The Testimony of Jacob Hollow

by Joe Joiner

Chapter 12 Into Darkness

I couldn't imagine how things could possibly get worse. Maybe if someone hurled on my shoes. Troy hadn't moved an inch in the thirty seconds after Josh gave his boots a dousing of vomit. He was staring down at the kid with murder in his eyes, and frankly, I don't think anyone would've have blinked if he'd killed the punk right then and there. Josh was already a burden, and this new injury was certain to slow us down even more.

If he survived it.

Josh was lying on the floor, moaning weakly with arms twitching. The rest of us were watching Troy or the door to the basement. There were still sounds coming from behind the wooden portal. We all knew we hadn't killed the only spider down there. Apparently the big arachnids had not yet mastered the mechanics of doorknobs, but given all the other weird crap in Castle Bay, it wouldn't have surprised me to see one of them throw open the door and come out wearing a kilt and playing bagpipes while dancing a jig.

Hank gave the extended silence about another minute before speaking. As usual, he got right to the point.

"What do ya say, Hoss?" he asked Troy. "Do we haul him along or leave him?"

Watching Troy finger the trigger on his gun, I honestly think he was about to blow Josh's head of until Hank spoke, which seemed to snap him out of his reverie. "Can you carry the baggage?"

Hank shouldered his shotgun and shrugged. "I suppose I can for awhile. Kid isn't exactly a heavyweight."

"I doubt he'll last another hour anyway, but bring him along." Once again, Troy proved himself a better man than me. I'd have left the kid. Hell, I would have opened the door to the basement and tossed him down to whatever waited there before I went, just so the spiders would have an easier time getting to their breakfast.

Hank didn't hesitate. He grabbed Josh, and in one fluid motion hefted the boy across his shoulders. Yeah, the old guy still had muscles somewhere under all that flannel. "I can only tote the boy so far," he said, "so I hope you have a place in mind for us to get to."

"Anywhere but here," Troy said. Sounded like a good place to me. The sooner we had Grave's End and

Gerhard behind us the happier I'd be. Sparky whined his agreement from between Nikki's legs.

"Alright, through the kitchen it is. Is there an outside door in there?"

Jenny thought a moment. "I can't remember. It was a long time ago. Maybe."

Troy nodded. "Cross your fingers then. Let's go."

The kitchen door looked completely ordinary, but the thought of stepping through it made me queasy. Part of me wanted to just hunker down in that small access area and wait for it all to end, giant spiders be damned. Instead, I followed dutifully along as Troy opened it and went into the kitchen, Jenny close on his heels, and Hank bringing up the rear carrying the unconscious Joshua like a bag of dirty laundry.

The kitchen was huge. Back in its heyday Grave's End had probably been the Mecca of local entertainment in Castle Bay, so the original owners had had a massive area for cooking designed. The stoves were ancient huge black beasts, now rust flecked and cold, but you could almost imagine them roaring hot and covered with pots and pans full of delectable foods. Cupboard doors hung askew or were laying on the floor and countertops, the empty shelves where once full of canned goods now home to cobwebs and dust.

There was a walk-in pantry that was larger than the room we had just left. The door was open, allowing us to see rows of empty shelves. The only thing in the pantry was an old newspaper. "Gerhard sure eats light," I mused, earning me a chuckle from Hank.

"That son of a bitch must eat rats," he whispered back. "Or haven't you noticed there aren't any of the little buggers around?"

I hadn't, but didn't reply. My eyes had fixed on the only modern appliance in the room, a gleaming silver refrigerator that hummed next to a row of empty cabinets. It was one of those big double door jobs, at least seven feet tall and probably costing around three or four thousand dollars. Troy had also spotted it, and had stopped to looked it over. I pushed my way past Nikki and Jenny until I was standing next to him. "Don't do it," I said firmly.

He jerked slightly. "Do what?"

He knew damn well what I meant, but if he wanted to play stupid... "Open it. Do we really need to know what the guy is eating?"

"Maybe. We could use more supplies."

I rolled my eyes since he wasn't looking at me. "I'm fine with crackers and cheese whiz. Don't open it."

"Why, Jake? What's got you so spooked?"

"Have your eyes been closed the last few days? Have you not seen all the crazy shit that's going on in this town? Trust me; we don't want to know what's in there. Besides, has it occurred to you that this is the only working piece of machinery we've seen? Somehow he's got a generator rigged somewhere so this thing can operate, and there's a reason for it other than to keep his sodas cold. I don't want to know what it is, and I bet no one else does either." A few heads nodded in agreement.

