NOTE: This begins right as Malachi, Kearns, and Warthrop drop into the pit, the rest of the book is disregarded. Some of the beginning dialog and description is lifted extant (or close to extant) from the book. If it seems familiar, it is the work of Yancey.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Monsters of the Same Sort
The resounding crash of the trapdoor echoed in the small landing beneath the stairs.
"What was that!" The constable cried from the sarcophagus above, clattering down the stairs toward the commotion.
All of them, Will Henry, Dr. Warthrop, Malachi, and John Kearns, recoiled at the putrid stench that came up from the hole beneath. A nauseating smell of rotting meat and spoiled fruit. Malachi nearly retched in the corner.
"Dear God!" the contable yelled, also covering his nose from the smell, "What is that?"
"The Devil's Manger," the doctor answered cryptically, lowering a lamp, given to him by Will Henry, into the hole as far as he could reach.
"Clever," Kearns said with real appreciation.
Beneath the trapdoor lay a long chute that bore straight down into the earth at least ten feet. The lamp reached no farther than that.
"Drop the victim into the hold, and gravity does the rest," Kearns continued, dropping a flare down the hole to replace the lamp. Beyond the chute lay fifty feet or more of open, black, air above a pit of human remains. Mostly decomposed skeletons, bones scattered out of configuration. Hundreds of victims. Thousands of bones.
"Through me the way into the suffering city...through me the way to eternal pain," Kearns muttered, eyebrow raised in cold calculation.
The constable had drawn back, pressing his handkerchief to his mouth and retreating up the stairs a few paces, "There must be hundreds of them."
In a voice more suitable for land surveying than estimating the life count of the grave beneath Kearns ventured, "Six to seven hundred I would guess. An average of two or three per month for twenty years, if you wanted to keep them fat and happy. It's an ingenious design: The fall would more than likely break their legs, lowering their odds of escape from extremely doubtful to impossible."
For the others in the chamber the fate of one of the elder Dr. Warthrop's victims was stomach churning to imagine. Kidnapped from city streets, dragged miles under the cover of night into a sarcophagus. Only to be dropped headlong into a rancid tomb filled with the bones of previous victims. To have those anthropophagi come hunting in the dark, the victim's legs broken, helpless and tormented. It was that thought, perhaps, that made Malachi shudder so.
Kearns was on his feet, his rifle slung over his shoulder, "Well, gentlemen, duty calls, yes? Constable, if you and Mr. Brock here would hold the rope for us, I think we're ready. Are we ready, Malachi? Pellinore? I'm ready. I'm practically giddy with anticipation: Nothing gets my blood up like a bloody good hunt!" If his sentiment itself was not enough, his eyes glowed with it, cheeks in high color.
He seized the rope and swung his legs over the edge, "Pellinore, Malachi, I shall see you in hell - I mean, at the bottom." And he inched out until he dropped into the hole, his anchors shifting their grips to hold him as he lowered himself down.
At the hole's bottom Kearns' boots crunched through the bones underfoot as he put his whole weight down upon them. He picked up his still burning flare and waited for the other two to make it down the shaft, inspecting the prison tomb while he did.
Claw marks were gouged into the walls that were streaked with old blood. The last corpse in this pit was more than ten years old, the last time the late Warthrop had been alive to deliver dinner. All of the meat was gone from these bones, although some hair remained, sticking out of skulls.
A single tunnel lead out of the pit, roughly dug, obviously the work of the anthropophagi. Kearns did not venture down it, waiting in the pit until Warthrop and Malachi were at the bottom. Once reunited gave them a grin that illuminated his teeth in the flare light, and headed into the dark.
The moved as silently as they could. This was, perhaps, not necessary as they were trying to draw out the creatures, but it was difficult not to attempt to lighten their tread in the current surroundings. The tunnels were difficult to traverse, especially so poorly lit, but they neither stumbled nor fell. Only Malachi lost his footing, and then only once.
As they crept further into the labyrinth of tunnels Malachi grew more and more grim, shaky almost, his bloodlust giving way to the inexperience of his short fifteen years. Beside him, the doctor remained as serious faced and stoic as ever, only the greyness of his face betraying his uncertainty. Kearns did not mirror the other two in the slightest, his cheeks still shone with color and his lips were drawn back into a feral smile. He looked more like a lion than any sort of man.
It was not until they had walked for nearly five minutes, an eternity, that they saw anything. They would not have, If not for the bright cast of light from Kearns' flare. Across narrow passage they had walked passed a shadow bolted. As one, they turned, breath collectively held as the peered down the dark tunnel toward the source of the movement.
"Here we go, gentlemen," Kearns whispered. Life was in his voice, an excitement that bordered on euphoria.
"If it is an anthropophagus it is a young one," Warthrop said, furrowing his brow at the tunnel, "That space is too small for an adult."
Indeed, the tunnel in question, that began four feet or so off the ground, was no more than three feet in diameter, much too small for a full grown monster.
