 |
|
BULGARIA - SOFIA - PART II
|
|
FEBRUARY 1923
|
| WEDNESDAY FEBRUARY 14, 1923 Whilst we were pursuing Grant’s attackers, who, incidentally, we discover had been smoking a brand of Turkish cigarettes; Irma continues his search of the train for further clues to the attack. It is then that he spots the mysterious Lazenby, dressed in his over-the-top white dinner jacket as he appears to break into the compartment of a fellow traveler. Irma follows up on Lazenby and surprises him by landing a blow to his jaw that sends the fellow back to Serbia. Why was he here? What was he seeking? When he regains his senses, Lazenby explains that he is a kind of elite thief, seeking to obtain the riches of wetitlehy travelers by stetitleh and deception… Well, it has now become apparent to us that the passengers of the Simplon Orient Express are either thieves, murderers, cultists, perverts, or the hopelessly insane. I am beginning to have difficulty differentiating ourselves from this criminal pack… Later that night, Grand briefly regains consciousness. “I saw myself running through the forest to a car… I saw … everything… as if it was real! They are already in Sofia!!!” Unfortunately, the lunatic Rabi is on hand to provide his ever-helpful insights: “The eyes! The eyes are the window to the soul! Grand voz attacked because he is zee schäinste! Zee best beautiful boy! Zey have taken zee eye so that zey can see vot vee do!” God save us from his ravings: Museltov needs help – fast.  Simon Lost An Eye Following yet another insomniac night, dawn breaks blood-red across the snowy-white steppe of the Bulgarian hinterland. We gather in the dining carriage for breakfast, but none of us has brought an appetite or the stomach for food following the night’s events. Coffee and cigarettes are all the nourishment required as the morning papers are distributed. Whilst perusing the indecipherable Cyrillic script, I spot an article containing a photo of a man clutching an artifact: It is without a shadow of doubt the head of the simulacrum… We find one of the Simplon staff who is able to decipher the text… “Oui, Monsieur, it says, that Gabor Verboczy found zee ‘ead while ploughing a field. It ‘as since been taken to zee University de Sofia for further study.” We also discover an interesting article in the newspaper which tries to explain the recent events in Postumia as being caused by “freak weather conditions”… Apparently a spiraling cyclone completely devastated the area, flattening trees and buildings alike. Donolly asserts that this is something that he remembers having seen the Lloigor do in the past… Looks like, once again, we got out just in time… Eventually the train arrives in Sofia. Biff and his horse also disembark. We head to the hotel, where Grand is finally given a fresh set of bandages and the wound is cleaned once again. Whether it is the morphine, the pain, or a recurrence of the shock, Grand again begins to murmur and cry out: “They are in the caves! Some caves … Here! Near to Sofia! A… cathedral … like… a cathedral of caves!!! I can … see … THEM!!!”  The Caves Of Postumia Are Calling Gregor distributes tinned hand grenades to everyone. It looks like we can expect some serious trouble… We waste little time in heading straight to the Soficzky University Museum where we are naturally expected to bribe our way to the Head of the Faculty, Professor Chidenko, a wizened old man whose matted white beard gives the impression more of vagrant or possibly an ancient druid rather than an academic. We provide our academic credentials (a backwater town like this should really consider it an honor to have someone of the academic standards which I have achieved, but I am not going to press the point), and Professor Chidenko explains to us how he happened upon the artifact and that he has a small team currently examining it. After explaining that our academic skills could probably be put to good use in learning more about the artifact, Chidenko agrees to show us the recently discovered antiquity. We traverse a series of decrepit lecture halls and pass down corridors lined with ancient suits of armor before we reach the entrance to work room. The Professor excitedly opens the door for us: “And you will be very interested to see our methods of dating certain types of materials where we have recently …” His sentence is cut short as his mind fails to comprehend the scene which greets him upon opening the door. The tiled floor, presumably white, is now covered in a deepening pool of fresh blood. The silence that descends is punctuated only by the sound of blood continuing to be pumped with some force from severed arteries and the cold February wind as it blows open the curtains of an open window on the opposite side of the room; bloody footprints still on the window sill. A number of corpses litter the floor, one of them without a head. Not hesitating for a second, Donolly and Trent rush to the window in time to see a car pull away from the university.  