The need for familiar soil

Following our encounter with George Ayers, Grace and Howard (bewildered and shaken) decided to return to Massaua and remain there, while the others continued their foray into the desert. After spending a week in Massaua with us, Quincy, Erik, and Otto decided they couldn’t leave the final leaf unturned. The following is an account from Quincy, interspersed with details later filled in or remembered from Otto, Erik, and Quincy. They had once more returned (safely, thank heavens) to Massaua, (injured and disturbed but alive) and told us bits of their tale here and again while they convalesced and readied themselves to travel to the safety and sanity of American soil.

Aggregate tale from the sickbeds of the often delirious Erik, Otto, and Quincy:

"Since our visit to Dallol the attacks from the crazed villagers had intensified, and some of the good folks of Kalluli had been killed.

After speaking to Jerome, who suggested to leave the Dallol villages to the Guardians, we decided however to investigate the dig site and reached it with the assistance of three local guides.

We travelled in the unbearable heat through the scorched alien landscape of lurid green and yellow sands dotted with strange rocks and sulphurous pools. Nothing appeared to be left at the dig site, except a cairn that had been built (so the guides told us) by the Spaniard after the eruption in order to bury the deceased.

We decided to the locals' horror to move the cairn stones and make sure that nothing had been hidden there with the bodies; such was their outrage that they left us there.

Otto was confident that we could find the rail tracks by ourselves to make our way back. The cairn contained only bones, and a frantic search of the rest of the site didn't uncover anything else. Quincy was so exhausted by the searing heat that he almost passed out. [The group decided to head back to the village at Kalluli.]

After dusk three figures on foot appeared on a crest, and as we wondered who they might be when the crack of a shot echoed in the night and a bullet narrowly missed Erik. We ran off on the camels but quickly realised that in the darkness we were too slow to leave the attackers behind, and they were gaining on us.

Everything that could go wrong, went wrong. Quincy was shot in the shoulder from a distance and passed out, Otto and Erik were incapacitated after a spirited fight with the bloodthirsty cultists (the attackers were Dallol villagers). [My friends recalled further details of this gruesome battle: Otto stood his ground with one, armed only with his sword cane, and was stabbed badly. Erik tried to shoot the assailants, but to no avail.]

It seemed the end for us, but the cultists had other plans. We awoke tied to poles in a sacrificial hut, where we were kept for days between life and death as our blood was ritually collected from our wounds. Every time they took our blood, a wind from nowhere shook the hut.

[Quincy emphasized this bit in particular, about the strange wind which undeniably blew each time they were bled. He clings to his faith in a way I would describe as nearing on manic these days, purchasing crucifixes wherever he sees them, and constantly reading from the bible. He described the scene in the hut as having a channel dug through the middle, which was caked in blood. The villagers of Dallol would tend their wounds, only to open them again, their blood feeding the channel, a sacrifice like the ones they made themselves, to their hungry god. It began with Otto, but in time all three were treated thus.]

After a time that seemed to go on forever, unable even to refuse food and water to let ourselves die because we were so weak, we heard shots and sounds of fighting. Jerome burst into the hut and freed us, intimating that we should make haste. As we stumbled out we were confronted by the witch with the mouth on her chest. With foul magic [perhaps more of this ominous wind?] she shoved Jerome to the ground without even touching him. The investigators fought her and almost killed her, but with Quincy fainted for the effort and the witch with her hands around Otto's windpipe all seemed lost. Erik however recovered a shotgun, and despite his inexperience with weapons he calmly took the time to aim at the woman without letting Otto's predicament distract him, and shot her dead.

We awoke some time later, being looked after by Jerome's people but almost broken by the terrible experience.

The Guardians had returned them to Mersa Fatma, and from there they made their way to Massaua where they here told their tales and at last could begin to recover from their wounds. They were treated in the same hospitals as the Italian soldiers, and I was grateful they received some modicum of true Western medicine, better than any I could have administered.

Time passed. Slowly. We were eager to return to civilization, and leave behind the horrors we’d met here in Africa. Even Howard, himself rather at home in the African desert, was eager to leave, to start on our new path of seeing through a mission we barely understood.

…

I know I have become obsessive about this case. My notes are meticulous but harried and in a writing I barely recognize as my own, and I have referenced and cross-referenced The Rift of the Maw to the point it seems I have written more words than the book itself contains. I need access to a specialist library to better understand some of its terms, and long to get a start on the other books we retrieved from Echavarria’s collection.

I cannot unsee what I have seen, and I have no choice but to stay my path now, to see this investigation through, and to try to put a stop to all we have seen. What has happened here to the poor lost souls of Dallol could have happened in Los Angeles – and what did happen there we still do not know or comprehend. Is it happening elsewhere in the world? And, as others have said before, if there are mouths – what of a stomach?

None of this are sentences or phrases I thought I’d ever use, but… well, there is no use dwelling on what I cannot understand. All that matters now is the mission. We must learn more, and try to stop this “monster” – whatever and wherever it is. I will never sleep a solid night again until I have done so. I drink myself to sleep at night, staying up as late as I can, fearing the nightmares. They do not come every night, which is a relief – else I would soon end up in a cell next to Job and Henslowe. Perhaps that is yet my fate.

I am not the only one suffering. Erik seems almost to fear sunlight itself these days. Which is no surprise, really, as he bore the ill effects of the desert sun far more than the rest. Quincy has become obsessed with the bible.

