The Carnal God
By JOHN R. SPEER and CARLISLE SCHNITZER
_A strange and thrilling story about a golden image
that was instinct with evil life, and the terrible
weird fire that burned with the cold of outer space._
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Weird Tales June 1937.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
_1. The Dreadful Face_
On starless nights when the moon was obscured by the earth's shadow,
Pierre Soret walked alone down the darkest and most deserted streets in
London. He did this to avoid the people who might look into his face.
His face! He shuddered, his pinched shoulders wrenching sharply with
a bitter shrug. Could anyone call this mask, this unearthly mass of
bubbling flesh, boiling and seething in his own blood, a face?
Pierre knew what always happened when people looked into his
torture-shattered eyes. The sight of their horror sickened him. His
memory ached with the sharpness of pain he had felt on those few
occasions when some luckless persons had inadvertently seen, and
halted, frozen momentarily with the intense horror and nausea that
overwhelmed them, their faces graven with revulsion; a moment later to
totter rapidly past him down the street, the tension of their feeling
released with an effort that ended in a sob of hysteria and fear.
The route Pierre took upon these nights was always the same. With
his long black opera cape and moth-eaten topper, he stalked through
the streets like some villain from an old Drury Lane melodrama. "A
quaint old man who has refused to leave his yesterdays," people might
remark, if they did not see his face. Pierre gave no heed to the few
people he passed, except to draw the cape quickly about his face if
they approached him too near under the eery, fog-filtered glare of the
street lamps.
At Nigh Street, Pierre's bent figure paused wearily before he started
up the hill. A few yards from the corner, he paused again, staring
at the yellow lines of light cutting the fog and issuing from the
slit-like windows of the beautiful home of the Countess Donella
Moonard. In the thick mists, the house, impressively large and of
Egyptian architecture, resembled a temple of Black Magic veiled in
oppressive incense. The yellow slits glowered steadily and ominously.
What brilliance and exotic color lay within!
It was late, but not all of the Countess Moonard's guests had departed.
This would be the first party of the new season; trust her to make it
gay and unusual.
Pierre walked slowly forward, muttering to himself. His shoulders
brushed the low, ivy-covered wall surrounding the estate. He was
nearing the entrance to the garden. Above the gate in the wall, an
ancient gas torch flickered, casting a ghastly light that might have
come from the most ancient tombs along the Blue Nile.
"The fools!" he mumbled bitterly. "If I could only tell them what she
really is!"
Within a few feet of the entrance, he paused again, resentfully.
Was it his fault that the curse of many years before had made him
an outcast from the very society that now applauded the brilliant
Countess Moonard? He thrust back his cape. How good this musty dampness
felt! For weeks he had not been outside his home. His lungs cried
out in rebellion, cried greedily for deeper and deeper drafts of the
refreshing breath of night. The Countess Moonard! His hatred flamed
higher. Her guests ... fools! What would happen if he were to walk into
that gay party scene, drop his cape from about his face, and tell them
that----
* * * * *
Suddenly he paused; the pale, frightened face of a beautiful girl was
confronting him in the dim flare of the gas torch. It was too late to
draw the folds of his cape about his face. The girl had already seen
the sickening sight, and a stifled cry rose from her lovely throat.
"Oh, Carl!" she stammered weakly, clutching the shoulder of the tall,
handsome young man who stood beside her.
"Ruth! Dearest--what----?" The young man was puzzled until he saw
Pierre's face.
Usually when Pierre saw that he had frightened someone with the sight
of his horrible features, he turned and ran away, rather than suffer
the indignity of an apology--but something about this girl made him
linger. It was a small diamond-studded pendant that hung from about
her slim white throat. In that, Pierre saw the unmistakable sign of
death and despair that always cast its shadow upon the throats of the
Countess Moonard's victims. The girl was marked!
From the girl's face, Pierre turned to the young man. He looked into
his eyes and saw there the familiar terror that always spread across
the faces of those who looked upon him.
A long moment of silence passed. The girl turned from him, covering
her face with her hands and clinging tightly to the young man, who now
stared at Pierre with growing inquisitiveness.
"I'm sorry," Pierre finally said.
The young man tried to look pleasant. He was an intelligent young
doctor, and although the sight of Pierre had upset him, he was quickly
regaining his poise.
"Sorry? What for?" he asked.
"My face, if it frightened you. It usually does." Pierre tried to smile.
"Oh, yes, of course!" Carl spoke with more assurance now. The girl on
his arm was still trembling. Neither Carl nor the girl wore wraps; they
had been wandering through the gardens of the Countess Moonard's estate
in preference to dancing.
"Ruth, dearest, don't allow this to affect you." He patted her shoulder
gently. "I say, old man, you gave her an awful fright. I don't wish to
be unkind, but you really are enough to frighten anyone."
Curiosity was fast overcoming Doctor Carl Fielding's fear. He looked
closer into Pierre's face.
"Are those boils or burns--or what? How long have you been afflicted
this way?"
"Ten years."
"Indeed? It is rather difficult to see here in this poor light, but
something should be done about your face. As a plastic surgeon, I would
recommend that you----"
"Permit an operation?" Pierre interrupted. "Young man, modern surgery
cannot do anything for my case."
"I disagree with you. Surely you would be willing to give me a chance?
