THE HORROR.
Vampire--insect--devil--what _was_ the thing? From the length and
thickness of those frightful tentacle-like legs, stretching forth from
the cranny--Laurence--who had not halted until he had gained the ridge
dividing the hollow--estimated that the creature when spread out must be
eight or ten feet in diameter.
He looked back. It had not followed him from the cave. Why had it not?
Was it waiting for night--to steal upon him in the darkness, to wreath
around him those terrible tentacles, and to drain his life-blood?
Now, indeed, all stood clear. "The Spider" was no allegorical term, but
literal fact. That frightful monster with which he had just come face to
face was indeed the demon-god of the Ba-gcatya! It was actually fed with
living men, in accordance with some dark and mysterious superstition
held by that otherwise fine race. Now the fate of those whose skeletons
lay around stood accounted for. They had been devoured by this
unimaginable horror. Alive? It was almost certain--possibly when
weakened by starvation. Yet a gruesome thought entered his mind. Why had
an abundance of food been lowered with him into this hell-pit? Did not
the circumstance make as though it was in their full vigour that the
monster was designed to seize its victims--and in that event, with what
an extent of strength and fell ferocity must it not be endowed?
But what _was_ this thing? Laurence had seen spiders of every variety,
huge and venomous, and of grisly size, yet nothing like this. Why, the
creature was as large as a bear nearly! It must be some beast hitherto
unknown to natural history; yet those awful tentacles--joints, hair,
everything--could not but belong to an insect--were, in fact, precisely
as the legs of a huge tarantula, magnified five hundred-fold. What
ghastly and blood-curdling freak of nature could have produced such a
monstrosity as this? Why, the very sight of the awful thing huddled up,
black, within the gloom of the cranny, the horrid tentacles--a
hundred-fold more repulsive, more blood-curdling than though they
actually were so many serpents--moving and writhing in a great
quivering, hairy, intertwined mass--was in itself a sight to haunt his
dreams until his dying day, did he live another fifty years. What must
it mean, then, to realize that he was actually shut in--escape
impossible--with the deliberate purpose of being devoured by this
vampire, this demon, even as all these others had been devoured before
him?
At this juncture of his meditations his mind became alive to two
discoveries--one, that he had gained the farther end of the ridge than
that by which he had crossed; the other, that immediately before and
beneath him, just over the slope of the ridge, lay the body of a man.
Yes--the body of a man, not the skeleton of one. That it was that of a
dead man he could see at a glance--also that it was one of the
Ba-gcatya. With a shudder he remembered the luckless wretch he had seen
dragged away but a day or two before his own seizure--whether for
evil-doing or as a customary sacrifice he had been condemned to this,
Laurence had not inquired at the time. Casting one more look at the
cave, and satisfying himself that the monster had not emerged, Laurence
went down to examine the body.
It was that of a man in the prime of life--and wearing the head-ring. It
was lying on its back, the throat upturned and protruding. And then
Laurence shudderingly noticed two round gaping orifices at the base of
the throat, clearly where the great nippers of the monster had
punctured. The limbs, too, were scratched and scored as though with
claws; and upon the dead face was such an awful expression of the very
extremity of horror and dread as the spectator, accustomed as he was to
such sights, had never beheld stamped on the human countenance before.
And beholding it now, Laurence Stanninghame felt that the perspiration
was oozing upon him at every pore, for he realized that he was looking
upon a foresight of his own fate; for was he not that most perfectly and
completely helpless of all God's creatures--an unarmed man!
