The Thing from the Pit
Otzchiim
a month is that my computer has been sick. Motherboard was fried, is
how Little Shop of Hardware put it. I have been walking a half-mile
against the wind to read my email, and all my backlog of stories were
on the hard drive. I was promptly promised a motherboard by a techie
with extras. The promise was prompt; he wasn't. Got the old PC, long
relegated to my wife's word processing, going yesterday. This story
is from a more recent source, the 1935 Tales of Fear, from the
"Creeps" series, which I once got a cheap copy of. Uh, less
genteel...
THE THING FROM THE PIT
by Arthur Stafford Aylmer
ALTHOUGH only a young man--I am twenty-seven years old--I have a
head of thick, bushy hair, which is completely white. This has been
the cause of almost endless speculation amongst my friends, and
thereby hangs a tale ... for my once jet-black hair turned completely
white in a night.
"The cause? Often I have been asked that, but beyond a few of my
most intimate friends, no one in the town where I now live has heard
the story. Many times friends have entreated me to write the story of
that one hideous night. Hut up to the present, I have been deaf to
their requests. Now, thinking that perhaps others may be interested, I
set down in black and white a true account of what happened that
night.
What the explanation of that dreadful experience may be, I do not
attempt to explain-I simply write of what actually took place.
Even now, four years after, I cannot recall those terror-fraught
minutes without a fit of trembling taking possession of me, as though
afflicted with the ague. One word more, ere I to the narrative
itself. I have, for obvious reasons, refrained from disclosing any
names, either of persons or places, whatsoever.
Four years past, being then twenty-three years of age, I was a
constable in one of the largest county police forces in England.
Joining when I was twenty, I had thus three years' service, and was
well inured to night duty. I mention this, as it will tend to show
that I was by no means nervous of the dark, nor of investigation in
the dark, any unknown ground or building.
I had just been transferred from an up-to-date, busy seaside
resort to a sleepy country village, where I was more or less my own
master. True, I had definite periods of duty to work, but there were
no prying superintendents nor inspectors always at my heels, as had
been the case in my previous station. Had there been, it is very
doubtful if the following horrible experience would have taken place.
Maybe twice or three times each week I would be visited by my section
sergeant, but that was all.
Being new to the district, I was for the first three weeks,
working "days," making myself familiar with the neighbourhood. One
morning while cycling round my beat, I saw, standing at some distance
from the highway, a large old-fashioned country mansion. Dismounting
from my cycle, I stood for a few minutes gazing-this being my first
visit in that particular part of my beat-as I have always been a lover
of old beautiful buildings.
Although almost surrounded by trees, I had a fairly clear view of
what evidently was the front of the pile, along an avenue resembling a
disused carriage drive. The longer I looked, the more impressed I
became by the fact that the place was deserted. Why-I could not, nor
cannot to this day--say. Then came the thought, "Why not go and find
out After all, if there should be anyone about, you can say you
followed a tramp."
Even as the thought took form, I leaned my cycle against a
nearby gate, and climbing the wooden fence, found myself in the
grounds of the place. Once inside, the conviction of the place being
deserted returned stronger than ever. On every side were evidences of
disuse and neglect. What once had been carefully tended gardens was
now a veritable wilderness. The grass of the once smooth lawns was now
knee-deep in rank weeds, and rose trees were choked by unchecked
undergrowth-
With difficulty I approached the building, forcing my way
through the rubbish until I stood on a wide terrace fronting the
house. Like the rest of the grounds, this terrace, which once, no
doubt, had been the scene of many a gay party, was now given over to
rubbish and weeds.
Here, with a close view of the house, which had every appearance
of great age, I found that my first conviction was correct. The place
was deserted, and to all appearances had been so for a considerable
time. A window close at hand was black and opaque with the dirt and
dust of years. Pulling up a handful of grass, I rubbed from the glass
some of the accumulation of dirt, and peered through.
Nothing but emptiness was my reward. Inside, the room which I
judged was once the dining-hall, was devoid of all furnishing
whatsoever. The panelled walls appeared thick with dust, and the
large, open fireplace at one end was filled with rubble which had
evidently fallen down the wide, old-fashioned chimney.
Passing around the house, and peering in at every window, the
same state of emptiness and utter desolation was apparent everywhere.
Having completed the round of the house, I turned my attention to the
out-buildings. Here, also, was emptiness.