February 18th, 1935 (Monday)

We have assembled together at last to discuss plans to return to the US. There remains much healing to be done, but it is high time we leave Africa behind. Perhaps we have not turned every stone, but I think anything more is just a risk. I think daily of questions I wish I had asked of Ayers… I even at one point regretted not speaking directly to the mouth upon his abdomen. Then I thought perhaps I was losing my mind again and left the case behind for a day, walking the encampment and reminding myself of the harsh realities in the world we had known.

Everything, even war, seems almost trivial. Don’t they know there is another war to be fought, one held in secrecy from the world at large?! I considered somehow, rather insanely I supposed, forcing a small contingent of officers to march into the desert beside us, into Dallol – to show them, to show the world…. But, of course, Tshombe is deceased, and with her – I hope – that thing which lived within her. I’d never get a contingent as far as Ayers… and who knows whether we’d find him again, amongst what seemed a thousand little caves, off performing his rites, secreted away from the world.

…

And so, to America. We discussed many options: Savannah, LA, New York, Virginia….

I cannot dwell much on thoughts of Virginia these days. How ever am I to make George understand all I have seen. I would not have believed, had I not seen… where was my camera, when I had such things to photograph? My mind had never even considered such a mundane activity at such times – and yet, when could photographic evidence have been more important?

We debated the options at length, what leads might be followed, what precautions would have to be taken, what research done. We settled, for a beginning, on New York. I sent a telegram to Janet Winston-Rogers with dates for our arrival and instructions for Frank to meet us with the Silver Sable (and our varied evidences) the day after our arrival in port.

There were boats and planes and many stops. We spent a few days in Paris. I spent some time at a specialty library there, and completed my study of the Rift of the Maw. For good or ill, really – I’m not entirely sure what it taught me beside perversities.

We each took the time to engage in various solo activities. Quincy in particular seemed to be the most troubled at the time, returning often drunk and with a new black eye or bruise. And then we continued on, not discussing much other than what I had gleaned from the ancient book. Our night in Southampton was the most positive – at least for we English speakers, being surrounded at last by our native tongue and familiar foods. But we couldn’t help but be silenced by the mundane quality of our new-old reality.

We had an episode on the ocean liner to New York which proved most embarrassing; fortunately we bluffed our way through and came out in no major trouble on the other side (but for a hefty bill for one destroyed cabin). Quincy lost control (from a nightmare, we later learned) and carved crosses into the walls and bedframe, blocking himself up inside with a chair, and seeing visions of mouths (including on the face of the kindly Purser who helped us, leading him to try to attack said man in my defense), utterly resolved that “it” has followed us from Africa. We managed to convince the ship’s doctor that Quincy was a patient under Otto’s care, and he (after spending the remainder of the voyage under sedation) was released to us when we reached New York without further question.

I feel small, helpless.. and in over my head. I’ve decided to seek out an expert. I think if we had someone we could talk to who in even the remotest way believed what we could describe, it would be of the utmost benefit to our collective sanity. If he could give us some direction, well….

To that end, I’ve sent a letter off to Chastity in London. I recall she said she worked with an occult bookshop-keeper. I’ve sent her a list of topics she might research on our behalf, or possibly even be able to put us in touch with an expert somewhere. I didn’t think of it until I was on board the ocean liner, so of course it will take longer now to reach her, but if there is any response at all it will be well worth the wait (to know Chastity is faring well, if nought else). I think she would somehow have enjoyed Africa. Her thirst for adventure excels any I’ve ever met before.

I do hope Chastity comes through, and shall carry hope from afar. I’m really not certain how to go about a search like this. How does one broach such a subject? To whom? And where?

March 2nd, 1935 (Saturday)

We have landed in New York. I have made the shortest possible call home to George, to let him know I’ve returned to American soil, and to Janet’s assistant to confirm our meeting with Frank tomorrow. It will be good to see Frank. I’ve become rather attached to him, although from what little I know of psychology, I expect it’s related to his company and assurances following my attack. I’ll need to be cautious of my feelings there for a time, lest things become confused.

Otto has requested some time here in New York, and so we have decided first to visit Mrs W-R. The familiarity of visiting her home was comforting, but I dreaded the meeting. Fortunately, and quite frankly rather shockingly, Quincy jumped in immediately, explaining with great care and eloquence our experiences (sans any discussion of mouths, as we had agreed) and current situation. I suppose in the past in his career he has had to break fragile news to fragile women, and his instincts must have taken over, but I’ve never heard him speak so well. It was of a great relief not to have to be the one to explain all we had been through.

Janet was, not surprisingly, made quite nervous and hesitant for the sake of our safety. The shock of what we’ve been through is relatively plain on our faces, and many of us have grievous wounds still under care. She had every right to discontinue our service. But although it would have seemed a great relief, we knew – each of us – we would never let it rest. Otto too spoke with surprising softness, requesting her further assistance, explaining we could not let it rest, and that her great resources would make the ordeal highly more manageable. In the end, she agreed she too wished to see it through, and even hired on Howard as a replacement investigator for Chastity.

She set us up with a mouth-watering supper, and luxurious rooms nearby. Whilst Otto took care of some business nearby for a few days, I asked Frank to fly me to Virginia. I needed to see George. And had a rather private errand to run as well.