not fully understanding what he saw but knowing with every instinct of his being that whatever it was, this contrivance was the very embodiment of evil. And as he oozed cold, slimy sweat and felt his entire body racked with shudders, so the voice of his tormentor came again in his staggering mind:
Go on, my son, that terrible voice urged. A pace or two more, Dumiitruuu, and all will become apparent. But carefully, very carefully—don’t faint or fall from the path, whatever you do!
Two more paces, and the youth’s bulging eyes never leaving that terrible urn, nor even blinking—until he saw the place where the trench came to an end: a black oblong like an open grave. And as the light of his torch fell within—what that terrible space contained!
Spikes! Needle-sharp fangs of rusted iron, filling that final gap side to side and end to end. Three dozen of them at least—and Dumitru knew their meaning, and the Ferenczy’s terrible purpose in an instant!
Oh? Ha-haa-haaa! Ha-haaa! Terrible laughter filled Dumitru’s mind if not his ears. And so finally it’s a battle of wills, eh, my son?
A battle of wills? Dumitru’s will hardened; he fought for control of his mind, his young, powerful muscles. And: “I … won’t … kill myself for you … old devil!” he gasped.
Of course you won’t, Dumiitruuu. Not even I can make you do that, not against your will. Beguilement has its limits, you see. No, you won’t kill yourself, my son. I shall do that. Indeed—I already have!
Dumitru found his limbs full of a sudden strength, his mind free at last of the Ferenczy’s shackles. Licking his lips, eyes starting out, he looked this way and that. Which way to run? Somewhere up ahead a great wolf waited; but he still had his torch; the wolf would back off before its flaring. And behind him …
From behind him in this previously still place, suddenly the air came rushing like a wind—fanned by a myriad of wings. The bats!
In another moment the crushing claustrophobia of the place crashed down on Dumitru. Even without the bats, whose return seemed imminent, he knew he could never find courage to retrace his steps down the false flue, and then through the castle’s vaults with their graveyard loot, and on up that echoing stone stairwell to the outside world. No, there was only one way: forward to whatever awaited him. And as the first bats came in a rush, so he hurled himself along the stone ledge—
—Which at once tilted under his weight!
And:
Ahaaa! said the awful voice in his head, full of triumph now. But even a big wolf weighs much less than a man full grown, Dumiitruuu!
Opposite the spiked pit, the ledge and entire section of wall that backed it—an “L” of hewn stone—tilted through ninety degrees and tossed Dumitru onto the spikes. His single shriek, of realization and the horror it brought combined, was cut off short as he was pierced through skull and spine and most of his vital organs—but not his heart. Still beating, his heart continued to pump his blood—to pump it out through the many lacerations of his impaled, writhing body.
And did I not say it would be an ecstasy, Dumiitruuu? And did I not say I’d kill you? The monster’s gloating words came floating through all the youth’s agonies, but dimly and fading, as was the agony itself. And that was the last of Janos Ferenczy’s torments, his final taunt; for now Dumitru could no longer hear him.
But Janos was not disappointed. No, for now there was that which was far more important—an ancient thirst to quench. At least until the next time.
Blood coursed down the “V”-shaped channel, spurted from the spout, splashed down into the mouth of the urn to wet whatever was inside. Ancient ashes, salts—the chemicals of a man, of a monster—soaked it up, bubbled and bulked out, smoked and smouldered. Such was the chemical reaction that the obscene lips of the urn seemed almost to belch …
In a little while the great wolf came back. He
Go on, my son, that terrible voice urged. A pace or two more, Dumiitruuu, and all will become apparent. But carefully, very carefully—don’t faint or fall from the path, whatever you do!
Two more paces, and the youth’s bulging eyes never leaving that terrible urn, nor even blinking—until he saw the place where the trench came to an end: a black oblong like an open grave. And as the light of his torch fell within—what that terrible space contained!
Spikes! Needle-sharp fangs of rusted iron, filling that final gap side to side and end to end. Three dozen of them at least—and Dumitru knew their meaning, and the Ferenczy’s terrible purpose in an instant!
Oh? Ha-haa-haaa! Ha-haaa! Terrible laughter filled Dumitru’s mind if not his ears. And so finally it’s a battle of wills, eh, my son?
A battle of wills? Dumitru’s will hardened; he fought for control of his mind, his young, powerful muscles. And: “I … won’t … kill myself for you … old devil!” he gasped.
Of course you won’t, Dumiitruuu. Not even I can make you do that, not against your will. Beguilement has its limits, you see. No, you won’t kill yourself, my son. I shall do that. Indeed—I already have!
Dumitru found his limbs full of a sudden strength, his mind free at last of the Ferenczy’s shackles. Licking his lips, eyes starting out, he looked this way and that. Which way to run? Somewhere up ahead a great wolf waited; but he still had his torch; the wolf would back off before its flaring. And behind him …
From behind him in this previously still place, suddenly the air came rushing like a wind—fanned by a myriad of wings. The bats!
In another moment the crushing claustrophobia of the place crashed down on Dumitru. Even without the bats, whose return seemed imminent, he knew he could never find courage to retrace his steps down the false flue, and then through the castle’s vaults with their graveyard loot, and on up that echoing stone stairwell to the outside world. No, there was only one way: forward to whatever awaited him. And as the first bats came in a rush, so he hurled himself along the stone ledge—
—Which at once tilted under his weight!
And:
Ahaaa! said the awful voice in his head, full of triumph now. But even a big wolf weighs much less than a man full grown, Dumiitruuu!
Opposite the spiked pit, the ledge and entire section of wall that backed it—an “L” of hewn stone—tilted through ninety degrees and tossed Dumitru onto the spikes. His single shriek, of realization and the horror it brought combined, was cut off short as he was pierced through skull and spine and most of his vital organs—but not his heart. Still beating, his heart continued to pump his blood—to pump it out through the many lacerations of his impaled, writhing body.
And did I not say it would be an ecstasy, Dumiitruuu? And did I not say I’d kill you? The monster’s gloating words came floating through all the youth’s agonies, but dimly and fading, as was the agony itself. And that was the last of Janos Ferenczy’s torments, his final taunt; for now Dumitru could no longer hear him.
But Janos was not disappointed. No, for now there was that which was far more important—an ancient thirst to quench. At least until the next time.
Blood coursed down the “V”-shaped channel, spurted from the spout, splashed down into the mouth of the urn to wet whatever was inside. Ancient ashes, salts—the chemicals of a man, of a monster—soaked it up, bubbled and bulked out, smoked and smouldered. Such was the chemical reaction that the obscene lips of the urn seemed almost to belch …
In a little while the great wolf came back. He
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