Tales Of The Flesh

I've always leaned towards the macabre in my reading. I have read the nightmares of authors from this century and the last, from the haunted prose of Poe to the most gruesome of modern slashers, and have devoured these worlds with morbid fascination. I believe that it is partly escapism that drives my obsession but more than that I feel I have always been able to immerse myself in these worlds to a greater degree than most.

Some might call this delusional but I've always thought that being able to enter these literary worlds as I do as being the mark of a disciplined mind and a good imagination. I always felt that I was arming myself with knowledge while delving into the shadowed worlds of fiction.

That was until Mr. Steam arrived.

I met him one evening while I was dozing in my recliner, the collected works of Algernon Blackwood sitting open in my lap. He appeared before me materializing just out of my field of vision so that I caught my first glimpse of him out of the corner of my eye, making me sit up with a start.

He smiled wickedly and touched the rim of his top hat with a slight nod of his head towards me.

The room was growing uncomfortably warm.

He was a thin and aged man, pale of skin with wispy grey hair falling to his shoulders. Dressed in clothing of perhaps a hundred years past he had the appearance of a charlatan and trickster for all his gentleman's finery.

"Harry Gibson" he said in a whispered voice. "my name is Mr. Steam and I'm here to make you an offer."

I stared dumbly at him for a moment unable to decide if I was asleep and dreaming or awake and hallucinating. Mr. Steam stood before me leaning on his walking stick seeming to enjoy my confusion and disorientation.

"What?" was all I could manage. Sweat began to bead on my forehead. The room was getting hot.

"Now don't be alarmed Mr. Gibson" Steam said in his low whisper of a voice. "I intend you no harm. You enjoy a good story, yes?"

I nodded.

"Excellent." Steam's shark smile widened to reveal a mouthful of needle like teeth.

"I'm going to give you the name of a kindred spirit. Her name is Emma Walker and you will find her at The Ploughman noon tomorrow. You're familiar with this establishment, Mr. Gibson?"

I nodded again dumbly. The effect of Mr. Steam's gaze was mesmerizing.

"Another will join you for lunch tomorrow, a Mr. Delaine. The three of you will be granted access to the greatest works of horror ever written. safeguarded in the hidden library to which I will take you. Stories kept from the eyes of man for countless centuries will be offered for the delectation of you and your associates Mr. Gibson. And all you have to do is read and enjoy them. Do we have an agreement? This is a once in a lifetime offer, do answer quickly."

I nodded lamely in agreement, more out of fear than any sort of accord.

"Wonderful Mr. Gibson, you are truly a man of few words. Now don't forget your luncheon tomorrow. There are plans to be made and ideas to be discussed. We begin at midnight. Good evening to you Mr. Gibson."

And just as quickly Steam had vanished. I found myself clutching the arms of my recliner fiercely in somewhat of a daze. Sweat covered my body. I leaned back in my chair and played back the encounter in my mind, still unable to decided if it had been real or imagined as the air in the room slowly cooled.

Noon the next day I found myself walking through the heavy oak doors of The Ploughman's Pub. The building was very old with stone walls and wooden floors and roof, the atmosphere dank and gloomy. The few men seated at the bar glanced up from their pints to look at me with disinterest. As my eyes adjusted to the dark I scanned the room and found a lone occupant in the rear of the pub, her face hidden in a thick book. She was in her early thirties and rather heavy set with thick glasses and her hair piled on her head in a disheveled manner.

Ms. Walker no doubt.

I approached her table not having the slightest idea how to initiate the conversation. What if I had imagined the entire encounter? What if she were just someone in a pub waiting for her lunch? The whole thing was beginning to seem a little ridiculous.

She looked up from her book through her thick glasses. "Harry Gibson?" she asked in a hushed voice. I immediately sat down at her table and leaned forward, glancing around the pub though not really sure for what.

"You know me?"

"We have a mutual acquaintance I think." Her voice was low and conspiratorial. "Mr. Steam said I would find you here. I'm Emma Walker."

I was at once relieved and horrified to find out that Mr. Steam wasn't a product of my imagination, but exsited and had made himself known to this woman as well. "Who is he? What does he want?" I asked excitedly.

"I don't know", she replied. "He said I was to wait here for you and another man and the three of us were going to be taken to a library. I thought I may have imagined the whole thing but your proof that I didn't. Aren't you?"

I nodded my head, lost in thought.

Before for I could respond further, the doors to the pub opened again and a man slid through the entrance. He was tall and skinny with messy hair that stood up at random angles. He wore old blue jeans and an army surplus jacket with a bag slung over his left shoulder. He looked about the room quickly and immediately made his way towards our table.

