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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-14 19:57:40 -0700 |
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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/32470-h.zip b/32470-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..aefffb5 --- /dev/null +++ b/32470-h.zip diff --git a/32470-h/32470-h.htm b/32470-h/32470-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c708114 --- /dev/null +++ b/32470-h/32470-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1677 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Isle of the Undead, by Lloyd Arthur Eshbach + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; background-color: #FFFFFF; +} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; +} + +.tr {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; margin-top: 5%; margin-bottom: 5%; padding: 2em; background-color: #f6f2f2; color: black; border: dotted black 1px;} + +.img1 {border:solid 1px; } + +.blockquot { + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.caption {font-weight: bold; font-size:smaller;} + +/* Images */ +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; +} + +.figleft { + float: left; + clear: left; + margin-left: 0; + margin-bottom: 0em; + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-right: 0.25em; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; +} + +.figleft1 { + float: left; + clear: left; + margin-left: 0; + margin-bottom: 0.25em; + margin-top: 0.2em; + margin-right: 0.25em; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; +} + + +/* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Isle of the Undead, by Lloyd Arthur Eshbach + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Isle of the Undead + +Author: Lloyd Arthur Eshbach + +Release Date: May 21, 2010 [EBook #32470] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ISLE OF THE UNDEAD *** + + + + +Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + +<div class="tr"><p class="center">Transcriber's Note:</p> +<p class="center">This etext was produced from Weird Tales October 1936. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.</p></div> +<p> </p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img class="img1" src="images/cover.jpg" width="400" height="593" alt="" title="" /> +</div> +<p> </p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/image_001.jpg" width="600" height="420" alt=""One hand closed on his thin neck, and the other, a +rock-like fist, made a bloody ruin of his mouth."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"One hand closed on his thin neck, and the other, a +rock-like fist, made a bloody ruin of his mouth."</span> +</div> + +<p> </p> +<h1>Isle of the Undead</h1> +<p> </p> +<h2>By LLOYD ARTHUR ESHBACH</h2> +<p> </p> +<div class="blockquot"><p><i>A gripping, thrilling, uncanny tale about the frightful +fate that befell a yachting party on the dreadful island of +living dead men</i></p></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2><i>1. A Horror from the Past</i></h2> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_a2.jpg" alt="A" width="56" height="50" /></div> +<p> drab gray sheet of cloud slipped stealthily from the moon's round +face, like a shroud slipping from the face of one long dead, a coldly +phosphorescent face from which the eyes had been plucked. Yellow +radiance fell toward a calm, oily sea, seeking a narrow bank of fog +lying low on the water, penetrating its somber mass like frozen yellow +fingers.</p> + +<p>Vilma Bradley shuddered and shrank against Clifford Darrell's brawny +form. "It's—it's ghastly, Cliff!" she said.</p> + +<p>"Ghastly?" Darrell leaned against the rail, laughing softly. "One +cocktail too many—that's the answer. It's given you the jitters. +Listen!" Faintly from the salon came strains of dance music and the +rhythmic shuffle of feet. "A nifty yacht, a South Sea moon, a radio +dance orchestra, dancers—and little Clifford! And you call it +ghastly!" Almost savagely his arms tightened about her, and the +bantering note left his voice. "I'm crazy about you, Vilma."</p> + +<p>She tried to laugh, but it was an unconvincing sound. "It's the moon, +Cliff—I guess. I never saw it like that before. Something's going to +happen—something dreadful. I just <i>know</i> it!"</p> + +<p>"Oh—be sensible, Vilma!" There was a hint of impatience in Cliff's +deep voice. A gorgeous girl in his arms—dark-haired, dark-eyed, made +for love—and she talked of dreadful things which were going to happen +because the moon looked screwy.</p> + +<p>She released herself and glanced out over the sea. "I know I'm silly, +but——" Her voice froze and her slender body stiffened. +"Cliff—look!"</p> + +<p>Darrell spun around, and as he stared, he felt a dryness seeping into +his throat, choking him....</p> + +<p>Out of the winding-sheet of fog into the moonlight crept a strange, +strange craft, her crumbling timbers blackened and rotted with +incredible age. The corpse of a ship, she seemed, resurrected from the +grave of the sea. Her prow thrust upward like a scimitar bent +backward, hovering over the gaunt ruin of a cabin whose seaward sides +were formed by port and starboard bows. From a shallow pit amidships +jutted the broken arm of a mast, its splintered tip pointing toward +the blindly watching moon. The stern, thickly covered with the +moldering encrustations of age, curved inward above the strange high +poop, beneath which lay another cabin. And along either side of her +worm-eaten freeboard ran a row of apertures like oblong portholes. Out +of these projected great oars, long, unwieldy, as somberly black as +the rest of the ancient hulk.</p> + +<p>Now a sound drifted across the waters, the steady, rhythmic +<i>br-rr-oom, br-rr-oom, br-rr-oom</i> of a drum beating time for the +rowers. Its hollow thud checked the heart, set it to throbbing in +tempo with its own weary pulse. Ghostly fingers, dripping dread, +crawled up Darrell's spine.</p> + +<p>Stiff-lipped, Vilma gasped: "What—what is it?"</p> + +<p>Cliff answered in a dry husky voice, the words seeming to trip over an +awkward tongue. "It's—it's—it <i>can't</i> be, damn it!—but it's a +galley, a ship from the days of Alexander the Great! What's it +doing—here—<i>now</i>?"</p> + +<p>Closer she came through the moon-path, a frothing lip of brine curling +away from her swelling prow. Closer—her course crossing that of the +<i>Ariel</i>—and the watchers saw her crew! They gasped, and the blood +ebbed from their faces.</p> + +<p>Men of ancient Persia, clad in leather kirtles and rusted armor, and +they were hideous! In the yellow moon-glow Cliff could see them +clearly now—a lookout standing motionless in the stem, the steersman +on the poop-deck, the drummer squatting beside the broken mast, the +rowers in the pit—and all, <i>all</i> were a bloodless white, the skin of +their faces puffed and bloated and horribly wrinkled, like flesh that +had been under water a long time.</p> + +<p>Dead men ... men whose movements were stiffly wooden ... as dead as +their faces. But most horrible was the fact that they were there, that +they moved at all!</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft1"><img src="images/image_a1.jpg" alt="A" width="47" height="40" /></div> +<p> queer mirage, isn't it?" A hollow voice spoke suavely behind them.</p> + +<p>Vilma gasped at the sudden sound, and they whirled. A foot away stood +the tall, lean figure of the <i>Ariel's</i> captain, Leon Corio. A queer +smile twisted his thin lips.</p> + +<p>"What's the idea—sneaking up on us?" Darrell demanded angrily. He +didn't like this man, hadn't liked him from the moment he had +approached Cliff to sell him the yacht. But Cliff had bought the craft +because she was a bargain, and in accordance with their agreement he +had hired Corio as captain.</p> + +<p>The tall man's smile remained fixed, and he bowed gravely. "Sorry, +sir. I always walk softly. A habit, I suppose." He gestured toward +the galley. "It looks quite life-like, don't you think so?"</p> + +<p>"Life-like?" Cliff spoke between his teeth as he again faced the black +ship. "It looks <i>dead</i> to me!"</p> + +<p>The galley had almost reached them <i>now</i>, <i>veering sharply to draw up +beside</i> the <i>Ariel</i>. The drum quieted, and the oars trailed in the +water, motionless except for the swaying imparted by the waves. A +musty, age-old odor filtered through the air like a breath from a +grave. The music and dancing had stopped. A fear-filled hush shrouded +the yacht.</p> + +<p>Vilma drew Cliff's arm about her shoulder. He glanced back at the +motionless captain.</p> + +<p>"<i>Do</i> something, Corio!" he rasped. "Don't stand there like a dummy!"</p> + +<p>Corio nodded with his same queer smile. His hand darted to an inside +pocket, came out bearing a curious instrument like four twisted cones +of silver bound together with silver thongs. As he raised this to his +mouth, his eyelids were slits behind which burned the embers of his +eyes.</p> + +<p>Out over the sea crept a single note, deep, hollow, laden with eery +minor wailings—a sound that summoned imperatively, yet a sound that +repelled. It was a moan, hideous as the moan of a dying demon. It +raked the heart with fear-tipped claws. It rose, and fell, and rose +again, and as it died, it awakened the crew of the ancient galley to +motion, sweeping them in a horde to the rail of the yacht.</p> + +<p>Cliff swung toward Corio in bursting fury, fury mingled with dread. +His fist lashed out at that glittering silver instrument and the face +behind it, but Corio avoided him like a wraith, still smiling fixedly, +the horn again at his lips. Cliff cursed, and hurled himself through +the air. One hand caught a bony shoulder; he felt fingers like hooks +close on his own throat. He wrenched free, landing a stunning blow on +Corio's face—saw him reel and crash to the deck—and then he heard +Vilma scream!</p> + +<p>He whirled. She was struggling between two of the <i>flabby-faced things +from</i> the galley! In an instant he was upon them, his fist thudding +against icy flesh, burying itself in something horribly soft and +yielding. Startled, Cliff swung a second blow; and an arm, tomb-cold +and strong as the tentacle of an octopus, wrapped itself around him—a +vise of thin-covered bone! A dead, drowned face peered over his +shoulder, staring blankly. Other arms seized his legs, and though he +struggled and writhed with the strength of a mounting fear, he was +borne to the rail. Over they went, and dropped to the rotting deck of +the galley.</p> + +<p>A numbness was creeping through him like a contagion, spreading from +those crushing hands of ice. His struggles ceased. With eyes that +turned stiffly in their sockets he looked for Vilma, saw her raised +high above the heads of two other pallid creatures, saw them climb +over the rail. Then the blackness of a dank and musty cabin enveloped +him; and he was dropped with jarring force. His captors bulked black +against the moonlit doorway, treading soundlessly, and were gone.</p> + +<p>Cliff lay in rigid paralysis, every sense keenly alive, his mind +striving to clutch a single spar of reason in this chaotic whirlpool +of the incredible. This <i>couldn't</i> be! Soon he'd awaken to laugh at +his absurd nightmare.... Yet it seemed horribly real.... It <i>was</i> +real!</p> + +<p>From the <i>Ariel</i> boiled a fearful bedlam. Screams of terror. Curses. +Then other shadows loomed in the doorway, and Vilma, motionless and +rigid, was dropped brutally beside him on the spongy floor.</p> + +<p>Furiously Cliff struggled against the maddening restraint of +paralysis. He couldn't lie here helpless! Vilma needed him! He'd—he'd +<i>have</i> to do something. With an effort that studded his forehead with +rounded drops of sweat and sent the blood throbbing through the +distended veins of his neck, he sought to move. And like a cord +snapping, his invisible bonds fell from him.</p> + +<p>He was crouching over Vilma, rubbing her wrists, calling to her, when +again he heard the silver horn of Corio. A low droning utterly unlike +the note that had awakened the galley's crew, it drifted languidly +along a channel of endless sleep. It seeped through the ear-drums, +touching every nerve-tip with resistless lassitude. Doggedly Cliff +fought against the sound, pressing his hands over his ears, gritting +his teeth, holding his eyelids wide. Yet he felt his muscles weaken, +began to relax, knew dimly that his mind, sodden with drowsiness, was +creeping toward the pits of slumber—and the vibrant drone ended!</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_h.jpg" alt="H" width="41" height="40" /></div> +<p>is head cleared rapidly, and he bent over Vilma. As he touched a limp +arm, he knew she had passed from paralysis into a deep, quiet sleep. +He shook her. It was useless. He listened, heard her steady breathing; +and at that instant realized that the noises from the yacht had +ceased.</p> + +<p>Rising, he strode toward the square of chalky moonlight. A foot away +he halted, fell back. He had heard a faint footfall, had seen an +armor-clad figure climbing over the rail! With silent haste he flung +himself down beside Vilma.</p> + +<p>And there he lay while the crew of the galley carried his friends from +the <i>Ariel</i>, all slumped in that unnatural sleep, and stretched them +out on the floor of the black cabin. Unmoving, he watched through +narrow lids till all save Corio had been carried aboard, and the +drowned things had gone back to their places in the rowers' pits. +Again the hollow voice of the drum began throbbing through the +silence, and the oars creaked a faint accompaniment. He could feel the +galley cleaving the oily sea.</p> + +<p>On his feet, he peered through the doorway. The backs of the rowers +rose and fell with stiff, mechanical rhythm. Beyond the galley's stern +came the yacht, slinking along like a thief, only one dim light +showing, her Diesel engines purring almost soundlessly.</p> + +<p>He turned and bent over Vilma, still in thrall to that strange deep +slumber. As he traced the delicate outlines of her lovely face, now so +lifeless and pale, bitter wrath flared within him, wrath and hatred +for Leon Corio. But as he thought of the ghastly <i>undead</i> things out +there in the galley pit, thought of this water-soaked anachronism +which had no right to be afloat, his skin crisped with a sense of +foreboding, a fear of what was yet to come. He must do something!</p> + +<p>Stepping over the still forms of his friends, he moved to the forward +wall where a beam of radiance crept fearfully through a gap between +two boards. His hands touched the hull—and he jerked them away. +Rotten, clammy, like a decayed corpse, partly frozen. Crouching, he +peered through.</p> + +<p>Far ahead, a blotch of evil blackness squatted on the horizon, an +island crouching low like a black beast ready to spring. Around it the +moonlight seemed to dim, as though it were striving to hide some +nameless horror. Interminably Cliff watched while the shadowed mass +drew closer ... closer....</p> + +<p>They were headed for a towering wall of black basalt; and as the +galley neared it, Cliff saw that it bore striking resemblance to a +gigantic human skull, its rounded surface broken by caves that the +sea had carved into hollow eye-sockets and an empty nasal cavity. The +rock wall ended high above the water; beneath it lay a gaping chasm of +pitchy darkness. And the galley, drum silenced, oars at rest, slid +under the ledge, into the mouth of the skull!