The Claw of Cthulhu

Chapter Five: Temple of the Claw

The three men emerged onto a rocky slope that looked down into a kind of natural amphitheatre. The slope itself was too rugged to climb easily, but in some immemorial time a winding path, interspersed with flights of steps, had been cut into and across it, between waist-high walls of raw stone. A little above their heads was a flat roof, covered with a fungal, mossy growth that glowed with a sick green phosphorescence. This grew down the walls and would have lit the whole cave in a twilight fashion, had it not been overpowered by a circle of powerful electric lamps set on the sandy floor of the amphitheatre. The entire place reeked of fish, but that was not what brought the investigators close to nausea.

There, on the sandy floor, close to the back wall, stood a crude altar on which was placed an all-too-familiar image. Great Cthulhu, squatting in sleep on his cubical throne. In contrast to the altar, the image was a work of great skill and artistry, sculpted in some kind of green marble. But again, the idol was not the true source of horror here.

Gathered in a ring before the altar, performing a strange, hopping, leaping dance, were perhaps fifteen or twenty men and women, all quite naked. They seemed to be of several different races, judging by skin colour, and all of them seemed to be deformed or deficient in some way. They ranged from the obese to the skeletal, many had missing limbs, or bore terrible scars. Even the most ordinary-looking of them were covered with grotesque, even obscene, tattoos. They danced wildly, occasionally emitting ululating cries that had nothing of humanity in them. They were blank-eyed and slack-jawed, whether from drugs, ecstasy or idiocy it was impossible to tell.

Among them danced an equal number of beings that were not remotely human, except in general shape. Flabby things with slick, pale, green-tinged skins and large, webbed hands and feet. Their faces lacked both chins and foreheads, being mostly bulging, glassy eyes and wide, gaping mouths. The dance, with its crouching, hopping and leaping motions seemed to be better adapted for them than for humans, but the cries they uttered were more akin to articulate croaking. Some of the humans, Jones noted with a chill, had features too closely akin to the fish-frog horrors for comfort.

One of these unhuman creatures stood before the altar. It was far larger than the others, maybe ten feet tall and grossly corpulent. The motions it made and the sounds it uttered were more complex than the others. There was less of mindless ecstasy here, more of deliberate intelligence and purpose. Clearly this was some kind of high priest.

Then in part of its ritual, it moved a little to one side, and Delapore almost let out a cry. There, on the altar, lay a singular object. Some six feet long, it gleamed pale white in the electric lights. From about a foot in diameter it tapered along its gently-curved length to a needle point. For most of its length, the inside of the curve narrowed to a keen edge.

Delapore pulled the other two down out of sight and spoke in a low, urgent tone.

"That must be the Claw of Cthulhu!" He said. "The people there are cultists, all right. Hopeless, broken, near-idiots. Normal people don't join that cult. But what those others are..."

"Deep Ones." Jones said. "I never believed they were real. How could I? How could anyone who hadn't seen... I spoke to you about them, Wimsey. The sea-creatures who come to islands and offer gold and jewels and good fishing to the natives in exchange for the chance to mate with humans."

"I remember." Wimsey replied grimly. "But we can wonder about all this later. Right now, if the Padres' right, we need to get that claw thing off 'em before they decide it gives 'em the right to do some mischief."

Jones nodded. "None of them seem to be armed, or even dressed. They also don't seem like they'd be able to fight well. The Deep Ones may be effective in the water, but I don't think they're built for action on land.

"I reckon a few well-placed shots would have them running for it. We probably only have to fire into the air."

"You're probably right." Wimsey replied. "But these are fanatics, not predictable, and I don't like the look of that big fellow at the altar one little bit.

"So, Padre, you take that twelve-bore along the path a little way an' hold the top of that first flight of steps. Jones, you an' I will try to put a scare into these chaps. If that doesn't work, we've got superior arms an' position, so we can make short work of any that show fight.

"Even if they do have some firearms, it won't be easy to come at us up here."

