“Mumm-Ra’s
By
RD Rivero
“Snarfer! Snarfer!”
Pumyra stood at the top of a tall staircase, bright and well-lit. An open window sent bursts of cold air into
the scene from behind her. “Where is
that snarf?” She looked to her right,
she had already explored the extents of that hallway. To her left was an open doorway with darkened
stairs littered with scraps of cutup papers.
“Did
you find him?” Bengali asked. He approached the foot of the stairs below
her, half in, half out of the shadows.
He was fresh from the shower and was rather scantily clad even for a
Thunderian.
“I’ve
looked all over the Tower and I’ve not found one trace of him anywhere.”
“You
don’t think he’s still upset about, you-know-who?” Bengali stood before her in the throws of the
glaring sunlight that broke free from the rectangular window obliviously placed
to the side.
“That’s
what’s got me worried.” She reached out
and wrapped her arms around her warm tiger.
She ran her fingers through his silky fur. “He’s not been the same.”
“I’m
sure he knows that we don’t think any ill of him. He’s nothing like his, uncle.”
“Yes,
but does he know?” She broke free from
her own hold and turned her head back to see that open door, that dark inner
stairwell. “That’s the last place I
haven’t looked at yet.”
“That
door wasn’t open this morning. He might
not be inside.”
She
looked at him into his eyes. He
understood quite well the meaning of her clear and distinct message. He held her hand and together the two
Thundercats approached Snarfer’s room.
Pumyra pushed the white, metal door all the way open. To her unbeknownst shudders the hinges
produced an unfamiliar creak until the door hit an unseen wall in a dull thud
and could move back no more. Bengali
released his grip on her hand and was the first to head up the dark, cramped
staircase. The steps were almost
completely covered by papers, manuals, documents, newspapers even magazines,
each randomly shredded, some sheets were sliced into long pieces, other sheets
were so totally destroyed that their origins could not be determined. Up on the very top Snarfer’s room spread out
open. The faraway wall was dotted with
windows closed shut and blinded in thick, yellow covers. The three remaining walls were adorned in
empty bookshelves. The only light in the
place came from the desk lamp, from the green desk lamp in the middle of the
chamber.
“What
happened here?” Pumyra was stunned. Bengali picked up one of the books. The floor was hidden in a layer of open,
abused books and more, yet more of those shredded papers. Suddenly it all became clear to her. “He tore up his books? He tore up all his books!”
“By
Jagga.” He opened the leather covers of
the book he had recovered and the leaves all fell onto the floor in a pile of
litter that blended indiscernibly with the rest of the mess. “Look,” he said, “on the table.”
The
two approached carefully for the floor in the current condition was a slippery
hazard. “I see it.” She picked up a set of papers -- a makeshift
book -- held together in a spine of hard, thick metal wire. “It must have taken him all of yesterday to
produce this.” Pumyra cradled the papers
in her arms. Every word was composed of
letters cut off from the piles of books that engulfed the room.
“This
is crazy. This is absolutely crazy. Why not type it, why not write it, why do
this?”
“Can
you imagine that? This entire book was
actually pieced together, like jigsaw puzzle, like a demented jigsaw puzzle.”
The
two Thundercats stood in stunned silence.
“What
does it say?”
Pumyra
looked down. She had not considered
that, she had not intended to read that demonic creation. But his suggestion was tempting.
“Should
we read it?”
“There
might be an answer in it.”
She
sat on the chair that she had to pickup from the most precarious position on
the side. He sat on the edge of the desk
after he brushed off the tabletop.
“It’s
called ‘Mumm-Ra’s
The
tiger shook his head. “Sounds like a
Chinese restaurant.”
She
gave a half-smile and looked down. She
continued. “That’s it, down there in the
drawer,” Bengali tried the three side compartments of the desk but only the
bottom would open, “that black little bronze is the cause of all of the
experiences I have undergone in the past few days.” The tiger pulled up from an otherwise empty
drawer an ancient-looking figurine. He
set it down upon the tabletop next to him, before her. She paused for a moment to look at it.