</p> + +<p>Just before total blackness fell, Cliff sprang to Vilma's side and +raised her in his arms. If he hoped to do anything, he must do it now! +He groped his way to the starboard bow and moved one hand along the +dank timbers, searching. He found what he sought, a wide gap at the +edge of a board. Gently lowering Vilma to the floor, he gripped the +slimy wood with both hands and thrust outward mightily. A wide strip +of decayed timber burst free. He dropped it into the sea and attacked +the next board. In moments a wide irregular opening yawned in the +galley's hull.</p> + +<p>Leaning out, Cliff looked down. He could see nothing. Then suddenly a +faint light appeared, and he heard the hum of the <i>Ariel's</i> motors as +she entered the cave. The humming ceased instantly, but the faint +light persisted.</p> + +<p>Now he could see the blackness of waters, a rock wall beyond. He drew +back—and a he did so, he heard movements on deck! At any moment the +rowers might enter! He'd have to risk a drop into the water with +Vilma—there was nothing else to do. If only she were conscious!</p> + +<p>He stooped and raised her, holding her firmly with one arm. Gripping +the hull with the other, he climbed through the opening, inhaled +deeply, and dropped! A heart-stopping plunge—and cold water closed +over them. Down, down—then they shot upward, reached the surface; and +even as Cliff gulped a single gasping breath, something struck his +skull a blinding, stunning blow! The oars!</p> + +<p>With rapidly numbing arms and legs Cliff kicked and flailed the water, +striving for land. Dimly he knew he no longer held Vilma; dimly he +visioned her as were those ghastly undead; then his body scraped on +something hard, and a blackness that was not physical blotted out +consciousness.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><i>2. The Dreadful Isle</i> +</h2> + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_r.jpg" alt="R" width="42" height="40" /></div> +<p>ed-hot hammers pounding against his temples wakened Cliff Darrell. He +opened his eyes to stare into total darkness crawling with mental +monsters spawned by his pain-stabbed brain. He lay half immersed in +shallow brine, his head resting on a jagged stone just above the +surface. Struggling to his hands and knees, he shook his head from +side to side, dumbly, like an animal in pain. Something had hit +him—and now he was in water—and there was no light. What had +happened? Where was Vilma?</p> + +<p>Vilma! He groaned. He remembered now. They had dropped—and his head +had struck something—and—and—maybe she was floating out there even +now, dead eyes staring upward.</p> + +<p>"Vilma!" he cried, his voice pleading. "Vilma!"</p> + +<p>Only a mocking echo answered him. There was no other sound, not even +the whisper of waves swishing among the rocks.</p> + +<p>Cliff pressed his hands fiercely against his throbbing head. The pain +had become a madness, matched only by the agony of his own +helplessness. He felt his reason reeling; he fought an insane desire +to fling himself shrieking into that silent expanse of water to search +for Vilma; then with a tremendous physical effort he jarred himself +back to sanity.</p> + +<p>He staggered to his feet, groped stumblingly over the rocks away from +the water. His hand touched a rock wall broken and pitted by the +action of the sea; and he crept slowly inland, feeling his way like a +blind man. As he plodded on his thoughts blended into one fixed idea: +he must get to light, must get light to search for Vilma.</p> + +<p>Gradually the insensate pounding in his head abated, and strength +returned to his body. When at last he saw light beyond a narrow +fissure around an angle in the cavern, he had almost recovered. In +moments he was gazing out over a plain bathed in the glow of a leprous +moon. As he stared, he shivered; and it was not because of the cold +draft drawing through the fissure, fanning his brine-drenched body.</p> + +<p>Grim and starkly forbidding the plain lay before him, dead as the +frozen landscape of the moon. Once there had been life there, but now +only the skeletons of trees remained, lifting their wasted limbs in +rigid pleading to an unresponsive sky. Some, there were, that had +fallen, uprooted by the fury of passing hurricanes; these lay like the +scattered bones of a dismembered giant, age-blackened, and painted +with hoarfrost by the brushes of moonlight. Feebly the dead forest +stirred under the touch of a moaning wind, and the gaunt shadows cast +by the trees seemed to be multi-armed monsters slithering over the +rocky earth.</p> + +<p>He looked beyond the trees, and he saw light. Little squares of pale +radiance cut high in the walls of an ancient black castle. Castle? +Cliff frowned. He could liken it to nothing else, though he could not +recall ever having seen a castle which thrust curving, needle-thin +spires into the sky like a devil's horns.</p> + +<p>Impatiently Cliff stepped from the wall of rock and glanced along a +path that writhed through the forest; glanced—and crouched swiftly, a +low cry escaping him. A single spot of water on a smooth, flat stone! +A spot shaped like a woman's shoe! Vilma had passed this way!</p> + +<p>But—might it not have been some other woman from the <i>Ariel</i>? No! +They had been carried—and even if they had walked, their feet were +dry!</p> + +<p>Like a hound on the scent, Cliff Darrell sped along the serpentine +path. The wind moaned above him, and the soughing branches seemed to +whisper croaking warnings, but he ran on, his eyes constantly seeking +signs of Vilma's course. Here a drop of water shaken from her drenched +skirt, there another; and Cliff blessed the full moon whose light made +possible his trailing of the almost invisible spoor.</p> + +<p>Now he had passed beyond the dead forest and was moving toward the +castle. The trail had been growing steadily fainter, but he managed to +follow it. It led him toward a narrow stone stairway climbing +crookedly to a misshapen opening in the wall. Light glowed faintly +lurid somewhere deep within; and now Cliff heard a blasphemous sound +belch from the depths of the castle—a wheezing, sardonic croaking +like the moan of a demoniac organ, rumbling an obscene dirge. His hair +bristled, and he stopped short.</p> + +<p>He looked at the steps, searching for the fading trail—and he +stiffened. There on the second step was an irregular blotch of +moisture! What did it mean? Had Vilma crouched there? Had she ascended +those steps? Entered?</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_w.jpg" alt="W" width="51" height="40" /></div> +<p>ith drawn face he began to skirt the base of the black building, +searching every nook and cranny, scanning the bare walls. His heart +lay like ballast in his breast. If—if something had lured Vilma into +that demon-infested vault ... he checked the thought.</p> + +<p>Suddenly he cursed. Mechanically he had begun to measure his stride in +time with the doleful dirge from the castle. He stalked on with +altered pace. As he rounded the corner at the rear of the structure, +he saw a shadow outlined against the sky, crouching on a ledge below +one of the little windows. He looked again—cried:</p> + +<p>"Vilma!"</p> + +<p>The figure above him stirred, looked down, then climbed hastily +earthward. It was Vilma ... Vilma, with black hair hanging stringily +about her head, face pale, eyes fixed in the wideness of fear ... +Vilma, with her wet clothing clinging to the lovely contours of her +symmetrical body.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Cliff!" she gasped, a dry sob choking her. "Thank God—thank +God!"</p> + +<p>She clung to him, her face hidden against his shoulder, quivering +uncontrollably. Then tears came, saving tears, relieving her pent-up +emotions.</p> + +<p>Cliff said nothing, only held her close, strongly protective. And +gradually he felt the tempest of terror subside. At last she looked +up. Some of the dread had gone from her face, and she tried to smile.</p> + +<p>"I guess—I can't take it," she said.</p> + +<p>Cliff shook his head solemnly. "You're a game girl, Vilma! You've +nerve enough for two men. If you can, tell me what happened. Or if +you'd rather let it wait, just say so."</p> + +<p>"I'll feel better if I get it off my chest," she said. "You probably +saw those—things—carry me from the yacht." Cliff nodded. "Well, I +was just about paralyzed when they dropped me in their terrible boat. +I remember, you tried to arouse me; then that horn blew, and I just +seemed to float away in an ocean of sleep.</p> + +<p>"After that I can remember nothing till I awoke with water filling my +eyes and nose and mouth, choking me. Someone's arms were around me—it +must have been you, Cliff—and then they weren't there any more, and I +struggled wildly, out of my wits. I don't know how I got to shore, but +I did, and I lay there in the shadow of the galley, choking and +gagging, but afraid to cough. It wasn't altogether dark, and I could +see those dreadful things with people hanging over their shoulders, +carrying them along a narrow ledge close to the water's edge, heading +inland. I thought maybe you were one of those limp bodies; and I—I +almost died of fright. After a while the last one had gone, and the +light went out. Then I heard another pair of feet moving over the +rocks. Corio, I suppose. The sound died—and I was alone.</p> + +<p>"That place was awful, Cliff. The blackness almost drove me mad. I +wanted to scream, but I was afraid to. Some terrible weight seemed to +be crushing my lungs. If I followed those undead things, they might +capture me, but it seemed worse to stay there in that dreadful dark.</p> + +<p>"I got out of there somehow, though it seemed to take hours. Then I +didn't know what to do. I stood at the edge of the dead forest trying +to decide; trying, too, to keep myself from shrieking and +running—anywhere. Then Corio's horn blew again—a sound, Cliff, worse +than anything I've ever heard. It—it was a wicked sound, promising to +fulfill every foul desire that ever tainted a human mind. It repelled, +yet it lured irresistibly. And—I answered!"</p> + +<p>She stopped, and buried her face in her hands. After a moment she went +on. "The sound stopped just as I found myself crawling on hands and +knees up the stone stairway on the other side. Another started—that +awful groaning—music—but it didn't draw me. I ran down the steps and +scurried away like a rabbit trying to find a place to hide.</p> + +<p>"After a while I came back—I thought you must be in there—and I +climbed up to the window. And—and—Cliff, it's hellish!"</p> + +<p>Her eyes, boring into his, widened in the same rigid terror he had +seen in them when he joined her.</p> + +<p>"We could go back to the cove and get away on the <i>Ariel</i>, Vilma," +Cliff said stonily. "And if you think we should, we will. But—I +brought our friends here, and—well, I want to get them out if I can."</p> + +<p>With an effort Vilma nodded. "Of course. We can't do anything else."</p> + +<p>He released her and stepped up to the wall.</p> + +<p>"I'm going to see what's going on in there," he said. "You wait here +till I come down."</p> + +<p>In sudden dread Vilma seized his arm. "No, Cliff. I couldn't stand +waiting here alone. I'll go with you."</p> + +<p>He nodded understandingly. And together they began climbing the +precipitous wall, fitting hands and feet in step-like crevices that +made progress fairly rapid. Soon they were crouching on a wide stone +ledge, clinging to thin, rusted bars, staring into the black castle.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><i>3. The Steps of Torture</i></h2> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_a.jpg" alt="A" width="37" height="40" /></div> +<p> gigantic hall lay before them, a single chamber whose walls were the +walls of the castle, whose arched ceiling rose far above them. +Directly below their window a stone platform jutted from the wall, +spreading entirely across the chamber. A stone altar squatted in the +center of the platform, a strangely phosphorescent fire smoldering on +its top. And from the altar descended a wide, wide stairway ending in +the middle of the hall. All this Cliff saw in a single sweeping +glance; afterward he had eyes for nothing save the lethal horror of a +mad, mad scene, revealed by the dim radiance of the altar fire.</p> + +<p>Behind the altar stood five huge figures clad in long, hooded cloaks +of scarlet. The central figure had arms raised wide, his cloak spread +like the wings of some bloody bird of prey; and from his lips came a +guttural incantation, a blasphemous chant in archaic Latin, in time +with the wheeze of the buried organ. Now his arms dropped, and he was +silent.</p> + +<p>From the room below came a concerted whine of ceremonial devotion, a +hollow, hungry wail. It rose from the bloodless lips of strangely +assorted human figures ranging down the center of the long stairway in +two facing columns. A hundred or more there must have been, +representing half as many periods and countries, according to their +strange and ancient costumes. Men in the armor of medieval Persia—the +crew of the black galley; yellow-haired Vikings; hawk-faced Egyptians +with leather-brown skins; half-naked islanders; red-sashed pirates +from the Spanish main; men of today! And about all, like the dampness +that clings to a tombstone, hovered a cloud of—death! The undead!</p> + +<p>Cliff's gaze roved over the tensely waiting columns, then leaped to +the foot of the stairs. There, cowering dumbly like sheep in a +slaughter-pen, were his friends from the <i>Ariel</i>. All clothing had +been stripped from them, and they stood waiting in waxen, statuesque +stiffness. He saw then that three others lay prone before the stone +altar, naked and ominously still.</p> + +<p>And far down at the very end of the hall stood Leon Corio, draped in a +hooded cape of unbroken black, a glint of silver in his hand—his horn +of drugging sounds.</p> + +<p>Now, as though at a silent command, a girl left the group and began to +mount the stairs, as those motionless three must have mounted! +Vivacious Ann—she had been the life of Cliff's yacht party; but now +she was—changed. Her blanched face was rigid with inexpressible +terror despite the semi-stupor which numbed her senses. Her nude body +glowed like marble in the dim light. Horribly, her feet began their +climb with a little catch step suggested by the moaning chant of that +cracked organ note.</p> + +<p>She reached the first of the undead, and Cliff saw light glint on a +knife-blade. A crimson gash appeared in the flesh of her thigh; and +dead lips touched that wound, drank thirstily. The girl strode on, +blood gleaming darkly on the white skin. A second drank of the crimson +flow—a third—and the blood ceased gushing forth.</p> + +<p>Another knife flashed—and lips closed again and again on a redly +dripping wound. And the girl with the unchanging pace of a robot +climbed the stairway to its very top—climbed while fiendish corpses +drank her life's blood—climbed, to sink down on the altar.