This must be horrible, going about frightening people. Or do you enjoy
nearly scaring young women to death? My fiancée is still trembling!"
Carl removed a handkerchief from his pocket. "Here, Ruth, stop crying,
and use this. The boogy man isn't going to get you. What am I going to
marry anyway, a cry-baby?"
"I'm not crying!" she protested indignantly. "It was just the sudden
shock of--well, you and I walking along, and then suddenly to----"
She turned to Pierre, but did not look directly into his face.
"Really I am sorry if I offended you."
"Oh, no, no; it is I who should apologize." Pierre's voice trembled
with gratitude. "You are very kind--both of you. I was quite careless
tonight. Usually I am more thoughtful of people. You see it is not
pleasant to----"
He was looking at her throat. If this young man would listen! But
no, it was impossible. No one would believe the story of the diamond
pendant.
Pierre said stiffly: "I really thank you for your kindness, and I am
sorry if I have spoiled your evening. Good night!"
He turned and started to hurry away.
"Oh, but wait a minute," Carl called to him. "I really meant what I
said about your face. I think I can do something for you. Won't you
take my card and call at my office? At least you can tell me what
caused this awful affliction."
Pierre quietly accepted the card that was handed to him. He thrust it
quickly into the pocket of his vest. Doctor Fielding noticed that the
man's hands were as hideous as his face.
"You think you would like to know what afflicted me?" Pierre said with
a trace of bitterness. "I wonder if you would believe me if I told you."
"I would have to," Carl answered.
Pierre waited a moment before he said abruptly: "I see you have been to
the Countess Moonard's party. Do you know her well?"
"As well as most people know the mysterious Countess Donella Moonard,"
Carl laughed. "Does anyone really know her? Surely you are not
acquainted with the Countess?"
Pierre did not answer his question, but said directly: "Young man, I
will accept the invitation to call at your office. I never go about in
the daylight, but if you would be there sometime in the----"
"Make it tomorrow evening. I'll be there until midnight," Carl said
quickly.
"Very well, but I do not come because I think that you can do anything
for me."
He looked at Ruth again. Self-consciously she put her hands to her
throat.
Pierre added significantly: "Perhaps I may be able to help _you_. If
there are no stars or moonlight, I will call on you."
"I don't understand. What does the absence of stars and moonlight have
to do with your calling on me?"
"I will explain that later. If I may offer a word of advice to the
young lady, I am sure I might save both of you from----" Pierre
faltered. So much to explain, so much that was unexplainable! How
could he hope that these two young people would believe him?
"You were about to say----?" Ruth looked interested.
"You have made a foolish bargain with someone. The price you will pay
is too high. But it grows late, and I am sure there is little I can say
to you just now. Perhaps I have said too much already. Until we meet
again, I bid you good evening!" Pierre removed his hat, and bowed in a
low sweeping movement.
* * * * *
Ruth could not restrain her gasp of horror as she saw the man's head.
It was scarred and smelled strongly of burning hair. He had forgotten
that he should not remove his hat. Mumbling an embarrassed apology,
Pierre hurried into the darkness beyond the gate.
"Carl, did you see his hair? The man looked as if he had been horribly
burned!" Ruth cried when he was gone.
"The most awful-looking man I have ever seen. All your fault too; you
would insist on walking in the night air. Why did we have to walk all
the way around the garden? The Countess' parties always do this to you,
Ruth. They give you the craziest ideas."
"Then you do remember what she prophesied tonight!" Ruth exclaimed.
"Really, isn't it uncanny? Tonight the Countess told me that I would
take a new step in my life; something would happen that would change
everything for me. She said it would begin with a horrible fright. And
I was frightened, Carl. Do you suppose----"
"Suppose nothing!" Carl replied with some exasperation. "The Countess
and her fake prophecies are without weight to me. You women are always
falling for the ways of some old crone with a crystal or a deck of
cards in her hand. Besides, she may have planted that old man in our
path tonight just to make her claims more convincing. How do we know
but that all of that horrible appearance was not just so much clever
make-up?"
"I know it wasn't."
"How do you know?"
"I just do, Carl." She smiled at him. "I believe everything the
Countess has told me. But, come, dearest, we must be returning to the
party."
She took his hand, and turned back to the garden. Carl followed
reluctantly.
"Ruth, I wish you would give up your devotion to the Countess and her
mad religion, or whatever it is. I don't like it. You've changed since
you have taken her so seriously. First thing I know you'll be a convert
to her--oh, what do you call it--moon worship?"
She stopped and turned to him; her voice was strange and final in its
tone. "Carl, I am already a convert. The religion of Moonere has given
me everything I want in life. Soon I will take the sacred vows of its
followers."
"You can't. I won't have it, I tell you. Oh, Ruth, surely you can't
believe in this preposterous, this unnatural faith? I don't know what
hellish power the Countess may have over you; but I do know that it
isn't natural for a normal girl, reared as you have been, suddenly to
accept a faith that even a heathen would sneer at! And I'm going to----"
Carl was interrupted by the unheralded appearance of one of the
Countess Moonard's swarthy-skinned Egyptian servants. The man, tall and
sinisterly handsome, was dressed like all the Countess' menials; he
wore the brief, exotic attire of a slave in an ancient court or temple.
The servant bowed his head and made a peculiar sign which Ruth seemed
to understand.
