ABOMINATA

Len Rely ©2001

     

Black Book entry 8:
      It has happened again, stronger than ever this time. I must stop to catch my breath before it fades. The creature who once spoke to my companion alone now speaks to me, in horrid premonitions as I lay dreaming. I gasped as I arose from his nightmare, and have gone to the top shelf of the bookcase, fumbling with my flashlight for this familiar ebony cover.
      My companion, who rests undisturbed as I write by lamplight, usually begins with an explanation of this text in case the pages should ever come loose or part of the book itself is destroyed. The Yellow Book, a journal of her premonitions recorded before I met her, dating from the earliest vague dreams of her childhood was lost by fire.
      She still insists the blaze was caused by our elusive friend or some other creature aware of its contents, in an effort to put us off his trail. If the answers were in there I wish I had read it more carefully instead of taking her premonitions with light disbelief like an idiot, my hand always reaching for a bottle. Or the fire could have simply been an attempt to force us to move. It is a new house and a new shelf, but the empty space next to the Black Book is still there.
      I gather so far that this new piece chronicles the speaker's journey in search of horror. A particular type of horror I fear, and although the account feels incomplete I believe he has made a discovery. What that might be I can barely speculate, for unless his previous annals are fiction he has seen abominations that my companion and I could not have dreamt ourselves. He speaks frivolously as if they were commonplace, and he leaves so many unanswered questions! It may be a sign that we truly are not supposed to be detecting these thoughts, that they are not meant for us. Fearfully I will record his words in hope that an answer lies within...