</p> + +<p>One of the red-clad figures stooped over her, lifted her, buried long +teeth in her throat—and Cliff saw his face.... His own face paled, +and talons of fear raked his brain. Those others on the stairs—they +were abhorrent, zombies freed from the grave. But this monster! A +vampire vested with the lust and cruelty and power of hell!</p> + +<p>He lowered her, finally, and she sank down, lay still, beside the +other three.</p> + +<p>Another began the hellish climb, a giant of a man with a thickly +muscled torso. Cliff knew him instantly; and his heart seemed to stop. +Leslie Starke! They'd played football together. A brave man—a +fighter. He mounted the stairway with the same little catch step, the +same plodding stiffness. No resistance, no struggle—only a hell of +fear on his face.</p> + +<p>The marrow melted from Cliff Darrell's bones. What—what could he do +against a power that did <i>that</i> to Les Starke? He tried to swallow, +but the saliva had dried on his tongue. He wanted to turn to Vilma, +but he could not wrench his eyes from the frightful spectacle.</p> + +<p>Up the stone steps Starke strode. And no blade leaped toward him; no +thirsty lips closed on his flesh! In an unwavering line he mounted +toward the cowled monster in the center of the dais, like a puppet on +the end of a string; mounted to pause before the stone altar, to lie +on it, head bent back, throat bared.... Mercifully Cliff regained +enough control to close his eyes.</p> + +<p>He opened them at a gasp from Vilma; saw the vampire raise the flaccid +body of Les Starke and hurl it far from him, to crash to the stone +steps, to roll and thud and tumble, down and down, sickeningly, to lie +awkwardly twisted on the floor before his companions!</p> + +<p>And another began to climb the long stone steps....</p> + +<p>All through the interminable night Cliff and Vilma crouched on the +ledge, staring through the barred window. A hundred times they would +have fled to escape the maddening scene, but they could not move. +Senses reeled before the awful monotony of the ceaseless climbing, +their eyes smarted with fixed staring, their tongues and throats were +parched to desert dryness; yet only after hours of endless watching, +only after the last victim had climbed the steps, did the edge of +terror dull, and a modicum of control return to their bodies.</p> + +<p>Stiffly Cliff looked over his shoulder. A faint tinge of gray rimmed +the sea on the eastern horizon.</p> + +<p>"Almost daylight," he whispered hoarsely.</p> + +<p>Vilma nodded, her gaze still held by that chamber of horror. Cliff +followed the direction of her eyes; and saw Corio standing like a +great bat in his hooded cape close to the far wall. He raised his +four-piped horn to his lips. And the instrument's fourth note crept +through the room.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_i.jpg" alt="I" width="19" height="40" /></div> +<p>t was a doleful sound, a cry like the cry Death itself might possess; +yet oddly—and horribly—it was soothing, promising the peace of +endless sleep. And touched by its power, the columns of undead +stiffened, thinned to wraiths, flowed as water flows down the stone +steps, vanished!</p> + +<p>The dead-alive—those five vampires in crimson cowls—looked upward +uneasily. The shadows under the roof were graying with the light of +dawn. Cliff could sense their thought. Before sunrise they must be in +their tombs under the castle, to sleep until another night. With one +accord they strode down the stairs, past Corio who had prostrated +himself, and entered a black opening in the wall. With their departure +the altar fire dimmed to a sullen ember.</p> + +<p>Corio arose. He was alone in the chamber save for that dead, broken +body lying in a twisted heap at the foot of the stairs, and those +other half-alive wretches stretched out before the altar. Now, Cliff +told himself, was the time for him to get in there at Corio; now was +the time to rescue his friends—but he continued to crouch, unmoving.</p> + +<p>Again Corio blew on his silver horn, and a faint cry leaped from +Vilma's tensed lips. The luring note that had drawn her, Cliff thought +hazily; then he thought of nothing save the sound, the sound that +promised him all he could desire. Earth and its dominion, his for the +taking—if he answered that call!... Then even the sound eluded his +senses, and he heard only the promise.... He must answer, must claim +what was rightfully his!</p> + +<p>But those half-dead creatures—sight of their stirring steadied his +staggering sanity. Here and there heads lifted and bloodless husks of +bodies tried to rise. In the pallid light they seemed like corpses, +freed from newly opened graves. Some could only reach their knees; +others rose to uncertain limbs. And all moved down the stairway toward +Corio, answering his summons; followed as he made his slow way toward +the opening in the wall, still blowing the single note—the note that +promised Earth and all it held....</p> + +<p>Cliff glanced toward Vilma—and she was not there. He looked down, saw +her far below, dropping from crack to crevice with amazing speed and +daring, hastening toward—Corio!</p> + +<p>The thought jarred any lingering taint of allurement from Cliff's +mind. He must stop her. He swung around, ignoring the cramped +stiffness of his legs, and started down the steep wall. Down, down, +recklessly, with Corio's horn-note only a faintly heard sound fading +behind him.</p> + +<p>Now he saw Vilma reach the rocks below and dash around the corner of +the castle, and he cursed, redoubling his speed. Down—down—and +suddenly the ancient rock crumbled underfoot. For an instant he hung +from straining fingertips—then dropped.</p> + +<p>A smashing impact—a stone that slid beneath him—and his head crashed +against the castle wall. Through a fiery mist of pain he pictured +Vilma in the grasp of Corio. The mist thickened—grew black—engulfed +him.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><i>4. In Corio's Hands</i></h2> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_c.jpg" alt="C" width="33" height="40" /></div> +<p>liff awoke with the sun glaring down on his face. He opened his eyes, +and stabbing lances of light pierced his eyeballs. Momentarily +blinded, he pressed his hands across his face and struggled erect. +There was a sick feeling in his stomach, and the back of his head +throbbed incessantly. He touched the aching area, and winced. A lump +like an egg thrust out his scalp; it was sticky with blood. He stood +there, weaving from side to side, trying to recall something....</p> + +<p>As memory came, he groaned. Vilma! He had last seen her racing madly +toward Corio, lured by his damned horn. It was daylight now; the sun +had risen at least an hour ago. An hour—with Vilma gone!</p> + +<p>Shaking his head to clear it, and gritting his teeth at the pain, he +stalked along the wall. Turning the corner he strode on toward the +crooked steps. The lifeless terrain reeled dizzily, but he went on +resolutely. The pain in his head was fading to a dull ache; and as he +mounted the steps, strength seemed to flow back into his legs. With +every sense taut he passed into the gloom of the castle.</p> + +<p>A quick glance he cast about—saw the body of Starke lying where it +had fallen. No use to examine it; there was no life there. His gaze +swept up the slope of the stairway to the altar at its head, lingered +on the phosphorescent eye of light still glowing there. Then he +shrugged grimly and moved on to the doorway in the wall. Warily he +peered in.</p> + +<p>As his eyes adjusted themselves to the greater darkness, he saw a +narrow stairway leading downward into a shadowy corridor. Somewhere in +the tunnel's depths a faint light shone. He could see nothing more. He +moved stealthily down the damp, dank stairs.</p> + +<p>At the bottom he paused, listening. He could hear nothing. A hundred +feet ahead, the corridor divided in two; a burning torch was thrust in +the wall at the junction. Cliff nodded with satisfaction. Corio <i>must</i> +be somewhere near by; for only a human needed light.</p> + +<p>Silently Cliff strode along the corridor. At the fork he hesitated, +then chose the right branch, for light glowed faintly along that +passageway. The other led downward, black as the pits of hell.</p> + +<p>A doorway appeared in the wall ahead, and he moved warily, with fists +clenched. Flickering torchlight filtered into the corridor. There was +no audible sound. Now Cliff peered into a small chamber, and gasped in +sudden horror, his eyes staring unwinkingly at a spectacle incredibly +pitiful.</p> + +<p>Here were the passengers of the <i>Ariel</i>, whitely naked, and lying in +little groups on the cold stone floor, huddled together for warmth. +Their faces turned toward Darrell as he stood in the doorway, but +there was no recognition in the vacuous eyes, no thought, no +intelligence, and little life in the wide-mouthed stares. It seemed as +though their souls had been drained from their bodies with their +blood.</p> + +<p>Sickened, Cliff turned away, cursing his own helplessness to aid them, +cursing Leon Corio who was responsible for their plight. Black wrath +gripped him as he moved on.</p> + +<p>Again the corridor branched, and again he kept to the right. Suddenly +he halted, ears straining. He heard the sound of a voice—the hollow +voice of Corio! It came faintly but clearly from a room at the end of +the passageway. Cliff went forward slowly.</p> + +<p>"And so, my dear," Corio was saying, "we entered into a pact with +the—Master, a pact sealed with blood. In exchange for our lives we +three were to bring other humans to this island for the feasting of +the dead-alive. Every third month each of us must return with our +cargo when the moon is full; and since we come back on alternating +months, they have a constant supply of fresh blood. Usually some of +our captives live from full moon to full moon before they become like +those of the galley—the undead. Some of these we waken when it suits +our fancy; they are not like the Masters; they awaken only when we +call them—we three or the Masters.</p> + +<p>"More than life they give us for what we do. Centuries ago pirates +used this island for refuge. They—died—and they left their treasure +in this castle. It lies in the room where the Masters lie; and we +three receive payment in gold and gems. Tonight I receive my pay, and +tomorrow I leave on the <i>Ariel</i>—and you go with me!"</p> + +<p>Cliff heard Vilma answer, and even while his heart leaped with relief, +he marveled at the cool scorn in her voice.</p> + +<p>"So I go with you, do I? I'd rather climb the stairs with the rest of +your victims than have anything to do with you—you monster! When +Cliff Darrell finds you——"</p> + +<p>"Darrell!" Corio's voice was a frozen sneer. "He'll do nothing! I'll +find <i>him</i>—and he'll wish he could climb the stairs of blood! As for +you, you'll go with me, and like it! A drop of my blood in your veins, +and you will belong to the Master, as I do. We shall attend to that; +but first there is something else—more pleasant." His words fell to +an indistinguishable purr.</p> + +<p>Still moving stealthily, Cliff hastened forward. Suddenly Vilma +screamed; and he launched himself madly across the remaining distance, +stood crouching at the threshold.</p> + +<p>Vilma lay on an ancient bed, her wrists and ankles bound with leather +thongs drawn about the four tall bed-posts. Only the torn remnants of +her under-garments covered the rounded contours of her body, and Corio +crouched over her, caressing the pink flesh. Vilma writhed beneath his +touch.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_c.jpg" alt="C" width="33" height="40" /></div> +<p>liff growled deep in his throat as he sprang. Corio spun around and +leaped aside, but he was too slow to escape Cliff's powerful lunge. +One hand closed on his thin neck, and the other, a rock-like fist, +made a bloody ruin of his mouth. Howling with pain, Corio tried to +sink his teeth in Cliff's arm.</p> + +<p>Cliff flung him aside, following with the easy glide of a boxer. Corio +crawled to his feet, cringing, dodging before the nemesis that stalked +him. Again Cliff leaped, and Corio, yellow with fear, darted around +the bed and ran wildly into the hallway. At the door Cliff checked +himself, reason holding him. Corio could elude him with ease in this +labyrinth of passages; and his first concern was Vilma's safety.</p> + +<p>He returned to the bed. Vilma looked up at him with such relief and +thankfulness on her face that Cliff, with a little choked cry, flung +himself to his knees beside the bed and kissed her hungrily. For +moments their lips clung; then Cliff straightened shakily, trying to +laugh.</p> + +<p>"We've got to get out of here, sweetheart," he said. "I'm not afraid +of Corio, but he knows things about this place that we don't know. +After you're safe on the yacht, I'll come back and get him."</p> + +<p>He looked around for something with which to cut her bonds. On the +wall above the bed were crossed a pair of murderous-looking cutlasses. +Seizing one of these, Cliff wrenched it from its fastenings and drew +it through the cords.... She stood beside him, free.</p> + +<p>"Your clothing——" Cliff began, his eyes on her almost-nude body.</p> + +<p>She blushed and pointed mutely to a heap of rags on the floor. Her +eyes flamed wrathfully. "He—he ripped them from me!"</p> + +<p>The muscles of Cliff's jaws knotted, and he scowled as he surveyed the +room for a drape or hanging to cover her. For the first time he really +saw the place. All the lavish splendor of royalty had been expended +on this chamber. It might have been the bedroom of a king, except that +the ancient furnishings belonged to no particular period; were, in +fact, the loot of raids extended over centuries. Yet despite its +splendor, everything was repulsive, cloaked with the same air of +unearthly gloom that hovered about the galley.</p> + +<p>He moved toward an intricately woven tapestry; but Vilma checked him, +shuddering with revulsion.</p> + +<p>"No, Cliff—it's too much like grave clothes. Everything about this +place makes my flesh crawl. I'd rather stay as I am than touch any of +it!"</p> + +<p>Cliff nodded slowly. "Let's go then."</p> + +<p>They hurried through the corridors toward the stairway, with Cliff +holding the cutlas in readiness. As they passed the room in which lay +the <i>Ariel's</i> passengers, he tried to divert Vilma's attention, but +she looked in as though hypnotized.</p> + +<p>"I saw them before," she whispered. "It's awful."</p> + +<p>As they started up the stairway to the great hall, Cliff took the +lead. He moved with utmost caution.</p> + +<p>"It doesn't seem right," he said uneasily. "We should hear from +Corio."</p> + +<p>At that moment they did hear from him—literally. From somewhere in +the maze of tunnels came the sound of his accursed horn—the note of +sleep! It swirled insidiously about their heads, numbing their senses. +Cliff felt his stride falter, saw Vilma stumble, and he hurled himself +forward furiously, gripping her arm.</p> + +<p>"Hurry!" he shouted, striving to pierce the fog of sleep. "We've <i>got</i> +to get out! Damn him!"