"The Countess desires to see you, most lovely maiden of the Temple of
Moonere," the servant said solemnly.
"Maiden of the temple of Moonere!" Carl could not restrain his disgust.
"You tell your mistress I am taking Ruth home; and that if she wants to
see anyone about her insane religion, she may consult me."
The servant did not answer him, but his eyes narrowed into slits of
cruelty and hatred. His lips curled contemptuously.
"Nilathar, I will follow you to the priestess," Ruth said, ignoring
Carl's threat to take her home.
"Ruth!" Carl pulled her to his side. "I'm not going to let you stay
here alone. You've got to listen to me."
The servant broke Carl's grasp about Ruth's wrist, and pushed him from
her.
"No one is to restrain a maiden of the temple when the priestess
calls," he said, standing between Ruth and Carl.
"Why, you----" Carl lunged at the Egyptian, who quickly drew a knife.
The blade pressed against Carl's vest, and seemed only too eager to
press further. The servant smiled in mock courtesy.
"The guests are departing. The Countess sends you her regrets, for she
is retiring with her faithful maidens," the servant said coldly. "Your
coat and hat will be brought to you."
* * * * *
Carl was furious, but a length of glittering steel in obviously adept
and determined hands is a deterrent to the most courageous, and will
instill restraint and judgment in the most foolhardy. What perplexed
Carl also left him with a feeling of helplessness--Ruth's apparent
lack of consideration of his danger. This was not like the girl he had
known since his early childhood; the girl who would have fought like
a tigress anyone who might have threatened Carl. Now she ignored him
entirely, as if it meant nothing to her that his encounter with the
servant might have proved fatal for him. He turned to make one final
plea to Ruth. She was gone.
When his coat and hat were brought to him, he took them and said
with an ironic smile, "Tell the Countess I am overwhelmed with her
hospitality. She must call on me some day."
Beneath the surface of Carl's polite departure swirled an undercurrent
of bewildered resentment. There was nothing natural about Ruth's
acceptance of the faith of Moonerism, whatever that was. Carl's
thoughts of the entire evening moved rapidly back to the hideous old
man they had met at the garden entrance; he recalled his words of
advice to Ruth: "You have made a foolish bargain with someone. The
price you will pay is too high."
That old man must have sensed Ruth's intention to follow this strange
religion; he knew more about the Countess Moonard than he pretended.
But what? Nothing about the entire evening made sense. Ruth had become
a stranger to him, a beautiful stranger. The characterization seemed
significant, though in what way he could not fathom. Ruth had always
been an attractive girl, but recently he had found her beauty violently
compelling. And tonight, the strange new depths of her beauty had
made him marvel; it was a beauty of coldness and austerity, and it
frightened him. Ruth, the Ruth he knew, was and must be beautiful, but
never cold, never cruelly elusive.
Something was happening to Ruth, something that was taking her away
from him. And that was not permissible. Carl Fielding did not allow
what he loved and wanted to be taken away from him. The Countess had
something to do with it, and he would fight her; but he must learn
something about her, the strange power she exercised over Ruth and the
other converts.
Carl settled restlessly back into the interior of his car, musing
over the strange events of the evening. Who might know anything about
the Countess Moonard, other than her converts, whose lips were always
sealed with secrecy?
Although it was a slim hope, there was his old friend, Inspector
Chadwick of Scotland Yard. Perhaps the eccentric detective would be
able to assist him.
_2. A Weird Disappearance_
Early the next day, Inspector Chadwick looked up from his desk to
behold the troubled features of Doctor Carl Fielding. Carl had not
slept the night before, and his worry showed plainly on his face.
Chadwick leaned back in his swivel-chair, and greeted him in a tone of
mock seriousness.
"So you've come to confess? Well, turn over the jewels, and I'll see
that they make it easy for you. I'll recommend hanging at the earliest
possible date. How are you, Doc? Haven't seen you since last spring.
Been intending to get around to your office for a little chat. Heard
you were engaged to be married. And from the looks of that long face
of yours, you must already be hitched. Sit down, put your feet on the
desk, smoke my cigars, and I'll even go so far as to offer you a good
drink of brandy just to show you my heart's in the right place."
This was Chadwick's manner of treating everyone. He ran a continuous
flow of conversation, annoying his subject with the enforced silence;
but from this silence Chadwick often learned more than if he had
permitted him to talk. Inspector Chadwick could see that Carl had not
come to him for just a friendly visit.
Carl sat down heavily, and looked at the smiling, round face of his
friend. He scarcely heard any of Chadwick's rattling greeting.
"I thought I would--er----" Carl started to break into the Inspector's
incessant flow of chatter.
"Ask me to lend you five pounds?" Chadwick went right on talking.
"There was a man in here the other day, had one glass eye, and one good
eye. He offered to give me either one as security for a slight loan.
You look like a sick canary. What have you been doing to yourself? I
always said doctors were poor advertisements for their remedies. Try
this brandy; it might put a little color into your face. Good idea
there! I'll play doctor, and you be the inspector for a while. If this
Crayton case keeps up any longer, I'm going to be a first-class medico
anyway. You know, it's one of those very technical points; all about
this and that. Practically have to understand medicine to get any sense
out of the thing. Should be right up your alley. How do you like my
American speech? Notice I talk more like an American than I do a loyal
subject of the king? Need that effect. Been working on terms, tones,
pronunciations. Oh, so much to change! How about having dinner with me?"
