The Tower

A short story detailing the case of a missing Doctor inter-spaced with a flair of Cosmic horror.

The tower that brooded at the top of Kaufmann's peak was old. It's black stones weathered and worn, having seen the frosts of winter and the scorching rays of summer a hundred times over. It stood jagged and broken, the roof having long since caved in, bringing with it a great number of those coal black stones. Yet despite this, the old tower stood.

It was originally conceived by the great, if somewhat broken, mind of one Doctor Karel Van Eisenburg. The gentleman in question having attained his doctorate in astrology along with a few other miscellaneous degrees in subjects like physics and mathematics - topics his keen intellect took a passion in.

It comes as no surprise then that the tower and surrounding gardens were fitted with a number of uniquely crafted astrolobes and other queer instruments. Some of these were of gargantuan proportions, crafted from iron they sat rusting in and amongst the overgrowth. Long, fibrous tendrils of ivy trailed their way over peculiar solar systems. Webs shimmering with dew, sparkled like stars between alien red planets.

The doctor himself had disappeared under highly peculiar circumstances. One Summers eve, approximately around the 21st of August, he retired from the Whistling Pig Inn - a jovial establishment in the very heart of our small town - and returned to his lonely abode atop the mountain.

Some time later a bright blue flash ripped through the air, after which a thunderous bang pealed sedately across the valley; shaking loose tiles from houses and shattering many windows.

Residents were naturally very startled and several reports flooded in of a red mist flowing from the peak of old Kaufmann. Officials did their best to stifle ludicrous rumors about volcanic activity pinning the strange occurrences on some form of peculiar "atmospheric discharge" - a poorly substantiated phenomena supposedly caused by the excitement of particles in changing temperatures.

Throughout the course of the following week numerous townsfolk became increasingly concerned as to the whereabouts of the much loved Doctor; who, despite his bouts of seemingly senile eccentricity, was renowned for his kindness and warm personality. Many feared that the excitement that took place on that strange night had done the old man a mischief and, after gathering an informal meeting at the inn decided to pay the Doctor a visit.

The group consisted of myself, another man by the name of Thomas Jenkins, the towns local reporter, a Mr. Clyde Goodson, another much loved elder of the community and finally one Leroy Malone, an Irishmen who served as the towns "odd job" man.

We ascended the narrow path that wound its way up the side of Kaufmann the following morning, the date being the 25^th of August. The day was wonderfully clear but the track was narrow and rocky; indeed many times while stopping to rest, we marveled at the thought of the old mans daily ascent of the self same path. His lithe and wrinkled form must have concealed a vitality rivaling that of any young gentleman of the day.

In time, we reached the goal of our expedition and, after catching our breaths, entered the grounds that surrounded the property. They were themselves in a most shambolic state: weeds having already overgrown much of gravel path, green fan-like fronds of some monstrous specimen dominated and the large fountain was utterly enveloped by a vicious, reddish algae.

Assuming the doctor was far too busy attending to his studies to worry about maintaining the property, we couldn't help but find it curious that he never mentioned the state of things. Why, Mr. Malone would've gladly obliged to make the ascent to ensure the kindly Doctors living standards were being upheld.

Upon reaching the great oak door at the foot of the monumental tower, Clyde, being most familiar with the absent Doctor knocked loudly, but politely, and gave a friendly cry of "Hello!"... Hearing nothing, he proceeded to try the handle, finding it locked, he then rattled on the door and cried out a few more times.

After several fruitless minutes we discussed our next move, it was now past mid-morning and we were becoming anxious to solve this mystery. It was also at this interval I should mention that Malone heard a faint creaking noise... He approached the heavy door and, pressing his ear to it, heard, with much clarity, another creak.