“All
the telltale incidents that have steadily drained my energy fall into place
like the links of a chain, a chain, which when retracted to the past, always
leads to one, to one singular starting point:
that little bronze statuette.
Even if I pretend that there are other explanations that object looms
into view like a milestone on the roadside and to where that road leads is
something I would rather not know.
Better to make the most of what brief respite which fate has granted me
before the next trauma.
“I
found it in the market of a Wollo village.
The moment I first examined it I was filled with a morbid curiosity, I
was filled with an urge to discover what it actually meant.
“I
asked the seller. ‘An imitation of an
Egyptian,’ he said. The figure’s
strangely clasped hands seemed to indicate a state of ecstasy. I bought the figure and brought it back to
the
“A
terrible feeling came over me, that I was dealing with something venomous,
something malevolent, which, with an artful complacence, was releasing itself
from the spell of lifelessness in order to attach itself to me like some
incurable disease, thereafter to remain the shadowy tyrant of my life. Then, one day, I had a flash of inspiration
that solved the riddle. The answer came
so suddenly and with such force that I was left completely stunned.
“Imitate!”
Bengali
took the manuscript. “I stood up, raised
my arms above my head, like the statue and held my fingers downwards with the
nails touching the top of my head. But
nothing happened. But there was no
change. Internal. External.
“To
make sure I had got the posture right I took a closer look at the figure. I noted that its eyes were shut though in
sleep. That was enough for me. I gave up and waited for night to fall. I lay down and again took up the same position
of arms and hands.
“Several
minutes passed but I am sure I did not fall asleep. It seemed a rumbling sound emanated from deep
inside me. Thus proceeded the jerky
descent of my consciousness of life until only a phantasm of death came over
me. What happened then I will not
recount. No one will know of it.
“From
that moment on the course of my life was changed. My once tranquil existence meandered from one
enigmatic horrific experience to the next onto some dark, some unknown
destination.
“A
demonic hand allocated me shorter and shorter intervals of respite between
the more and more terrifying
hallucinations it sent my way. It wished
to drive me to new and unknown forms of madness, to the sort of madness no one
else might notice or suspect.”
The
two Thundercats looked at each other in the amazement of utter confusion.
The
glue on some of the letters was still wet, individual sheets often adhered to
one another and thin, sticky fibers clung to his fingers while he read the
words. He continued: “Within days I began to perceive things that
I considered at first to be no more than delusions of my senses. I heard extraneous tones, strangely droning
or whining. I saw brilliant colors which
had not been there before. Mysterious
creatures would suddenly emerge in front of me, inaudible and to others
invisible. They were able to transform
themselves and then suddenly lie still though they were dead. They might merge with other creatures though
they were droplets of water, melded to form new and more horrible forms.
“At
first I merely let myself be led passively by the persuasive feeling that
filled me but now I must tread the paths along which I am lead, I have no
choice anymore, no choice, no choice.
“One
night it dragged me out of the Tower of Omens and sent me to wander through the
darkened forests, on and on and on and on until -- there is no place on third
earth more terrifying than Mumm-Ra’s pyramid.”
He
shook his head: “No, Pumyra, don’t make
me continue.”
“We
must, there’s no other way to know what happened.”
She
took the book from his hands and skipped forward a few pages. “The black pyramid emerged from the
mist. Four tall and thin obelisks marked
the extreme corners. I saw dead,
soulless animals scattered over the gray cobble stones of the ground. I saw bones, skeletons hacked to pieces with
browned, oxidized, leatherized flesh still attached in some parts. I walked around along the outer edge. The slopped walls were not smooth exactly,
several large stones were either missing or had badly eroded over time and
while I walked past those gapping holes I swear -- I swear! -- that I saw pale,
poked faces dart back and forth, in to and out of the perpetual shadows. The face.
The face! The face -- a dog’s
face.
“I
heard a groan in the air, the sort of groan that metal would produce under
fatigue. It was an alarm, it was a siren
that ‘awoke’ me from the trance I was in.