"See here, Chadwick, will you be quiet for a minute, and let me talk?"
Carl finally blurted out.
Chadwick threw back his head and laughed, a hearty laugh that shook
his broad shoulders and made his face redder than it already was. "Oh,
so you want to talk? Well, well, fancy that! All right, Doc; you talk,
and I'll listen. But if it's about me being best man at your wedding,
that's off. I don't look right in formal dress. When is the wedding, by
the way?"
"Unless I get some help, there may not be any wedding." Carl looked
soberly at him.
"Help?" Chadwick laughed again. "What do you want me to do, persuade
the girl to marry you? I thought you had already proposed."
"Chadwick, did you ever hear of a religious cult known as Moonerism?"
Carl ignored his friend's attempt at humor.
Chadwick became serious almost immediately.
"The Countess Donella Moonard?" he asked.
"Yes. Ruth, the girl I'm going to marry, has suddenly been seized with
a desire to become one of her followers. Chadwick, there's something
uncanny about the Countess and her religion. You probably know more
about her activities than anyone else in London. So I----"
"I'm afraid I know very little." Chadwick rose from his chair, and
walked restlessly about the office. The religion of Moonerism had
been brought to the attention of Scotland Yard once before; however,
investigation of the Countess Moonard had only revealed that she
believed in a religion having to do with certain astral and planetary
bodies. Those who gave themselves up to its teachings never revealed
the secrets; and those who tried to learn more were either converted or
by some strange manner suddenly and for ever frightened from attempting
to obtain further knowledge.
"Surely there is something we could do about it." Carl began walking
back and forth with his friend. "You know how I feel about Ruth's
acceptance of such a strange faith. Besides, Chadwick, I have reason to
believe that--well----"
The words stuck in his throat. He could not bring himself to believe
that the Countess or anyone else really had supernatural powers;
furthermore what he was beginning to suspect was beyond belief.
"Doc, there's really nothing we can do about this, except to try and
persuade your fiancée to use better judgment. There are many strange
religious cults in London. As long as they do not break any of our
laws, we cannot stop them. No one has ever found out enough about
the Countess and her beliefs to justify a thorough investigation.
Her following is comparatively small, mostly beautiful women--very
beautiful women."
"That's just it," Carl said excitedly. "All of them are beautiful and
young in appearance. The Countess herself--she must be seventy if she's
a day, but look at her. Her face is ageless. Chadwick, you know that
I would be the last person in the world to waste time over foolish
beliefs in the supernatural; yet--well, I've noticed that Ruth has
become--different. I see it in her face, in her actions, in----"
"Of course you do. All those religions require a certain amount of
fanatical devotion. Ruth is young and impressionable. Perhaps if you
took her away for a while?"
"But that's just it! She seems to move as if controlled by another
mind. Last night I was almost stabbed trying to keep her from staying
with the Countess, and the affair left her entirely unimpressed with my
danger."
"Stabbed?"
"Yes, by one of the Countess' servants. Look, Chadwick, you are clever
at obtaining secrets. Why can't you work on this, and really find out
what happens to those who take up Moonerism?"
"I know what happens. They follow it to their death. Apparently they
lead normal lives outside of their activities within the temple. What
can Scotland Yard do about that? Today people have a right to worship
as they please, you know."
"Oh, you don't grasp what I mean. I think there is something beyond
the ordinary enchantment of a strange religious faith. Call it what
you will, the Countess Donella Moonard has a power over the few people
she contacts; and that power is transforming Ruth from a lovely girl
into----" Carl shuddered.
"Come, come, Doc. You're allowing this too much importance. I will
admit the acceptance of the religion is bad enough; but after all, I
know of at least fifty prominent women, in good society, who believe in
Moonerism. They are not faring so badly."
* * * * *
The telephone on Inspector Chadwick's desk began ringing impatiently.
He picked up the phone.
"This is Inspector Chadwick." He smiled at Carl. "You say you want to
speak to Doctor Fielding? Why, of course. He's right here in my office."
"No one knew I was here. Who----" Carl took the phone with an
expression of puzzled fear. "Ruth! Yes, dearest. At once. Of course.
Please try to control yourself. I'll be there as quickly as I can."
He banged the receiver down, and turned to Chadwick. "Ruth calling me.
She's talking strangely. Said someone put your phone number in her
mind. She wants me at once. Come with me, Chadwick. Something's wrong."
"I'm on my way now!" Chadwick followed Carl out of the office.
Reaching Ruth's apartment in record time, Carl was startled by the look
of fear in her eyes. She looked as if she had just been awakened from a
horrible nightmare, as she stood before him in her negligee; her light
brown hair, usually so well-brushed and sleek, was now a wild mass of
disorder.
"Oh, Carl! Carl! What has happened to me? Where have I been?" She ran
to his arms.
"Why, Ruth, don't you remember? I left you last night at the Countess
Moonard's. You insisted upon staying."
"Yes, yes, I remember that. Then I went to sleep. The Countess said----"
Her eyes closed. She seemed about to faint.
"She said what?" Carl took her shoulders between his hands and shook
her anxiously. "Ruth, what did she say?"
Ruth's eyes opened. The fear came into them again, and she began crying
hysterically. "Oh, it can't be! Carl, I'm lost! Lost!" she sobbed.
