Reanimators (15 page)

Angell cursed as he finished up his coffee. “If we were to obtain a copy of that book, Stuart, the recorded history of our world, everything we know about the ancient civilizations, might be changed forever.”

Thankfully Angell had not yet developed my sense of foreboding when it came to dealing with Peaslee, and I viewed his optimism as refreshing, for while he looked to the book as potentially a fresh window that would illuminate the past of the human race, I feared it, for I thought that it might be something men should not have, a scrying glass that would forever doom our futures. Composed, Angell made to leave, but I stopped him before he reached the sidewalk.

“He said something to you, something I couldn’t understand.”

Angell nodded as he put his hat on and twisted it down over his ears. “I can’t be sure, mind you, but I think it was Nacaal. It sounded about right though I have never heard it spoken before, but we have always assumed it would sound much like Arabic or Hebrew, and this fits the bill. It was a simple phrase, and if I were to guess it would probably be in a pidgin so that I would be sure to understand it. He made it clear that I was not to bother him in the future.”

Frustrated by Angell’s indirectness, I finally put the question to him directly, “What did he say?”

Angell turned away and started down the walkway, smiling as he did so. I thought he was going to leave me guessing, but after a few steps he turned round and with an odd tone to his voice he repeated those strange words. “Ward Am Na Tak means ‘A slave should know his place’.” And with that young Dr. Angell continued his meandering walk back to Miskatonic University.

The rest of the day went as normal. I saw patients and a quick glance out the window let me know that the dark man, whom in my mind I kept referring to as the Akkadian (although clearly this was a misnomer), was gone before the housekeeper and maid arrived at noon. Over dinner, I resigned myself to the fact that if I were to gain any more knowledge concerning what was going on in my neighbor’s house, I was going to have to take a more active role. It was as this serendipitous thought rolled about in my head that a most curious thing occurred. As I have said, the housekeeper and maid were scheduled daily from noon till about eight in the evening, but for some odd reason I suddenly heard the voices of these two women walking past my house hours earlier than normal. Eavesdropping on their conversation, I soon learned that Peaslee had dismissed them for the evening. Realizing that events might be coming to a head, I finished my own dinner and quickly locked up the house and turned off all of the lights. Any casual observer would conclude that I had either retired early or gone out for the night.

It was just after ten when the great black sedan arrived and took up its perch on the street. The Akkadian crossed the street with that strange smooth gait that was so foreign in its cadence with the iron-clasped books tucked under his arm. It was hypnotic, the way he moved, and it was different than how he had done so during the day. The dark of night seemed to feed him somehow, lending him an air of mystery and weirdness. He walked like a man with a purpose; he walked with confidence and grace, as if the world were watching and as if the whole of existence depended on what he did next. It wasn’t until the door opened up and the Akkadian slithered out of my view that I was finally able to take my eyes off of him. It was then that a seed of a plan began to take root and grow within my mind.

To tell the truth there was not much of a plan, but I was determined to learn what my nefarious neighbor and his strange foreign partner were up to. It had been many years since I had skulked about in the fields and woods outside of Herbert West’s farmhouse, but those trips had served me well, and soon I was slinking out the side door and creeping through the gardens. I cursed silently at Tillinghast and his damned penchant for beds full of delicate flowers and soft soil, but I negotiated the treacherous lovelies without leaving any tell-tale signs of my presence. In mere moments I was secreted beneath the window which led to Peaslee’s private study, the one from which the servants had been barred. With great care I slowly rose up until I could see through the window and into the room.

