
"No, not at all. I came here on purpose. An associate and I have read glowing reports of Shekinah, and we are interested in learning more about it. We are definitely true seekers."
"Follow the sun. You will find the caravansary."
"How will I know it, is there a sign outside?"
"You will know it."
"Thank you." Artie turned to leave, stopping briefly to put his hat back on before opening the door. He was surprised to see the woman right behind him, her expression extremely hostile. .
Riding in the direction she indicated, he noted that all the doors of the buildings were black. Some bore similar symbols, others had different ones. Most buildings were one story. A few had a metal cover outside of the front door, covering steps to a basement, he figured. Not one appeared to be a business.
Because of the disorganized layout, he had to change direction frequently - not the easiest way to catch up with Jim. Some paths very narrow, with walls or fences on either side, others very wide, which cut through what appeared to be herb gardens. He counted twenty buildings, spread over what he guessed was a square mile or so.
He turned left onto a path where the tallest building he had yet seen stood. This one was black granite and stood at least four or five stories – hard to tell because there were only windows on what he assumed were the two top floors. It cast a very long shadow.
Riding into shadowed area, Artie's mood underwent an instant change. For no good reason, he felt very apprehensive. Recognizing Jim's horse tied to a post outside a one-story building, he dismounted and hitched his own horse to the post.
"Jim? Hey, Jim?" There was no answer. Was he in the building? Something in the pit of his stomach told him not to enter it. He called again, this time as loud as he could. "Jim! Jim!!"
Nothing.
He soon left the shadowed area. Just outside was a fenced garden, and on the far side of it, someone on the ground, leaning against the fence. As he came closer, he saw that it was Jim.
"Jim, what are you doing there, napping?"
Coming closer, he saw that Jim was trembling and drenched with sweat. He struggled to get up, and shook as he walked, holding onto the fence rail.
"Artie, Artie – we... we've gotta get outta here! As soon as we can, get out. Artie... Artie! Don't fail me, we've gotta get outta here!"
In all his years working with Jim, he'd been surprised a number of times, and shocked once or twice, but there was no word for what he was now experiencing.
"Jim, what's wrong?" Artie asked, grasping Jim's shoulders in an attempt to steady him.
"Artie, they're killing people here. They're killing people and – Artie, we have to leave!"
"Jim, did somebody try to – ?"
"NO! Damn you, listen to me – we've got to get out! Make up something to tell Washington, anything, it doesn't matter. C'mon Artie, please. Let's go."
"Jim, if they're killing people, then we've got to stay and put a stop to it," Artie said patiently.
"Artie, we've gotta get out!!" Jim was near tears.
It was a hard thing to witness. Artie began to pace, trying to come up with an opening that would be effective but not condescending.
"Artie, I won't go without you, but if I have to give you a belt that'll knock you into the middle of next week, and throw you over the back of your horse, I will." Now the old Jim was back.
Artie held up his hands to hold him off. "I'll leave with you if it's justified, but otherwise–"
"'If it's justified??' Artie, I'm telling you!!..."
"Let me finish!" Artie roared. "So they're killing people. Who? Why? How?"
Jim rushed at him, but Artie put his foot out causing Jim to trip and fall. Then Artie rested his foot on Jim's chest.
"Either you calm down and talk, or you're the one who's gonna get knocked into next week. Take a deep breath – hell, take five deep breaths, I don't care. Close your eyes – whatever it takes. But I insist you calm down and talk."
"They'll hear me," Jim whispered.
Artie rubbed his eyes and shook his head. This was not the Jim West he knew, not at all. "Look Jim, no one is around. No one is going to hear you but me."
"Artie, you don't know–"
"Correct. So why don't you tell me?"
"Get your dirty boot off my chest."
"Gladly. Alright Jim, spill."
Jim crawled to the spot where he had been sitting. Artie dropped down next to him.
"Evil spirits. They're sacrificing people," Jim whispered. "Offering people to these spirits."
Artie sighed, closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.. Maybe the events of the past day made something in Jim's brain snap. Or maybe he'd been working too hard, and was undergoing a breakdown.
"Jim, I don't believe in evil spirits."
"No! No, they're real! It was them who conjured up the black horses and the alligator – they were trying to scare us off."
"The spirits conjured up the horses?"
"NO! Why aren't you listening? The people who are doing the sacrifices did it – the have powers! They wanted to scare us off."
"So they could continue to sacrifice people to evil spirits, is that it?"
"Yes!"
"And what is the point of that? Sacrificing people?"
Jim looked at him uncomprehendingly, as if he couldn't believe Artie had asked such a stupid question. "It's what the spirits want – they want their souls. They..." Jim's voice dropped beyond whispering to almost inaudible. "They want my soul."
"Oh, for the love of... Jim, listen to yourself. Nobody wants your soul." Artie's shock became disgust. "You said they wanted to scare us off, and now they want your soul? Which is it?"
"I know! I saw!"
"Alright, don't answer the question. Just tell me: what did you see? And where did you see it?" Artie asked wearily.