It was as if a weight were pushing itself against the door. Again and again, approximately five seconds apart the peculiar creaking continued, being accompanied by the feeling of the door strain lightly against its hinges. Malone called to us and one by one we heard and felt the strange phenomena. Clyde, being the last to hear it, was convinced it was the missing Doctor and called out several times to be let in. Listening intently at the door again, we could hear nothing now, save a feeble dragging sound; as if nails were being run slowly over the woods heavily varnished surface.

Fearing that the Doctor was having yet another inexplicable fit of senile madness, or, was in some way injured, we began to formulate a plan to enter the abode. Having searched the grounds thoroughly we discovered that the only window on the towers ground floor was a good four meters off the ground. The window was however surrounded by a network of sturdy vines that held fast to the wall in their slow creeping ever upward. It was decided that both Jenkins and Malone, being both young and of sturdy build would ascend these vines and find a way to unlock the heavy oaken door.

Leroy then, quite unexpectedly, hurled a large rock through the old window which shattered with a satisfying crunch. He explained rather nonchalantly that he'd hate to get all that way and find the window locked, and that the Doctor would probably excuse this petty act of vandalism if his life did truly be in some peril. The young men ascended and Clyde and myself found ourselves quiet alone in the green jungle that was the back garden.

Knowing it would take the two some time finding their way about, Clyde and myself wandered back to the front of the tower and decided to inspect the locale.

The fountain was of immediate interest to me as the two meter tall sculpture that rose from a pedestal at its center was of a most curious design.

It's general shape bordered on the abstract, but through cunning technique melded what appeared to be the limbs and features of both plant and beast. Here I traced out the vague suggestion of a rodents talon, melding seamlessly with what looked like a bunch of grape like tumors, there, a large eye surmounted by wide fluted hollows, like an exotic pitcher-plant of sorts.

The water had stopped pumping, owing to the heavy reddish algae that had quite overrun the basin; overall it gave the impression of some crouching monstrosity emerging from a visceral primordial ooze... An inhabitant of another world coming to life under very familiar skies.

Interestingly, spaced evenly around the circumference of the fountains basin, emerged eight short figures on pedestals of their own. No more than half a meter in height, humanoid yet vaguely rat-like in appearance these smaller statues assumed jovial dancing poses. These imps, who's sharp teeth curved into mischievous smiles, appearing to be making merry veneration of and around the much larger central figure.

Staring at the piece made me uneasy and I couldn't help but wonder what passing fancy possessed the Doctor to place such a monstrous creation in his garden. The leering faces of those small daemons began to grow hazy in the ever-increasing heat of the day, shimmering indistinctly in the humidity that clung to the damp algae it seemed as though they giggled and laughed manically before me. I felt a chill brush ever so lightly over my spine, icy cold in the warming sun. It was as though I was being intently watched. I knew it couldn't have been Clyde for he was far off to my right examining one of the strange metallic instruments that dotted the garden. I looked around anxiously. The mounting dread suggesting that at any moment I might see some small and fiendish figure peeping at me through the overgrowth. I jumped with a start as Tom placed his hand on my shoulder, he was standing with Malone having found their way out at last. "We haven't managed to find the Doctor yet, however there is something we think you and Clyde should see." he said.

As a group we traversed the path together and entered through the wide oaken aperture. Inside, we found ourselves in a long dim corridor of black tile that led to a set of wrought iron stairs that wound their way both further up and down into the tower. Inter-spaced evenly around the stairwell there were three doors; the one at the end being open.

Before proceeding, Malone made us take note of the rear-end of the door, in which we found light scratches etched into the varnish. The marks appeared erratic, but always in close parallel sets. It was only much later that those scratches vaguely recalled in my mind, how, an animal finding itself trapped, would claw ineffectually at the place it entered in an attempt to escape.

Following Tom and Malone we walked past the stairs and into the room they had broken into. A beam of light from the high and broken window cut through the dim space illuminating the rock, nestled amongst shards of glass on the floor. Evidently we were in some form of study, A sturdy table sat in the center of the room, bedecked with books, writing implements, a lamp and a few sheets of paper spread here and there. Behind this sat a high-backed leather chair. The most astounding features of the space however, were the walls. All four of which were tacked with hundreds upon hundreds of papers.