</p> + +<p>Vilma rallied for an instant, and they reached the top of the stairs. +On—across that wide, wide room, each step a struggle.... On while the +droning sound floated languidly through every nerve cell.... On—till +their muscles could no longer move, and they sagged to the hard stone, +asleep.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_m.jpg" alt="M" width="43" height="40" /></div> +<p>oments later Cliff opened his eyes to meet the hellish glare of Leon +Corio. Corio smiled thinly.</p> + +<p>"So—you awaken. Good! I would have you know the fate I have planned +for you. You see this?" He held the cutlas high above Darrell's throat +like the blade of a guillotine. "With this I could end your life quite +painlessly and quickly. It really would prove entertaining for Miss +Bradley, I'm sure." He chuckled faintly behind bruised and swollen +lips.</p> + +<p>Cliff squirmed, striving to rise, then subsided instantly. He was +bound hand and foot.</p> + +<p>"I <i>could</i> kill you," Corio repeated musingly, "but that would lack +finesse." His teeth bared in a feline smile. "And it would be such a +waste—of blood! Instead, I'll take you out to the galley and let you +lie there till her crew awakens tonight. They have tasted blood, and +after tonight will taste none again for another month. I imagine +they'll—drain you dry!" The last phrase was a vicious snarl.</p> + +<p>Cliff heard Vilma utter a suppressed sob, and he turned his head. She +lay close by, bound like him with strips of leather. Furiously Cliff +strained at his fetters, but they held.</p> + +<p>"And while you wait for those gentle Persians to awaken," Corio +continued in tones caressingly soft, "you can think of your sweetheart +in my arms! It may teach you not to strike your betters—though you +can never profit by your lesson."</p> + +<p>Stooping, he raised Cliff's powerful form and managed to fling him +over one shoulder. Then he moved from the great hall, down the stone +steps, and across the dead plain with its sighing skeleton trees. He +was panting jerkily by the time he came to the fissure leading to the +cove, but he reached it, despite Cliff's two hundred pounds. Without +pausing, he went on into the cavern, along the rock ledge, to step at +last upon the deck of the black galley.</p> + +<p>"Pleasant thoughts," he said gently as he dropped Cliff to the spongy +boards. "You have only to wait till dark!"</p> + +<p>Cliff listened to his rapid footfalls till they died in distance; then +there was no sound save his own breathing.</p> + +<p>Gradually his eyes became accustomed to the heavy gloom, and he saw +that Corio had dropped him just at the edge of the rowers' pit. There +were white things down there—bones, pale as marble, scattered about +aimlessly. Could—could those bones join to make the rowers who would +arise with the night? It seemed absurd—<i>was</i> absurd—yet he knew it +was so! He had seen too much to doubt it.</p> + +<p>He rolled over on his back and stared upward into the shadows. He must +lie here helpless while Corio returned to Vilma—did with her as he +pleased! Perhaps he might even transform her into a blood-tainted +monster like himself! He saw her again in that room of ancient +splendor, spread-eagled to the bed; and the muscles corded in his +arms, and his lips strained white in a futile effort to break free.</p> + +<p>Interminably he lay there waiting. The galley was damp with the +chilling dampness of a sepulcher, and the dampness penetrated deeper +and deeper. Clamping his jaws together to prevent their quivering, he +struggled against a rising tide of madness which gnawed at his reason. +His mind began to crunch and jangle like a machine out of gear, +threatening to destroy itself.</p> + +<p>On and on in plodding indifference the stolid moments passed, till at +last Cliff realized that it was growing darker. He rolled over on his +side and stared into the galley pit, eyes fixed on the inert masses of +white. Soon they would move! Soon the undead would rise! His thoughts, +touched by the whips of dread, sped about like slaves seeking escape +from a torture pit. And abruptly out of the welter of chaotic ideas +came one straw of sanity; he seized it, his heart hammering with hope.</p> + +<p>Those Persian sailors were armed! Their swords and knives were real, +for they cut flesh! Somewhere among their bones must lie sharp-edged +blades!</p> + +<p>He struggled to the edge of the pit, let his feet drop over. As they +touched, he balanced precariously for an instant, then fell to his +knees. He peered feverishly about among white bones, moldering +garments, and rusted armor—and saw a faint glimmer of light on +pointed steel. He sank forward on his face in the direction of the +gleam, turned over, squirmed and writhed till he felt the cold blade +against his hands. He caught it between his fingers and began sawing +back and forth.</p> + +<p>It was heart-breaking work. Age had dulled the weapon, and long +slivers of rust flaked off, but the leather which bound him was also +ancient. Though progress was slow, and the effort laborious, Cliff +knew his bonds were weakening.</p> + +<p>But it was growing darker. Even now he could see only a suggestion of +gray among the shadows. If those undead things materialized while he +lay among them!... Sweat stood out on his forehead and he redoubled +his efforts, straining at the leather as he sawed.</p> + +<p>With a snap the cords parted and his hands were free. A single slash +severed the thongs about his ankles, and he stood up, leaped to the +deck. Not an instant too soon! There was movement in the pit—a +hideous crawling of bones assembling themselves into skeletal form....</p> + +<p>Cliff waited to see no more. There were limits to what one could see +and remain sane. With a bound he crossed the rotting deck, and sprang +ashore. Despite the dark, he almost ran from the madness of that cave, +ran till he passed through the wall of rock, till he saw the rim of +the moon gleaming behind the castle.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><i>5. The End of the Island</i></h2> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_o.jpg" alt="O" width="38" height="40" /></div> +<p>ut on the plain he sprinted through the ghostly forest. He knew he +had no time to spare—knew that soon the march of torture would +begin—knew that if Vilma were within the castle, she must answer the +summons of Corio's horn. Even now light glowed faintly in the high, +square windows.</p> + +<p>That horn! At the foot of the steps he stopped short. If <i>he</i> heard +the horn, he too must answer! He dared not risk it. With impatient +fingers he tore a strip of cloth from his shirt, rolled it into a +cylinder, and thrust it into his ear. Another for the other ear—and +he darted up into the castle.</p> + +<p>A sweeping glance revealed no one, only the murky glow of the altar +fire, and the wraiths of smoke pluming upward toward the shadowed +roof. Wishing now that he had brought a weapon from the galley, Cliff +crossed to the opening in the wall. He stood at the top of the steps, +listening, then cursed silently as he remembered that he could hear +none but very loud sounds. He saw nothing; so he hastened down into +the corridor. His steps were swiftly stealthy as he moved toward +Corio's room.</p> + +<p>He was past the first branching passage, when a sixth sense warned him +of someone's approach. He ran swiftly to the next fork, then paused +within its shelter and glanced back, saw five red-cowled figures glide +along the tunnel and vanish up the stairway. Cliff frowned. With the +vampires in the great hall, Corio must soon follow, leading his +victims to the blood-feast. He drew back deeper into the shadows.</p> + +<p>His groping hands touched something in the dark—round and hard—like +a keg. Curiously he investigated. It <i>was</i> a keg, and there were +others. A sandy powder trailed to the floor from a crack in one of +them. Thoughtfully Cliff let it run through his fingers. Gunpowder! Of +course—he had heard Corio mention pirates and their treasure, and +this had been their cache of explosive. An idea was forming....</p> + +<p>He looked up to see a shadow pass the mouth of the tunnel; he crept +forward and peered out. He saw the black-hooded figure of Leon Corio +striding along, saw him enter the room where the passengers of the +<i>Ariel</i> lay. In a breath Cliff was down the corridor to Corio's room. +A tarnished silver candelabrum shed faint light through the chamber, +and by its flickering glow he searched for Vilma, thoroughly, +painstakingly—futilely.</p> + +<p>He stood in the center of the room in indecision, his forehead creased +with anxiety. If only he could find her, he'd know how to plan! He ran +his hand through his hair helplessly, then heard very faintly the +luring note of Corio's horn. She must answer that summons, unless +Corio had her tied somewhere. His best chance of finding her lay in +the hall above.</p> + +<p>On the wall still hung the mate of the cutlas he had used to free +Vilma; he wrenched it down and ran out into the corridor. The last of +the naked marchers was disappearing up the stairway. Now the +horn-note died, and he could feel more than hear the rumbling bass of +the dirge from the depths below him.</p> + +<p>He ran the rest of the distance along the passageway and mounted the +steps two at a stride. He looked into the torture hall. As on the +previous night, Corio stood far back, close to the wall in which Cliff +crouched. The arms of the Master were raised high; raised, Cliff knew +though he could not hear it, in a blasphemous incantation. And then he +saw something that sent a crimson lance of fury crashing through his +brain.</p> + +<p>Vilma, stripped like the rest, stood with the other victims at the +foot of the long steps! Her body gleamed pinkly, in contrast to the +pallid drabness of the half-dead automatons, and she held her head +proudly erect. But from where he stood Cliff could see the side of her +face, and it bore a look of terror.</p> + +<p>He could see Corio's face, too, and he was looking at the girl, +baffled fury glaring from his eyes—as though she were there against +his will.</p> + +<p>Cliff's first impulse was to fling himself out there with his cutlas +and hack a way to freedom for Vilma and himself, but cold reason +checked this folly. Such a course could end only in death. Motionless +he watched the scene before him, his brain frantically seeking a plan +with even a ghost of a chance of succeeding.</p> + +<p>The gunpowder! There was enough of the stuff below to blast this +entire castle into the hell where it belonged! Hastily he retraced his +steps to the tunnel in which he had found the kegs, plucking the torch +from its niche in the wall as he passed it. He held it high above his +head as he examined the contents of the broken keg. Unmistakably +gunpowder!</p> + +<p>Thrusting the cutlas beneath his belt, he clutched a handful of the +black dust. Then, crouching close to the floor, he drew an irregular +thread through the passageway toward the stairs. Once he returned for +more powder, but in a few minutes the job was done. At the foot of the +steps where the trail ended, he touched his torch to the black line +and watched a hissing spark snake its white-smoked way back toward the +powder kegs. An instant he watched it, then sprang up the stairs. He'd +have to move fast!</p> + +<p>With a hideous howl he darted into the hall, his cutlas above his +head. Corio spun about—and it was his last living act. A single sweep +of the great blade sheared his head from his neck, sent it rolling +grotesquely along the floor. For three heart-beats the body stood with +a fountain of blood spurting from severed arteries; then it crashed.</p> + +<p>Coolly Cliff leaned over the twitching cadaver, ignoring the bedlam on +the stairs, the horde sweeping down toward him, hurling aside the +waiting humans. He pried open clutching fingers, seized a twisted +silver instrument, and raised it to his lips.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="36" height="40" /></div> +<p>he mass of undead were almost upon him, the murky light glinting on +menacing blades, when Cliff blew the first note. The note of sleep! He +tried again, hastily. And it was the right one!</p> + +<p>At the doleful, soothing sound the undead halted in their tracks; +halted—and melted into nothingness before his eyes!</p> + +<p>But now those other five in their robes of bloody red—they were +charging, and even though they were unarmed, Cliff felt a stab of +fear. They possessed powers beyond the human, powers a mortal could +not combat. He braced himself and waited.</p> + +<p>At the bottom of the steps they stopped, ranging in a wide +half-circle. The central monster—the Master—flung up his arms in a +strangely terrifying gesture, and Cliff saw his carmine lips move in +a chant which he could not hear. Something, a chilling Presence, +hovered about him, seemed to settle upon him, cloaking him with the +might of the devil himself. That unheard incantation continued, and +Cliff felt a cold rigidity creeping through every fiber, slowly +freezing his limbs into columns of ice.</p> + +<p>With a mighty effort of will he flung himself toward that accursed +drinker of blood—and at that instant a terrific detonation rocked the +ancient building, and a cloud of smoke and flame burst from the +opening in the wall. Cliff was hurled from his feet, rolled over and +over, and crashed against the wall by the awful concussion, the cutlas +and silver horn sent whirling through the air.</p> + +<p>Dizzily he staggered to his feet, crouching defensively. Sounds came +to him clearly now; the explosion must have jarred the plugs from his +ears. He scanned the room; saw the unclad humans scattered everywhere, +most of them lying still and unconscious. He saw Vilma rising slowly; +then he looked for the monsters in red. Startled, he saw them rushing +toward the opening in the wall, to vanish in its smoke-filled +interior. Why did they——? Then he knew. Down there somewhere were +their graves—graves rent and broken by the explosion—graves +threatened by the flames—and panic had seized the vampires, fear of +the death which would result with exile from their tombs!</p> + +<p>Unsteadily Cliff crossed to Vilma. She saw him coming and flung +herself sobbing into his arms. He crushed her lithe form close—and +another explosion, more violent than the first, sent a section of the +stone floor leaping upward as though with life of its own. Clinging to +Vilma, Cliff managed to maintain his footing, though the floor bucked +and heaved. A snapping, booming roar—and a great chasm opened in the +floor. A breathless instant—and a segment of the stone stairs, +rumbling thunderously, dropped out of sight into a newly formed pit! +With it went the blasphemous altar and its phosphorescent fire.</p> + +<p>Deafened, stunned, momentarily powerless to move, Cliff's mind groped +for an explanation. It seemed incredible that gunpowder could cause +such havoc. And the swaying of the floor continued; the thick stone +walls shook alarmingly. Suddenly he understood. An earthquake! The +explosions had jarred the none-too-stable understrata of rock into +spasmodic motion that must grind everything to bits! The island was +doomed! And Earth would be better without it.</p> + +<p>If only they could reach the <i>Ariel</i> first!