The Legend of Darklore Manor and Other Tales of Terror (9 page)

     "Which way leads to the south wing?" I asked.
     Without hesitation, Danny pointed his flashlight down a narrow corridor and answered, "That way. Why?"
     "I saw an old floor plan of this place and it looks like there's a good-sized area down there that never got renovated. I think they just sealed it off, and according to the blueprint, it used to be Doc Wincott's mortuary."
     Danny's eyes grew wide. "You mean like a morgue, for dead bodies? Right here, beneath the hotel?"
     "Can you think of a better place to search for ghosts?"
     Danny smiled and said, "This is so cool."
     We proceeded along the passageway for a few hundred feet. After several turns, the narrow corridor came to a dead end at a brick wall that was partially covered by an old tarp. I lifted the tarp to discover a hole in the brick wall, roughly four feet high. Several broken bricks lay alongside a large sledgehammer just inside the opening.
     "Someone busted through the wall," Danny whispered.
     "It sure looks that way, Danny boy. Come on, let's have a look inside." I ducked beneath the jagged bricks and stepped inside the opening, then picked up the sledgehammer and slung it over my shoulder.
     "Shouldn't we leave that here, you know, so the cops can dust it for prints or something?" Danny asked.
     "Right now I'm more worried about whoever might have left their fingerprints on this thing, and making sure they don't sneak up behind me and clean my clock with it."
     Danny nodded in agreement, saying, "Point well-taken."
     The sealed chamber opened into a brick hallway about forty feet long with four doorways along each wall. A thick layer of dust and cobwebs covered everything and a musty smell permeated the stale air. The first room we entered held two medical examination tables, fitted with leather restraining straps. A rusted machine that looked like an antique drill press loomed above the head of one table, while a large iron vise rested at the foot of the other.
     The next room down held more sinister-looking devices with blades, spikes, levers and cranks. The back wall of the room was covered with oak paneling and as I approached it, I could see that the dust on the floor had been disturbed, forming a path right up to the wooden wall. I knocked on the paneling and a hollow echo resonated from the wall.
     "There's a secret entrance here."
     I surveyed the wall with my flashlight beam, but couldn't find any apparent way to open the door.
     "Maybe one of these levers will open it," Danny said as he reached toward the controls to a large device with rusted gears and a long scythe-like blade.
     "Don't touch anything!" I barked, startling Danny, causing him to jump. "Sorry, kid. I just don't want to get my head sliced off by any of these crazy machines." Danny smiled nervously and slowly stepped away from the ominous device.
     Upon closer inspection, I noticed that all but one of the levers on the control panel were covered with cobwebs. Using the head of the sledgehammer like a hook, I kept my distance and grabbed hold of the curious lever and yanked it down. With the squeal of metal grinding on metal, the central portion of the oak-paneled wall slid open, revealing a stone staircase leading further into the black depths of the abyss.
     "This is awesome," Danny said, with a hint of nervous trepidation in his voice.
     I led the way and the kid followed close behind. We descended the narrow stairs to arrive in a large stone chamber deep below the hotel's basement. The stagnant air was deathly cold and carried the pungent smell of mildew. The masonry of the walls was reminiscent of the stonework in a medieval castle. Three arched doorways were set into the surrounding walls and Victorian-style gaslights hung above each of the entrances. The door to our right was closed, as was the one at the far end of the hall, but the doorway on our left was wide open.
     Danny looked completely awestruck. "What the hell is this place?" The air was cold enough to see his breath as he spoke.
     "I think we found old Doc Wincott's secret lair."
     We cautiously made our way to the open door and entered the room to discover a vast array of medical horrors inside. Cabinets and bookcases filled the chamber, displaying antique restraining devices, saws, drills, and skulls with holes in them. As I stepped further into the room, Danny stood frozen in the doorway, surrounded by the shadowy silhouettes of ungodly mutations that seemed to reach out from every dark corner. Slowly, the kid proceeded to follow me further into the chamber of horrors.
     "Maybe we should start heading back," Danny said, his voice reflecting his growing concern, "I mean, no one knows we're down here, and it might not be a good idea to..."
     "Shhhh," I cut him off abruptly in mid-sentence.