He had not so much as a stick or a pocket-knife to resist the onslaught
of this blood-drinking monster--no, not even a boot, for it flashed
across his mind at that moment that a good iron-shod heel might be
better than nothing. He was wearing only a low-soled pair of ordinary
_velschoenen_--hide shoes, to wit. There were not even stones lying
about the ground, save very small ones, and he had no means of loosening
rock slabs large enough to serve as weapons. There was no place of
refuge to climb into afforded by ledges or pinnacles of rock, and even
were there, why, the thing could surely come up after him as easily as
the common tarantula could run up a wall. Nothing is more completely
demoralizing than the helplessness of an unarmed man. With his
Express--or his six-shooter--this one would have regarded the situation
in the light of a wholly new and adventurous excitement--with even a
large strong-bladed knife he would have been willing to take his
chances. But he was totally unarmed. It seemed to Laurence that in that
brief while he had lived a lifetime of mortal fear.
Then with a mighty effort he pulled himself together. He would return to
where he had left his stores ere commencing the exploration. Nobody ever
yet improved a situation of peril by starving himself. Yet as he wended
his way up the long chasm wherein he had first awakened to life, it was
with a feeling of shuddering repulsion. The place bore such a close
resemblance now to that other cave; yet here, at any rate, he knew there
was nothing.
He opened the corn baskets and the calabash of _amasi_, and made a
fairly good meal. Then, by the glooming shades of the overhanging rock,
he judged that daylight was waning. Out into the open once more--the
open air might render such a life-and-death struggle with the monster a
trifle less horrible than here, shut in by these tomb-like rock walls.
The gray of the brief twilight was upon the faces of the surrounding
cliffs, which soon faded into misty gloom. Only the stars, leaping into
the misty gloom--only the stars, leaping forth into the inky sky, shed
an indistinct light into this vault of horror and of death. He was shut
in here--and shut in with this awful thing which should find him out
during the hours of darkness. And, marvellous to tell, a sudden
drowsiness came upon him--and whether the effects of the drug still
lingered about him, or was it the reaction from an overstrained mind? he
actually slept--slept hard and dreamlessly.
Suddenly he awoke--awoke with the weight of an indefinable terror upon
him. A broad moon in its third quarter was sailing aloft in the heavens,
flooding the hollow with its ghostly light. Instinctively he sprang to
his feet. As he did so there came upon him a resistless and shuddering
fear akin to that which had paralyzed him in the cave. What was it? The
magnetic proximity of the awful thing stealthily stalking him? No. The
reason now lay clear.
In the moonlight he could make out, shadowy and indistinct, the corpse
he had found during the afternoon. But, as he gazed, a change seemed to
have come over it. It had increased in size--had more than doubled its
bulk. Heavens! the dark mass began to move--to heave--and then he
thought the very acme of horror was reached. Not one body was there, but
two. Spread out over the human body was that of the monster. Now he
could make out almost every detail of its hideous shape, the convulsive
working of the frightful tentacles as it devoured its lifeless prey. He
could stand it no longer. His brain was bursting; he must do something.
Raising his voice he shouted--shouted as assuredly he had never shouted
in his life. There was a maniacal ring in his voice. He felt as though
he must rush right at this thing of fear. Was he really going mad? Well,
it began to look like it.
But the effect was prompt. The awful vampire, gathering its horrible
legs under it, sprang clear of the carcass. It stood for a moment in
rigid immobility, then ere the maniacal echoes of that shout had
quavered into silence among the cliffs, it shoggled over the ridge and
was lost to view.
The night wore through somehow, and if ever mortal eyes were rejoiced by
the light of dawn, assuredly they were those of Laurence Stanninghame,
as once more he found himself the sole living tenant of that ghastly
place of death. Yet, to what end? One more dreary day in his rock
prison, another night of horror--and--the same brooding fate awaiting!
He could not remain awake forever. Even though the sound of his voice
thus unexpectedly lifted up had alarmed the vampire, it would not always
do so. Still, with the light of the new-born day after the night of
terror came some medium of relief.
Once more he drew upon his provision stores. While repacking them his
gaze rested on the native blanket with the wild idea of manufacturing
therefrom a cord. But to do this he needed a knife. The stuff was of
material too stout for tearing.
A knife! Ha! With the thought came another. It was not worth much, but
it was something,--and with that came a hard, fierce, desperate hope.