</p> + +<p>New strength flowed through him, and hugging Vilma close, he staggered +toward the spot where he knew the door must be. Somehow he reached it, +and reeled down the broken stone steps.</p> + +<p>The plain of dead trees swayed like the deck of a ship in a storm as +Cliff started across it. A gale had arisen and swept in from the sea, +ripping dry branches from the skeleton growths and whirling them about +like straws. Yet somehow Cliff reached the crevice in the rock wall +with his burden, reached the deck of the galley, crossed it, and won +to the safety of the <i>Ariel</i>. Minutes later, with Diesel engines +purring, they crept out through the narrow channel into the open sea.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="36" height="40" /></div> +<p>en minutes later the Isle of the Undead lay safely behind them. Vilma +had dressed; and now they sat together in the pilot house. Cliff had +one arm about her, and one hand on the wheel.</p> + +<p>"And so," the girl was saying, "while Corio carried you to that +terrible old boat, I got loose. He hadn't tied me very tightly, and I +slipped my hands free. I had to hide, and I could think of only one +place that might be safe, where he wouldn't think to look for me. I +ran down to the room where those—those others lay; I undressed, and +buried myself among them. It was horrible—the way they sucked each +other's wounds...."</p> + +<p>Cliff pressed a hand across her lips. "Forget that!" he said almost +fiercely. "Forget all of it—d'you hear?"</p> + +<p>She looked up at him and said simply: "I'll try."</p> + +<p>They glanced back toward the black blotch on the horizon. The seismic +disturbances continued unabated. At that moment they saw the barrier +of rock like a skull split and sink into the sea. Beyond, cleansing +tongues of flame licked the sky. They saw a single jagged wall of the +castle still standing, one window glowing in its black expanse like a +square, bloody moon against a bloody sky. It crumbled.</p> + +<p>They turned away, and Cliff's arm circled the girl he loved. Their +lips met and clung.... And the <i>Ariel</i> plowed on through the frothing +brine, bearing them toward safety and forgetfulness.... Together.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Isle of the Undead, by Lloyd Arthur Eshbach + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ISLE OF THE UNDEAD *** + +***** This file should be named 32470-h.htm or 32470-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/2/4/7/32470/ + +Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Isle of the Undead + +Author: Lloyd Arthur Eshbach + +Release Date: May 21, 2010 [EBook #32470] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ISLE OF THE UNDEAD *** + + + + +Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + Transcriber's Note: + + This etext was produced from Weird Tales October 1936. Extensive + research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on + this publication was renewed. + + + [Illustration: "One hand closed on his thin neck, and the other, a + rock-like fist, made a bloody ruin of his mouth."] + + + Isle of the Undead + + + By LLOYD ARTHUR ESHBACH + + + _A gripping, thrilling, uncanny tale about the frightful + fate that befell a yachting party on the dreadful island of + living dead men_ + + * * * * * + + + + +_1. A Horror from the Past_ + +A drab gray sheet of cloud slipped stealthily from the moon's round +face, like a shroud slipping from the face of one long dead, a coldly +phosphorescent face from which the eyes had been plucked. Yellow +radiance fell toward a calm, oily sea, seeking a narrow bank of fog +lying low on the water, penetrating its somber mass like frozen yellow +fingers. + +Vilma Bradley shuddered and shrank against Clifford Darrell's brawny +form. "It's--it's ghastly, Cliff!" she said. + +"Ghastly?" Darrell leaned against the rail, laughing softly. "One +cocktail too many--that's the answer. It's given you the jitters. +Listen!" Faintly from the salon came strains of dance music and the +rhythmic shuffle of feet. "A nifty yacht, a South Sea moon, a radio +dance orchestra, dancers--and little Clifford! And you call it +ghastly!" Almost savagely his arms tightened about her, and the +bantering note left his voice. "I'm crazy about you, Vilma." + +She tried to laugh, but it was an unconvincing sound. "It's the moon, +Cliff--I guess. I never saw it like that before. Something's going to +happen--something dreadful. I just _know_ it!" + +"Oh--be sensible, Vilma!" There was a hint of impatience in Cliff's +deep voice. A gorgeous girl in his arms--dark-haired, dark-eyed, made +for love--and she talked of dreadful things which were going to happen +because the moon looked screwy. + +She released herself and glanced out over the sea. "I know I'm silly, +but----" Her voice froze and her slender body stiffened. +"Cliff--look!" + +Darrell spun around, and as he stared, he felt a dryness seeping into +his throat, choking him.... + +Out of the winding-sheet of fog into the moonlight crept a strange, +strange craft, her crumbling timbers blackened and rotted with +incredible age. The corpse of a ship, she seemed, resurrected from the +grave of the sea. Her prow thrust upward like a scimitar bent +backward, hovering over the gaunt ruin of a cabin whose seaward sides +were formed by port and starboard bows. From a shallow pit amidships +jutted the broken arm of a mast, its splintered tip pointing toward +the blindly watching moon. The stern, thickly covered with the +moldering encrustations of age, curved inward above the strange high +poop, beneath which lay another cabin. And along either side of her +worm-eaten freeboard ran a row of apertures like oblong portholes. Out +of these projected great oars, long, unwieldy, as somberly black as +the rest of the ancient hulk. + +Now a sound drifted across the waters, the steady, rhythmic +_br-rr-oom, br-rr-oom, br-rr-oom_ of a drum beating time for the +rowers. Its hollow thud checked the heart, set it to throbbing in +tempo with its own weary pulse. Ghostly fingers, dripping dread, +crawled up Darrell's spine. + +Stiff-lipped, Vilma gasped: "What--what is it?" + +Cliff answered in a dry husky voice, the words seeming to trip over an +awkward tongue. "It's--it's--it _can't_ be, damn it!--but it's a +galley, a ship from the days of Alexander the Great! What's it +doing--here--_now_?" + +Closer she came through the moon-path, a frothing lip of brine curling +away from her swelling prow. Closer--her course crossing that of the +_Ariel_--and the watchers saw her crew! They gasped, and the blood +ebbed from their faces. + +Men of ancient Persia, clad in leather kirtles and rusted armor, and +they were hideous! In the yellow moon-glow Cliff could see them +clearly now--a lookout standing motionless in the stem, the steersman +on the poop-deck, the drummer squatting beside the broken mast, the +rowers in the pit--and all, _all_ were a bloodless white, the skin of +their faces puffed and bloated and horribly wrinkled, like flesh that +had been under water a long time. + +Dead men ... men whose movements were stiffly wooden ... as dead as +their faces. But most horrible was the fact that they were there, that +they moved at all! + + * * * * * + +"A queer mirage, isn't it?" A hollow voice spoke suavely behind them. + +Vilma gasped at the sudden sound, and they whirled. A foot away stood +the tall, lean figure of the _Ariel's_ captain, Leon Corio. A queer +smile twisted his thin lips. + +"What's the idea--sneaking up on us?" Darrell demanded angrily. He +didn't like this man, hadn't liked him from the moment he had +approached Cliff to sell him the yacht. But Cliff had bought the craft +because she was a bargain, and in accordance with their agreement he +had hired Corio as captain. + +The tall man's smile remained fixed, and he bowed gravely. "Sorry, +sir. I always walk softly. A habit, I suppose." He gestured toward +the galley. "It looks quite life-like, don't you think so?" + +"Life-like?" Cliff spoke between his teeth as he again faced the black +ship. "It looks _dead_ to me!" + +The galley had almost reached them _now_, _veering sharply to draw up +beside_ the _Ariel_. The drum quieted, and the oars trailed in the +water, motionless except for the swaying imparted by the waves. A +musty, age-old odor filtered through the air like a breath from a +grave. The music and dancing had stopped. A fear-filled hush shrouded +the yacht. + +Vilma drew Cliff's arm about her shoulder. He glanced back at the +motionless captain. + +"_Do_ something, Corio!" he rasped. "Don't stand there like a dummy!" + +Corio nodded with his same queer smile. His hand darted to an inside +pocket, came out bearing a curious instrument like four twisted cones +of silver bound together with silver thongs. As he raised this to his +mouth, his eyelids were slits behind which burned the embers of his +eyes. + +Out over the sea crept a single note, deep, hollow, laden with eery +minor wailings--a sound that summoned imperatively, yet a sound that +repelled. It was a moan, hideous as the moan of a dying demon. It +raked the heart with fear-tipped claws. It rose, and fell, and rose +again, and as it died, it awakened the crew of the ancient galley to +motion, sweeping them in a horde to the rail of the yacht. + +Cliff swung toward Corio in bursting fury, fury mingled with dread. +His fist lashed out at that glittering silver instrument and the face +behind it, but Corio avoided him like a wraith, still smiling fixedly, +the horn again at his lips. Cliff cursed, and hurled himself through +the air. One hand caught a bony shoulder; he felt fingers like hooks +close on his own throat. He wrenched free, landing a stunning blow on +Corio's face--saw him reel and crash to the deck--and then he heard +Vilma scream! + +He whirled. She was struggling between two of the _flabby-faced things +from_ the galley! In an instant he was upon them, his fist thudding +against icy flesh, burying itself in something horribly soft and +yielding. Startled, Cliff swung a second blow; and an arm, tomb-cold +and strong as the tentacle of an octopus, wrapped itself around him--a +vise of thin-covered bone! A dead, drowned face peered over his +shoulder, staring blankly. Other arms seized his legs, and though he +struggled and writhed with the strength of a mounting fear, he was +borne to the rail. Over they went, and dropped to the rotting deck of +the galley. + +A numbness was creeping through him like a contagion, spreading from +those crushing hands of ice. His struggles ceased. With eyes that +turned stiffly in their sockets he looked for Vilma, saw her raised +high above the heads of two other pallid creatures, saw them climb +over the rail. Then the blackness of a dank and musty cabin enveloped +him; and he was dropped with jarring force. His captors bulked black +against the moonlit doorway, treading soundlessly, and were gone. + +Cliff lay in rigid paralysis, every sense keenly alive, his mind +striving to clutch a single spar of reason in this chaotic whirlpool +of the incredible. This _couldn't_ be! Soon he'd awaken to laugh at +his absurd nightmare.... Yet it seemed horribly real.... It _was_ +real! + +From the _Ariel_ boiled a fearful bedlam. Screams of terror. Curses. +Then other shadows loomed in the doorway, and Vilma, motionless and +rigid, was dropped brutally beside him on the spongy floor. + +Furiously Cliff struggled against the maddening restraint of +paralysis. He couldn't lie here helpless! Vilma needed him! He'd--he'd +_have_ to do something. With an effort that studded his forehead with +rounded drops of sweat and sent the blood throbbing through the +distended veins of his neck, he sought to move. And like a cord +snapping, his invisible bonds fell from him. + +He was crouching over Vilma, rubbing her wrists, calling to her, when +again he heard the silver horn of Corio. A low droning utterly unlike +the note that had awakened the galley's crew, it drifted languidly +along a channel of endless sleep. It seeped through the ear-drums, +touching every nerve-tip with resistless lassitude. Doggedly Cliff +fought against the sound, pressing his hands over his ears, gritting +his teeth, holding his eyelids wide. Yet he felt his muscles weaken, +began to relax, knew dimly that his mind, sodden with drowsiness, was +creeping toward the pits of slumber--and the vibrant drone ended! + + * * * * * + +His head cleared rapidly, and he bent over Vilma. As he touched a limp +arm, he knew she had passed from paralysis into a deep, quiet sleep. +He shook her. It was useless. He listened, heard her steady breathing; +and at that instant realized that the noises from the yacht had +ceased. + +Rising, he strode toward the square of chalky moonlight. A foot away +he halted, fell back. He had heard a faint footfall, had seen an +armor-clad figure climbing over the rail! With silent haste he flung +himself down beside Vilma. + +And there he lay while the crew of the galley carried his friends from +the _Ariel_, all slumped in that unnatural sleep, and stretched them +out on the floor of the black cabin. Unmoving, he watched through +narrow lids till all save Corio had been carried aboard, and the +drowned things had gone back to their places in the rowers' pits. +Again the hollow voice of the drum began throbbing through the +silence, and the oars creaked a faint accompaniment. He could feel the +galley cleaving the oily sea. + +On his feet, he peered through the doorway. The backs of the rowers +rose and fell with stiff, mechanical rhythm. Beyond the galley's stern +came the yacht, slinking along like a thief, only one dim light +showing, her Diesel engines purring almost soundlessly. + +He turned and bent over Vilma, still in thrall to that strange deep +slumber. As he traced the delicate outlines of her lovely face, now so +lifeless and pale, bitter wrath flared within him, wrath and hatred +for Leon Corio. But as he thought of the ghastly _undead_ things out +there in the galley pit, thought of this water-soaked anachronism +which had no right to be afloat, his skin crisped with a sense of +foreboding, a fear of what was yet to come. He must do something! + +Stepping over the still forms of his friends, he moved to the forward +wall where a beam of radiance crept fearfully through a gap between +two boards. His hands touched the hull--and he jerked them away. +Rotten, clammy, like a decayed corpse, partly frozen. Crouching, he +peered through. + +Far ahead, a blotch of evil blackness squatted on the horizon, an +island crouching low like a black beast ready to spring. Around it the +moonlight seemed to dim, as though it were striving to hide some +nameless horror. Interminably Cliff watched while the shadowed mass +drew closer ... closer.... + +They were headed for a towering wall of black basalt; and as the +galley neared it, Cliff saw that it bore striking resemblance to a +gigantic human skull, its rounded surface broken by caves that the +sea had carved into hollow eye-sockets and an empty nasal cavity. The +rock wall ended high above the water; beneath it lay a gaping chasm of +pitchy darkness. And the galley, drum silenced, oars at rest, slid +under the ledge, into the mouth of the skull! + +Just before total blackness fell, Cliff sprang to Vilma's side and +raised her in his arms. If he hoped to do anything, he must do it now! +He groped his way to the starboard bow and moved one