There were heavy curtains on the inside of the window, drawn tight but not tightly enough, for a small gap near the sill allowed me a limited but sufficient view of the room. Through the gap I could see that Peaslee and the Akkadian were going over the contents of several sheaves of paper that were covered in clusters of the symbols which Angell had identified for me as Naacal. They were not speaking English; I would say that the words had to them a Semitic sound, not unlike Hebrew, and certainly not unlike the words cursed at Angell when he accosted the Akkadian on the street. In all likelihood they were speaking Nacaal. What they were saying was unknown to me, but there seemed to be some disagreement over how what was written on the free sheaves compared to what was written in one of the iron-clasped books, the one that Angell had suggested was called the Summa Ysgl. Evidently Peaslee was unhappy with how certain things had been transcribed from one to the other. I wish I could say that the argument was one that had occurred between equals, but from what I could see it was plain that Peaslee was the dominant party and that the Akkadian was subservient, for soon the strange dark man was amending the contents of the book, albeit under Peaslee’s close supervision.

The changes took more than an hour, and there seemed to me to be some pressing need to complete the task. More than once Peaslee paced about the room, several times coming dangerously close to the window; each time I shrank back, thinking he might casually part the curtains and catch me there spying on him. At just after midnight Peaslee finished reviewing the Akkadian’s work and seemed to find it satisfactory. It was then that an even stranger argument began to ensue. In the study’s fireplace the Akkadian quickly built a small but functional blaze and busied himself feeding the free sheaves of paper into it, and then stirring the flecks of burnt and burning paper into a fine unreadable ash. The disagreement seemed to concern a stack of manila envelopes that Peaslee produced from his desk drawer. The Akkadian seemed to have no desire to involve himself with these files, and indeed there apparently had been some breach of protocol, for suddenly the Akkadian was outraged and insistent. From the way he grabbed at the documents and motioned, it was clear that the man was intent on burning these as well. The heated discussion went on for a good two or three minutes when suddenly Peaslee snapped and in a firm bellowing voice repeated the same words that I had heard the Akkadian mutter the day before, “WARD AM NA TAK,” a slave should know his place!

There was what appeared to be much supplication on the Akkadian’s part, and some sort of arrangement concerning the envelopes was agreed upon, though what it was I could not say. The stack of files was placed on a side table and the moldy text that was the Summa Ysgl was placed on top of them. The desk top was cleared of whatever clutter remained and from off to the side somewhere the Akkadian produced a crate about two feet tall and a foot both deep and wide which he carefully set in the center of the desk. He deftly clipped free two pairs of latches and with some trepidation lifted the crate off of its base revealing the contents within.

It was every bit as odd as the handyman Tillinghast had said, and I could see why his description had referenced the whirligig, for indeed there was resemblance to that childhood plaything, but it was so much more complicated than that. There were rods jointed to rods with more joints and more rods yet. There were mirrors as well, convex, conical things that splayed light across the room, and deep concave bowls that seemed to swallow light into tiny pools of infinite darkness. With a simple flick of his finger the Akkadian put the tiniest of tertiary rods in motion, sending the convex mirror at its apex spinning, and showering the room in a prism of color that danced around the walls in a multitude of streaking stars.

What happened next I do not fully understand, for I did not see the Akkadian or Peaslee touch the device, but inexplicably the electric lights throughout the house suddenly went dark while the spinning rod accelerated to a point that the radiant streaks about the room seemed to cease being singular points but rather had become smears shifting from indigo at one end through the full range of the spectrum and then vanishing into the sharp burning red at the other. It was then that I heard that awful high-pitched whine, and the single smear of lights was suddenly joined by another set traveling perpendicular to the first. Somehow, without losing any of its own velocity, the spinning tertiary rod had enticed the secondary rod to which it was attached to begin moving as well. This spontaneous transfer of energy from one plane of movement to another was inexplicable to me, and I must admit that I stood outside that window with the lights spinning and dancing with a look of utter bewilderment upon my face.

My amazement was only to grow, for as I watched, the individual rods and mirrors of the contraption, without any outside influence, continued to spontaneously initiate their angular rotations, casting upon the walls of the room an unending spiraling dance of light like some fiendish psychosis-induced maelstrom of color. Through it all, that high-pitched screeching whine ate at my ears, devouring my nerves and seeping into my skull like an acid poured onto a metal plate.