"Ruth, you must get a grip on yourself and tell us what happened."
Carl led her to a chair, into which she dropped, limp and helpless.
Suddenly she started talking again, her eyes staring widely.
"I don't know. I don't remember what happened after I fell asleep at
the Countess'. I should remember. I want to remember what she said
to me, and I'm afraid now. I awoke here in my room. I heard a voice
calling to me. There was no one here, no one with a voice like the one
that was calling me. It's calling now! It's warning me, Carl, warning
me not to go on. Listen! I can hear it so plainly. It's a voice--a
voice like that old man's. The old man with the horrible face, and
eyes, and--oh, Carl, Carl, what did I do? Now there are two voices. The
Countess is telling me to come back--to sleep, to sleep. And that old
man is saying: 'Don't listen to her; listen to me. I am your master.
Moonere will take your soul to a hell beyond hell!'"
Her voice broke with uncontrollable sobbing. She began babbling
insanely.
"There's nothing I can do for her now, except to quiet her," Carl said
finally. "She needs sleep. A sedative, and perhaps we can get her mind
back to normal."
Under Carl's care, Ruth was soon asleep; although her body convulsed
with sudden spasms of fear that came even through her slumber, as if
she were defending herself from unseen demons who were dragging her
away. Gently closing the door of her bedroom, he returned to talk with
Chadwick.
While Carl had been inducing her to sleep, Chadwick had discovered a
small necklace upon the carpet. It looked as if it had been torn from
someone's throat with great violence.
"Ever see this before?" Chadwick held the glittering pendant out to
Carl.
"Why, yes. Ruth was wearing it last night. It is something new she
picked up."
"No, nothing new about this." Chadwick shook his head. "This is the
symbol of Moonerism. I've seen them before. Never this close, however.
Notice the pendant?"
For the first time, Carl observed the pendant closely. It was oval,
about two inches and a half long, about an inch and a half wide, and
apparently of some onyx-like substance. It glowed with an unearthly,
blue-black light, faint but perceptible. At the upper side, and a
little to the right, a small glittering stone was set; a stone that
glowed as if it were imbued with some cruel, radiant life. From this
stone, a thin line of light traced downward to the lower center of the
oval, where another and larger stone was set. When the thin line of
light reached this second sphere, it grew brighter and engulfed it in a
consuming glow.
"Feel this thing," Chadwick said, handing it to Carl.
"Why, it's cold as ice!" Carl gasped.
"Wonder what that design means?" Chadwick took the necklace back again.
"You know, Doc, it looks to me as if the Countess Moonard is going to
be thoroughly investigated this time. As soon as Ruth awakens, we must
try to get more information from her. No doubt she was hypnotized. But
this old man she speaks of----"
"I know who she means. I'll tell you about him; but first, I want to
take another look at her. I think I had better get a nurse, and----"
Carl was moving to the bedroom as he spoke. When he opened the door, he
let out a cry: "She's gone!"
"What!" Inspector Chadwick made his way to the door in two leaps.
A hasty search of the room and the adjoining bath revealed nothing. The
open window with the curtains blowing lazily was their only clue.
"Kidnapped!" whistled Chadwick. "Now this _is_ a case for Scotland
Yard. Come on; we're going to pay a visit to the Countess."
They were hurrying for the door when the telephone in the hallway began
ringing.
"Answer it." Chadwick turned upon his heels. "May be important."
The voice Carl heard over the telephone made his face suddenly pale.
It was the voice of Pierre Soret, saying: "Doctor Fielding, you must
trust the fate of your fiancée to me. She is being taken back to the
Temple of Moonere, but do not permit any rash blunders by the police to
interfere. Her life will pay the penalty. I am your friend. Wait until
tonight, and I will come to your office, if the stars permit."
_3. The Cult of Moonere_
Doctor Fielding looked from his watch to the window of his office,
opening upon a black velvet night. He had encountered considerable
difficulty in restraining Inspector Chadwick from going at once to the
Countess Moonard's home in search of Ruth. Now he was further annoyed
by the torture of doubt. Had he been foolish in obeying the voice--the
voice of an old man he had seen only once before? Perhaps the telephone
call had only been a trick to delay the rescue of Ruth. That could be,
for it was very late, and there was no sign of the old man, although
the sky was without a twinkle of starlight.
The telephone on his desk disturbed his thoughts with its jangling
ring. He answered impatiently; it would be Inspector Chadwick calling
again to find out if the mysterious old man had made his appearance.
"I think I should take a look around the Countess' home," Chadwick was
insisting.
"No! We've gone this far; we must hold out. There's someone at the door
now. It's surely he. I'll call you when he's gone," Carl shouted into
the telephone, crashed the receiver on the hook, and ran to the door.
It was only the charwoman, armed with buckets and mops for her nightly
duties.
"Sorry, doctor," she said, pushing a stray wisp of grimy hair from her
eyes, "but I thought if ye didn't mind, I would be cleanin' yer office.
But then if I'll bother ye----"
"Yes, you will," Carl answered hastily. "Forget about my office for
this one night. I am expecting a caller." He took some loose coins from
his pocket and gave them to her. "Here, take these and buy yourself a
midnight snack."
"Ah, thank ye, sir, and God bless ye, sir, and----"
Carl had to push her gently but firmly out of the door to shut off the
flood of almost tearful gratitude the old woman was heaping upon him.