hand along the +dank timbers, searching. He found what he sought, a wide gap at the +edge of a board. Gently lowering Vilma to the floor, he gripped the +slimy wood with both hands and thrust outward mightily. A wide strip +of decayed timber burst free. He dropped it into the sea and attacked +the next board. In moments a wide irregular opening yawned in the +galley's hull. + +Leaning out, Cliff looked down. He could see nothing. Then suddenly a +faint light appeared, and he heard the hum of the _Ariel's_ motors as +she entered the cave. The humming ceased instantly, but the faint +light persisted. + +Now he could see the blackness of waters, a rock wall beyond. He drew +back--and a he did so, he heard movements on deck! At any moment the +rowers might enter! He'd have to risk a drop into the water with +Vilma--there was nothing else to do. If only she were conscious! + +He stooped and raised her, holding her firmly with one arm. Gripping +the hull with the other, he climbed through the opening, inhaled +deeply, and dropped! A heart-stopping plunge--and cold water closed +over them. Down, down--then they shot upward, reached the surface; and +even as Cliff gulped a single gasping breath, something struck his +skull a blinding, stunning blow! The oars! + +With rapidly numbing arms and legs Cliff kicked and flailed the water, +striving for land. Dimly he knew he no longer held Vilma; dimly he +visioned her as were those ghastly undead; then his body scraped on +something hard, and a blackness that was not physical blotted out +consciousness. + + +_2. The Dreadful Isle_ + +Red-hot hammers pounding against his temples wakened Cliff Darrell. He +opened his eyes to stare into total darkness crawling with mental +monsters spawned by his pain-stabbed brain. He lay half immersed in +shallow brine, his head resting on a jagged stone just above the +surface. Struggling to his hands and knees, he shook his head from +side to side, dumbly, like an animal in pain. Something had hit +him--and now he was in water--and there was no light. What had +happened? Where was Vilma? + +Vilma! He groaned. He remembered now. They had dropped--and his head +had struck something--and--and--maybe she was floating out there even +now, dead eyes staring upward. + +"Vilma!" he cried, his voice pleading. "Vilma!" + +Only a mocking echo answered him. There was no other sound, not even +the whisper of waves swishing among the rocks. + +Cliff pressed his hands fiercely against his throbbing head. The pain +had become a madness, matched only by the agony of his own +helplessness. He felt his reason reeling; he fought an insane desire +to fling himself shrieking into that silent expanse of water to search +for Vilma; then with a tremendous physical effort he jarred himself +back to sanity. + +He staggered to his feet, groped stumblingly over the rocks away from +the water. His hand touched a rock wall broken and pitted by the +action of the sea; and he crept slowly inland, feeling his way like a +blind man. As he plodded on his thoughts blended into one fixed idea: +he must get to light, must get light to search for Vilma. + +Gradually the insensate pounding in his head abated, and strength +returned to his body. When at last he saw light beyond a narrow +fissure around an angle in the cavern, he had almost recovered. In +moments he was gazing out over a plain bathed in the glow of a leprous +moon. As he stared, he shivered; and it was not because of the cold +draft drawing through the fissure, fanning his brine-drenched body. + +Grim and starkly forbidding the plain lay before him, dead as the +frozen landscape of the moon. Once there had been life there, but now +only the skeletons of trees remained, lifting their wasted limbs in +rigid pleading to an unresponsive sky. Some, there were, that had +fallen, uprooted by the fury of passing hurricanes; these lay like the +scattered bones of a dismembered giant, age-blackened, and painted +with hoarfrost by the brushes of moonlight. Feebly the dead forest +stirred under the touch of a moaning wind, and the gaunt shadows cast +by the trees seemed to be multi-armed monsters slithering over the +rocky earth. + +He looked beyond the trees, and he saw light. Little squares of pale +radiance cut high in the walls of an ancient black castle. Castle? +Cliff frowned. He could liken it to nothing else, though he could not +recall ever having seen a castle which thrust curving, needle-thin +spires into the sky like a devil's horns. + +Impatiently Cliff stepped from the wall of rock and glanced along a +path that writhed through the forest; glanced--and crouched swiftly, a +low cry escaping him. A single spot of water on a smooth, flat stone! +A spot shaped like a woman's shoe! Vilma had passed this way! + +But--might it not have been some other woman from the _Ariel_? No! +They had been carried--and even if they had walked, their feet were +dry! + +Like a hound on the scent, Cliff Darrell sped along the serpentine +path. The wind moaned above him, and the soughing branches seemed to +whisper croaking warnings, but he ran on, his eyes constantly seeking +signs of Vilma's course. Here a drop of water shaken from her drenched +skirt, there another; and Cliff blessed the full moon whose light made +possible his trailing of the almost invisible spoor. + +Now he had passed beyond the dead forest and was moving toward the +castle. The trail had been growing steadily fainter, but he managed to +follow it. It led him toward a narrow stone stairway climbing +crookedly to a misshapen opening in the wall. Light glowed faintly +lurid somewhere deep within; and now Cliff heard a blasphemous sound +belch from the depths of the castle--a wheezing, sardonic croaking +like the moan of a demoniac organ, rumbling an obscene dirge. His hair +bristled, and he stopped short. + +He looked at the steps, searching for the fading trail--and he +stiffened. There on the second step was an irregular blotch of +moisture! What did it mean? Had Vilma crouched there? Had she ascended +those steps? Entered? + + * * * * * + +With drawn face he began to skirt the base of the black building, +searching every nook and cranny, scanning the bare walls. His heart +lay like ballast in his breast. If--if something had lured Vilma into +that demon-infested vault ... he checked the thought. + +Suddenly he cursed. Mechanically he had begun to measure his stride in +time with the doleful dirge from the castle. He stalked on with +altered pace. As he rounded the corner at the rear of the structure, +he saw a shadow outlined against the sky, crouching on a ledge below +one of the little windows. He looked again--cried: + +"Vilma!" + +The figure above him stirred, looked down, then climbed hastily +earthward. It was Vilma ... Vilma, with black hair hanging stringily +about her head, face pale, eyes fixed in the wideness of fear ... +Vilma, with her wet clothing clinging to the lovely contours of her +symmetrical body. + +"Oh, Cliff!" she gasped, a dry sob choking her. "Thank God--thank +God!" + +She clung to him, her face hidden against his shoulder, quivering +uncontrollably. Then tears came, saving tears, relieving her pent-up +emotions. + +Cliff said nothing, only held her close, strongly protective. And +gradually he felt the tempest of terror subside. At last she looked +up. Some of the dread had gone from her face, and she tried to smile. + +"I guess--I can't take it," she said. + +Cliff shook his head solemnly. "You're a game girl, Vilma! You've +nerve enough for two men. If you can, tell me what happened. Or if +you'd rather let it wait, just say so." + +"I'll feel better if I get it off my chest," she said. "You probably +saw those--things--carry me from the yacht." Cliff nodded. "Well, I +was just about paralyzed when they dropped me in their terrible boat. +I remember, you tried to arouse me; then that horn blew, and I just +seemed to float away in an ocean of sleep. + +"After that I can remember nothing till I awoke with water filling my +eyes and nose and mouth, choking me. Someone's arms were around me--it +must have been you, Cliff--and then they weren't there any more, and I +struggled wildly, out of my wits. I don't know how I got to shore, but +I did, and I lay there in the shadow of the galley, choking and +gagging, but afraid to cough. It wasn't altogether dark, and I could +see those dreadful things with people hanging over their shoulders, +carrying them along a narrow ledge close to the water's edge, heading +inland. I thought maybe you were one of those limp bodies; and I--I +almost died of fright. After a while the last one had gone, and the +light went out. Then I heard another pair of feet moving over the +rocks. Corio, I suppose. The sound died--and I was alone. + +"That place was awful, Cliff. The blackness almost drove me mad. I +wanted to scream, but I was afraid to. Some terrible weight seemed to +be crushing my lungs. If I followed those undead things, they might +capture me, but it seemed worse to stay there in that dreadful dark. + +"I got out of there somehow, though it seemed to take hours. Then I +didn't know what to do. I stood at the edge of the dead forest trying +to decide; trying, too, to keep myself from shrieking and +running--anywhere. Then Corio's horn blew again--a sound, Cliff, worse +than anything I've ever heard. It--it was a wicked sound, promising to +fulfill every foul desire that ever tainted a human mind. It repelled, +yet it lured irresistibly. And--I answered!" + +She stopped, and buried her face in her hands. After a moment she went +on. "The sound stopped just as I found myself crawling on hands and +knees up the stone stairway on the other side. Another started--that +awful groaning--music--but it didn't draw me. I ran down the steps and +scurried away like a rabbit trying to find a place to hide. + +"After a while I came back--I thought you must be in there--and I +climbed up to the window. And--and--Cliff, it's hellish!" + +Her eyes, boring into his, widened in the same rigid terror he had +seen in them when he joined her. + +"We could go back to the cove and get away on the _Ariel_, Vilma," +Cliff said stonily. "And if you think we should, we will. But--I +brought our friends here, and--well, I want to get them out if I can." + +With an effort Vilma nodded. "Of course. We can't do anything else." + +He released her and stepped up to the wall. + +"I'm going to see what's going on in there," he said. "You wait here +till I come down." + +In sudden dread Vilma seized his arm. "No, Cliff. I couldn't stand +waiting here alone. I'll go with you." + +He nodded understandingly. And together they began climbing the +precipitous wall, fitting hands and feet in step-like crevices that +made progress fairly rapid. Soon they were crouching on a wide stone +ledge, clinging to thin, rusted bars, staring into the black castle. + + +_3. The Steps of Torture_ + +A gigantic hall lay before them, a single chamber whose walls were the +walls of the castle, whose arched ceiling rose far above them. +Directly below their window a stone platform jutted from the wall, +spreading entirely across the chamber. A stone altar squatted in the +center of the platform, a strangely phosphorescent fire smoldering on +its top. And from the altar descended a wide, wide stairway ending in +the middle of the hall. All this Cliff saw in a single sweeping +glance; afterward he had eyes for nothing save the lethal horror of a +mad, mad scene, revealed by the dim radiance of the altar fire. + +Behind the altar stood five huge figures clad in long, hooded cloaks +of scarlet. The central figure had arms raised wide, his cloak spread +like the wings of some bloody bird of prey; and from his lips came a +guttural incantation, a blasphemous chant in archaic Latin, in time +with the wheeze of the buried organ. Now his arms dropped, and he was +silent. + +From the room below came a concerted whine of ceremonial devotion, a +hollow, hungry wail. It rose from the bloodless lips of strangely +assorted human figures ranging down the center of the long stairway in +two facing columns. A hundred or more there must have been, +representing half as many periods and countries, according to their +strange and ancient costumes. Men in the armor of medieval Persia--the +crew of the black galley; yellow-haired Vikings; hawk-faced Egyptians +with leather-brown skins; half-naked islanders; red-sashed pirates +from the Spanish main; men of today! And about all, like the dampness +that clings to a tombstone, hovered a cloud of--death! The undead! + +Cliff's gaze roved over the tensely waiting columns, then leaped to +the foot of the stairs. There, cowering dumbly like sheep in a +slaughter-pen, were his friends from the _Ariel_. All clothing had +been stripped from them, and they stood waiting in waxen, statuesque +stiffness. He saw then that three others lay prone before the stone +altar, naked and ominously still. + +And far down at the very end of the hall stood Leon Corio, draped in a +hooded cape of unbroken black, a glint of silver in his hand--his horn +of drugging sounds. + +Now, as though at a silent command, a girl left the group and began to +mount the stairs, as those motionless three must have mounted! +Vivacious Ann--she had been the life of Cliff's yacht party; but now +she was--changed. Her blanched face was rigid with inexpressible +terror despite the semi-stupor which numbed her senses. Her nude body +glowed like marble in the dim light. Horribly, her feet began their +climb with a little catch step suggested by the moaning chant of that +cracked organ note. + +She reached the first of the undead, and Cliff saw light glint on a +knife-blade. A crimson gash appeared in the flesh of her thigh; and +dead lips touched that wound, drank thirstily. The girl strode on, +blood gleaming darkly on the white skin. A second drank of the crimson +flow--a third--and the blood ceased gushing forth. + +Another knife flashed--and lips closed again and again on a redly +dripping wound. And the girl with the unchanging pace of a robot +climbed the stairway to its very top--climbed while fiendish corpses +drank her life's blood--climbed, to sink down on the altar. + +One of the red-clad figures stooped over her, lifted her, buried long +teeth in her throat--and Cliff saw his face.... His own face paled, +and talons of fear raked his brain. Those others on the stairs--they +were abhorrent, zombies freed from the grave. But this monster! A +vampire vested with the lust and cruelty and power of hell! + +He lowered her, finally, and she sank down, lay still, beside the +other three. + +Another began the hellish climb, a giant of a man with a thickly +muscled torso. Cliff knew him instantly; and his heart seemed to stop. +Leslie Starke! They'd played football together. A brave man--a +fighter. He mounted the stairway with the same little catch step, the +same plodding stiffness. No resistance, no struggle--only a hell of +fear on his face. + +The marrow melted from Cliff Darrell's bones. What--what could he do +against a power that did _that_ to Les Starke? He tried to swallow, +but the saliva had dried on his tongue. He wanted to turn to Vilma, +but he could not wrench his eyes from the frightful spectacle. + +Up the stone steps Starke strode. And no blade leaped toward him; no +thirsty lips closed on his flesh! In an