     Danny stopped in his tracks, and as the room fell silent, a sound echoed from somewhere behind us.
     "I don't think we're alone down here," I whispered.
     "Maybe it's just a rat."
     "Maybe... maybe not. Just be careful."
     As my flashlight scanned the cobwebbed chamber, my eyes began to focus clearly on the horrors within. The brick walls were covered with crude diagrams of bizarre surgical procedures and yellowed photographs of experiments gone horribly wrong. A row of bottles held human teeth, finger bones and various large insects. The gaping eyes of pale abominations peered out from tall jars of formaldehyde, and the tops of the shelves were lined with the twisted skeletal remains of monstrous freaks of nature. On a central shelf amidst the doctor's various keepsakes there sat a small antique frame. As I directed my flashlight onto the dusty memento, I could see that the picture was missing, and a disturbing realization began to sink in.
     "Danny," I asked "where'd you get that old photo of Miles Wincott?" But Danny didn't reply. I shone my flashlight beam behind me, but there was no one there. With a firm grip on the sledgehammer, I stepped back into the hall, shining my flashlight in every direction, but the kid was nowhere to be found. He had simply vanished into thin air.
     "Danny?" I whispered, "Danny?"
     Just then, as if in response to my call, I began to hear faint noises that sounded like a cross between the insane giggling of a child and the desperate whimpering of a wounded animal. I directed my flashlight across the hallway, and the door which had been completely closed a few moments ago now stood partially open. As I silently crept across the hall, it became apparent that the strange sounds were coming from somewhere inside the chamber before me. I pushed the door fully open with the head of the sledgehammer and cautiously entered the room.
     Several rows of wooden morgue drawers lined the far wall of the chamber. One of the upper drawers was half-open and a dark liquid was dripping from it, forming a thick pool on the dusty floor below. My grip tensed around the handle of the sledgehammer as I stepped across the room. As I neared the open body drawer, I felt a sharp pain in the back of my neck. I whirled around to see the silhouette of a lanky figure standing in the doorway holding a large syringe. And then I blacked-out.
     When I came to, I found myself unable to move, lying on a cold, hard surface in a dimly lit room. My ankles and wrists were strapped to a steel operating table and a leather harness had been tightly secured around my chin and forehead, preventing me from moving my head. I shifted my gaze around the chamber to see several shelves filled with old occult books. Dozens of candles among the bookshelves cast strange shadows throughout the room. A row of human skulls stared at me from an antique cabinet to my right. A large inverted triangle, nearly six feet in diameter, was painted on the brick wall in front of me, surrounded by a circle of unknown writing, similar to Celtic runes. A lone figure stood in the shadows at the far end of the room.
     "Welcome to the inner sanctum of the Westgate, Mr. Morgan." A sickening feeling swept over me as I realized who the voice belonged to. Danny stepped forward into the candlelight. He was wearing a white doctor's frock and holding a tattered old book in his hands. "Did you know that according to Sumerian mythology, the West Gate of Mesopotamia was said to be a physical portal that led to the underworld?"
     "That's a fascinating bit of trivia, Danny. You should write a book on the subject."
     "Don't condescend to me, Mr. Morgan. You're really in no position to make me angry." Danny snapped his book shut and set it down on a steel table that held scalpels, bone saws and other surgical tools. "I know what you're thinking. You think I'm insane, but I can assure you that my mind has never been more focused."
     "Focused? On what?" I asked.
     "As I told you when we first met, I've held a lifelong interest in the occult and supernatural. That's why I took the job at the Westgate. I discovered the old blueprint in the hotel museum, just as you did, and realized that there was an area beneath the south wing that had been sealed-off for some mysterious reason. I was overwhelmed with curiosity as to what dark treasures might have been buried beneath the old sanitarium. Once I broke through into the sealed hall, I uncovered Dr. Wincott's play area, including his personal library and ritual chamber. After studying his research, I was fascinated by what he had discovered and have since dedicated my life to continuing his work."
     "And what work might that be?"