Satisfied there was nothing more to see, nor any sign of human
occupation, I was about to retrace my steps to the highway, when I
noticed a small door set in the wall at one corner of the house. This
I approached and attempted to open. For a time my efforts were
useless, the hinges being rusted together. Then, with many a squeak
and groan, the door gradually swung inwards. Immediately, a dank,
foetid atmosphere assailed my nostrils. Descending the four stone
steps leading downwards, I found myself in what was an underground
cellar. Inside was pitch blackness.
Striking a match I stepped cautiously forward until I found
myself against a stone wall. By the aid of light from matches I
examined this and found another small doorway three or four feet in
height, and similar to the one by which I had entered the cellar, with
the single exception that here was only the doorway, but no door.
Bending low, I passed through and found myself in another cellar
identical to the one I had just quitted. This I found led again into a
further cellar, but as my stock of matches was almost exhausted, and I
should certainly want a smoke or two before I got home, I returned
into the open air. From the terrace upon which I now stood, I quickly
made my way back to the road, and resumed my interrupted beat. My
resolution of making inquiries regarding this deserted place was
pushed aside owing to some routine business or other, and I thought no
more of the matter until. . . .
* * * *
* *
The following week was my turn for night duty. Five out of the
six nights I had to work-I was on leave one day- had passed
uneventfully. On the sixth and last night, just as I had donned my
helmet and lamp preparatory to starting out, the telephone rang. Oh
yes, most country police stations are on the phone. At the other end
was my inspector, and his message asked me to keep a specially sharp
look-out that night for two tramps who were suspected of larceny.
Once outside, I mounted my cycle and as quickly as possible
visited places I considered likely to shelter these " knights of the
road," but found no trace of them. Grumbling to myself that I had
failed to find anything, I was about to take up my beat and make my
next point, when suddenly the thought of the deserted mansion flashed
into my mind. This was a matter of some four or five miles away, but
as it was just on midnight I knew that these two wanted men, if they
were at the place I now proposed to visit, would not turn out before
morning. Once a tramp has settled down for the night, nothing on
earth, unless it is the sight of a police uniform, will move him. By
this time I was in good spirits again, knowing that I had yet a chance
of bringing these men in.
A half-hour or so of steady pedalling, and I found myself on the
road outside the grounds of the empty mansion. Being mid-winter-it was
actually New Year's Eve-the night, in the absence of a moon, was pitch-
black. Only an odd star or two twinkling far overhead, like jewels in
a velvet setting, relieved the darkness.
Leaving my cycle propped against the gate I used upon my previous
visit, I once more entered the deserted grounds. Cautiously I made my
way towards the house, now looming squat and black like some monster
waiting to pounce, watching the while for any signs of life.
Everything was still as the grave, not a sound, not a movement.
Somehow the stillness and the darkness combined seemed oppressive-
pregnant with unseen life. I imagined that the cloak of darkness was
hiding something, or someone. That my every movement was being
watched, and that unseen eyes followed me everywhere I moved. A sound:
a noise of any description would have been welcome, but everything
remained still and quiet.
Making an effort, I pulled my wits together, for at this rate I
should soon have been scared stiff, and quietly made my way around the
deserted pile, carefully trying all doors and windows. Satisfied that
the two men for whom I searched were not on the premises, I was about
to leave when I remembered the little door and the cellars.
"May as well look round," I thought. "At least I've a good light
this time." Still observing the utmost silence, and keeping one finger
on the switch of my lamp, I made my way across the yard towards the
door leading down to the cellars. Arriving there I found the door
closed. "Someone," I thought, "has been here since my visit, for I
definitely remember leaving the door open."
To open the door silently was impossible, so swiftly as I could I
pushed it open. The creaking and groaning, of which in the daylight I
had taken no notice, now struck on my ears like the whistling and
screeching of a thousand devils in torment. The door open to its
fullest extent, I prepared to descend into the tomblike cellar.
Silence now being no asset, I shouted down into the cavernous
opening: "Hey you down there. Come on, out of it." The only answer to
my shout was the empty echo of my own voice. Switching on my light,
which 1 now uneasily recalled required a new battery, I descended the
four stone steps. The light, weak though it was, lit up the whole of
the small cellar. No one there.
Passing through, I entered the second cellar. Here, too, was
emptiness and silence. The next one gave exactly the same result as
the first two. This was as far as I had upon my previous visit
penetrated, and whatever lay beyond was unknown ground.
However, I again found the small opening set right away in one
corner, and bending low I entered the fourth of these dark, dank
cellars. This one I found to be much larger than the others through
which I had passed. Indeed, my now feeble light failed to penetrate
into the far corners, the centre of the cellar being dimly lighted
whilst outside the range of my weak light was Stygian blackness.