Some bore writing while others faint sketches and diagrams. Approaching these, I saw that most were written in a variety languages; the few that were transcribed in English bore the Doctors swooping, curled hand-writing; the sentences were disjoint and broken, making very little sense. Other sheets bore the queer symbols of unknown alphabets. The diagrams themselves mainly consisted of many simple mathematical symbols such as the octagon and triangle.

Now to a less rational man this may have appeared to be madness or, even something peculiarly occult. However, being as what we considered, close intimates of the doctor, we could say with some certainty that the man was an atheist. Never having expressed an interest in spiritual matters.

No, if anything this unusual form of filing served as a vent for the good doctors genius. There could be no doubt that he was presently engaged with a project of some importance and would soon reveal it to the scientific community at large... Even as I voiced these opinions to the superstitious Malone and the ever skeptical Tom I couldn't stifle the feeling that these words came out hollow. Indeed I found the whole setup quaintly discomforting and this slowly added to my growing revulsion for the black tower.

Presently we decided to continue our search, agreeing that the speediest way to proceed would be to split into pairs and thus search as much of the tower as we could. The day was already approaching the early afternoon and we wished to find the doctor and conclude this investigation as quickly as possible. It was decided that Leroy and Thomas would remain as a pair and Clyde and myself would proceed together. Exiting the study, Tom and Leroy took the door to our left, we approached the room opposite.

As we passed through the doorway I thought I caught the vaguest flicker of movement out of the corner of my eye upon the stairwell. A squat grey bounding flash appearing for a moment in the half-light of the dark hall. I turned sharply and was surprised to find nothing in the gloom.

Now, I must mention here that the towers placement at the top of the old burg made it nigh impossible for the installation of electric lighting. Fortunately, the doctor was well provisioned with matches and lanterns, and - after a short time spent fumbling in the dark - we managed to procure some light.

Exploring what turned out to be a kitchen we found nothing of merit. The place was covered in a fine reddish dust. And here and there in the dark recesses of the room we found great cobwebs, similarly choked in that airy, pollen like powder. There was a mess strewn across the kitchen table: evidently the doctor had been hard at work grinding various spices, several small bowls were placed all about, some filled with congealing liquids, while others contained various dark powders and salts. A large mortar and pestle lay amongst the mess.

Meeting Malone and Thomas out on the landing we learnt that the duo had ended up in the library-cum-sitting room. The chamber was similarly devoid of life and covered in the same red dust. None could fathom any reason for the dust save that it would indicate that the tower had been uninhabited for some time. The thought was rapidly dismissed as we concluded that the doctor had nowhere else to go; never having once mentioned any close relatives or even friends outside of our small settlement.

It was then decided that Clyde and myself would proceed down the stairwell while Thomas and Malone would search the upper recesses of the tower.

Our footsteps clamored into the echoing stillness of the dark cellars below the tower. The lanterns thrust out before us sent a strong beam that shattered the heavy gloom.

The cellar was round like the tower above, however the thick stones that comprised the towers walls gave way to ones of solid rock. The space was hewn into the very mountain itself. The cellar was also wider in circumference than the tower, the roof being supported by a ring of solid stone pillars that rose like monoliths from the floor. In every corner lay dusty crates of various sizes stacked in piles that brooded quietly - each being old and exceedingly dry.

These piles formed a complex barrier from one section of the cellar to another, making a sort of labyrinth that wound its way from the center of the room outwards.

We renewed our search. The hollow echoing of the room giving the space a surreal quality. It was as though the slightest breath were magnified a hundred fold, and there, deep in the twisting dark, breath was drawn into a hundred expecting mouths.