The broad gold bracelet which still encircled Lutali's skeleton
wrist--could not that be banged and flattened into something sharp and
serviceable? It was hard metal, anyway.
Still the grim horror lurked within its cave--still it came not forth.
It was waiting until another night should embolden it to seize its
defenceless human prey. He glanced upwards. There were still from two to
three hours of daylight. In a very few moments he had reached the
skeleton of the Arab, and, snapping off the bony wrist without
hesitation, the bracelet was within his grasp.
But as he looked around for some means of flattening it, there flashed
in upon him another idea--a perfectly heaven-sent idea, grisly under
ordinary circumstances, as it might be. The bracelet was large and
massive, and for it a new use suggested itself. Critically examining the
skeletons, he selected two with the largest and strongest leg-bones.
These he soon wrenched off, and, running one through the gold bracelet,
he jammed the latter fast against the thicker end--binding it as tightly
as he could to the bulging joint with a strip torn from his clothing.
With a thrill of unutterable joy he realized that he was no longer
unarmed. He had manufactured a tolerably effective mace. He swung it
through the air two or three times with all his force. Such a blow would
strike a human enemy dead;--was this thing so heavily armour-plated as
to be proof against a similar stroke?
With one idea came another. These bones might be further utilized, they
might be splintered and sharpened into daggers. No sooner thought of
than carried out. And now the skeletons underwent the most ruthless
desecration. Several were wrenched asunder ere he had selected half a
dozen of the most serviceable--and these he hammered to the required
size with his newly constructed mace--sharpening them on the rough face
of the rock. And then, as with a glow of satisfaction he sat down to
rest and contemplate his handiwork--he almost laughed over the grim
whimsicality of it. Did ever mortal man go into close conflict armed in
such fashion--he wondered--with club and dagger manufactured out of the
bones of men?
Should he take the bull by the horns, and advance boldly to attack the
monster in its own den? He shrank from this. The gloom of the cavern
invested the thing with an additional element of terror, besides the
more practical consideration that a confined space might hinder him in
the use of his _bizarre_ and impromptu weapons. He would need all the
freedom of hand and eye. Once more he took out the metal box, and fed
his eyes long and earnestly upon its contents. The Sign of the Spider!
Was there indeed an influence about this trinket--or rather, the love
which had hallowed it--which was potent to stand between him and peril
in the direst extremity, even as it had stepped between him and certain
death at the spears of the victorious Ba-gcatya? Slightly improved as
was his helpless condition, yet he could not hope. Even if he succeeded
in slaying the monster, how should he escape from this death-trap, this
rock-prison? The second day closed.
How many hours of darkness should precede moonrise he could but feebly
guess. Grasping his strangely fashioned club in his right hand, and the
strongest and sharpest of his bone daggers in the left--he stood, his
back to the rock wall, so as not to be taken in the rear; never relaxing
for a moment in vigilance, his ears strained to their utmost tension,
his eyeballs striving to pierce the black gloom. More than once a sound
as of stealthy, ghostly scrapings caused his heart to beat like a
hammer; and he seemed to see the horrible eyes of the monster flaming
luridly out of the darkness; but still the silent hours went by,
unbroken by any disturbance.
Ha! The gloom of the hollow was lightening--and soon the rim of the
great moon peeped over the cliff behind him. But his attention was
rivetted now upon something before him--a something, huge and black and
shadowy--which moved. The horror was coming over the ridge.
It came,--running stealthily a few yards,--then halting,--then running
again. It passed the body of its last victim, and came running on.
Laurence stood transfixed, spellbound, with loathing and repulsion, as
he gazed upon the huge hairy legs, listening to the scraping patter of
the claw-armed extremities. But he had no doubt now as to its
intentions; it was coming straight for him.
It stopped--within a bare forty yards, and now as for the first time, he
got a clear view of it in the bright moonlight, Laurence felt his heart
fail him for the very hideousness of the beast. It had the head of a
devil, the body and legs of a spider, and the black hairy coat of a
bear; and, indeed, it was nearly as large as a fair-sized specimen of
the latter. No, it was no ordinary thing, this fearsome monster.