"Arty Delaine" he said and held out his hand. We shook hands and introduced ourselves then over pints of beer discussed what we knew of the situation.

"This guy" Arty began, "crazy old bird, shows up in my apartment out of nowhere and offers me an invitation to a library. Tells me i'll have access to stories no one has seen for ages and if I want I can read them. The whole time he's talking to me it's like i'm paralyzed and I can't look away from him. I'm sitting in my chair sweating and shaking and this Steam fellow is acting like he popped in to say hello to an old friend. It was damned strange."

"There's definitely something off about him" Emma interjected "did you notice how hot it got when he was close by?"

"Yeah" said Arty "like sitting in a sauna with your clothes on. There's something weird about that guy. Something supernatural."

"C'mon" I said "lets not jump to conclusions. Lets try to stay grounded and figure this out. Why we three?"

"You like scary stories Harry. So do I." Emma said. "That's the unifying factor. Were all readers. I'd be willing to bet Mr. Delaine’s bag is full of books."

"Books and sedatives. I've been in a state of panic ever since Steam made his appearance. I don't like a lot of excitement. I have a condition."

Arty emptied his bag onto the table, spilling out several worn paperback novels and an assortment of pill bottles. He tried to smile and failed.

"What kind of condition, Art?" I asked gently.

"You know, anxiety, depression, paranoia. I take my med's and I'm ok. Well mostly ok."

"Bipolar." Emma said raising her pint. "Cheers."

"I've suffered from schizophrenia in the past but I'm over it now." I mumbled.

"Well then there's one mystery solved." Emma said while running her finger along the rim of her pint glass. "Were fans of horror fiction and were all three of us nutters. What use could we be to Mr. Steam?"

Before I could respond the bar man bellowed across the room.

"Harry Gibson? Harry Gibson - phone call."

I looked across the table at my two companions. A sense of dread had fallen over us like a heavy blanket. I walked across the room and the bartender handed me the receiver then returned to washing glasses.

"Hello?" I said in a tentative voice.

"Harry, so glad I found you. How is lunch going?"

It was Steam.

"Listen Steam, we want some answers damn it." I was trying to sound aggressive and failing.

"Harry my dear fellow no need for dramatics. You and your companions will meet me in front of the Ploughman at midnight and I will arrive with transportation to take you to the hidden library. This is what you want Harry. This is the opportunity of a life time. You and your friends have been chosen. It's a great honor. And Harry?"

"Yes?" I croaked into the phone. The sound of Steams voice had drained all the bravado from me and left me trembling.

"Don't be late Harry. That would never do".

The phone clicked and the line went dead. I put the receiver back in the cradle barely noticing how hot the plastic had become during my conversation with Steam.

Midnight found the three of us standing in front of the Ploughman, each glancing about nervously and lost in our own thoughts. We had all decided against our better judgment that we were going to make the trip to the hidden library.

"He's not going to show." Arty said while taking another pill from the bottle and swallowing it dry.

"He'll show." I said simply.

As if on cue a black vintage automobile appeared seemingly out of nowhere. Mr. Steam leaned his head out of the drivers side window and smiled, doffing his hat slightly.

"All aboard." he whispered, his voice full of good humor.

We filed into the back seat, Emma first and then myself and lastly Arty, who seemed on the verge of making a run for it. The car accelerated and we were on our way to the hidden library none of us sure exactly what we were going to find there.

I hoped the trip would be a short one - it was already becoming uncomfortably warm in the car.

As we drove the landscape grew rugged. Houses became fewer and farther between and the terrain had grown much wilder. Thick stands of forest and rolling hills replaced cultivated fields and dark shapes could be glimpsed between the trees almost as if they were pacing along with the car.

Not a word was said by anyone during the trip and it was with relief that we finally piled out of the vehicle to stand before a stately manor which we could only assume housed the hidden library.

Mr. Steam turned to us and smiled. "Welcome to Hodgson house, friends."

He began walking briskly towards the Manor, humming softly and twirling his walking stick.

Arty clutched the sleeve of my jacket and hissed into my ear. "Harry we need to get the fuck out of here now."

"Art, I don't even know where the fuck here is. You said you wanted to see the library and here we are. Just stay calm and we'll figure this out."

Arty shoved his hands deep into his coat pockets and walked behind us as we made our way to the mansion. It was as grand on the inside as it appeared from without, furnished tastefully and expensively but in a decidedly old fashioned manner. In spite of all it's opulence the manor gave the appearance of being empty and unlived in.