"I do," he growled and opened the door.

I flinched, expecting an outpouring of evil or something else. Instead, we got a pretty good idea of what Gerhard had been up to during his stay in Castle Bay. The contents inside were far from fresh, and the smell proved it.

Heads and things that weren't heads. Jars of yellow liquid containing other body parts lined the door shelves. It was quite a collection too. The inner shelves were meant to hold vast amounts of groceries, but Gerhard had turned them into a gruesome trophy case. I heard Nikki retch as the smell hit her, then she turned to the big sink and vomited. My own stomach was doing flip-flops, threatening to send back up my own meager breakfast. "Close it," I gasped. Troy seemed frozen, staring wide-eyed at the grisly display. "Troy, close it before we all puke." I saw his hand tremble on the handle, and managed to take a big enough breath of foul air to allow me to raise my voice. "Close the goddamn door!"

Troy jerked and the door slammed shut, cutting off the macabre array of death. "Dear Christ," he said. I thought he was going to turn and pop me one, but instead he put his hand on my shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "Thanks, man."

The wave of camaraderie filled me with more guilt than I've felt since the time as a ten-year old I got caught shoplifting at the marina grocery store. "It's ok," I managed to croak. He found Jenny, who was still looking a little green.

"Where?" he asked her, and she pointed to a set of double doors across the room. It was obvious they didn't lead to the outside, and I suspected there was a dining area through them. I decided not to wait for Troy. I walked through the kitchen; giving the refrigerator a wide berth, and pushed one open just far enough to peek into the next room. I was right. A major dining area, complete with a massive table and twelve ornately carved chairs lay beyond. Like the rest of the house, the table was coated with a thick layer of dust. It appeared as if no one had entered the room in a decade or two. What looked like a china cabinet stood just to the left of the doors, but the glass was so filthy I couldn't see what it contained. After the surprise in the kitchen, I doubted I would ever open any portal again without flinching.

I glanced back at the others. "Dining room. It looks clear," I said. I turned my gaze to Troy. He saw the question in my eyes. "Let's move," he commanded. I think I was the only one to hear the hint of desperation in his voice. That was when I realized that for all his strength he was starting to wear down. Everything we had seen, everything we had been through, the death and evil, it was all slowly starting to get to him. The fa�ade of courage and guts was being etched away, and he was succumbing to weariness and despair. Our eyes locked, and in his gaze I saw the he had realized I knew, that his secret was exposed to another. His lips moved, barely mouthing the word, "Please."

There was no point in saying anything. What good would it have done? We were still better off with him leading us than with Hank or me in charge. I gave him the slightest nod, and his shoulders nearly sagged with relief, but he caught himself. He was first to reach the doors, and I almost didn't hear his whisper of, "I owe you, man." Then he passed through the doors. I followed, the rest of them trailing after.

The dining room was enormous, like almost every other room we'd seen in the house. Hank found a sideboard and opened, giving a low whistle when he saw the racks holding utensils made of pure silver. He saw me looking and gave me a lopsided grin while he shifted Josh's weight on his shoulders. "Antique," he said. "Probably worth a few thousand to any dealer." His gaze shifted. "Same with that table and chairs. That thing is two hundred years old if it's a day. Easily go for fifty-thousand or more. I can't believe this stuff is just sitting here."

Jenny had overheard him. "No one in town would go near this place for any reason. Not just because it had a reputation for being haunted, but because too many people had gone inside and not come out."

"They died?" Nikki asked, and I saw she was still on the ragged edge of her experience in the library.

Jenny shook her head. "They never came out. It's a wonder any of us kids did, but I guess whatever force is here was still sleeping when I was a girl. This whole place feels different."

"Different?" I asked. "Different how?"

"Awake," she said. Her eyes bored into mine, daring me to scoff at her reply. I wasn't about to.

Troy moved to the far end of the room, where another set of doors waited. He eased one open. "Sitting room, I think. Couches, chairs, a few bookcases and a fireplace. There's another door."

"God, I am so turned around," Jenny muttered. I sympathized completely. I wouldn't have been able to guess where we'd come into the house. So many ups and downs and twists and turns and stairs; not to mention dead guys that walked, another that could shrug off a gunshot wound and then vanish like a fart in the wind, giant spiders and heads in glass jars... I was utterly confounded. How much more could any of us take before something snapped? Hell, I was as tense as an over-wound watch. Josh was a drooling mess, and even Troy seemed to be getting uptight for the first time since I'd met him. Out of everyone, only Holcroft still seemed at ease. Christ, the son-of-a-bitch was probably enjoying himself.

