The Lonely Shadows: Tales of Horror and the Cthulhu Mythos (7 page)

“No. But—”

“There are two sides to every road, Jim. Just as there are two sides to life itself. The black and the white. Good and evil. Both of them are always with us, and both are forces to be reckoned with. Believe me, I’m not speaking without some knowledge of the subject. If you’d seen as much horror and pain as I have and as much terror as I’ve been through, you’d realise why I’m trying to keep you from that place tonight.”

Fisher rumbled out a loud laugh. But the other detected a faint, forced quality about it. “So because you studied these things, you actually credit their existence? Well, I won’t argue with you. I suppose you know what you’re saying. But coming from anyone else, I’d have to say they were mad. All I’m saying is that I know Arnold Kestro. I’ve spoken with him, studied him, watched his movements, met some of his friends. And I can see no evil in the man.”

“And so,” went on Kennett slowly. “You intend to go out there, to disregard my warning.”

The other spread his hands in a gesture of resignation. “What else can I do, Peter? I can quite see your point. But I can’t simply refuse to go, just because you don’t like the man. What would they think?”

“It would appear,” muttered Kennett in a quiet, ominous voice, “that what they think of you matters a lot more than what they can do to you.”

“How do you mean?”

“You’re walking straight into trouble if you go to that dinner, Jim. Bad trouble. And I’m not joking.” There was a chill in his voice, hard and brittle, like ice.

“Nonsense,” said the other. He seemed a little shaken but there was a new look of determination on his face, that Kennett hadn’t noticed before.

“Just because you’re obviously afraid of the fellow, it doesn’t mean to say that I am.” He stood up. “To hell with all your imaginary devils, Peter. I’m going to that dinner at Kestro’s and nothing is going to stop me. And I’ll come back—and in the morning I’ll come round to see you and laugh at your fear and stupid superstitions.”

“Then you’ve made up your mind to go despite anything I can say?”

“Certainly.” Fisher nodded his head emphatically. “I refuse to run away from these things of the dark that exist only in people’s overwrought imagination. I don’t believe in them, and until I see them for myself, I refuse to credit the fact that they exist.”

“You’ll see them soon enough.” Kennett reached for the heavy overcoat that lay neatly folded over the back of a nearby chair, waiting. He pulled it on and buttoned it up above the neck. Then he walked towards the wooden rack where his hat lay among the sticks and umbrellas. The other watched him in surprise.

“Why the coat?” he asked finally.

Kennet regarded him steadily a few moments before speaking. Then he said quietly: “Because since you refuse to accept my advice to stay away from this place, I consider it my duty to come with you. Perhaps, by being there, I may be able to divert some of evil that is sure to come of this meeting.”

“But you can’t come.” His companion cleared his throat, fighting down his surprise. “You’ve received no invitation. How will you get in?”

The other nodded slowly. “A good question,” he said. “But I doubt very much whether our Mr. Kestro will want to make a scene by having me kicked out. Not tonight, anyway. Don’t worry, I’ll get in all right. And I intend to stick to you like glue for the rest of the evening.”

Fisher shrugged his broad shoulders. It was a purely reflex gesture. “Well—that’s up to you entirely. I wish I could just make up an excuse like that every time I wanted to gatecrash a society dinner.”

“This time, I’m afraid it’s absolutely necessary,” muttered Kennett. He switched off the light and led the way down the stairs.

“But you’re mad if you think you can pull it off.”

“Perhaps. But in a case like this, it’s better to be mad than to allow these things to take place. Maybe you don’t know it, and you won’t believe it, but when you met Kestro the other day you met someone who is definitely a representative of those forces of evil, I was speaking about at lunch. Oh, I know you’ll say I’m insane to think such things. No one in their right mind believes in supernatural forces these days. It just isn’t done. But you met some of them—and tonight, unless I miss my guess, you’re going to meet some more. And this time, they’ll be the real ones. Kestro, for all his evil power, is just a puppet for them.”

“
Them?
You mean vampires and demons and things like that?”

“Maybe. Though you’re being a little specific. But that’s the term used for them today.” He opened the door of the car and slid himself inside, slamming it behind him.

Rain drummed steadily on the roof, streaming down in tiny rivulets over the windscreen. The drive in front of them was a mirror-like stretch of water. Fisher slipped in beside him. The engine started with a faithful-throated roar that was somehow comforting to hear.

They discussed the matter for a little while as the car headed out of the city into the more open country roads. And then, finally, a sort of impatience crept into their tone, and they relapsed into a silence broken only by a muttered sentence or two.

Fisher drove the car with a restless abandon, keeping his foot down on the accelerator, peering ahead into the well of darkness that seemed to open out momentarily to let them pass, to slide over them in a river of midnight; and then close in behind the car as if trying to block any way of return.

Twenty minutes later, they came within sight of the old house that stood a little way back from the main road, half-hidden by a veritable barricade of tall trees, as if trying to hide itself away from prying eyes.

Fisher swung the car through the massive, wrought-iron gates. There was the sudden crunch of gravel beneath the wheels. Kennett leaned forward in his seat and peered through the windscreen. It was always best, when going into anything like this, to get an idea of the layout of the place.

There was no telling when they would have to move fast to get away. And past experience had taught him never to overlook a single thing.

The rain had stopped its insane lashing and there was a thin crescent of a moon racing through the tattered wisps of cloud. The mansion that showed clearly for the first time as they rounded a bend in the road, seemed to repel him at once.

Tall, twisty towers ripped the sky, clawing defiantly for the moon. There were lighted windows in the face of it, like a hundred hungry eyes, staring and vacant, watching their approach.

For an instant, looking at it, the fear was strong within him. Then, consciously, he pushed it down and tried to ignore it, although it was still there, just below the surface, ready to spill over him in a single instant, should the opportunity arise.