As soon as Delapore was in position, Wimsey and Jones rose above the parapet to begin. Unfortunately, the giant Deep One was now facing out over his congregation. Whether it was to give a blessing or a command they didn't know, nor did it matter, since the brute saw the men immediately, pointed to them and issued a string of croaks that could only be commands.

The worshippers turned as one and there was a babble of shrieks, yells, croaking that was suddenly overridden by the crash of Wimseys' elephant gun. Jones had heard American veterans speak of the unflappable nature of their British allies. Himself a man of iron nerve, he doubted that he could have shot straight in the circumstances. But Wimseys' aim was unerring, and the heavy .577 slug struck the high priest squarely between the eyes, shattering his skull in a mess of red and grey.

This caused two separate and distinct reactions among the worshippers. The humans, perhaps with a better understanding of what they were facing, fled with yells of panic, disappearing from sight under a beetling ledge at one side of the cave. The Deep Ones reacted with rage. So much so that most of them ignored the path and began scrambling up the rough slope toward the assassin.

The froglike creatures were not the worlds' greatest climbers, and Jones took full advantage of that fact. There were five rounds in his magazine, and he wasted none of them. This led to a cooling of ardour and greater caution in the remaining attackers.

Two of them, however, had decided to take the path, and thus arrived much sooner at the top, to be met by Delapore and his shotgun. At close range, a twelve-bore buckshot charge is messily lethal, and the elderly pastor calmly disposed of his assailants with one barrel each, before quickly reloading.

The noise of this brought the leader of the remaining Deep Ones upright from where he had been crouching. That brought him into Wimseys' sights. This time the massive impact of the bullet sent the creature flying off the slope to land beside the dead high priest.

At that point the surviving Deep Ones clearly thought better of things and retreated precipitately, making their way to a pool behind the altar and diving in to vanish immediately.

"C'mon!" Jones barked. "Let's get down there before they come back with reinforcements!"

They reached the floor and found that the Claw was simply laid on the altar, not secured in any way. Quickly, they rolled in in the emergency blankets Wimsey had insisted they bring, and began to look for a way out.

"The cultists went this way." Jones said. "There! That's where they got out!"

It was a low, narrow tunnel entrance concealed under a ledge. The scuffed up sand around the entrance gave evidence of the panicked exit of the cultists.

"They've had plenty of time to get clear." Jones said. "Let's get out of here..."

It was the overwhelming fishy stench that warned them. Wimsey twisted away as a webbed, clawed hand slashed at his jacket, ripping the tough tweed but missing the shirt underneath.

The Deep One was wickedly fast with its claw-strikes, but its hunched posture and hopping gait made for poor foot-work on land. Wimsey was skilled in jiu-jitsu, but was sure that attempting to grapple the creature, with its wet and slippery skin, would be a recipe for disaster. However, he was also an expert in boxing and la savate. As the Deep One tried to close with him again, he let it, then slipped inside the swiping claws to land a heavy body-punch. His opponent grunted and staggered back, allowing Wimsey to follow up with a roundhouse kick to the ribs. As an Englishman, he considered kicking to be ungentlemanly, but since his opponent was not even human, much less English, it didn't count. The Deep One gave a croaking growl and lunged again. But by now it was in pain and off-balance. Wimsey stepped in and landed a thundering left on where the things' jaw would have been if it had one. The Deep One went over backwards and didn't move again.

Jones' leather jacket had defeated the claws and allowed him to get some distance. Now the bull-whip he always carried came into play. He lashed at the side of his assailants' neck, where he saw the tell-tale lines of gill-slits. The blow struck home, causing the Deep One to squeal in pain. Jones' next strike put out one of the bulging eyes. The Deep One turned and staggered away.

Delapore had been in the lead heading for the tunnel, so the third Deep One had had to move round the melee to reach him. That proved its undoing, as it met the clergymans' Derringer pistol. Small the weapon might be, but at point-blank range it was deadly enough.