"Wait here," Troy said, and let the door whoosh shut behind him.

"He shouldn't go alone," Jenny hissed.

"Honey," Hank whispered, "he's probably the only one of us that could. If something's waiting, he'll deal with it." I could tell that his words didn't make her feel any better. All I knew was that my stomach was in knots and I didn't like standing around not doing anything, or moving, for that matter. I wanted out, and the sooner the better.

Troy returned moments later, and his expression; while not exactly grim, wasn't encouraging either. "The next room is clear, and there's another door. Move out." The strength was back in his voice, and I guessed he had used the minutes away from the group to get himself together. He turned and led us through the swinging door and into the next chamber. It was just as he'd said, a kind of sitting room. Not large, but at one time where invited guests enjoyed after-dinner brandy and cigars. The stale smell of old smoke was just discernible to a sensitive nose. Judging by the number of ashtrays on the tables, my guess wasn't far off. Hank shifted Josh again and nudged my arm. "See that box?" he asked me, pointing with his elbow. "I recognize the brand. Those are Partagas Lusitanias Cubans. They sell for around eight hundred dollars a box. Open it up and see if any are there."

I thought he had to be kidding, then I saw what he had seen. Where most every room had furnishings covered with dust, this room had been cleaned. The tables were polished and the paintings on the walls free of their draped sheets. While the ashtrays sparkled, I realized that the smoke smell wasn't all that old. Someone had been here recently. Now I was curious to check out the box, and you know what that did to the cat, right?

I leveled my pistol at the box and carefully lifted the lid, expecting for some miniscule terror to come leaping out at me, but all I found were cigars. I held one up and Hank's eyes gleamed. "Grab some," he said. "Hell, grab as many as you can."

I wrinkled my nose at him. "Gross, I don't smoke. You want them, you get them."

He gave me a look that suggested that I was not only born an idiot, but my parents had been brother and sister. "You don't have to smoke 'em," he explained. "I will. But I can't pocket as many of them carrying this lump of guts." He emphasized his point by jabbing Josh in the leg. The kid let out a low moan.

I shrugged. There was an empty pocket on my jacket, so I grabbed a half-dozen and stuck them in. Hank grabbed another handful and they vanished, probably to the place where he kept his flask so keenly hidden. He winked at me. "After getting a taste of one of these, you may decide to take up a bad habit."

Not likely, but I gave him a small grin anyway. I liked Hank.

Luckily, the others hadn't left us behind. Troy was cautiously opening the other door in the room and peering through the crack. He glanced back at us with a look on his face I can't really describe; something like fear crossed with concern. He closed the door. Jenny touched his arm. "What is it?"

He looked at each of us in turn. "I don't know what I'm looking at in there," he said. "Holcroft, I think this is your territory." He put his hand on the knob to open the door again. "There's no one in here, and no other door, so I think we're okay. I still want to know what it is, though." He opened it and stepped through. Safe or not, I noticed that he kept his gun drawn. Sparky decided then was a good time to get spooked. His hackles rose and I could hear a low growl coming from deep in his chest as he stared at the door. He resisted Nikki's pulls on the leash, and ended up practically dragged into the room.

I heard the others gasp as they walked into the room, and I'll admit to being curious, at least until I crossed the portal and saw what they had seen. Then I suddenly wished I could be back in the kitchen. That had been gross, this was terrifying.

The best thing I can describe it as is a church of some sort. The floor was rough, unpolished stone, and the same pentacle we'd seen in the library upstairs was drawn on the floor here with some kind of powder, each point of the star at one of the five corners of the room. Purple silk draped the walls, and where the rest of the house was dingy and decayed, this room was pristine. The drapes glistened in the gleam of the flashlights, and behind them in areas you could see polished wood gleaming. However, the thing that had everyone's attention was sitting on the lone piece of furniture in the room, and dead center in the pentacle.

You've seen the kind of table I'm talking about. They're mostly used to display an expensive vase or flowers. Just a round top perched on a tall 'stem' attached to either a base or legs of some sort. The top was almost even with my belt buckle, and on it was a crystal like the ones you see on those fancy anniversary clocks. It covered the ugliest statue I'd ever seen.

No one would go near the thing except Holcroft, and he stepped right up without fear to lean over and give it a long, close look. He studied it for a moment and then straightened up. "This is an graven image of Marchosias," he said.