They drew up in front of the house, into the sudden harsh glare of light from the porch. A single glance was sufficient to show Kennett that most of the other guests had arrived. There were several cars lined up along the drive.

Together, they walked up the wide, cold marble steps. Kennett felt his teeth beginning to chatter in his head. And there was a warning tingle along his nerves. It had all begun again. Once more he was bringing himself face-to-face with evil.

There was a touch of the exotic and the Oriental about the place, he decided, which must be why—

He grew aware that they had reached the open door. Somebody was standing with his back to the light, watching him. Arnold Kestro! He caught a glimpse of fat, smoothly rounded cheeks and small narrow eyes, very black and cruel, beneath almost non-existent brows.

A huge, balding head was balanced almost precariously on top of the body, which although grotesquely fat, still seemed too small for it.

Kestro extended a hand to him, warm and moist. “I understand you are a friend of Mr. Fisher’s. You are most welcome to the little dinner I am giving. I regret he didn’t tell me about you earlier, or I could have sent a formal invitation.”

Was there a touch of hidden menace in the other’s thick, oily voice? A definite beat of sarcastic laughter? Kennett wasn’t sure. He nodded, bowing slightly from the waist.

“I trust you’ll pardon the intrusion,” he said as calmly as he could. “But my friend happened to mention he was coming here, and I—”

“But think no more of it, my friend. All are welcome. The more the merrier.” He turned away with a wave of a thick hand, to greet someone else coming up the steps behind them.

The more for what?
thought Kennett grimly. More souls to offer to their evil master? It seemed unlikely, but even so, it was something he didn’t want to think about. Not at the moment, anyway.

He gave his overcoat and hat to the tall, muscular Creole standing silent, watchful, just inside the door. A Creole! That looked bad from the start.

He grew aware that his companion was speaking again. “There, Peter. What’s wrong with Kestro? Even you’ve got to admit there’s nothing evil in him. Oh, I know he looks a little sinister. But that isn’t his way. Believe me, you’ve nothing to worry about. Though I must admit I’m rather glad you decided to come. I hardly know a soul here.”

“There are no souls here,” said Kennett, but he didn’t say it aloud. He glanced about him. The room was well and tastefully furnished, almost to the point of extravagance. And the guests, already present, went with the room.

But then, that was nearly always the case. These people were not confined to the poor, the ignorant. They came from all levels of society and obviously, Kestro confined his attentions to the highest levels.

Possibly, he thought, there was more money in that way. Because, in spite of everything, funds were always needed for their activities. He turned sharply to find Kestro standing at his side. There was an expression of diabolical amusement in the other’s dark eyes, which vanished as soon as he turned.

“Forgive me for neglecting you both,” he said skilfully. “But I keep forgetting you’re new here. All the others are all friends, very old friends indeed.” He looked from Kennett to Fisher, then back again. “Perhaps you’d both like a drink. I have some very good whiskey, if you care for it. Just come this way.”

He showed them into a small, warmer-looking room that opened off the main hallway by means of a short, curved corridor. But in spite of the warmth and the comfort that the room tried, almost painfully, to thrust upon the eye, Kennett could sense the presence of something else.

Something thick and unclean, black and evil, that spread outwards from the brightly-papered walls. As if death had been a constant visitor there, coming here many times, but never staying for very long.

He took the drink the other offered him with a feeling of sinking fear in the pit of his stomach. His keen gaze flicked round, suddenly wary. Out of the corner of his gaze, he could see that Fisher was nervous too. He sipped his drink with quick, jerky motions and there was a grey bleakness about the fine lines of his face.

“You should both feel a little honoured to be here, gentlemen,” said Kestro, mopping his face with a red, square handkerchief. “It isn’t often I show my little inner sanctum to people the first time they come.”

For some time, Kennett peered about him curiously, trying to locate the source of the evil he could feel, crowding around him, hemming him in with dark fingers. He had worked and fought against it for too long now, to be mistaken. Evil usually associated itself with some object or collection of objects. And where those objects went, there would go the evil also.

And this time, there was a malignant quality about it he you had seldom felt before.
Horror is lurking here
, mumbled his mind;
waiting for a chance to reach out and destroy you.

He caught at himself savagely. Desperately, he pushed calmness into his mind to replace the rising fear that he found there. There were several things strewn about the room, seemingly carelessly, but to his trained mind there seemed a motive behind everything. A method and an arrangement that lay half-hidden below the surface.

Carved bits of wood and stone, shaped into grotesque figures, dreamed up by the twisted mind of a madman. Tiny miniatures of idols and a brown skull that grinned down at him with a sightless stare from the top of a dark cupboard.

His mind flicked back, withdrawing a little into itself. He turned his head slightly. Those tiny idols. Surely they were—

“Ah, so you’ve finally spotted my little images,” muttered Kestro, easing his huge bulk forward. “Cleverly fashioned, aren’t they? Take a close look at them. I’ll guarantee you’ve never seen anything quite like them in your travels, Mr. Kennett.”

The other stepped forward, chilled by a sudden thought. Just how had the other known that he had travelled? His brain quietened. Jimmy had told him, of course. That was the only explanation.

Six tiny figures. Each exquisitely made, every detail perfect; down to the folds in the clothes, even to the individual expressions on their faces.

God! And what expressions they were! As if they had been forced to look at things that were not fit for human eyes to see, just at the moment of their death. He bent his head, fascinated.

For a brief moment, it almost seemed as if they were somehow alive, breathing quietly, watching him with a mute pleading on their lips. But that was impossible. A trick of the dim light. With an effort, he threw off the illusion of madness that threatened to overwhelm him, deliberately he pushed it out of his thoughts.