But more Deep Ones were emerging from the pool. Jones and Wimsey both dew their pistols and fired simultaneously. Two Deep Ones fell back into the pool and no more appeared.

"Go!" Jones said. "You lead, Wimsey, then the Reverend, I'll watch our backs!"

The passage was low and narrow for a few yards, then opened into a room. A small room, dimly lit by a single electric lantern and rank with the smell of unwashed human bodies. Lying in small heaps around the place was a collection of grubby, disreputable clothing.

"Must be where the cultists undressed." Delapore said. "Evidently we scared them too much for them to pick up their things on the way out."

"Must've been that cannon of yours, Wimsey." Jones said. "God knows what would've happened if they'd seen your face!"

"Shudder to think, old chap." Wimsey replied. "Mass suicide would've been the least of it!

"Got a door here, Jones."

The doorway they had entered by did indeed sport a door. Ancient, heavy and iron-bound, with massive hinges and bolts that looked recently oiled. Even so, it took both Wimsey and Jones to close the thing and shoot the bolts.

"They won't," Wimsey noted, "get through that in a hurry, even if they do follow us."

"All we have to do is reach the open air." Jones told him. "Those things won't want to risk being seen. Not by anyone likely to be believed."

They carried on. The tunnel was wider now, with a steady upward trend, and an hours' walking brought them to a gaping hole through which filtered sunlight shone. The hole was in the wall of an underground room with the remains of stalls and troughs.

"Some kind of stable." Jones said. "Weird place to put one."

"Probably for smugglers' ponies or horses." Wimsey said. "Remember what the landlord told us about the gangs round here?"

"There's been a door here, once." Delapore noted. "Now it's just overgrown. You can see where some of our friends pushed their way through."

They emerged into a dry dike, near the ruins of an old cottage.

"We're back on the Marsh!" Wimsey said. "If I'm any judge, that's Dymchurch over there. It's only about four in the afternoon, so we should be back in plenty of time for an early dinner. Then we can pick up the car tomorrow and be in London for lunch."

Later that evening, they examined their find.

"It's not a tusk." Wimsey noted. "Not with that cutting edge. A tooth? Can't imagine any beast with a tooth six feet long!"

"Some kind of dinosaur, maybe?" Delapore hazarded.

Jones shook his head. "Guy called Brown found a couple skeletons over in the States in the 1900s of a big predator he called Tyrannosaurus. That ran to forty feet long, but only had six-inch teeth. By that scale, a dinosaur with this for a tooth would have to be nearly five hundred feet long! I'm pretty sure we'd have found something that big by now!"

He examined the Claw more closely. "I'd figured this for a tusk that some smart guy sharpened on the edge to make it look like a claw, but I don't see any tool marks. It's no kind of ivory I ever saw before, either."

"The blunt end is blackened, as if it's been burnt or scorched." Wimsey noted.

"The old stories say that War had a sword called Chaoseater, that burned as well as cut." Delapore told them. "Whoever made this must have known that and scorched the end to make it look like the legend."

"Well, we can't make anything of it here." Jones said. "I'm sure the guys at the Museum'll be pleased with it, though."

None of them slept well that night. Had they mentioned this fact to one another, they might have been surprised at the similarity of their dreams. Dreams about submerged, weed-grown Cyclopean cities of disturbingly odd geometry.

They were indeed back in London by lunchtime, and it was with a certain unspoken relief that they handed the Claw over to officials at the Museum. An invitation to dine at his club was extended by Sir Pellinore Gwaine-Cust, and though the Diogenes was not one of the more popular clubs in London, the food was excellent.

The following days' newspapers gave some cause for amusement, reporting as they did the discovery of 'several naked lunatics' running loose on Romney Marsh. Most had been caught trying to steal food, clothes or both. According to the papers, all were found to be "in a state of near-imbecility" and the local asylums and sanitoria had been canvassed without success. It was announced that the Squire of Dymchurch, Sir Charles Cobtree, had undertaken to see that they were cared for until their families could be found.

