For an indeterminate time I wandered the streets. The glare of the streetlamps burned harshly, and shadows moved with menace as obscure recollections of a place of sanctuary and comfort grew clearer. My clothing was plain but clean, if somewhat tattered, and no trace remained of my previous bodily deformity. The occasional passerby paid little heed to my meandering, no doubt believing me a tramp without purposeful destination. In slow gradations I somehow made my way along familiar routes, the lunar light again aiding my path as it had only a few hours ago. A few hours! A lifetime had seemingly passed since I was torn from all commonplace realities.
At last I returned to my residence, shortly before the rise of the morning sun. I entered the dining area, and the view of that scene produced a paroxysm of stinging visions from a night of dreadful madness. I was aghast to find that there was no sign of either the box or the attire I had ripped from my body, and no remnants of the crystal globe were to be seen. Even more surprisingly, not a single spot of dried blood tarnished the room or its furnishings. For a second time in one day I doubted my own sanity, and was forced to consider the possibility that a spell of hysteria had overtaken my mind. Then my eyes were attracted to a glint along the baseboard. With some hesitancy I reached down to pluck a small splinter of glass from the floor where it lay. At the tip was the hint of a maroon stain, barely perceptible to the naked eye, but which I instantly recognized as being a match to that of the concoction I had so irresponsibly consumed the prior eve.
I wrapped the shard in my kerchief and made my way towards the rear bedroom. Tucking the item snuggly into the pocket of a jacket from the closet, I collapsed upon the bed and slept dreamlessly for the remainder of the short pre-dawn hours.
Awakening before my wife I was gripped by a strong panic, a confusion concerning my whereabouts and the hour. This soon dissipated, leaving me somewhat breathless. Thankfully, the light of the sun shone bright through the window, and with the clarity of a new day there also came to my mind a rush of tender vignettes, a patchwork memory of fond caresses and blissful days from the first years of my marriage. I longed to dash up the stairway and hold Claire in my arms, to feel her warmth against me once more, yet I determined that my tribulations should not be inflicted on her sweet soul. I knew that I must withhold any hint that extraordinary proceedings had taken place under our roof. My committed sense of purpose grew greater by the moment, and I vowed to seek vengeance for the hurt I had endured. I prepared myself for our usual morning meeting, and steadied my composure.
Within the hour she descended the staircase, as on any other day. The sight of her nearly tore a cry of joy from my breast. To at last have assurance that the world remained as it was, that the life I had known was here before me, within reach once more! With fists clenched I kept myself from clasping her hands in mine.
“Good morning, Langdon.”
Attempting to speak I found that my voice faltered. I placed one hand on my chest as I cleared my throat. In as normal a manner as possible, I replied, “Good day to you, Claire.”
“Did you rest well?” she asked. “I thought I heard commotion while I slept.”
Fortunately she faced away, for the look on my face would surely have startled her. While I scrambled for a reply she turned and continued, “Are you feeling ill?”
“For what reason do you ask?”
“You seem a bit out-of-sorts, and have a touch of pallor about you.”
I feared that a mere glance could reveal my secret, that her eyes would pierce my attempt at deceit. Taking her cue, I feigned the onset of fever and made excuse to take leave from my day’s lectures at the university, although this deception strayed only slightly from the truth of my psychological state.
With naught of any consequence to discuss, the remainder of our brief morning encounter was soon over. Claire set off to her daily rounds. She had recently volunteered at a charity service which cared for those destitute and without recourse to a physician. She often spent the majority of the day tending to their needs. This left me free to coordinate my plan of ridding the world of the provocateur of those twisted gestations that man had been secretly subjected to for unknown centuries.
I gathered what few supplies I could locate into a leather traveling bag and headed out on my crusade.
***
Stopping at a blacksmith shop, I rounded out my make-shift arsenal with cold steel and boarded a carriage whose route would take me closest to the inhabitance of my nemesis. The day was dawning as I arrived, a tarnished hue of ominous rouge serving as backdrop to the mansion as I approached. Searching for a side door I chanced upon what appeared to be scraps of various light metals, strewn haphazardly amongst a row of hedges which kept a servant’s entrance from immediate view. Placing these in my bag I ruminated on their origin, and surmised that this unwelcome visitor was no more ethereal a being than I, and required their use for devices suited to his devilish purposes. All the better, for if my plan were to succeed the focus of my wrath must needs be corporeal, yet whether of mortal flesh or otherwise remained a mystery.