While I watched this phantasmagorical light show unfold I seemed to transcend myself, time and space suddenly seemed to be meaningless and I seemed suddenly unbound from my body. As I floated free, I could see other forms floating about me. Some were pale, transparent, abstract geometries; others were clusters of repeating forms like bubbles, or stacks of dodecahedrons. There were other more bizarre forms, and a sensation that there was not only intelligence behind some of them, but also malevolence. Thankfully, I did not stay in this disembodied state long, for suddenly, as if I had been forced into a rushing torrent, I was returned to my flesh, and once more stared out through my own eyes. The light show had ended, and as I clung to the windowsill trying to recover some sense of balance I watched as the Akkadian carefully moved Peaslee’s body from the chair to a small divan in the corner. He then with just as much care began to disassemble the strange conglomeration of rods and mirrors before packing them into the case. A quick glance at my watch told me that it was well after 2:00, and I suddenly had a sneaking suspicion that if I was ever going to do anything, it would have to be now.

With great care I dislodged myself from beneath the window, and quickly but quietly made my way to the front door. Surprisingly, the door was not locked, and I gently eased it open wide enough for me to slip in. I scanned the foyer for a weapon and found one in a walking stick tucked into the umbrella stand. The lights of the house were still off, but there was a fierce glow emanating from beneath the door to the study which based on the way it flickered, I took to be a candle. Softly I crept through the house toward the study door, from beyond which I could hear someone, whom I assumed was the Akkadian, moving about. From the flickering of the candle and the shadows it cast, I had some idea where the man was, and when he moved away from the door, I took a deep breath, firmly grabbed the knob, and in a single manic motion flung the door ajar and charged in, my makeshift club raised up and ready to strike. Caught by surprise, the Akkadian quickly latched the crate shut and clutched it to his chest as he maneuvered behind the desk. He was obviously startled, but frightened as well. I stalked toward the desk and he backed away toward the window beneath which I had been hiding. As I rounded the desk to reach him he countered, and soon he was backing out the door. He paused briefly and glanced at the prone form of Peaslee; I took advantage of the distraction and moved in closer, causing him to jump back. He shifted the weight of the box onto one arm, and with his free hand he grasped the binding of that horrid thick volume that was sitting on a side table and transferred it to on top of the crate. In the process he spilled the various files that had been of such contention onto the floor. He bent down at the knees in a desperate attempt to pick them up, but I raised the stick even higher and shook my head meaningfully. Understanding me completely, we two took the next few moments to slowly continue our little charade until the Akkadian had reached the front door and then was outside of it. As he stood there in the dark of the night, his eyes frantic but silent, I smiled evilly and without a word shut the door behind the horrid little man. The lock clicked into place and from the side window I watched as he trotted to his obsidian sedan and quickly drove off.

Returning to the study, I glanced at the clock and was surprised that the hour of 3:00 was rapidly approaching. I will not deny that I went in and stood over the prone and helpless form of Peaslee. Nor will I deny that I raised the walking stick above my head with full intent on striking Peaslee’s unprotected skull. I did this three times before the courage to follow through left me and I staggered back away from the couch and slumped down against the table in emotional agony. I sat there with my eyes closed, my hands shaking, my heart pounding, unable to bring myself to kill the man—the monster that lay vulnerable before me. I sat there pitying myself for my own weakness when the scattered files, Peaslee’s five manila envelopes, came to my attention. Each was addressed to a different person, and these were scattered over the globe. Knowing the horrors that had been inflicted by Peaslee on the world, I felt justified in opening each package and reading their contents. After determining that the contents of each packet were identical, I sat down and took the time to completely read the dozens of pages Peaslee had intended to post. It took me more than an hour to pore through them, during which I periodically checked to make sure that Peaslee was still alive but unconscious. Afterwards, I fretted for a moment and then with stoic determination tossed four sets into the fireplace and, after stirring the dying embers, made sure that the contents were irretrievably burned.