Hank beat me to it. "Who?"

Winston took off his glasses and polished the lenses on his sleeve as he slipped into 'professor' mode. "A powerful demon known as the Great Marquis of Hell. Legends say that it commanded thirty legions of demons in the war against God. It is also written that he will give true answers to all questions to those that conjur him. Supposedly, he is also the creator of Baltzegaurd, an immensly powerful creature neither demon or angelic but simply known as a 'Wonderer of the Worlds.' This room is a conjur portal, for speaking to the demon. The powder on the floor is salt, used to guide the spirit to this plane."

Just peachy. Did any of us wonder why such a thing was in Gerhard's house? I wouldn't count on it. We were getting used to the weird, and we had found it at Gerhard's manor. Sparky was the first to notice something wasn't right. Then we all had that same uneasy feeling. That was just before we were attacked by some malevolent spirit. The door we'd come through suddenly swung shut and slammed hard enough to make everyone jump. Nikki screamed and Hank lost hold of Josh, who hit the floor with a thud. He gave the kid an apologetic look, then swung up his shotgun. "This can't be good," Troy muttered. Understatement of the century!

A foul wind ripped through the small room, whipping the wall-coverings and filling our noses with a horrid stench even worse than the constant odor of decay in Castle Bay. I think I was probably the only one besides Holcroft who noticed that the salt pentacle wasn't disturbed at all. A low moaning seemed to come from everywhere. I guess it reminded me of the tapes I once heard of whales, but much deeper in tone, and the very sound of it filled you with fear and dread. You just wanted to give up. Go no further. Let go of this meaningless life and embrace the peace of death. I was ready to lay down my rifle and accept the cold embrace of eternity, anything to blot out that sound. I felt a presence behind me, touching my shoulders as it whispered to me to put my gun in my mouth and pull the trigger. I felt drugged as I saw the others being tormented in the same way, but behind each of them I could see a shimmering shape, and knew that the same being was behind me as well.

My skin was crawling. It felt like thousands of little bugs tap-dancing on my arms and legs. My heart was pounding with fear. Every hair on the back of my neck was standing on-end. I could feel it behind me. Could feel its cold touch and the icey breaths on my ear as it spoke to me in a voice that defies description. I knew that to turn around would be to stare into the face of death itself. Fear can overwhelm logic. It can conquer bravery and make the strongest man weep. I can admit it, I was utterly terrified, and I wasn't alone. Even during your worst nightmare some part of your mind realizes that it is just a dream, and that you will wake up to escape whatever haunts your subconcious. Standing there with an evil spirit whispering thoughts of suicide in my ear, I knew there was no escape. I was trapped in a nightmare come to life and I was going to die.

That was when a man stepped from behind the drapes and gave us the most sinister glare I'd ever seen on the face of a human being. He was a small man, not as tall as Hank, with a receding line of gray hair on his head, and dressed in a suit and cape that was the exact same color as the drapes. Hell, it was probably the same material. He lifted his arms and began to chant. "Naurlamalantara, Marchosias. Naurlamalantara, Marchosias. Naurlamalantara, Marchosias. Naurlamalantara, Marchosias." Whatever it meant, I knew it couldn't be good. "Naurlamalantara, Marchosias. Naurlamalantara, Marchosias. Naurlamalantara, Marchosias."

"Shoot him!" Holcroft yelled. He took two steps away from the thing behind him as rationality took hold. "He summons the beast! If he says it thirteen times we're all dead!" There was no mistaking the panic in Winston's voice, the first time I'd ever heard anything like it come from him.

Troy didn't hesitate. His gun came up in one swift, smooth motion and... nothing. It didn't fire. He gave it an almost comical look of surprise, and in the next instant a hunting knife was flashing across the room, striking the man in the shoulder and cutting off his chant abruptly. He staggered back and cursed as the wind died and the presence behind each of us faded away. I heard a faint howl of denial in my mind as the spirit was cheated of my death.

"You damned fools!" cried the man as he grasped the knife handle. "I was trying to give you peaceful ends. Now you will die in agony!"

Josh stirred on the floor and looked up. He seemed even more confused, and it wasn't just the venom coursing through his blood. He focused on the would-be demon summoner. "Dad?"

I made the connection immediately. The note in the gun store had mentioned Matthews; and here he was, Josh's father, clad in an outfit so tacky a TV evangelist would reject it. He looked down and saw his son on the floor, and for a moment I saw surprise and compassion there. Then it was gone. "Fools," he said again. "The time of reckoning has begun. This world is finished. The reign of Hell begins with Castle Bay. The world will follow."