Blood Bath At The Sofia University Pursuit is no longer an option. Clearly, the head of the Simulacrum has been taken, along with the head of one of poor members of Chidenko’s now decimated team. An inspection of the bodies reveals that one appears to have survived the onslaught, but with horrific, life-threatening injuries. I attempt to administer some immediate aid, when the poor fool begins recount the attack: “They broke in and killed us! They – they wore flapping cloaks and – and – shoulders that WERE NOT THEIR OWN!!!” At this point he mercifully slipped into unconsciousness. A short time later the police arrive. They conduct a cursory interrogation, establish that we are not the culprits and attribute the attack to evil Bolshevist elements determined to conduct the most barbaric of acts in an attempt to spread fear and confusion. “They take the heads and use them in evil communist rituals,” assures me one of the policemen. Numb with horror and shock, we return to the hotel. Grand appears to be making a good go at recovering – his spirit is admirable. I sit in the lobby and smoke. A short while later I am informed that Grand has suffered another premonition: “They are in limestone caves … Along the Iskar River, west of Sofia… I can see them…” It would seem that this isn’t just some phenomena of morphine induced hallucination, but that Grand really is seeing through his dismembered eyeball – no doubt now being used by one of the macabre body-snatching Turkish cultists. A cold shiver runs down my spine at the prospect of what they might be doing with the head of the research assistant… Reluctantly, we sit together to discuss our next move. Unfortunately, it is glaringly obvious that we must follow Grand’s macabre visions to the limestone caves. With steely resolve we arrange to hire motorized carriages and drive as closely as possible to where we think the caves are. We learn that an ancient tribe called the Savi had once resided in some caves along the river and decide that these are probably analog to Grand’s premonition. Just as we depart, Grand suffers another relayed view through his disembodied eye: “They are… No, it can’t be! THEY ARE TRYING TO ACTIVATE THE HEAD!!!”  Nothing To Worry About At The Caves We drive as closely as we can to the point where we think the caves are, but must complete the rest of the journey on foot. As we head along the river bank into the foreboding snow-bound valley, with blocks of mountain ice rushing along the Iksar, Grand’s face suddenly grows deathly pallid. He is now being lead by Gaidar, both eyes bound for fear that his attacker may also, we reason, be able to see from Grand’s remaining eye, following the exchange… He stumbles, and despite Gaidar’s attempt to steady him, collapses to the ground in a type of apoplectic fit: “A beast! By Jove! A monstrous beast!!!” he gibbers; “It is tearing them to pieces in the cave!” At this point, the Hindoo suddenly announces that he has spotted the cave entrance we are seeking. I sense a recurrence of the fear I felt in the caves of Postumia, but a steely resolve, born of the determination to see through to the end that which we began, for which Grand must give his eye, and for which many have already lost their lives: We must finish this. And if Fenalik is waiting for us, he may, this time, just have bitten off more than he can chew… Grand recovers once again and is quickly back on his feet. A warm air emanates from the cave mouth into the cold evening descending on the valley. Cautiously, we enter, fully armed and armored, and fully expecting the worst. Grand has already walked these paths: “Go left!” he barks as we reach a junction. There is a distant sound of flowing water and a terrible stench of decay and sulphur. Above us rises a monstrous archway of jagged teeth, pronouncing the entrance into the throat of some hideous gathering point beyond. Dim light emanates from some still lit torches. We enter the cathedral like chamber… Scattered around are dozens of shredded bodies, literally ripped limb from limb. This scene is too much for the Hindoo to bear, and none can prevent him as he flees in blind panic and terror from the cave.  Welcome To The Cave Ride It is not our eyes, but our sense of smell that draws our attention to a shadowy form within the chamber. A seeping, sickening terror gains an icy grip on my senses as I comprehend that what I am looking at is a gigantic pyramid of hundreds of severed human heads. Those closer to the bottom are in a more advanced state of decay, those at the top more terrifying because of the twisted expressions recognizable on their frozen faces, capturing the moment of horror which preceded their gruesome end. The pyramid must be at least 15 feet high!!! Captivated by a morbid desire to identify what lies at the flattened summit of this pyramid of death, Bloomberg and I begin to ascend the structure. My hands and feet slip occasionally on the putrefying sculls, and my mind is pushed towards the limits of sanity as I grasp ears, hair, noses, and tongues to facilitate my climb to the top. Once we are there, we discover that a shrine was placed here. A plinth, which no doubt once held the Head of the Sedefkar Simulacrum is now empty.  Aye, Aye Simon's Eye From below, Grand issues a cry: “My eye! I have found my eye!” It is now of no use to it’s surrogate and illegitimate owner, who has been ripped to shreds by the talons and teeth of one of Fenalik’s monstrous incarnations… TO BE CONTINUED... |
|
|