Then it was time for Delapore and Jones to return home. Wimsey saw them off, with promises to stay in touch and a standing invitation to dinner if either were ever in London again. Life moved back into its accustomed groove.

"No, the chaps at the Museum don't know what to make of the dashed thing!" Sir Pellinore regarded the long package in front of him with some disgust. "It's definitely animal in origin, they tell me. But it's not like any tooth or tusk or claw of any beast known in nature or anything prehistoric that we know of.

"Several of them even claim it couldn't come from Earth at all!"

"Which is why you sent for me?" The voice was a rumbling basso that emerged from the blue-black, spade-shaped beard of the man sitting opposite Sir Pellinore. A short man, but one with immense breadth of shoulder and chest, thick arms and large hands. The masterful, intolerant grey-blue eyes were fixed on the package.

"Exactly, Challenger." Sir Pellinore said. "If it isn't from Earth, it belongs at Torchwood. If it is, you'll find out soon enough, and you'll know where it does belong.

"Can you take it now? I'm not one of those over-sensitive types, but the damned thing gives me the creeps."

"I think it best that I do." Professor Challenger replied. "As Director of the Torchwood Institute, I would be remiss in my duties if I were not to take the item into my custody promptly."

"Well, you're welcome to it!" Sir Pellinore said feelingly. "Goodnight, Challenger."

It was in the October of that year that Dr Jones received a letter from England. It contained a brief note and a newspaper cutting. The note read:

Dear Jones,

Hope you're keeping well, old chap. Enclosed is a little something I thought might interest you in light of what we happened on in the spring.

All a bit coincidental for my liking, and the explanation seems a bit too pat. I've half a mind to ask Sir Pellinore, but I've a notion I'd like the answers even less than he'd like the questions.

I've sent a copy to the Padre as well -thought he'd be interested. Anyway, draw your own conclusions.

Kind regards,

Wimsey

The clipping was an article from the London Times.

"Anchester Coroner Returns Verdict in Norrys Death

Tragic accident ends life of local hero

Readers will remember that in August we were sad to report the sudden death of Captain Edward Norrys, DFC, of Anchester. The inquest into the death was delayed for some weeks due to certain circumstances pertaining to the incident, and the unavailability of key witnesses. Now, however, the inquest has been held, and the Coroner has returned a verdict of Accidental Death.

It will be remembered that in August of this year, Captain Norrys was part of a group investigating unusual occurrences at Exham Priory. The Priory, which had lain in ruins for centuries, had lately been restored by an American descendant of the de la Poer family. Shortly after moving in, the new owner – an elderly man of sober habits – noted a number of unusual phenomena related to the foundations of the structure. Anxious to assure the safety of his property, and in light of certain old legends appertaining to the house and family, he and Captain Norrys brought together a group of experts, led by the distinguished archaeologist, Sir William Brinton.

Investigation of the sub-cellar of the Priory apparently uncovered an entrance to an extensive network of tunnels and caves within the limestone escarpment upon which the Priory stands. Exploration of these caves was interrupted, and indeed ended, by the death of Captain Norrys and the incapacitation of both Mr de la Poer and Mr Thornton, the noted 'psychic investigator'.

We can now reveal that Capt Norrys suffered a fall into a crevasse within the cave, suffering terrible injuries from sharp rocks on which he seems to have been impaled. It seems from evidence given by Sir William and others, that Capt Norrys had been overcome by mephitic vapours arising from fissures in the rock, the chemical composition of which is unique.

The account given is that Mr de la Poer and Mr Thornton were both overcome by these vapours whilst attempting to rescue or recover Capt Norrys. Both are now mentally incapacitated, with no recovery expected, and have been confined at a sanatorium outside London.

In evidence, Sir William deposed that long-term exposure to these vapours might account for the vicious reputation of the de la Poer family. In light of this, and of the dubious safety of the building, it has been decided that Exham Priory be demolished and the caves beneath collapsed with explosives. Our correspondent reports that this announcement has been greeted with unconcealed delight by local people, who still fear and despise the place."