unwavering line he mounted +toward the cowled monster in the center of the dais, like a puppet on +the end of a string; mounted to pause before the stone altar, to lie +on it, head bent back, throat bared.... Mercifully Cliff regained +enough control to close his eyes. + +He opened them at a gasp from Vilma; saw the vampire raise the flaccid +body of Les Starke and hurl it far from him, to crash to the stone +steps, to roll and thud and tumble, down and down, sickeningly, to lie +awkwardly twisted on the floor before his companions! + +And another began to climb the long stone steps.... + +All through the interminable night Cliff and Vilma crouched on the +ledge, staring through the barred window. A hundred times they would +have fled to escape the maddening scene, but they could not move. +Senses reeled before the awful monotony of the ceaseless climbing, +their eyes smarted with fixed staring, their tongues and throats were +parched to desert dryness; yet only after hours of endless watching, +only after the last victim had climbed the steps, did the edge of +terror dull, and a modicum of control return to their bodies. + +Stiffly Cliff looked over his shoulder. A faint tinge of gray rimmed +the sea on the eastern horizon. + +"Almost daylight," he whispered hoarsely. + +Vilma nodded, her gaze still held by that chamber of horror. Cliff +followed the direction of her eyes; and saw Corio standing like a +great bat in his hooded cape close to the far wall. He raised his +four-piped horn to his lips. And the instrument's fourth note crept +through the room. + + * * * * * + +It was a doleful sound, a cry like the cry Death itself might possess; +yet oddly--and horribly--it was soothing, promising the peace of +endless sleep. And touched by its power, the columns of undead +stiffened, thinned to wraiths, flowed as water flows down the stone +steps, vanished! + +The dead-alive--those five vampires in crimson cowls--looked upward +uneasily. The shadows under the roof were graying with the light of +dawn. Cliff could sense their thought. Before sunrise they must be in +their tombs under the castle, to sleep until another night. With one +accord they strode down the stairs, past Corio who had prostrated +himself, and entered a black opening in the wall. With their departure +the altar fire dimmed to a sullen ember. + +Corio arose. He was alone in the chamber save for that dead, broken +body lying in a twisted heap at the foot of the stairs, and those +other half-alive wretches stretched out before the altar. Now, Cliff +told himself, was the time for him to get in there at Corio; now was +the time to rescue his friends--but he continued to crouch, unmoving. + +Again Corio blew on his silver horn, and a faint cry leaped from +Vilma's tensed lips. The luring note that had drawn her, Cliff thought +hazily; then he thought of nothing save the sound, the sound that +promised him all he could desire. Earth and its dominion, his for the +taking--if he answered that call!... Then even the sound eluded his +senses, and he heard only the promise.... He must answer, must claim +what was rightfully his! + +But those half-dead creatures--sight of their stirring steadied his +staggering sanity. Here and there heads lifted and bloodless husks of +bodies tried to rise. In the pallid light they seemed like corpses, +freed from newly opened graves. Some could only reach their knees; +others rose to uncertain limbs. And all moved down the stairway toward +Corio, answering his summons; followed as he made his slow way toward +the opening in the wall, still blowing the single note--the note that +promised Earth and all it held.... + +Cliff glanced toward Vilma--and she was not there. He looked down, saw +her far below, dropping from crack to crevice with amazing speed and +daring, hastening toward--Corio! + +The thought jarred any lingering taint of allurement from Cliff's +mind. He must stop her. He swung around, ignoring the cramped +stiffness of his legs, and started down the steep wall. Down, down, +recklessly, with Corio's horn-note only a faintly heard sound fading +behind him. + +Now he saw Vilma reach the rocks below and dash around the corner of +the castle, and he cursed, redoubling his speed. Down--down--and +suddenly the ancient rock crumbled underfoot. For an instant he hung +from straining fingertips--then dropped. + +A smashing impact--a stone that slid beneath him--and his head crashed +against the castle wall. Through a fiery mist of pain he pictured +Vilma in the grasp of Corio. The mist thickened--grew black--engulfed +him. + + +_4. In Corio's Hands_ + +Cliff awoke with the sun glaring down on his face. He opened his eyes, +and stabbing lances of light pierced his eyeballs. Momentarily +blinded, he pressed his hands across his face and struggled erect. +There was a sick feeling in his stomach, and the back of his head +throbbed incessantly. He touched the aching area, and winced. A lump +like an egg thrust out his scalp; it was sticky with blood. He stood +there, weaving from side to side, trying to recall something.... + +As memory came, he groaned. Vilma! He had last seen her racing madly +toward Corio, lured by his damned horn. It was daylight now; the sun +had risen at least an hour ago. An hour--with Vilma gone! + +Shaking his head to clear it, and gritting his teeth at the pain, he +stalked along the wall. Turning the corner he strode on toward the +crooked steps. The lifeless terrain reeled dizzily, but he went on +resolutely. The pain in his head was fading to a dull ache; and as he +mounted the steps, strength seemed to flow back into his legs. With +every sense taut he passed into the gloom of the castle. + +A quick glance he cast about--saw the body of Starke lying where it +had fallen. No use to examine it; there was no life there. His gaze +swept up the slope of the stairway to the altar at its head, lingered +on the phosphorescent eye of light still glowing there. Then he +shrugged grimly and moved on to the doorway in the wall. Warily he +peered in. + +As his eyes adjusted themselves to the greater darkness, he saw a +narrow stairway leading downward into a shadowy corridor. Somewhere in +the tunnel's depths a faint light shone. He could see nothing more. He +moved stealthily down the damp, dank stairs. + +At the bottom he paused, listening. He could hear nothing. A hundred +feet ahead, the corridor divided in two; a burning torch was thrust in +the wall at the junction. Cliff nodded with satisfaction. Corio _must_ +be somewhere near by; for only a human needed light. + +Silently Cliff strode along the corridor. At the fork he hesitated, +then chose the right branch, for light glowed faintly along that +passageway. The other led downward, black as the pits of hell. + +A doorway appeared in the wall ahead, and he moved warily, with fists +clenched. Flickering torchlight filtered into the corridor. There was +no audible sound. Now Cliff peered into a small chamber, and gasped in +sudden horror, his eyes staring unwinkingly at a spectacle incredibly +pitiful. + +Here were the passengers of the _Ariel_, whitely naked, and lying in +little groups on the cold stone floor, huddled together for warmth. +Their faces turned toward Darrell as he stood in the doorway, but +there was no recognition in the vacuous eyes, no thought, no +intelligence, and little life in the wide-mouthed stares. It seemed as +though their souls had been drained from their bodies with their +blood. + +Sickened, Cliff turned away, cursing his own helplessness to aid them, +cursing Leon Corio who was responsible for their plight. Black wrath +gripped him as he moved on. + +Again the corridor branched, and again he kept to the right. Suddenly +he halted, ears straining. He heard the sound of a voice--the hollow +voice of Corio! It came faintly but clearly from a room at the end of +the passageway. Cliff went forward slowly. + +"And so, my dear," Corio was saying, "we entered into a pact with +the--Master, a pact sealed with blood. In exchange for our lives we +three were to bring other humans to this island for the feasting of +the dead-alive. Every third month each of us must return with our +cargo when the moon is full; and since we come back on alternating +months, they have a constant supply of fresh blood. Usually some of +our captives live from full moon to full moon before they become like +those of the galley--the undead. Some of these we waken when it suits +our fancy; they are not like the Masters; they awaken only when we +call them--we three or the Masters. + +"More than life they give us for what we do. Centuries ago pirates +used this island for refuge. They--died--and they left their treasure +in this castle. It lies in the room where the Masters lie; and we +three receive payment in gold and gems. Tonight I receive my pay, and +tomorrow I leave on the _Ariel_--and you go with me!" + +Cliff heard Vilma answer, and even while his heart leaped with relief, +he marveled at the cool scorn in her voice. + +"So I go with you, do I? I'd rather climb the stairs with the rest of +your victims than have anything to do with you--you monster! When +Cliff Darrell finds you----" + +"Darrell!" Corio's voice was a frozen sneer. "He'll do nothing! I'll +find _him_--and he'll wish he could climb the stairs of blood! As for +you, you'll go with me, and like it! A drop of my blood in your veins, +and you will belong to the Master, as I do. We shall attend to that; +but first there is something else--more pleasant." His words fell to +an indistinguishable purr. + +Still moving stealthily, Cliff hastened forward. Suddenly Vilma +screamed; and he launched himself madly across the remaining distance, +stood crouching at the threshold. + +Vilma lay on an ancient bed, her wrists and ankles bound with leather +thongs drawn about the four tall bed-posts. Only the torn remnants of +her under-garments covered the rounded contours of her body, and Corio +crouched over her, caressing the pink flesh. Vilma writhed beneath his +touch. + + * * * * * + +Cliff growled deep in his throat as he sprang. Corio spun around and +leaped aside, but he was too slow to escape Cliff's powerful lunge. +One hand closed on his thin neck, and the other, a rock-like fist, +made a bloody ruin of his mouth. Howling with pain, Corio tried to +sink his teeth in Cliff's arm. + +Cliff flung him aside, following with the easy glide of a boxer. Corio +crawled to his feet, cringing, dodging before the nemesis that stalked +him. Again Cliff leaped, and Corio, yellow with fear, darted around +the bed and ran wildly into the hallway. At the door Cliff checked +himself, reason holding him. Corio could elude him with ease in this +labyrinth of passages; and his first concern was Vilma's safety. + +He returned to the bed. Vilma looked up at him with such relief and +thankfulness on her face that Cliff, with a little choked cry, flung +himself to his knees beside the bed and kissed her hungrily. For +moments their lips clung; then Cliff straightened shakily, trying to +laugh. + +"We've got to get out of here, sweetheart," he said. "I'm not afraid +of Corio, but he knows things about this place that we don't know. +After you're safe on the yacht, I'll come back and get him." + +He looked around for something with which to cut her bonds. On the +wall above the bed were crossed a pair of murderous-looking cutlasses. +Seizing one of these, Cliff wrenched it from its fastenings and drew +it through the cords.... She stood beside him, free. + +"Your clothing----" Cliff began, his eyes on her almost-nude body. + +She blushed and pointed mutely to a heap of rags on the floor. Her +eyes flamed wrathfully. "He--he ripped them from me!" + +The muscles of Cliff's jaws knotted, and he scowled as he surveyed the +room for a drape or hanging to cover her. For the first time he really +saw the place. All the lavish splendor of royalty had been expended +on this chamber. It might have been the bedroom of a king, except that +the ancient furnishings belonged to no particular period; were, in +fact, the loot of raids extended over centuries. Yet despite its +splendor, everything was repulsive, cloaked with the same air of +unearthly gloom that hovered about the galley. + +He moved toward an intricately woven tapestry; but Vilma checked him, +shuddering with revulsion. + +"No, Cliff--it's too much like grave clothes. Everything about this +place makes my flesh crawl. I'd rather stay as I am than touch any of +it!" + +Cliff nodded slowly. "Let's go then." + +They hurried through the corridors toward the stairway, with Cliff +holding the cutlas in readiness. As they passed the room in which lay +the _Ariel's_ passengers, he tried to divert Vilma's attention, but +she looked in as though hypnotized. + +"I saw them before," she whispered. "It's awful." + +As they started up the stairway to the great hall, Cliff took the +lead. He moved with utmost caution. + +"It doesn't seem right," he said uneasily. "We should hear from +Corio." + +At that moment they did hear from him--literally. From somewhere in +the maze of tunnels came the sound of his accursed horn--the note of +sleep! It swirled insidiously about their heads, numbing their senses. +Cliff felt his stride falter, saw Vilma stumble, and he hurled himself +forward furiously, gripping her arm. + +"Hurry!" he shouted, striving to pierce the fog of sleep. "We've _got_ +to get out! Damn him!" + +Vilma rallied for an instant, and they reached the top of the stairs. +On--across that wide, wide room, each step a struggle.... On while the +droning sound floated languidly through every nerve cell.... On--till +their muscles could no longer move, and they sagged to the hard stone, +asleep. + + * * * * * + +Moments later Cliff opened his eyes to meet the hellish glare of Leon +Corio. Corio smiled thinly. + +"So--you awaken. Good! I would have you know the fate I have planned +for you. You see this?" He held the cutlas high above Darrell's throat +like the blade of a guillotine. "With this I could end your life quite +painlessly and quickly. It really would prove entertaining for Miss +Bradley, I'm sure." He chuckled faintly behind bruised and swollen +lips. + +Cliff squirmed, striving to rise, then subsided instantly. He was +bound hand and foot. + +"I _could_ kill you," Corio repeated musingly, "but that would lack +finesse." His teeth bared in a feline smile. "And it would be such a +waste--of blood! Instead, I'll take you out to the galley and let you +lie there till her crew awakens tonight. They have tasted blood, and +after tonight will taste none again for another month. I imagine +they'll--drain you dry!" The last phrase was a vicious snarl. + +Cliff heard Vilma utter a suppressed sob, and he turned his head. She +lay close by, bound like him with strips of leather. Furiously Cliff +strained at his fetters, but they held. + +"And while you wait for those gentle Persians to awaken," Corio +continued in tones caressingly soft, "you can think of your sweetheart +in my arms! It may teach you not to strike your betters--though you +can never profit by your lesson." + +Stooping, he raised Cliff's powerful form and managed to fling him +over one shoulder. Then he moved from the great hall, down the stone +steps, and across the dead plain with its sighing skeleton trees. He +was panting jerkily by the time he came to the fissure