Warthrop continued, "Rats, more likely. She would not leave her young unprotected where she could not go."
Malachi offered in a shaking voice, "It did not look like a rat."
"No, my boy, it did not," Kearns said with abject glee.
The three of them crept closer to the hole, Kearns holding the flare aloft to look down inside of it. It curved gently upwards. Wide claw marks where it had been dug out by the natural tools of the anthropophagi proved the doctor conclusively wrong.
"You see, Pellinore," Kearns said, "We could have ourselves a beautiful little poppy. Would you like to go have a look?"
"I'll go," Malachi said bravely. But he was saved the adventure.
A shuffle behind them had all three turning again, Kearns holding up the light to try to catch it in view. They failed to see it this time as well, although they could hear it disappearing down a shaft.
"I would avoid crawling, if we could," Kearns said, "Come, boy, you'll have your chance for blood."
They followed the sound of the creature as it fled back.
"The nest awaits, gentlemen!" Kearns said, vicious enthusiasm shimmering in his words.
Malachi and Warthrop followed Kearns down the dark passage where the movement had led, leading them, they could only assume, to the nest that lay somewhere beyond.
Partway down a tunnel they encountered their first true difficulty. Earth had been piled up in mounds blocking most of the tunnel. Five feet up or so there was a gap large enough for a fully grown man, or indeed, an anthropophagi to slip through. As long as he were on his belly, entirely exposed.
The three of them halted for a moment, none of them eager to be the first to slide over.
"Perhaps there is another way," Malachi suggested timidly.
He had barely spoken when a new sound echoed up the passage. A hard clicking, like claws on rocks. But it was not the random scrabbling of an insentient creature. Three short, clear clicks.
click. click. click.
Kearns released a bark of a laugh, "Gentlemen, if one of you would kindly point your rifle through the gap, I will be forging on."
The doctor complied, Malachi holding the flare and the doctor aiming through the gap. Kearns drew his knife from his calf and held it, ready, between his teeth. He hoisted himself up and swung up his legs, scooting sideways on his belly through the narrow gap. He made it through without incident, landing on his feet on the other side. He took the flare from Malachi through the gap and waited for the other two to get through to his side.
When the last was through the noise came again.
click. click. click.
Kearns gritted his teeth, but the aggravation of the action was belayed by the fierce grin on his face.
"Well, my boys," Kearns said, "That will certainly make flight more difficult."
It was certainly true, it would he hard for the three of them, indeed for one of them, to make it through that narrow gap if they were being pursued.
The doctor, his eyebrows furrowed muttered, "A clever trick for an anthropophagi."
Kearns headed forward, "Indeed it is, Pellinore."
The clicking continued to lead them on, over a slight incline and back down again. When the floor again evened out, they were facing a threeway split in the tunnels. The middle was wide and accommodating, the offshoots on either side slim and narrow.
Uneasily Malachi asked, "Which one do we take ?"
"What do you think, Pellinore?" Kearns asked. It was clear from his tone that he knew which he thought to be the best choice and was trying to see if the doctor would choose wisely.
Warthrop looked between the three tunnels and said, "We continue down the largest. We will have to go single file down either of the others, it would make it a difficult fight."
"Well," Kearns said with his lion's grin, "You are not completely useless." He started down the middle tunnel
No sooner had they spoken then a sharp clicking came up from the slender, leftmost tunnel. It was sharper than before, a reprimand.
Click. Click. Click.
Kearns hummed with appreciation, "Trying to lead us, poppy?" he asked softly down the tunnel.
As if in answer the noise came again quickly, echoing up the tunnel.
click click click
"I have never heard of an anthropophagi intelligent enough for such a trick," Warthrop said voice filled with apprehension.
Kearns twisted to look at Pellinore, his grin wild, "Nor have I." His voice was laced with a rabid excitement more fit for a howling wolf than a man. When he bared his teeth in what may have been meant as a smile his companions were nearly startled that his teeth had not turned to sharpened fangs. His eyes were wide and dilated with euphoria.
Without hesitation, Kearns led them down the too narrow path.
The beast led them this way, down this passage and the next. Kearns' body was in near shakes, his giddiness so exorbitant. Whenever the passage forked they only needed to wait moments before it would come, drawing them down.
click click click
Each time, Kearns would release a noise that was very nearly a moan. Kearns was driven forward, the light of the flare illuminating the color that was high in his cheeks. His nostrils were flared in horrific excitement. He had been speaking truly when he said nothing got his blood up like a hunt.
The clickin had intensified, coming louder and faster now. The origin of it just out of sight.
clickclickclickclickclick
Kearns was wild with it, nearly laughing aloud. Then, with no warning at all, he stopped cold, throwing out his arms.
"Kearns!" Warthrop hissed, running into the back of was more room in this tunnel than in the last one, but still they could not quite walk two abreast. The doctor had been behind Kearns, rifle at the ready.