Jim pointed to the low building outside which his horse was tethered.
"You went inside?" Artie got up and looked at the building again. There was something unsettling about it.
"Yes!... no. I saw it here," Jim said as he tapped his head.
"So you imagined it?" By this point, it was Artie's opinion that Jim should be taken off the case. Something was very wrong with him; perhaps they should return to Abilene, and put Jim on a train to Washington to be evaluated. Then Artie could pick up where he left off in Shekinah, either alone or with another agent.
"I did not imagine it. Remember we felt someone speaking to us? It was like that, but visual."
"Uh huh."
"You don't believe me," Jim said angrily.
"It's not that I don't believe you, it's that I think–"
"You think I've lost my mind."
"You have been working pretty hard and it's about three years since your last vacation, so–"
"Damn you! Damn you!!" Jim looked like he was about to barrel into him again.
"Jim, relax. Can we just get to the caravansary? Then we'll talk – discuss our next move, OK?"
"Artie, no! If we go there – if we stay overnight, we'll end up like those other people. If we leave now – right now – we'll have a chance."
"Jim, I'm staying and so are you, at least for tonight. I'll not have you wandering around alone in the wilderness."
"NO!" Jim got up and rushed at Artie, who clocked him.
"Sorry, friend, I had no choice," Artie said, as dragged Jim's unconscious body to where the horses were tied.
* * *
The building was exactly the same design as the typical caravansary of the Near East – a low building surrounding a large courtyard. Even the architecture looked like something one might have seen in Turkey. There was no one around.
Artie led the horses to the water trough, then scooped up a handful of water, which he flung in Jim's face to rouse him. Jim didn't move a muscle, so Artie tried again. No response. Artie tried once more and, again, Jim did not respond. Maybe it would be better to get him into the room. He could rouse him there and, if Jim was still hysterical and uncontrollable, Artie could lock him in for the night. Just to be sure nothing was wrong, he grabbed Jim's dangling wrist. His pulse was normal, and he appeared to be breathing normally. So far, so good. Artie left him draped over the horse's back, and went looking for the office.
The building had thirteen rooms or at least thirteen doors, three on three sides of the square courtyard, four on the fourth. Like the other doors he'd seen in Shekinah, these were black, without symbols. There was nothing to indicate where to check in. Artie knocked on a few doors until he found one that was unlocked.
"Hello?" Artie paused and waited for an answer. There was none, so he came in. The room was fairly dark, especially since the walls were black, but there was some light coming from a window at the rear. The furniture was limited to a small table, on which stood an oil lamp and a single key. The floor was covered with a large Oriental rug. Four blankets were folded in a corner. There was a strong smell of incense. He walked to the window, and saw that the back of the building faced a lot of nothing. Just miles and miles of miles and miles.
If no one's around to throw us out, we might as well move in for the night. He went out to get Jim. Hopefully, he'd come around soon. Artie wanted to explore a little further, but if Jim was still out cold, he'd stay with him until he awoke. Then that key would come in handy.
Jim was just as Artie had left him. Artie pulled him down off the horse, and dragged him into the room. He lit the oil lamp so he could see better, then pried open one of Jim's eyes. Nothing abnormal. With nothing to do but wait, Artie sat on the floor, resting his back against the wall.
He began to wonder about the founder or founders of Shekinah. The town could have existed for years without anyone knowing. It had only come to attention recently because of experiences reported by travelers, and from a short essay that had appeared in Leslie's Weekly around the same time. Written by a Mr. Joash Curlin, the essay was last in a series about utopian communities. The word 'Shekinah' was a Hebrew word which translated as 'God's glory,' so initially it was thought to be a community founded on religious principles. Mr. Curlin had painted a glowing picture, but one almost entirely without detail as to the community's philosophy or population, focusing mainly on the natural environment. "An Island of Inquiry in a Sea of Grass," the piece was entitled. Headquarters had tried to reach Curlin in order to find out if he had any information worth knowing, but he could not be found. The editor at Leslie's said that Curlin had given them a post office box as his address. However, after payment for the article was remitted, it was found that the post office box had been rented to someone else. There was no forwarding address.
Before leaving Washington, Artie had read the article without much interest. The prose was quite florid, and the piece offered almost no hard information. One phrase he remembered as being really over the top: "The rhythms of Shekinah build to a crescendo at nightfall, with the vibrations of a million crickets, and the beating of a hundred pioneer hearts welcoming the dark of night, darker on our great American prairies than anywhere else in the world."
What community anywhere welcomes the dark of night? Maybe in the desert, when the temperatures drop, but anywhere else? Very strange.
Artie dozed for a little while and when he awoke, it was shortly after dusk. Jim was still out. It had already been a few hours – much too long for the punch Artie had given him. He checked his vital signs again and they still appeared to be normal. Maybe this was for the best – maybe a deep sleep was what he needed.
Artie very much wanted to take another walk around, if only to experience the "crescendo" Curlin had described. And that something was back – the something that had told him to jump into the creek. It was telling him now to go out for awhile. And to pay close attention.