It was whilst looking round this cellar that a faint odour as of
rotting flesh first assailed my nostrils. Thinking that it was caused
by the decaying carcass of a rat or some other rodent, I proceeded to
investigate. For after all, it might have been caused by some other
means. Slowly I circled round, finding nothing but darkness.
By this time the darkness and the cellars had so got on my nerves
that I imagined occasionally I could see dim, dark shapes flitting
backwards and forwards across the cellar. But always when I turned my
light in the direction they appeared to be, nothing was there. The
odour of rottenness became, as I drew farther into the place, more and
more pronounced, until I was violently sick. Thereupon I felt much
better and resumed my investigations. Another opening confronted me,
and I passed through.
Hardly had I time to glance around, than with a last dying
flicker, my light went out and I found myself in utter blackness,
which every second seemed to press closer and closer around me. It was
then that I again imagined the unknown shapes flitting around me.
Here, too, the stench was so nauseating that I could have imagined I
was shut up in a tomb with a corrupting, decaying human body.
Shaking my lamp, thinking that probably the connections had
worked loose and failed to contact- maybe the wish was father to the
thought- brought no effect, the lamp obstinately refused to function.
Then I noticed a faint green, ghostly light penetrating the cellar.
Whence it carne, or what was the cause, I did not know. Nor did I
trouble much at the time, being only too pleased to have some
illumination to relieve the blackness. In all probability, had I tried
to discover the origin of the light, much of what happened later would
have been spared me.
Stepping forward I struck a match, having heard a faint rustling
to my right. Nothing there. Again the rustling which had caused me to
strike the first match, sounded. This time in another direction.
Crossing the floor, I again lighted a match. Nothing! Once more the
rustling. Once more I looked and found-nothing. By this time my
nerves were strung up almost to breaking point, and the surrounding
darkness, I was sure, hid unknown eyes-all watching me, and waiting
for--what?
Turning with the intention of leaving the cellar, satisfied that
no human being was there, I realised that I had lost all sense of the
direction of the door. Feeling for another match, I found that the box
was empty. The rustling recommenced, this time accompanied by a low
hissing, and I felt the short hairs at the nape of my neck rise. Again
came the conviction that I was being watched by invisible eyes. Then
panic seized me. I was lost in the bowels of the earth, and surrounded
by unknown dread creatures. For a time I rushed about from one side of
the cellar to the other, until I had to pause from sheer want of
breath. The green light I had previously noticed was now more
pronounced, and appeared to emanate from the floor itself which was, I
had already discovered, made up of large stone flags, a relic of the
Middle Ages.
Suddenly my attention was riveted upon one flag in the centre of
the floor. Why, I could not say, but the next second. . . . My God! It
was moving! . . . Yes, slowly, ever so slowly, it was being raised
from the underneath. Petrified with horror, I watched. As the stone
was raised higher, the stench of rotting flesh grew stronger. I held
my breath until I felt my head would burst . . . and then I saw it.
God Almighty! never before had I seen so horrible a sight. For there,
draped in a shroud of the dead was. . . . But what was it ? Surely, I
thought, I'm going mad. For the dreadful apparition was slowly taking
human shape. A human shape, but from its back protruded . . . wings. "
Surely," I thought, " it can't be." Yet there before my very eyes was
a flying man. . . .
Scarcely able to credit what I saw, I strained my eyes. Even
though the shape was human, it might well have appeared from some
foetid jungle in South America. Surely this could never have
originated in heaven. It must have been some ghastly visitant from the
Bottomless Pit !
Paralysed with terror and bathed in perspiration, I watched.
Higher and higher this terrible creature rose, until it stood fully
eight feet from the hole in the floor. Then the face drew my
attention. What a face--God, what a face. Half-human and half-devil.
Surely the thing must have been spawned by hell itself. Two piercing
eyes, gleaming with a dull green light, underneath which was a huge
red slit in place of a mouth. Lips drawn back in a snarl baring two
long, yellow fangs. Eyes and mouth set in a ghastly face, white as
chalk. Then I knew. I was face to face with one of the evil Un-dead--a
Vampire.
When reaction from the horrible sight came, it came quickly, and
I turned to flee, knowing the while in my innermost heart that flight
from the monster was useless. Backwards and forwards I rushed,
searching vainly for the door, all sense of direction gone. Gasping, I
stopped, realising that I was trapped. Trapped in there, below the
ground . . . alone with this fiend from hell.