"What do we have here, poppy?" Kearns asked into the tunnel. He was looking at the ground before him. He prodded the dirt with the muzzle of his gun. A mere footfall in front of him the ground lightened half a shade. When he prodded it, it did not give the steady sound of solid earth. "Ahha!" he cried out, victoriously, then kicked the coverings away. A netting of torn clothes had been pinned across a deep rift in the tunnel and covered with loose dirt. When Kearns pulled it away it revealed a pit studded on the bottom with the long bones of humans: femurs and humeri. They were embedded in the earth, broken edges pointing straight upwards, sharpened to points.
Kearns let out a harrowing laugh, "Punji sticks made of human bones!"
"There is no anthropophagi in the world capable of such a trap," Warthrop said, an element of fear lacing his voice.
"You may be right there, Dr. Warthrop," Kearns conceded, although none of the happiness had abandoned him.
The clicking cut itself off. Silence pressed at them. Pellinore moved Kearns by the shoulder, bending to inspect the trap laid bare before them.
It echoed up the passage, beyond the gruesome trap, a rasping howl that formed itself, impossibly, into a word, "Warthrop!"
The creature, without doubt the source of the tantalizing clicks had launched itself across the pit, barrelling into Dr. Warthrop with its full weight. In its fetid hand it held another femur, lashed to the bone that it used as a handle was the sharp severed claw of an anthropophagus, creating a horrible slashing weapon.
It knocked Warthrop back, slamming him onto the ground and pummelling him. He only just raised his hand to push back the wrist that held its deadly weapon, forcing it away from his throat. Too close to bring their rifles to bear Kearns took the thing by the torso before it destroyed the doctor's face and pulled it off of him. It was not an anthropophagus, that much was clear. It had a head, for one thing, and was too small by half. It wreaked, filling the tunnel with the smell of unwashed body, blood, and decay.
It twisted in Kearns' grasp, turning and punching him square in the face. He was knocked back against the wall and released it. It tried to turn from Kearns to renew its assault on the doctor but Kearns returned the blow, smashing it in the spine with his elbow. It went down far enough to launch itself back up at Kearns, taking him over onto the ground by the shoulders.
They fought like beasts in the dirt, the doctor briefly disoriented and Malachi too shocked or weak to help. Any hair the thing might once have had was scraped away in messy, bloody swathes, cut ragged. One of its ears was bitten through, a jagged chunk torn away from the cartridge.
Relentless, the blows Kearns landed on its face and torso did nothing but drive it to further battle. It was clothed in dirty tatters around its humanoid body, though they were so filthy it was hard to distinguish the clothing from the unwashed skin beneath.
Finally moved to action, the doctor latched onto the thing's shoulders and pulled it back.
Kearns leapt to his feet. Blood coursed down his nose and scrapes from its dirty fingernails shone bright red on his throat and face. Kearns, having found his strength was superior had torn the wicked clawed weapon from its grasp. It lay behind them, the creature writhing, mercifully unarmed, in the doctor's grasp.
It shouted a screeching yell. Regardless of its appearance the voice that issued from its blood smeared mouth was distinctively human, and inarguably female. She screamed as she twisted, coming out of the doctor's grasp, trying to wrestle him back to the ground, "Warthrop!"
Malachi and Kearns both seized her by the shoulders, ripping her back from her assault on the doctor who had found he could not restrain her.
Kearns released her with one of his hands, trying to take the knife from his calf. She took the opportunity to kick out at Malachi, sending him careening back toward the punji sticks. The doctor reached out, grabbing the boy before he fell to his death.
Left with only Kearns to contend with she fell upon him again, punching his nose square on.
Far from helpless, Kearns kicked off the ground, rotating his hips and flipping them over until he sat astride her, bearing down her wrists.
"There now, girl, no need to put up such a fight," he said, his breath was coming hard from more than exertion. His eyes shone as though he were about to devour her.
Unexpectedly, her struggling stopped. Her eyes widened and she breathed deep through her nostrils, smelling the air. Slowly, Kearns curling his lip, she pressed herself upward, straining toward him. Held still she was recognizable as human, although the skin beneath her rags and the dirt and blood that coated her was ghostly pale. The little hair that remained from being hacked away was dark. Her cheekbones and collarbone stood out from emaciation.
In a voice unlike the ragged shriek of before she breathed, "Jack?"
John Kearns started, his exuberance at the fight dimming somewhat. Although both of his companions gasped when he did, he released one of her wrists. She did not attack. She turned her hand, taking his wrist instead. She held the hand above her, tracing over the masculine edges of Kearns' fingers.
More steadily, sounding very nearly human she said, "Jack."
His eyes widened and he released a wild laugh, mouth splitting into his wolfish grin, "Well well," he said, hungry exhilaration coming back into his voice, cloaked somewhat by disbelief, "It has been a very long time since I have seen you, Mrs. Kearns."