He forced himself erect again, and lifted his arms. I saw blood spurt from around the blade still buried in his shoulder, but he seemed to ignore the pain. "Naurlamalantara, Marchosias. Naurlamalantara, Marchosias. Naurlamalantara, Marchosias." The wind began to rise again.

There wasn't much left to say. Matthews had crossed the line, and he had to be stopped. Our weapons were apparently useless in this room, but Troy had another method in mind. Before the spirits could be back to torment us, he took four quick steps across the room and grabbed Matthews by the throat, cutting off the chant. Matthews struggled and I could hear him gasping for breath.

On the floor, Josh struggled to sit up. "Troy, don't do it," I heard him say, but his voice was only slightly louder than a whisper, and to be perfectly honest, I didn't care what Troy did. I didn't want that thing behind me again, or a demon to come hunting for me.

Williams didn't hesitate once he had the knife back in his hand. With a single fluid motion, Troy grabbed the knife and jerked it out of Matthew's flesh, making the man's eyes go wide in sudden pain. Then he drew the edge across Matthew's throat. Blood flowed in a torrent from the deep and fatal wound. Troy let go and watched as Josh's dad slumped to the floor with a final gargling sigh. Then his eyes closed and he was gone. Josh let out a moan and I saw tears fall from his eyes. I almost felt sorry for him, but considering what his old man had been about to do I couldn't summon a whole lot of sympathy. I did have a sudden understanding of why the kid was so terrified of books. If he had an inkling of what pops was up to, he'd be forced to either embrace it or reject it, and he'd chosen the latter. Burning books was his way of fighting, and despite his many character flaws, I began to respect the courage it had taken to do so. Too bad he was going to be joining his father before too long.

Troy was examining the wall behind Matthews. He knocked on it and it sounded hollow, indicating emptiness behind it. Well, now we knew how Matthews had made it into the room, we just needed to know how to open it. Logically there was a switch or some other mechanism, and Troy began searching for it. After just a few minutes he located a recessed area disguised to look like a natural knot, and a button inside it. When he pushed it a panel slid back, and a cool breeze wafted out and brought with it something we hadn't smelled in what seemed forever; the outside air. Even tainted with corruption it was still almost refreshing compared to the cloying and dangerous atmosphere of Grave's End.

Josh shuddered and passed out. Hank knelt beside him and pressed his fingers against the boy's neck, checking for a pulse. "Still beating," he announced. "Kid's got some fight left in him, I suppose."

I joined Troy next to the open panel and looked down a long flight of stairs that led into darkness, and presumably, the outside. "Do we risk it?" I asked.

"How can we not? We need to get out of here, and I have this creeped out feeling that the house isn't going to give us any more chances. If we ignore this we might never get out."

"What if it's a trap?"

"What if it's not?" he countered. "We can't keep jumping at shadows, Jake. Sooner or later we have to just take what opportunities come to us."

"Yeah," I said, "but have you noticed that this is the only place where the shadows can kill you?" He didn't look at me, but I could sense I'd scored a point.

"Let's go," he said over my shoulder to the group gathering behind us. Hank had already slung his shotgun and hefted Josh, who was imitating a sack of potatoes again. "That damn tunnel better not be too long," Hank said. "Kid's getting heavy."

Troy aimed his flashlight and gun down the steps before stepping through. When nothing grabbed him almost everyone let out a sigh of relief. I followed Hank through, the women behind me, and Holcroft brought up the rear; for now. I still didn't like having him behind me, but this wasn't the time to complain or the place to jockey positions.

I counted forty-seven steps. Troy announced the floor of the tunnel and walked far enough down the earthen corridor to give everyone room. Still no light, but the breeze had quickened. I touched a wall and found it to be wet, almost slimey. Grossed out, I wiped my fingers on my jeans. The slow drip of water could be heard all around us.

Far above I heard the panel slide shut. Everyone went quiet when we heard the thump of wood meeting wood. Hell, I don't think anyone breathed. Then we heard the sound of something coming down the steps. It wasn't hurrying, the pause between each step down lasting several seconds.

Jenny's light was on Troy's face. I could see that he didn't want to know what was behind us any more than I did. "Move it, people," he said.

We moved. Single-file and quick-stepping through a damp tunnel that was slowly taking us upwards, if the gentle incline beneath my feet was any clue. It looked like we'd found a way out, but now we were in a race to escape before whatever was behind us caught up.

It was going to be close.