He closed the door, and turned again to search the sky for any trace of
unwelcome stars when a scream echoed down the corridor of the offices.
Throwing open the door, he saw the old man standing in the corridor,
his black cape covering his face. The charwoman was hastening down the
stairs, gesticulating and screaming with fright.
"She saw my face," the man in black said simply.
Carl ushered him into his office, and quickly locked the door. Pierre
now kept his cape wrapped about his face as he looked suspiciously
about the office.
"Are we alone?" he asked.
"Yes. I've been waiting all evening for you. Now please tell me about
Ruth. Is she all right? Oh, what does it all mean anyway?"
Carl hurried him to a chair in front of his desk, and then seated
himself. Pierre sat down, but still remained covered.
"Doctor Fielding, I am glad that you trusted my telephone call this
afternoon," Pierre began to speak. "When I told you last night that
I would come to see you, it was because I wanted to help you. Your
fiancée was in danger. I saw the sign of Moonere upon her throat."
"You mean this?" Carl displayed the necklace Chadwick had found that
afternoon.
"Yes, that is the mark of the Countess Moonard--the beginning of what
will eventually become this!" Pierre stood up, throwing the cape from
his face.
For a moment Carl's senses reeled. He gripped the edge of his desk,
and leaned unsteadily against the back of his chair. He felt the blood
drain from his head; he had not felt this way since his first days in
the dissecting-room at the medical school. His horror shamed him. After
all, he was a doctor who was supposed to be able to stand the ghastly
sight of blood and injury. But this was different! What he saw in
Pierre's face was beyond ordinary gore!
The face seemed to be afire. It looked like flesh that was slowly being
cooked. The eyes bulged and smoke seemed to swirl from them. And above
it all there was the horrible stench of charred human skin.
For a long moment Pierre said nothing. Carl could not speak, although
he fought bravely to gain control of his feelings.
"Not a very encouraging sight, is it, doctor?" Pierre broke the awful
silence.
"I--I can't believe it. It's not possible--it--in God's name, man, what
caused this?" Carl finally gasped.
"Moonere!" Pierre's pained eyes looked into Carl's.
"Moonere?"
"Perhaps you know her better by the name of the Countess Donella
Moonard. The beautiful Countess Moonard and Moonere, the sorceress,
daughter of the God of Sudre, are one. Your fiancée is marked for the
sacrifice that for the last ten thousand years has offered up its
beautiful captives to the greedy God of Sudre!"
"Sudre? Where is Sudre?" Carl stared at him incredulously.
"Sudre is another world, another planet, with another scheme of
life--a scheme of life more complex than any dream of our existence,
more terrible than all the horrors of history, beyond comprehension
by any of our sciences or philosophies. It is all we are, refined and
horribly exaggerated in some phases, until our most potent symbols of
evil are only weak caricatures beside it. It is evil transcendent and
all-powerful. It is the natural, purged of any goodness, and become
supernatural and transcendent. A few men of ancient Egypt knew of its
existence, knew of the All-Powerful One of Sudre, who has been playing
his evil jest upon the helpless people of this earth for countless
centuries."
* * * * *
Carl could only stare at Pierre, trying to realize meaning from the
strange sounds he made. It was as if he listened to a man from another
world.
"You do not understand, I know." Pierre sat down again, wearily. "But I
will make you understand, if you will only hear me out. You must try to
grasp what I tell you."
Pleadingly Pierre's scarred hand reached across the desk and touched
Carl's fingers. Hastily Pierre withdrew his hand as he saw the look of
revulsion upon Carl's face. Carl felt himself sicken at the feeling of
unearthly coldness of the man's skin. The feeling of coldness was not
in keeping with the appearance. To look at him was to think of fire,
all-consuming fire!
"The way my hand felt to you just then is the way my skin is all over
my body," Pierre said. "Touch it, if you dare. You are a doctor.
Examine me. These sores that look like boils and fire--feel them, and
you will know the cold sensation of a billion miles of space."
Carl's hand moved slowly to Pierre's face. With dread reluctance, his
fingertips traced over the pitted, irregular features. It was like
feeling an iced corpse, only worse, for this flesh was alive. When he
withdrew his hand, he beheld a trace of damp, bluish substance upon his
fingers.
Pierre spoke again: "Last night when I told you of the stars, you
wondered what they had to do with my going out. Now you see my hopeless
state; you see the unspeakable ugliness of my face. You must believe
that all of this is a part of the curse the stars have in store for
those who defy Moonere. When the moon and the stars loom so brightly in
the evening sky, my flesh boils; my blood steams and courses through
my veins, sending poison, poison from Sudre--moon-poisoning throughout
my body. It is not the heated fire of the sun or of a furnace, but a
cold, blue fire that chills as it burns, yet burns more intensely than
a thousand blasts from hell.
"I am slowly being destroyed, because I have defied Moonere and sought
to drive her from the earth. Do you know what it is to be destroyed,
to be conscious every minute of your slow journey to death? Look! I'll
show you a picture." Pierre took from his pocket a small photograph.
Carl looked from the photo to the man who stood before him. There was
no resemblance. The picture was of an intelligent man in his late
thirties. He was tall and straight, with a splendid, manly physique,
and handsome face that was crowned with heavy black hair, graying at
the temples.