Every now and then the basement rang out with soft calls for the doctor as we worked our way through the maze of crates. In this cool, dark space I found myself incredibly grateful of Clyde's company. I hate to admit it, but I felt as though something were wrong, and I'd be a liar if I did not profess that the slightest chords of fear were being strummed in the depths of my heart... Every strange angle, every ringing echo made the unquiet organ beat a little faster in the gloam. Naturally the thought of thousands of tons of rock resting on naught but a few aged pillars added to my angst... It was a wonder that the revulsion I felt for the tower did not cause me to flee into the blessed light of day, never to return again.

Growing weary of our search we decided to return to the stairwell and see how the others fared. Having turned even then, were it not for the faint rustle of loose dirt giving way, we would've left...

But there behind us, partly concealed by a small crate, was a hole. A tunnel that lead into the earth. The space was evidently roughly hewn - very unlike the smooth walls that now surrounded us. Despite my reservations, Clyde, being ever the explorer wished to find out where such a curious tunnel led. As for myself, I did not wish to appear the coward; and thus I bravely strove after him.

We entered the cramped tunnel and found that it diverged sharply to our right. Following this path we noted that it began to slope gradually downwards.

After awhile we began to notice the appearance of several smaller tunnels, these diverged off the main and riddled the walls here and there like some great ants nest. Clyde and myself not wishing to crawl proceeded down the larger, becoming increasingly more wondrous, and in part, slightly uneasy as to these curious developments.

It was as we passed these smaller tunnels, that had now become quite numerous in our descent that I began to get that queer chill again, as though I were being watched... It felt as though a thousand black glimmering eyes, like those of rats or spiders lay just beyond the light of our lanterns in those tunnels. They were watching us with a keen and hungry interest. With every step I found myself attempting to fight against this queer feeling, why, if only to solve the mysteries of that damnable tower!

I could not tell if Clyde, by virtue of being an older man, and in some ways being less aware of his surroundings felt the same as me.

Onwards and downwards we pressed. I noted that in our descent the light red dust we had found in the rooms was thicker here. The walls were starting to become wet, the coolness of the tunnels causing the ambient moisture to condensate. This condensation, along with the ever present and clinging dust formed a sludge on our boots, causing us to slip occasionally. It was in these moments we would grab at the ledges created by the smaller tunnels for support. Once, I could have sworn I saw a large rat-like talon withdraw further into the shadows as my hands clutched for stability.

Slowly, my comrade and I became aware of a dull throbbing noise... As if somewhere far in the deep listening dark a colossal heart were pounding slowly. The thud was regular and gentle, almost soothing... The sound a baby would hear whilst locked in the sanctity of its mothers womb.

Being guided by the gentle throb we entered a large dome-like hollow deep in the heart of the mountain... At first, our lanterns picked out nothing save great puddles of red slime on the floor. Thick and viscous it sat. Clyde shone his lantern out a little further before him...