It advanced a little nearer,--stopped again,--then rushed straight at
him.
Laurence stepped aside just in time to avoid the open jaws, but too late
entirely to escape the great flail-like tentacle, which swept him from
his feet, right under the horror, pinioning for a moment his arms. Then,
by a tremendous effort, he threw himself partly upwards. The horrible
nippers descended--but missing his throat--descended to his chest, and
met there, with a metallic, crunching sound.
Yet he was unharmed. Even in that unspeakably awful moment--crushed in
the wreathings of the huge tentacles--the frightful head and devilish
eyes of the vampire within two feet of his own--he realized what had
happened. Instead of penetrating his body, the nippers of the monster
had struck upon the metal box. The thought nerved him. Wrenching his arm
partly free beneath the horror, he sought a joint in the horny armour,
and drove the bone dagger into its body--drove it into the very butt.
Throwing up its head convulsively, the fearful creature began to spin
round and round, and its would-be victim realized somewhat of its
enormous muscular strength, for wiry and in hard training as he was, he
was dragged with it, rolled over and over in the wreathings of the
black, hairy tentacles. Was he being dragged off to its den? The very
terror of the thought nerved him once more--revived his fast-failing
strength. Drawing forth another of his bone daggers, he plunged it, too,
deep into the body of the beast.
For a moment the sinewy, struggling tentacles relaxed, and just that
moment the man was able to seize, or he had been lost. With a violent
effort he flung himself free, and, having once more gained his
feet,--his breath coming in hard, panting gasps,--stood awaiting the
next attack.
Thus they stood, a strange group indeed, in the brilliant moonlight: The
man, his rudely constructed mace uplifted, his head bent forward, a
lurid glow in his eyes--the glow of the fell fury of desperation; the
hideous spider-devil--swaying itself on its horrible tentacles as though
for another spring upon its intended victim. Ha! it was coming!
The man stood ready, a tightening of the muscles of the arm that held
the club, a lowering of the brows. On the part of the demon, a spasmodic
contraction. Again it came at him.
Half rearing itself from the ground, its feelers waving in the air on a
level with his face, propelling itself slowly forward, as though to make
sure of its final rush, emitting the while a kind of soft breathing
hiss. The aspect of the creature was so truly fearful, that the man,
gazing upon it, was conscious of a kind of blasting influence stealing
over him, beginning to paralyze nerve and effort alike--a feeling that
it was useless to continue the struggle. The metal box could not save
him twice. Yet, through all, was the certainty that to lose nerve for
one moment was to lose life.
His will-power triumphed. He knew that did he once again get within grip
of those ghastly tentacles he would never emerge alive. He swung up his
improvised mace; the creature was now within twelve yards of him. He
hurled the club; with terrific force it cleft the air, the massive band
of gold which constituted its head lighting full upon one of the demon's
eyes. For one moment the horror contracted into a heaving, writhing
heap, frightful to behold, then, throwing out its grisly tentacles, it
spun round and round as it had done before. The man's heart was beating
as though it would burst. Was the thing slain, or in its vampire
tenacity of life would it renew the combat? Ha!--was it coming again?
Was it? One moment of the most unutterable suspense, and then--and
then--the fearful thing drew back, turned round, and shoggled away in
the direction whence it had come. It was worsted.
Save for a few scratches, Laurence was unhurt. He had almost
miraculously escaped the creature's nippers. Yet now that he had won his
hard-fought victory, a sort of rage took possession of him, an impulse
to follow it up, to destroy this fell horror utterly. Growling a savage
curse, he started in pursuit of the retreating monster, but hardly had
he taken two steps forward than there floated to his ear a sound--a
voice which seemed to fall from the sky itself. He stopped short in his
tracks and stood immovable, statuesque, listening.