No one greeted us at the door and no servants moved about the premises. Shadows flickered around the rooms and cold draughts brushed past us but there was only the illusion of life here, not life itself.

"No time to waste." said steam ushering us along the darkened hallways and through heavy oak doors, down spiraling staircases until we came to a final portal the likes of which none of us had ever seen.

Before us stood a doorway of blackest ebon, sigils and glyph's of unimaginable origin covering it in silvered inlay. Mr. Steam spoke softly under his breath and the markings on the door glowed brilliantly for a moment then the door swung itself open wide. He turned to us and smiledas he motioned us to follow him.

We stood in a large comfortable room, shelf upon shelf of books lining the walls. Arranged around the fireplace were three comfortable chairs. I looked at my two companions and recognized the rapture on there faces as they drifted towards the rows of books. I too found myself pulled towards the stately leather bound tomes and didn't pause to wonder where Mr. Steam had vanished to.

"Lamereth's End" said Emma softly, as she took a large volume from a shelf and ran her hand down the spine of the ancient tome. She drifted slowly towards one of the chairs, as if in a dream, and seated herself and began to read.

"Behind The Stars" was tucked under Arty's arm as he too made his way to a chair and began to turn pages, immediately lost in the story.

I was drawn to a small black book, it's pages illuminated and gilded, titled simply "The King In Yellow". I seated myself between my two companions and began to read.

Of the hours that followed I can tell you little save that we poured through the volumes as if in a trance. None of us spoke, each of us too enthralled with our reading.

Horror after horror, unspeakable act upon unspeakable act, we delved through the collected atrocities of man down through the ages. The origins of the books I could not say save that they all seemed incredibly old. Strangest of all, tho' the book I read was written in the cryptic symbols of some unknown language I could read the words with ease. Even this did not cause me to question the sanity of the situation as I was too enraptured by the literary feast I had been offered.

It was Emma who noticed the change first.

"Harry?" she said in a soft, far away voice. "My skin is changing Harry." I looked up from my book and she was right. She had begun to grow a fine white fur over her body, her face taking on a distorted feline shape. Her eyes had narrowed and taken on an eerie green glow and her hands had a claw like appearance.

I set down my book and surveyed myself. My skin had gained a tough and leathery appearance, grey and thick. Running my hands over my face revealed deep ridges and a nose that had turned into a pig like snout. Running my tongue (which seemed abnormally long and rough) along my teeth revealed long, fierce fangs. I was sure I could feel leathery wings beginning to emerge from my back.

I glanced towards Arty for the first time in what seemed days and was horrified to see an oozing black pool with mouths and eyes floating at random in the blackened slime.

"Steam!" I shrieked, my voice sounding like the cry of a predatory animal. In an instant he was in the library wearing his typical nonchalant smile. "Problem?" he smiled pleasantly.

"What have you done?" I roared. I stood up to my full height which was considerable now and threw my head back in rage. My shirt ripped from my body, my wings unfolding and my muscles rippling.

Steam gasped and clapped his hands together with joy. "An excellent transformation Harry, truly exceptional. I'm very pleased."

"Why Steam?" I cried. Emma was trembling and convulsing, her forearms elongating and her claws make a ripping sound as the extended. Arty Bubbled and gurgled incoherently.

"Harry my boy, no need to get excited. You three were selected to perform a very important role."

"You're insane." I said.

"Harry you and your cohorts are going to join the ranks of the monstrous, the horrifying, the supernatural. Isn't it exciting?"

"My god Steam, why?"

"Harry, please think. What are people afraid of? People no longer fear the supernatural. The only thing left for men to fear is other men. Religious fanatics killing indiscriminately, poisoned air and water, children shooting other children in classrooms, the person next door dining on the body parts of his victims. What can a creature no matter how nightmarish do to compete with this?

We simply give people a lesser horror to dwell on Harry. Something small to let there minds worry on when they can no longer deal with there real fears. What is one victim of a hell borne creature compared to the mass destruction of society? We give them an escape Harry. The price we extract is small compared to the peace of mind we offer."

His words floated around me and though perhaps my mind had been altered already by the transformation, I couldn't argue there logic. Let chaos descend on society. Let them fear me and tremble before me as I rend and kill. Let them whisper their stories to each other and let the urban legends grow larger and most of all, let them forget the true horror of their lives.

I looked about the library and only Steam and I remained. Arty and Emma had already made there way back through the ebon doorway into the night.

I spread my wings and with a tremendous roar began to follow.


End.

M. Stafford 2006