      Welcome, my dear nocturnal wind. You grace my presence for the second time tonight. I had a friend with me, but now I am alone. What happened you ask? As I sit upon this tombstone I can relate my findings, the novelty I found beneath the earth and brought back with me. The epiphany! It is as if the knowledge were always a part of me. For a minute I feared there was nothing here, but the thing I have discovered tonight in this cemetery will be with me forever.
      Horror is the object of my affection. It is always there, in the back of our minds waiting to present itself to our delight. From the moment we are born we search diligently for the grotesque, hiding from us like a deformed child until it appears in all its dancing, dripping perverseness. The thought of it brings such pleasure to me.
      I picture myself as a character of those Lovecraftian tales, always descending the steps into a crypt or sepulcher in search of the abominata. I truly understand now what he meant when he shouted with revelation from the abyss "My God, the legions!". I suspect that Lovecraft himself in his morbid life knew something of the truth, although inaccurate in his assumptions the fascination was there. The man knew.
      It was early morning, not long after twilight when my friend and I happened to be in Nanse on our way to social business. The shadows of the tombstones were long as we walked a winding pedestrian road through the middle of this unfamiliar territory.
      A public house of colonial design in the distance ahead greeted us from beyond the turn of the pavement. Its russet dome peeked between the ornamental trees above a series of white pillars that supported it. The lawns were neatly clipped and a low fence separated us from the dead on either side of the meandering path.
      I paid little attention to what my friend was talking about. It was his decision that we take the scenic route, and when he noticed I was looking at the graves with interest I brought it up.
      "You know, centuries ago people knew so little about death that they took precautions in case a corpse should rise again even after the funeral." I said. "That is why a body was laid out for a few days, in case it came back to life."
      "You're kidding me." he responded.
      "A string was also tied to the corpse's hand which led to a tiny bell, either on top of the coffin itself or on the headstone, in case they should begin to move. That is where the expression 'dead ringer' comes from. It is also the original reason for having a caretaker in a cemetery."
      "They didn't know the meaning of comatose."
      "They say that an abbot who presided over a mortuary descended into the cellar one night, where the wine was stored under a row of bells hanging from coiled hooks along the wall, and they all began to ring at once."
      "You've been reading that Poe again!" he declared with alarm. "You sound like one of those fanatics."
      I was insulted. I lowered my head and looked up at him.
      "Lovecraft." I stated. "Poe is smalltalk." "I was just making conversation."
      "Well I've read that one." he retorted.
      I was unsure of what he meant by this. He was a cultured man but if he had read what I have, he didn't sound like it. We continued along the winding pavement.
      The scene was brighter now, revealing more of what the long shadows had hidden before. My friend had opened his mouth as if to voice a second opinion, when I abruptly stopped and squinted at an object now blocking the Sun just beyond the next turn.
      We came to light with a rectangular structure made of granite, not large enough to contain a room (above ground that is) but of impressive make. The awning was curved and scrolled at either end like an Ionic pillar, and a pair of rectangular carvings adorned either side to give the impression of windows. I wondered what artisan imagined that the dead should be able to look out. The crypt was a work of fantasy.
      I went immediately to the door. MANDREGON was the name inscribed upon its face in large capitals. My friend remained where he stood, puzzled and indifferent.
      "We don't have time for this." he said, regarding his watch. "We're due at seven."
      "Yes but they have all the time in the world..." I muttered in wonderment.
      "What was that?"
      I took off my glove and ran my hand along the cold stone, examining its dewy texture. The lock on the door was of antiquated design, anyone with a simple tool could have forced the mechanism. The only reason it was left undisturbed was that this was a public grounds with no close residencies, or perhaps it had been opened but there was nothing of value inside (to others, not I). Only the most diligent graverobber would have attempted a prize like this.
      I pulled a tool from my pocket whose use ranged from opening letters to things best left unsaid. I forced the lock. My friend approached for the sole purpose of retrieving me.
      "What the hell are you doing?" he asked in stupefaction.
      I raised a hand to quiet him.
      "Searching." I replied, positioning my hands to push the door.
      "For what?"
      "For the source of what drives me." I whispered.
      "I'm leaving you here." he stated, looking around. "Find me later if you haven't been arrested."
      I turned to face him.
      "I have to do this." I said quietly. "You know the event that awaits us is as lifeless as what lies at the bottom of these steps." "You've complained about the social dilettantes and their ways a hundred times, how they don't have the comradery."
      I pointed to him and then myself.
      "Indulge me, mon ami." I concluded.
      He rolled his eyes and finally gave me a nod, looking to his watch again.
      I pushed the door open with difficulty. The air that emerged was stale and smelled of ages past. Dust and darkness beckoned me to enter, anticipating me. My colleague following reluctantly, I slowly began to descend.
      Light from the outside world filtered down. The granite steps led to a small, subterranean chamber no larger than a lavatory. A stone recess containing a coffin greeted us on either side. The pale dust was uniform, the room had not been entered since the couple was entombed.
      "There's nothing down here." my friend protested. "Now can we leave?"
      For once I was forced to agree with him. The walls were utterly without decoration, not a single thrust of the chisel had been in excess. There were neither cobwebs nor evidence of vermin nor mold. I knelt to the floor and examined the square blocks at our feet.
      I cleared the dust with my hand, but the stones were too large and too tight for any amount of prying to move them. I then turned my attention to the wall. Everything here was purely functional and such a wasted amount of bare, unmarked space would lead one to believe it led to a passage. I ran my palm along its surface, trying to feel for a seam.
      "It could have been sealed..." I figured aloud.
      "Say what?"
      I paid him no attention. I began looking more frantically.
      "There must be a mechanism or something." I said, seemingly oblivious to the confines of the place.
      "What are you looking for!" he demanded, grasping me by the shoulder.
      "The abominata!" I exclaimed in his face.
      Silence deadened in the echoless chamber. His eyes were those of someone regarding a madman. He released me, backing away slowly.
      "There has got to be something here." I stated. "I can feel the sensation welling up within me."
      "You're insane!" he responded. "I'll have no more to do with this!"
     "Why don't you go back to reading your God... damn... stories...!"
      The feeling evacuated from me like expelled air. This was the first thing he had said to me that brought an emotional response. I formed a fist, my eyebrows beginning to tense, then suddenly released it. The sudden absence of thought had brought an epiphany.
     I grinned at my colleague as he placed his foot on the first step.
      "I don't believe it." I said quietly. "I've discovered something I never expected."
      "And what is that!"
      "There was never anything down here. When will we learn that there is no horror except what we make of it."
      With unreactable swiftness I rushed past my comrade up the stairs. The Sun was warmer than before as I struggled to pull the door closed. He ran after me and may have at least gotten his arm out in time, but I pulled off my leather glove for the second time today and extended my bare hand toward him as he ascended. He halted, nearly falling from the dusty steps and I could see the reflection of my swirling palm in his eyes. He screamed just in time for me to hear as the door sealed and I forced the mechanism.
      I leaned against the stone, breathing in the warm scent of the grass. It would be good to pursue my own endeavors again instead of having to humor a deadweight.
      "I'll be back to check on you one of these days." I said as I departed contentedly.