With only minor effort the lock on the door gave way, and I stepped into a dimly lit corridor. The noxious odor of sulfur and a whiff of ash made immediate assault upon my senses, and holding a hand to my mouth while keeping my eyes open only as much as necessary, I made my way through the hallway. My route was an intuitive one, as the occupant’s current location was not known to me. After many minutes, the weight of the leather bag grew unbearable and I was forced to set it down just inside the doorway of a particularly dank area towards the rear of the house. As my vision grew accustomed to the gray shapes in this baroque landscape I caught the faint tendrils of a reddish light escaping from between what appeared to be two of the larger items of furnishing. With gear in tow I approached this distracting anomaly and became aware of the rustling of mysterious happenings emanating from the same general vicinity.
Using a not insignificant degree of physical labor I separated the oak and wrought iron cabinets, and found that a steeply descending stairway was revealed on the floor before me. The crimson light from below enabled my cautious downward progress in the direction of the strange sounds. Rounding a corner at the bottom I could see that the rose-tinted lighting was not from the fire of a furnace as I had suspected, but rather from what appeared to be lamps attached to the ceiling, burning with power from an unknown energy supply.
I continued through a series of passages and at each turn could make out the noises more clearly, until finally I arrived at their source. Placing my bag of materials on the floor, I peered around an open doorway and was presented with a sight of such uniqueness that I fear I cannot adequately convey its experience with my meager abilities as a narrator.
Great cylindrical columns of brass lay in symmetric patterns along the walls to my right and left, while along the back there ascended turbulent masses of an emerald green liquid, surging upward along the surface as if propelled by feats of legerdemain. Before the streams reached the top they were lost behind a curtain of rainbow-hued skirting, made of a strange material which pulsed with a radiance that danced over the contents of the room. Crates and desks of neatly hewn, polished stone littered the onyx-tiled floor. To one side an array of silver pistons pumped in complex syncopation, reminding me of a similar, yet much less sophisticated, machine I had recently viewed at the renowned World Exposition.
The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
The air was ripe with scents I can only describe as medicinal, a chemical bouquet bringing heat to the nasal passages, and then landing on the tongue with a pungency reminiscent of the flavorings in an Oriental meal. And the noise! A deafening cacophony which reminded me of the experience of being present at a railway yard as the mighty beasts of metal departed the depot.
In parts the area appeared to be obscured by tufts of white clouds resting in corners and between the stonework, and it was within one of these that I first made out movement of a kind that I soon recognized as that of the creature. His actions appeared methodical and well-planned, each lift of an arm followed by a change in the speed of the pistons or colors of the skirting along the ceiling.
While his attention remained drawn elsewhere, I approached in a crouch and concealed myself next to the pistons, in hopes that their raucous drone would mask the clatter as I removed and assembled items from my leather bag. Working feverishly, I locked the final item into place and rose to present myself to my opponent, as in any proper duel, and took a step in his direction.
“Turn and face your demise, purveyor of atrocities!”
His work carried on briefly, until with a glance he became aware of my presence. Standing still for a moment, he seemed unsure of what to make of my challenge. No emotion could be seen on that chiseled face, yet I was confident he was taken by complete surprise. Turning his body in my direction, he slowly approached as I raised the long barrel I held with both hands, making my intention evident. He stopped, and again paused for some time. I was left with the impression that the situation was unlike any he had known before.
“What do you hold?” he finally asked.
“The latest in modern craftsmanship: a breech-loading rifle modified by my hands to emit its cartridge at tremendous speed, which no muscle or bone can withstand.” I held the gun steady, certain that surrender was his only alternative.
“Brazen fool! Had you the wits to keep yourself away from that which does not concern you, your existence may have ended with purpose, but now your dissolution will come swiftly and without notoriety.” With that he shortened the distance between us at a pace I would not have thought possible, giving me but an instant to cock and fire the hand cannon. The force of release from the gun propelled me back against the bank of pistons, knocking the weapon from my grasp. By the time I regained my balance he was upon me, with no sign of injury from the bullet, and I felt the squeezing grip of his inhumanly strong hands on my arms.
He lifted me off the floor and made ready to toss me into the machinery I had used as cover, but before he could do so I reached out and pulled at the brooch dangling in front of his neck. An electrical discharge erupted from the jewel, and with a sharp tug it was released, sending his cape falling from his shoulders.
With a sudden onset of dry wheezing he dropped me and staggered back, clutching at his throat. At the same time the façade that had enveloped him was dispelled and his true appearance at last exposed. Sparse clothing covered his body, which now looked frail and drawn, and his gray skin looked to be covered in cracks, like the crust of mud along the bottom of an empty riverbed.