"That is a picture of Professor Pierre Soret." Pierre stood up,
pointing to the picture in Carl's hand. "You see the man was tall, a
large man, an athlete in his college days. Now look at him!" He made a
disdainful gesture to his present slight figure that was scarcely five
feet in height. "I am the same man of that photograph taken over ten
years ago. But there is no way I could prove it, because I am slowly
being burned to a stony cinder."
"I can't believe it," Carl cried out against the madness of his
thoughts. "How can you expect me to believe that this woman has been
able to destroy you like this? What fiendish power, even of the
supernatural, could do this to a man?"
"The crystal of Sudre in Moonere's temple. Like the light-collecting
principle of our modern telescopes and reflectors, it draws together
the beams of Sudre into one hellish and destructive fire.
"Sudre is a world, a satellite of the outermost planet of our solar
system. Astronomers have not discovered this moon, Sudre, for it is
not of sufficient size or density to enter into their calculations;
and its discovery would disclose none of its power of evil, even if it
were charted. Nor do they realize that upon it burns a fire that is
controlled by the evil magic of the God of Sudre. Upon certain nights
of the month, when it is on the side of that outer planet which is
facing earth, the power of that fiery creation is directed upon me.
Even when it is on the other side of that planet--and it revolves
about it once every twenty-seven of our days--those rays come down
to earth with sufficient power to keep me living in the painful
realization of my certain death.
"And there is life there; a life of eternal evil, like nothing science
has ever yet discovered or ever will discover--life that would strike
horror in the strongest hearts of the most coldly impersonal scientific
explorer. The life of the undead, of which you have heard in your tales
of earth horror, is nothing compared with its evilness."
* * * * *
The old man's voice droned on. "I will not dwell upon a description of
them, for it is this threat to your own fiancée's life that prompts
me to even mention this to you. This evil beyond hell, which is the
Countess Moonard's power--the crystal of Sudre----"
He broke off a short moment, then resumed: "You have seen the sun's
powerful rays burning paper under a magnifying lens? Upon almost the
same principle, yet using the crystal of Sudre instead of glass,
Moonere burns her lovely offerings upon the altar of the God of Sudre.
Few men are ever sacrificed to Sudre; it is almost always women, for
the God of Sudre is a carnal fiend, delighting in despoiling chastity
and ravishing virginity.
"Each convert to Moonerism is given a super-thrill in the discovery
of how beautiful she can become. Ah, that is the way Moonere first
enslaves her victims. They come to her seeking beauty. She promises
them eternal loveliness, beyond even their dreams; and when they do as
she decrees, they always receive this precious desire of every woman.
That is why no one ever reveals the secret of Moonere. They do not
dare, for she not only holds their lives in her hands, once they come
to her, but she also holds woman's most priceless treasure--beauty.
Every year, lovely women sink into the depths of despair and torture
because they seek the unnatural grant of beauty from the God of Sudre."
Carl cried out, suddenly remembering: "You're right! That was the way
Ruth was trapped, I'm sure. I have seen the change in her."
"True, young man, although your fiancée is not yet fully enslaved.
Tomorrow night, the full force of the rays of destruction from Sudre
will fall upon earth. Moonere will hold her rites to the God of Sudre.
Once the girl has danced within the temple of the maidens of Moonere,
there will be no salvation for her. To leave Moonere, or to defy her,
would mean the doom you now see in my face."
"But how were you trapped?" Carl asked.
"I will tell you of that. You see the secret of Moonere has never
been new to me. From my earliest youth I knew that my life was to be
dedicated to the destruction of Moonere and the evil reign of the God
of Sudre; just as my ancestors have fought and died in silence for this
curse. In my family, throughout the centuries, the knowledge of Sudre
and Moonere has existed. We dared not reveal it; and even if we had
done so, none would have believed us. Yet all of it is true.
"From ancient cities, long since buried beneath the sands of the
deserts, to modern London, Moonere has slipped inconspicuously through
life, carrying the curse of the God of Sudre, while my family has
silently borne the banner of humanity. Although I am only a few years
past forty, my knowledge of science and the ancient arts is far
advanced. Were it not for the fact that I have the jealously guarded
secrets of all these generations behind me, I could never have attained
the ability I now have.
"That ability will explain your fiancée's strange actions in the
earlier part of the day. I have taken over her mind. Telepathy is one
power that Moonere and I both have in common. She thinks that is the
only weapon I have, but she is wrong. At last I have discovered a more
powerful ray than the one that burns in the glass of Sudre. With it, I
hope to destroy Moonere and free the world of the constant threat of
her accursed power."
"But what will become of Ruth?" Carl asked anxiously.
"I may be able to save her, if you help me. Today Moonere knew that I
had taken Ruth's mind from her powerful grasp. It was I who awakened
her from the sleep Moonere sent her to last night. It was I who kept
warning her to beware."
"Yes, I know. That was what frightened her--the sound of your voice."
"Of course, and she called for you. I gave her the telephone number
of your friend. But when you arrived, you gave her a sedative, thus
undoing much of my good work."
"But how did you know what I gave her? You were not there."
"I saw everything nevertheless. I will tell you how later. I saw the
Countess' servants kidnap your fiancée while she slept. I saw them take
her to the temple where she will be forcibly detained until the night
of the sacrifice."