      I could record no more. There was a smear of ink where I had dropped the pen and the lantern had begun to run down anyway. I was exhausted and terrified to discover what these premonitions were really like.
      "Why didn't you wake me!" my companion exclaimed, the Black Book in her hand.
      My head jolted up from the desk. Several hours had passed, the windowpane was bright and my confidante was moving about like a woman with a mission.
      "Have you even read this?" she demanded, swiveling around.
      "Well I wrote it didn't I?" I responded groggily.
      "That's not what I asked." she said. "Look at this..."
      "I'd rather not. I remember that much."
      "Look!" she repeated. "It's more revealing than anything we have so far."
     "He refers to place names and describes his surroundings in detail. This could be our chance to find out who he is!"
      I sat up in my chair.
      "He had an unknowing human friend and participated in human business." she continued. "This suggests he has spent a considerable portion of his life as an ordinary man since the last entry."
      "What good will that do us?"
      "He sealed the poor man in a crypt! If we can find the location we may be able to save this person!"
     "We don't know how old the account is." I interjected. "It could have been months ago."
      "We'll just have to take that chance." she said after a pause.
      She left the room to get something. I pondered the situation, staring at the floor and wishing I had a drink. By the time she returned I was on my feet and in a different state of mind.
      "You didn't ask me what it felt like." I said slowly.
      "I know what it felt like." she retorted, sitting down to flip through pages. "How often did you ask me that question in the early days?"
      "Now I know. I'm sorry I didn't believe you."
      She stopped and looked up at me.
      "I know, you've told me." she replied. "But thank you."
      She searched the directory, my hand on her shoulder until she found what she was looking for.
      "Nanse..." she wondered aloud. "Nansemond?"
      She indicated the location with her finger, then rose to get her coat.
      "Wait." I pleaded. "It's dangerous." "He did say that he would return. I'll go."
      "Are you sure?"
      "Let me do this one thing for you."

      Receiving no argument I embarked upon my journey. I arrived at the borough in a matter of hours and searched for a cemetery with wooded surroundings and a domed brick manor. Eventually I came upon a public park, the gate was closed so I left my vehicle at the entrance and climbed a short wall onto the grounds.
      It was now early evening and the Moon shone brightly from behind me. After the first grove of trees there was a path, which I followed to a massive open area exactly as he described. The headstones were numerous, I don't have our morbid friend's gift of description but the shadows were so long they reminded me of human figures.
      I quickly found the granite vault with MANDREGON written over the door. I was trembling from the chill in the air. Holding a small flashlight in my teeth I forced the ancient lock with a screwdriver. The door was so heavy our friend must have had inhuman strength to move it, but eventually I pushed it open enough to squeeze through.
      I called into the black abyss. There was no response. I felt like I had actually been here before. Light in hand, I began to follow the steps to the tomb below.
      All familiarity melted from me a short distance ahead when the light hit the far wall of a small room. This was not the chamber he had described. A coffin on either side had been opened and two skeletons were now seated upright facing each other as if in conversation. A third skeleton was crouched near the back. Then there were the walls... Every inch was covered with the winding scrawl of a madman written in total darkness. Illegible words and images rose and fell in waves, line upon frightening line. The amount of time and effort it took to etch granite with one's fingernails was clear by the streaks of blood which wound and swirled like paint across its maniacal surface.
      It was a nightmare to be surrounded by this hideous composition. I backed away to retreat as swiftly as I could, but my feet turned to cement when I saw the emaciated body huddled in the back corner begin to move. It wobbled on its skeletal limbs as it rose and staggered toward me.
      A living skull, its skin stretched across bare bone, its eyelids and gums receded to nothing, looked into my quivering face.
      "The... legions...!" a stale voice erupted from its throat.
      I leapt away from it in horror and the half-human abomination clattered to the floor, its head cracking upon the granite. I sprinted up the steps and away from that terrible place, having witnessed the utter end of human life and the zenith of insanity. Oh why did the premonition have to come to me! I will record no more of the fiend and his dreams unless it is to conscript them to Hell.