A hissing sound behind me caused me to jump around, and there not
six feet away, grinning ghoulishly at me in anticipation of what was
to come, stood the thing. Soundlessly like the Terror of the Night it
was, it drew nearer, lips drawn back in a hideous grin. Then it
touched me. Stretching forth one skinny arm, fingers outspread . . .
nails, talon-like and filled with fresh earth which it had brought
from its grave ... it touched my arm.
Wildly I struggled, and although I am not a weakling amongst men,
my struggles were futile against this creature. Helplessly, I watched
its other hand approach my face, and then I shrieked with the despair
of a doomed man. The hand on my face was cold . . . cold and slimy as
a toad. Again I struggled, using all the tricks, both fair and unfair,
that I knew, for the thing was forcing me downwards . . . and
backwards. . . . Panting . . . sweating . . . cursing ... I struggled.
But slowly, relentlessly, it forced me backwards, until my body was
bent like a drawn bow.
Still I fought, bathed in perspiration . . . fought not only for
my life, but for my very soul, and well I knew that once on the floor
and all was over. Suddenly, purposely, I fell back, twisting as I did
so, thus causing this hellish creature to release its hold. Hardly had
I hit the floor, than I was up again, but no use. A hiss, now behind
me, and ere I could turn it was on my back, one arm round my neck in a
stranglehold, the other hand fumbling at my tunic collar.
Gasping . . . choking . . . strangling ... I fell back, and the
thing was on my chest. For a few seconds I continued to fight, but
then utterly spent, I lay back, supine. Throwing back its devil's
head, it let forth such a fiendish, unearthly, inhuman cackle of
laughter which never before man had heard, and which froze the very
blood in my veins. Blood . . . blood . . . that was what the thing
wanted.
Hardly had the cackling ceased, than the apparition fell upon me.
With fiendish haste it loosed the collar of my tunic, and then ... it
fell to stroking my throat. Caressingly . . . gloatingly. . . . All
the time searching . . . searching.
Now all haste seemed over, and slowly, slowly, this Un-dead
hellion lowered its face towards mine. I screamed. I cursed. I
prayed. . . . Oh, God, let me die, swiftly, before this foul, unclean
creature sucks away my life. The harder I prayed, the more conscious I
became that this creature from the Pit would shortly draw my life's
blood from me, that it might exist, living, yet dead.
Slowly, inexorably, that hateful face drew nearer, until I felt
its breath, cold, cold like an icy blast from the north on my own
sweat-bathed face. Then that awful slimy mouth was pressed on my
cheek, and, oh heaven, help me, it glided down my cheek towards my
mouth . . . and . . . kissed me. The loathing, the horror I went
through, surely in the split second that the mouth was on my own, I
died a thousand deaths.
Sickened, I turned my face away, wrenching my mouth from that
horror. But still it was there, that awful, dreadful mouth, gliding,
sliding, like a monstrous leech over my face and chin . . .
searching.... Then I felt that gaping, slobbering mouth slide along my
throat. ... A stabbing pain in my flesh, as though a hypodermic needle
were being forced into my throat, roused me from the stupor into which
I had fallen.
Hardly had the stabbing ceased, than I felt something warm
trickling down my neck. Blood, warm living blood. . . . Unable to move
a hand, I lay there while the thing sated itself. How long I lay, I
know not, but suddenly I found myself choking . . . gasping for
breath . . . my heart thumping. And the ghoul, its face gleaming
crimson wet, arose from me . . . gorged . . . sated . . . and
commenced to glide away.
Turning my eyes, I was far too spent to move my head, I watched
the foul creature glide soundlessly like a wraith across the floor.
Reaching the gaping hole with the raised flagstone, it slowly sank
from sight, down . . . down to its grave, and back to hell, whence it
came. And the stone slowly began to sink into place, and then merciful
unconsciousness overtook me. . . .
When I came round, I found myself lying, throat bandaged, in a
cool, clean-smelling hospital cot. Seated, one upon either side of the
bed, were my superintendent and inspector, a haggard, inquiring look
upon each face. Laboriously sitting up, helped by my two superior
officers, I caught sight of my face reflected in a mirror on the
opposite side of the room. I had aged twenty years in a single
night . . . my face ashen grey, bloodless . . . and my once jet-black
hair-now snowy white. . . .
Joker
Todd T
> I have been in good health. The reason you have not heard from me for
(snip)
Good news, Mark. Great to have you back.
I hope you will ignore posters who do not appreciate how much you have
done for this troubled group.
- Todd T.
jro...@verizon.net
Jim