leading to the +cove, but he reached it, despite Cliff's two hundred pounds. Without +pausing, he went on into the cavern, along the rock ledge, to step at +last upon the deck of the black galley. + +"Pleasant thoughts," he said gently as he dropped Cliff to the spongy +boards. "You have only to wait till dark!" + +Cliff listened to his rapid footfalls till they died in distance; then +there was no sound save his own breathing. + +Gradually his eyes became accustomed to the heavy gloom, and he saw +that Corio had dropped him just at the edge of the rowers' pit. There +were white things down there--bones, pale as marble, scattered about +aimlessly. Could--could those bones join to make the rowers who would +arise with the night? It seemed absurd--_was_ absurd--yet he knew it +was so! He had seen too much to doubt it. + +He rolled over on his back and stared upward into the shadows. He must +lie here helpless while Corio returned to Vilma--did with her as he +pleased! Perhaps he might even transform her into a blood-tainted +monster like himself! He saw her again in that room of ancient +splendor, spread-eagled to the bed; and the muscles corded in his +arms, and his lips strained white in a futile effort to break free. + +Interminably he lay there waiting. The galley was damp with the +chilling dampness of a sepulcher, and the dampness penetrated deeper +and deeper. Clamping his jaws together to prevent their quivering, he +struggled against a rising tide of madness which gnawed at his reason. +His mind began to crunch and jangle like a machine out of gear, +threatening to destroy itself. + +On and on in plodding indifference the stolid moments passed, till at +last Cliff realized that it was growing darker. He rolled over on his +side and stared into the galley pit, eyes fixed on the inert masses of +white. Soon they would move! Soon the undead would rise! His thoughts, +touched by the whips of dread, sped about like slaves seeking escape +from a torture pit. And abruptly out of the welter of chaotic ideas +came one straw of sanity; he seized it, his heart hammering with hope. + +Those Persian sailors were armed! Their swords and knives were real, +for they cut flesh! Somewhere among their bones must lie sharp-edged +blades! + +He struggled to the edge of the pit, let his feet drop over. As they +touched, he balanced precariously for an instant, then fell to his +knees. He peered feverishly about among white bones, moldering +garments, and rusted armor--and saw a faint glimmer of light on +pointed steel. He sank forward on his face in the direction of the +gleam, turned over, squirmed and writhed till he felt the cold blade +against his hands. He caught it between his fingers and began sawing +back and forth. + +It was heart-breaking work. Age had dulled the weapon, and long +slivers of rust flaked off, but the leather which bound him was also +ancient. Though progress was slow, and the effort laborious, Cliff +knew his bonds were weakening. + +But it was growing darker. Even now he could see only a suggestion of +gray among the shadows. If those undead things materialized while he +lay among them!... Sweat stood out on his forehead and he redoubled +his efforts, straining at the leather as he sawed. + +With a snap the cords parted and his hands were free. A single slash +severed the thongs about his ankles, and he stood up, leaped to the +deck. Not an instant too soon! There was movement in the pit--a +hideous crawling of bones assembling themselves into skeletal form.... + +Cliff waited to see no more. There were limits to what one could see +and remain sane. With a bound he crossed the rotting deck, and sprang +ashore. Despite the dark, he almost ran from the madness of that cave, +ran till he passed through the wall of rock, till he saw the rim of +the moon gleaming behind the castle. + + +_5. The End of the Island_ + +Out on the plain he sprinted through the ghostly forest. He knew he +had no time to spare--knew that soon the march of torture would +begin--knew that if Vilma were within the castle, she must answer the +summons of Corio's horn. Even now light glowed faintly in the high, +square windows. + +That horn! At the foot of the steps he stopped short. If _he_ heard +the horn, he too must answer! He dared not risk it. With impatient +fingers he tore a strip of cloth from his shirt, rolled it into a +cylinder, and thrust it into his ear. Another for the other ear--and +he darted up into the castle. + +A sweeping glance revealed no one, only the murky glow of the altar +fire, and the wraiths of smoke pluming upward toward the shadowed +roof. Wishing now that he had brought a weapon from the galley, Cliff +crossed to the opening in the wall. He stood at the top of the steps, +listening, then cursed silently as he remembered that he could hear +none but very loud sounds. He saw nothing; so he hastened down into +the corridor. His steps were swiftly stealthy as he moved toward +Corio's room. + +He was past the first branching passage, when a sixth sense warned him +of someone's approach. He ran swiftly to the next fork, then paused +within its shelter and glanced back, saw five red-cowled figures glide +along the tunnel and vanish up the stairway. Cliff frowned. With the +vampires in the great hall, Corio must soon follow, leading his +victims to the blood-feast. He drew back deeper into the shadows. + +His groping hands touched something in the dark--round and hard--like +a keg. Curiously he investigated. It _was_ a keg, and there were +others. A sandy powder trailed to the floor from a crack in one of +them. Thoughtfully Cliff let it run through his fingers. Gunpowder! Of +course--he had heard Corio mention pirates and their treasure, and +this had been their cache of explosive. An idea was forming.... + +He looked up to see a shadow pass the mouth of the tunnel; he crept +forward and peered out. He saw the black-hooded figure of Leon Corio +striding along, saw him enter the room where the passengers of the +_Ariel_ lay. In a breath Cliff was down the corridor to Corio's room. +A tarnished silver candelabrum shed faint light through the chamber, +and by its flickering glow he searched for Vilma, thoroughly, +painstakingly--futilely. + +He stood in the center of the room in indecision, his forehead creased +with anxiety. If only he could find her, he'd know how to plan! He ran +his hand through his hair helplessly, then heard very faintly the +luring note of Corio's horn. She must answer that summons, unless +Corio had her tied somewhere. His best chance of finding her lay in +the hall above. + +On the wall still hung the mate of the cutlas he had used to free +Vilma; he wrenched it down and ran out into the corridor. The last of +the naked marchers was disappearing up the stairway. Now the +horn-note died, and he could feel more than hear the rumbling bass of +the dirge from the depths below him. + +He ran the rest of the distance along the passageway and mounted the +steps two at a stride. He looked into the torture hall. As on the +previous night, Corio stood far back, close to the wall in which Cliff +crouched. The arms of the Master were raised high; raised, Cliff knew +though he could not hear it, in a blasphemous incantation. And then he +saw something that sent a crimson lance of fury crashing through his +brain. + +Vilma, stripped like the rest, stood with the other victims at the +foot of the long steps! Her body gleamed pinkly, in contrast to the +pallid drabness of the half-dead automatons, and she held her head +proudly erect. But from where he stood Cliff could see the side of her +face, and it bore a look of terror. + +He could see Corio's face, too, and he was looking at the girl, +baffled fury glaring from his eyes--as though she were there against +his will. + +Cliff's first impulse was to fling himself out there with his cutlas +and hack a way to freedom for Vilma and himself, but cold reason +checked this folly. Such a course could end only in death. Motionless +he watched the scene before him, his brain frantically seeking a plan +with even a ghost of a chance of succeeding. + +The gunpowder! There was enough of the stuff below to blast this +entire castle into the hell where it belonged! Hastily he retraced his +steps to the tunnel in which he had found the kegs, plucking the torch +from its niche in the wall as he passed it. He held it high above his +head as he examined the contents of the broken keg. Unmistakably +gunpowder! + +Thrusting the cutlas beneath his belt, he clutched a handful of the +black dust. Then, crouching close to the floor, he drew an irregular +thread through the passageway toward the stairs. Once he returned for +more powder, but in a few minutes the job was done. At the foot of the +steps where the trail ended, he touched his torch to the black line +and watched a hissing spark snake its white-smoked way back toward the +powder kegs. An instant he watched it, then sprang up the stairs. He'd +have to move fast! + +With a hideous howl he darted into the hall, his cutlas above his +head. Corio spun about--and it was his last living act. A single sweep +of the great blade sheared his head from his neck, sent it rolling +grotesquely along the floor. For three heart-beats the body stood with +a fountain of blood spurting from severed arteries; then it crashed. + +Coolly Cliff leaned over the twitching cadaver, ignoring the bedlam on +the stairs, the horde sweeping down toward him, hurling aside the +waiting humans. He pried open clutching fingers, seized a twisted +silver instrument, and raised it to his lips. + + * * * * * + +The mass of undead were almost upon him, the murky light glinting on +menacing blades, when Cliff blew the first note. The note of sleep! He +tried again, hastily. And it was the right one! + +At the doleful, soothing sound the undead halted in their tracks; +halted--and melted into nothingness before his eyes! + +But now those other five in their robes of bloody red--they were +charging, and even though they were unarmed, Cliff felt a stab of +fear. They possessed powers beyond the human, powers a mortal could +not combat. He braced himself and waited. + +At the bottom of the steps they stopped, ranging in a wide +half-circle. The central monster--the Master--flung up his arms in a +strangely terrifying gesture, and Cliff saw his carmine lips move in +a chant which he could not hear. Something, a chilling Presence, +hovered about him, seemed to settle upon him, cloaking him with the +might of the devil himself. That unheard incantation continued, and +Cliff felt a cold rigidity creeping through every fiber, slowly +freezing his limbs into columns of ice. + +With a mighty effort of will he flung himself toward that accursed +drinker of blood--and at that instant a terrific detonation rocked the +ancient building, and a cloud of smoke and flame burst from the +opening in the wall. Cliff was hurled from his feet, rolled over and +over, and crashed against the wall by the awful concussion, the cutlas +and silver horn sent whirling through the air. + +Dizzily he staggered to his feet, crouching defensively. Sounds came +to him clearly now; the explosion must have jarred the plugs from his +ears. He scanned the room; saw the unclad humans scattered everywhere, +most of them lying still and unconscious. He saw Vilma rising slowly; +then he looked for the monsters in red. Startled, he saw them rushing +toward the opening in the wall, to vanish in its smoke-filled +interior. Why did they----? Then he knew. Down there somewhere were +their graves--graves rent and broken by the explosion--graves +threatened by the flames--and panic had seized the vampires, fear of +the death which would result with exile from their tombs! + +Unsteadily Cliff crossed to Vilma. She saw him coming and flung +herself sobbing into his arms. He crushed her lithe form close--and +another explosion, more violent than the first, sent a section of the +stone floor leaping upward as though with life of its own. Clinging to +Vilma, Cliff managed to maintain his footing, though the floor bucked +and heaved. A snapping, booming roar--and a great chasm opened in the +floor. A breathless instant--and a segment of the stone stairs, +rumbling thunderously, dropped out of sight into a newly formed pit! +With it went the blasphemous altar and its phosphorescent fire. + +Deafened, stunned, momentarily powerless to move, Cliff's mind groped +for an explanation. It seemed incredible that gunpowder could cause +such havoc. And the swaying of the floor continued; the thick stone +walls shook alarmingly. Suddenly he understood. An earthquake! The +explosions had jarred the none-too-stable understrata of rock into +spasmodic motion that must grind everything to bits! The island was +doomed! And Earth would be better without it. + +If only they could reach the _Ariel_ first! + +New strength flowed through him, and hugging Vilma close, he staggered +toward the spot where he knew the door must be. Somehow he reached it, +and reeled down the broken stone steps. + +The plain of dead trees swayed like the deck of a ship in a storm as +Cliff started across it. A gale had arisen and swept in from the sea, +ripping dry branches from the skeleton growths and whirling them about +like straws. Yet somehow Cliff reached the crevice in the rock wall +with his burden, reached the deck of the galley, crossed it, and won +to the safety of the _Ariel_. Minutes later, with Diesel engines +purring, they crept out through the narrow channel into the open sea. + + * * * * * + +Ten minutes later the Isle of the Undead lay safely behind them. Vilma +had dressed; and now they sat together in the pilot house. Cliff had +one arm about her, and one hand on the wheel. + +"And so," the girl was saying, "while Corio carried you to that +terrible old boat, I got loose. He hadn't tied me very tightly, and I +slipped my hands free. I had to hide, and I could think of only one +place that might be safe, where he wouldn't think to look for me. I +ran down to the room where those--those others lay; I undressed, and +buried myself among them. It was horrible--the way they sucked each +other's wounds...." + +Cliff pressed a hand across her lips. "Forget that!" he said almost +fiercely. "Forget all of it--d'you hear?" + +She looked up at him and said simply: "I'll try." + +They glanced back toward the black blotch on the horizon. The seismic +disturbances continued unabated. At that moment they saw the barrier +of rock like a skull split and sink into the sea. Beyond, cleansing +tongues of flame licked the sky. They saw a single jagged wall of the +castle still standing, one window glowing in its black expanse like a +square, bloody moon against a bloody sky. It crumbled. + +They turned away, and Cliff's arm circled the girl he loved. Their +lips met and clung.... And the _Ariel_ plowed on through the frothing +brine, bearing them toward safety and forgetfulness.... Together. + + * * * * * + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Isle of the Undead, by Lloyd Arthur Eshbach + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ISLE OF THE UNDEAD *** + +***** This file should be named 32470.txt or 32470.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/2/4/7/32470/ + +Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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