"And that will be----"
"Tomorrow night. The rays will be at their maximum intensity. If
everything goes right, and it is the will of God that I defeat this
devil-daughter from another world, your fiancée will be returned to
you, unharmed; the many tortured souls who now follow Moonere will
be freed; and the world will be rid of at least one black scourge of
unholiness. The work of my family will be finished."
"But you still haven't told me why you were burned by the crystal,"
Carl interrupted.
"So I haven't. And you need that to convince you further that I am
not a madman spinning lies to lure you into lunacy, eh? Well, it
was through my desire to test my ray with which I hope to destroy
Moonere. That was ten years ago, shortly after the death of my father.
I was so sure that with this ray nothing could prevent my success in
exterminating Moonere that I went to her home. I knew just where to
find the secret entrance that leads to the temple of the maidens. No
one else could have found it. The home of the Countess Moonard was
built sixty years ago; and in all of London, neither you nor Scotland
Yard combined could find a trace of the architects who constructed it.
It is so ingeniously arranged to mislead a curious snooper that one
could spend the rest of his life wandering from one false corridor
into another, never getting anywhere. No, only I could find the secret
entrance that leads to the temple with its star-glass in the roof. The
plan of the house is the same as was her first temple many centuries
ago."
* * * * *
"You mean the Countess is immortal?"
"Of course; that is, the lifetime of Moonere does not correspond with
any human conception of a life-span. Moonere, or the Countess Moonard,
as she has been known here in London, is from another planet, and has
lived on this earth, serving the God of Sudre, for many ages. As long
as she serves faithfully, she will live at his will. If she never
offends her fiendish deity, she will live eternally. Even in my family,
where the knowledge of her has existed for many centuries, there is no
record of her beginning. You will find that hard to believe, because
such things are beyond the comprehension of men. It will always be so
with the mysteries of this world. Only a few learn the solemn secrets,
and they find their knowledge a curse, their lips forever sealed by
man's eternal skepticism.
"But as I started to tell you, when Moonere and I finally clashed,
my ray proved a failure--a fault I have corrected. I was seized and
dragged down into the center of the temple. My clothes were torn from
me, and I was thrown upon the altar. The crystal burned; the poison
crept into my body. I thought that my time had arrived, that this would
mean death. But that was not her plan. I was exposed only for a few
brief moments, much the same as the convert who takes the final vows.
Then I was released. Mind you, I was set free. I could go to the police
and Scotland Yard if I wanted to. I could tell them my story."
"Why didn't you?"
"Do you think they would believe such a story? Furthermore, even if I
took them to the temple, to the very altar, what could I prove? Upon
the surface, Moonere has nothing that would arouse any suspicion beyond
ordinary curiosity."
"But your face--you were horribly disfigured after the exposure to the
glass, were you not?"
"No. That is not the way the glass first interprets the ray of Sudre.
Those exposed to it for only a brief moment upon the altar, find that
their youth, their physical charm, is doubly enhanced. When I was
thrown from the temple, I looked years younger; my hair, which was
turning gray before I entered, became black and glossy again. I could
not look into a mirror without realizing the wonderful appearance
that had been given to me. But it was only temporary. That is the way
Moonere holds her victims for ever, sealing their lips, and bending
them to unending servitude. The beauty does not last. Only by constant
bathing in the rays beneath the glass can one keep fresh. Deny yourself
those rays and the aid of Moonere, and you find your entire body slowly
being destroyed. One look into the mirror, by a victim so denied, is
enough to enslave the soul with fear.
"Any night when the heavens are filled with the diffused rays of its
many bodies, and Sudre is between earth and the planet about which it
revolves, the torture of slowly being burned to a cinder increases
for me. That is why I remain inside my home, which I have succeeded
in partially insulating from them. That is why I can walk about in
the fresh air upon only those all too few dark nights. In my home, I
work with my inventions, the findings of many years of research by
my family. But each night, Moonere and the Thing of Sudre send their
rays to me. It is their jest, a further extension of their joy in
the torture of mere mortals. My body now has an attraction for those
rays. Even behind the closed, insulated walls, I feel their burn. With
my present ray-machine, I have been combating them. Every night, if
you could only see with your normal eyes the battle of Moonere's ray
of death and my own discovered ray, you would know what a strange,
unbelievable life I lead."
Carl looked wan and weary. Just now it seemed to him that there was
nothing real about anything. The man who stood before him with his
horrible face, his story of Moonere--everything was like a mad plot and
setting for a dream of horror. All he could do was trust and pray that,
through this man who knew the secrets, Ruth would be saved from a life
far worse than death.
"All this is so strange, so far removed from reality," Carl said.
"There is nothing I can do but follow your directions. I will do
anything to save Ruth from this life."
"Then you must come with me." Pierre stood up and threw his cape
about his face. "I will take you to my home. There are many things I
must teach you before tomorrow night, the night of the sacrifice. I
will have great need of your assistance in my laboratory. You will be
protected with everything my knowledge can give you. Perhaps I should
warn you that I believe tomorrow night Moonere will seek to destroy me
entirely. If you are with me, you may suffer a similar fate. Shall we
go?"
"We go!" Carl rose to his feet, and hurriedly put on his coat and hat.
Once outside, under the low-hanging canopy of the black night's sky,
Pierre breathed heavily, as if the murky air of night was doubly
precious to him.