The Accursed Manse

A hand was crawling its way, spider-like, out of the hole! I gave Champion a horrified glance, but his eyes were locked on the monstrous apparition.

"It's a..." I hissed. Champion cut me off with a swift gesture.

I turned back to take a closer look. Even from within our hiding place on the other side of the room, I could see that the thing was grotesque, its knuckles swollen and hairy. The skin was mottled like that of an old man, yet it moved with a vitality which belayed its withered form. The cracked nails were over long and black with grime. The fingers skittered over the wall, pausing now and again to tap or scratch at the flaking paint.

"It's looking for something!" I ventured in a hoarse whisper. Champion's brow furrowed and he raised a finger to his lips, shooting me an angry glance without turning his head.

"I say, I do believe..."

Champion's hand clamped over my mouth. Startled, I instinctively tried to bite it, but could gain no purchase. I was reaching for his wrist, but at that moment, the hand in the wall found its mark and with a sharp click, a partition, previously invisible, swung outward. We froze. From our place of concealment, we had a clear view of the hidden compartment. Upon later reflection, it occurred to me that the space was overly large, certainly too big to concealed within the wall. At that moment, however, my mind was occupied with other matters. The horrific monstrosity which occupied the space, for instance. He made quite an impression.

The hand, stringy and knobby as it was, served as a model for the rest of the body. He seemed to be constructed of a series of narrow rods connected to one another by large, round joints. The effect was rather that of a wooden soldier or, better, a marionette. His skin was grey and covered in a patchwork of liver spots and boils, even beneath the few strands of oily grey hair that struggled to cover his narrow, equine skull. Sunken eyes rolled back and forth, searching the room, and a narrow tongue flickered over dry lips. His dress only added to the macabre effect; formal evening wear stretched so tight over his emaciated frame I swear I could have counted every rib through coat, waistcoat, and shirt.

Despite my horrified fascination, I noticed Champion's grip on my mouth slacken and seized the moment. I jerked my head aside and exclaimed, at what I remain convinced was a reasonably stealthy volume, "That's him!"

The sound, though negligible, I assure you, seemed to echo through the room like a rifle report. Some architectural anomaly, I suspect. I'm told there's a mosque in Persia where if you stand directly under the dome and clap your hands once, you'll hear the sound repeated tenfold. That's the sort of thing I mean. Quite common, probably. In any event, the beast froze for a moment and then that ghastly hand shot in our direction and its yellow eyes locked on the door behind which we were hiding.

Champion was staring at me with a bemused expression. "Oh, well done." he said.

There was a roar from without, something crashed into the door and then everything went black.

I Awake

I awoke at dawn. Within minutes, I was fighting for my life.
Slavering jaws snapped inches from my face, thick, clawed feet tore at my chest. I clutched at the Siberian wolf's throat (for such it was) with a grip of steel, yet knew I could not long delay my gory demise.

I once overheard a picturesque American colloquialism in which the speaker favorably compares his present circumstances, no matter how dire, to "a poke in the eye with a sharp stick." When I presented a similar choice to my adversary, I was not overly surprised to find he came down firmly against the stick option, preferring to flee whimpering through the shattered remains of the window through which he had entered. I grimaced and returned my sharp stick to its accustomed place beneath my pillow.

If I am awoken after sunrise, I have a devil of a time getting back to sleep. In any case, the cool morning air and distant birdsong had decided now that the wolf was gone, they might as well come inside and have a look around. Sitting up, I wiped the last traces of canine saliva from my brow and considered the task which lay before us. It was a daunting prospect. The house was a vast structure and would require days to search comprehensively. Furthermore, the residents, upon whose unpleasant aspects I have dwelt for some length, were obviously displeased with our presence and perhaps contemplating outright revolt. But, and you may think me mad for saying so, it was from the house itself that I felt the strongest resistance. There was something unnameable about the place, some lurking transgression which eluded close observation. It was almost as if the thing had not been erected with the idea of human habitation, its contorted dimensions meant to accommodate some alien physique...
I was jerked from my reverie by a hoarse shout.
"Hardings!"
I leapt to my feet. "Curses! Champion!"