     "It's actually quite remarkable—in a macabre sort of way. You see, the doctor ran his sanitarium to house and treat patients who were suffering from paranoid delusions—poor lost souls who were tormented by vivid nightmares and plagued by visions of hellish creatures. Many people believed that Dr. Wincott could ease their pain, but after reading his journals I discovered his sinister secret. You'll notice that some of these journals are quite old. They date back over four hundred years. But the truly astounding thing is that all of the entries are written in the same handwriting."
     "So what are you saying? That the doctor was a four-hundred year-old sorcerer who found a way to cheat death?"
     "That's exactly what I'm saying, Mr. Morgan. You see, the doctor performed black masses and ancient rituals to summon forth demonic creatures from the shadows to do his bidding. These living nightmares drove his victims mad, turning them into raving lunatics who seemed to suffer from psychotic delusions. The good doctor had them committed to his care, then lobotomized them and claimed their money and their possessions."
     "So what happened to him? If he found a way to live forever, where is he now?"
     "That's a good question. He seems to have vanished. His journals end abruptly. Maybe he found a way to transcend his physical state. Maybe he's still here with us, in this hotel, but on a completely different plane of existence."
     "Maybe he was devoured by his own demons," I added.
     "Ah, the eternal pessimist, Mr. Morgan. You know, there was a time, not so long ago, when doctors implemented medical procedures to correct negative attitudes, such as yours."
     Danny turned to the table of surgical instruments and picked up a long steel spike that looked like a ten-inch needle. "I found some of the doctor's old instruments—tools of the trade, so to speak. They're quite crude by today's standards, but still quite effective."
     Danny held the surgical spike a few inches from his own face to examine it closely. "This was used for early lobotomy techniques. The spike was inserted beneath the eyeball and driven through the back of each eye socket, puncturing the skull and destroying the frontal lobes of the brain."
     Danny stepped toward me and placed the needle at the corner of my left eye, and as he did, I began to notice a faint green mist creeping across the ceiling above him. Raising a small steel hammer directly over the spike, Danny said "Pleasant dreams, Mr. Morgan." But before he could land the blow, a black tendril emerged from the unearthly mist, wrapping itself around his wrist like an enormous python. Danny tried to break free from the constricting grip, but as he struggled two more serpentine tendrils dropped down from the mist above him, entwining his torso in oily black bonds. He strained against the squirming tendrils that held him captive as a gigantic spidery mass of writhing shadows slowly descended from the mist.
     Across the room, the inverted triangle painted on the wall began to glow with an eerie green light, then the bricks inside the design faded away, revealing a portal to an unknown dimension of living nightmares. A cloud of black smoke churned just inside the opening and a dark form emerged through the curtain of writhing shadows. At first, the figure appeared to be no more than a vague silhouette of a man wearing a top hat and cape, but as it stepped further into the room, its ghastly features were illuminated by the eerie green glow. Dead eyes squinted from the skeletal face of the cadaverous creature that had once been Dr. Miles Wincott. As the ghoulish doctor stepped toward his captive prey, the serpentine tendrils relinquished their grip and Danny stood frozen in place beneath the phantom's diabolical thrall.
     The skeletal fiend leaned in close to Danny and hissed, "First the right eye." A look of terror swept across Danny's face as he slowly raised the surgical spike and turned the point toward himself, holding it directly in front of his own right eyeball. His hand trembled for a moment as he seemed to be fighting the doctor's hypnotic command, then with one swift jab, he plunged the spike deep into his own right eye socket.
     As the blood oozed down Danny's cheek, the doctor whispered, "Now the next." Danny slowly withdrew the ten-inch needle from his eye socket then held it before his own face once more. This time there was no hesitation and Danny's arm violently jerked forward as he shoved the needle far into his left eye, driving the spike up into his own brain. Danny's legs buckled beneath him and he dropped to the floor in a whimpering heap.
     Picking up a scalpel from the instrument table, the ghoulish phantom then turned to me. His black eyes glistened in the candlelight as he leaned in over me, extending the gleaming blade toward my face. I struggled in vain to turn away, straining my neck muscles against the leather harness that secured my head to the steel table. The unholy abomination seemed to revel in my torment and began to cackle wickedly as he waved the scalpel through the air, bringing it closer and closer to my throat.