The sight that beheld us in that dull yellow beam was one of nightmares. There lay, some feet away from us a “pool”. I use the term pool tentatively as it was nothing more than a depression in the ground, one filled with the same thick algae I saw in the pond... Rich and heavy, the gory sludge seemed to heave every now and then in a regular rhythm. We had discovered the source of the pulse. In the center of the pool there arose a disturbingly familiar figure... Large, abstract and utterly monstrous, the thing squatted in the gunk, caked in slime, its form leaning curiously towards the light; several eyes blinked in dazed confusion. Suddenly the beast bellowed an eldritch cry from several orifices, one quite unlike anything I've ever heard it shook the very walls around us! Its multiple claws bristled and out of the ooze several figures squirmed. Crawling figures... Simian in appearance, yet rat-like and impish... With pointed ears and glowing eyes they wriggled, dislodging themselves from the funk. The chamber was indeed a womb! A breeding pit, a hellish cesspool for unholy monstrosities! With a yell, Clyde and I ran with horror back towards where we had entered... To our dismay more of the imp things streamed out of the aperture; dozens of the grinning devil-rats leered at us, baring their fangs in twisted mockeries of joy... In desperation I threw my lantern between the writhing horde. To my surprise they fled in terror, climbing over their comrades with desperate shrieks! "By Jove boy! That's it!" Screamed Clyde as he swung his lantern round - the rat-things retreated from the blazoning light! Yet attempting all the while to advance where it did not shine... Staying close we ran through the crowd before us. The grotesque little figures howling in frustration, gnashing their demonic fangs, parting from the light... Running alongside Clyde I gave a savage cry of desperation, of wrath... These things had no place in our world! No place to worm and rankle through our soil! No place to burrow there in the hidden depths... On-wards we ran up the dark and slippery corridor. On-wards we ran, and there, far into the distance we saw a light, a furiously burning torch! Bravely wielded by none other than that Irishman Malone! He charged towards us in the gloom savagely beating back the hordes that sought to cut us off... Hundreds of those soft and snarling bodies dove for safety into the tunnels that lined the walls... Malone aided us out of those dread tunnels, guiding us through the dark maze of crates... "Where is Tom?" I screamed to my wild-eyed colleague. "He's safe! Outside! But we must hurry! Sundown is fast approaching!" This thought, of encroaching darkness, boosted our speed and on-wards we ran. Up the heavily clanking stairs, behind us the pattering feet of a thousand devils echoed in the stillness. Malone, having reached the top of the stairs, and thinking quickly, threw the remnants of his torch onto one of the old boxes, it caught immediately. Burning with a red intensity. On-wards we ran through the empty corridor and out, out into the blissful sunshine.

There we found Tom - on the ground, bleeding - but safe. Drawing ourselves together we picked him up and half limping, half running we dashed through the garden. Not stopping until half-way down the dangerous mountain path. Our pace slowed and lungs burned, we rested for a moment and without warning the mountain suddenly shook with a vast explosion; the ground beneath our feet crumbled slightly. We looked at each other tentatively for a moment. Then, picking ourselves up again we loped homeward in the setting sun.

It was later discovered that the path that led to the tower had quite collapsed in what appeared to be a landslide, making it now wonderfully inaccessible.

A week later, after young Tom had quite healed, we sat together at the Whistling Pig and discussed the events of that strange day - swearing a solemn oath never to mention them again. I gleaned some of the answers of what happened to young Thomas: "After coming up them stairs, we found ourselves in what looked to be the Docs room.” said Malone “Searching around turned up nothing, but that queer dust was all over the place. We went further up into the tower, and there we came across something interestin'... You see, around the staircase, the doc had chalked out some kind of star, big it was, and had eight points too... I know because me and Tom took a moment to count. And there, lying on the very outside of that star we found the doc, or what was left of the poor soul, four of them devil-rats where hunched over him... Eatin'. It was then that poor Tom got jumped, one of them damnable things got him from behind. Scratched him up real good too... It was when I waved the candle I had in its face did it run off hissing. I picked up Tom and raced to take him outside. I then came back for you fellahs. I made a good and proper torch out of the wood of one of those crates down in the cellar. And well, the rest you gentleman know." As for the explosion, the one that left the tower in its present state, and, hopefully buried any traces of the unnameable things, I have my own theories. You see, that red dust we had found, was some kind of spore for the algae. Once it had settled where there was enough moisture and darkness it proliferated. I think though, that those spores acted something like a cloud of flour - Any baker will tell you that fire, mixed with small combustible particles, makes mightily impressive explosions. The fire Malone had set must have caught traces of the dust in the tunnels, and igniting, formed what was essentially a huge fireball under great compression. Whether it was sheer luck that we had escaped from the tower in time, or perhaps some form of divine intervention I could not say. I can only pray however, to God, or any power that may be listening, that the fire did indeed destroy all that lurked there, in the depths of the dark and brooding tower. 

Author's Note

Opinions on my first shared and in places I feel mildly choppy piece would be most welcome!