His breathing turned to a choking rasp, but his life would not be stilled so easily. With another rush he began a physical assault which I was able to block and parry to some degree. Having taken up the sport of boxing in my youth, and attaining no small measure of skill in the practice, I commenced assailing my aggressor. I landed several hard blows, yet he kept at me, his reserve of energy not yet depleted. By the gods! What manner of creature had fate decreed it was my duty to dispatch?
We struggled to the floor, each countering the attempts at a fatal beating from the other. Eventually he pulled away and rolled to the side, at which time I spied the device still attached to his belt. A weapon, no doubt, and yet why he had not drawn it and put it to use against my attacks continues to perplex me to this day.
With my heart in my throat I made a final desperate lunge and threw myself at him, reaching out and slapping the device away. It skittered across the black tile while my own body fell forcefully against a support for one of the crates. As he came near I scrambled backwards towards the weapon.
Once in my grasp I searched desperately for its method of projectile release, but found it to be unlike any firearm known to me. The shape was that of a wallet, and on its surface were small plates replete with nubs protruding here and there. In part these gave way to the pressure of my fingers, but the devil drew near, cutting short my investigation.
I extended my arms in his direction, attempting to manipulate the device in any manner possible, while his hoarse gasps of laughter fell against me like bursts of thunder. In exasperation I pulled back my arm and flung the contraption at his head, but it soared past and impacted the top of the stone desk where I had first observed him. Bright sparks of orange and yellow flew into the air, and a flickering flame of red was ignited.
A shriek that chilled my blood emerged from the fiend’s throat as the mechanisms occupying the room ground to a halt. Violent vibrations rolled through the piping on the wall, shuddering as if haunted by restless spirits. An upheaval occurred to the base the pistons resided on, causing it to crack in two, while the green liquid that had climbed the back wall ceased its ascent and crashed down, covering the stone and tile of the room in translucent, oily puddles. The multi-colored lights from above dimmed and darkened, leaving the room awash in subdued hues of amber.
The beast turned away and sank to his knees, clenched fists raised in despair at the calamitous ruin that lay about. His labored breathing slowed nearly to a stop. I watched as my foe fell forward. I rose, and proceeded slowly towards his limp form.
Kneeling down, I gently turned him over until he lay on his back. I had begun to revel in imminent victory, yet this now emaciated creature evoked my pity. A vacant stare filled his eyes. Then, reaching skyward with one arm, he weakly uttered his last words. It was a phrase that would forever remain seared within my memories.
“We come.”
***
In that evening’s newspapers a large blaze was reported to have lit up one side of the city, but I gained no comfort in the thought of the destruction of life or property. My concern turned towards domestic matters, and I prayed that I might regain a sense of normalcy in daily life, and that my marriage would return to a more satisfactory arrangement. Indeed, over the ensuing weeks I experienced a newly found sense of self-directed determination, and was soon successful in procuring a higher position at the university. Shortly thereafter, it was with immense delight that Claire proclaimed she was with child.
You see, it was not only the embodiment of evil from beyond which was slain that day. Inside every man dwells the heart of hidden trepidation, a prison from which few escape, and which I had regretfully allowed to consume the greater half of my soul. Following these events, my life became guided by a strong faith in the righteous outcome of my true destiny.
Afterword
Taken from my journal dated March 25, 1856:
I have killed twice: once when afflicted by a condition of mind not within my control, and again under the direction of my own free will. The first victim was due no penalty at my hand, while the second received justice most richly deserved. Neither occurrence creates within me any degree of satisfaction.
And the question remains: was my ignominious debasement the result of powers from the supernatural plane, or did they hold true to principles of known science? A solution has continued to elude me. Perhaps I shall never possess a satisfactory answer.
I ask you this, dear reader, resident of this earth from an uncertain future: have you heard of the zoomorphic creatures described here within my journal? Have tales of their deeds been handed down through the generations, only to be pushed aside as the diaphanous fantasies of childhood?
Yet, what lurks behind the eyes of your neighbor, or the man on the street? Is it perhaps the spark of the wolf, or the bat?
I ask you: Can you be certain the same does not dwell within you?
Will the course of mankind’s imminent domination of the globe come to an inglorious end, on the cusp of our race to conquer earth, sea, and sky? Are we instead to become the chattel of an invading force of unknown origin?
For my own part, I reject such an outcome. I do not know how they will present themselves, nor when, but I vow with hand upon my breast that I shall be there to greet them with steely resolve. On that day may it be that I reclaim dignity among my fellow man.
Thus each evening, once the children are put to bed and my wife has fallen fast asleep, I walk a short ways from my place of residence to a park at the center of the city. It is there that I sit on a bench, under the stars, scanning the heavens.
And I wait.