I saw that a dense fog was slowly descending from the calm, still clouds
above.
“I
stopped and in front of me there had been a material change in scene, there
could only have been a material change for I had no recollection if it ever
being there before. On the ground were
two metal doors open to acute angles.
Down beneath was an eerie gray light flickering softly through unseen,
subterranean passages. Steps, there were
stone steps and I walked down below into the bowels of the pyramid and when I
was entirely within I stood in the semi-darkness tortured for I knew I had
acted without reason.
“Why
did I go in? Why could I not resist?
“Gradually
my eyes accustomed to the gloom and I was able to survey the environs. Further down the passage someone was sitting
on one of the steps of a second miniature stairwell. I approached with caution and in that dead,
gray light I could only dimly make out the details of the hunched figure. A black beard stood out against a bare
chest. The arms, too, were bare. Only the legs were covered in a sort of
cloth.
“The
hands had a terrifying appearance -- bent back grotesquely, at right angles to
the wrists.
“For
a long time I stood staring at the man.
He was deadly still though he was doomed to remain there until the
pyramid itself fell down.
“My
skin crawled with horror and I crept back along the winding passage. At one point I felt the wall and my fingers
came across the skeletal form of a wooden lattice -- those used to train
climbing plants. It was thickly
overgrown, so much so that I almost got caught up in the fleshy tendrils. I could not understand why those plants were
warm to the touch and somehow swollen, there was a strangely animal feel to it.
“I
put my hand out again but that time snatched it back in an onrush of
adrenalined terror. I had touched a
round object about the side of a walnut and it had leapt away from me quickly.”
“What
was it, Pumyra? What did he touch?”
She
was silent for a few moments. She
dropped the ragtag book on the tabletop.
He took it at once and continued.
“At
the moment a bright light shone out to illuminate the wall before me. All the fear and the horror I have ever felt
in my life dwindled into triviality compared to that moment. I trembled to my knees with indiscernible
terror and even the slightest scream I could muster sent an icy shiver
throughout my body.
“From
the floor to the ceiling the wall was covered in bloody veins, pulsating
arteries -- not leaves, not stems -- notched on the throbbing vessels were
hundreds of eyes hanging though they were strawberries, though they were meant
to be there by some sick, by some demonic twist of nature. The eye I had touched was still moving,
jerkily back and forth, it peered at me resentfully, unblinkingly.
“I
felt close to collapse but managed to take a couple of more steps along the
passage. I was met by a symphony of
unpleasant odors, prime among them the stench of decay, of rot. My knees continued to shake. Just then a glowing ring caught my eye -- it
was the wick of an oil lamp that was about to go out but I managed to give it
one last flicker of life. I leapt toward
it and with trembling fingers I turned the wick up just a tad bit to save the
flame from extinguishment.
“I
held the lamp in front of me while I turned around. The chamber in which I stood was empty but on
the table from where I had taken the lamp there was a long, shiny object. I reached out to it -- I thought it was a
weapon that perhaps I could use for self defense -- but instead I found myself
holding on to something light and prickly.
It was a tongue and with a sudden lash I sent it across the floor into
the oblivion of shadow.
“Cautiously
I shone the lamp along the wall.
Everywhere I saw the same wooden lattice upon which were interwoven
veins and arteries, joined and forged together, pulsating with blood. Countless eyeballs glimmered ghoulishly, the
pupils and irises reacted to the presence of the light and as though all that
came before was not enough, as though it could not get worse I saw for the
first time that eyes moved while I moved, refocuses while I approached or
backed away and followed me and trailed me.
The eyes were looking at me, seeing me
“The
main arteries grew out of blood-filled sacs, most of which was beneath the
stone material of the floor and which somehow kept all the vessels supplied
with that abhorrent liquid. Everything
seemed to have been put together by some incomprehensible art from parts of living
bodies deprived of their souls and constrained to a mere vegetable
existence. But alive the parts were
still.
“What
had Mumm-Ra done?”
“You
were right, Bengali, this is the work of the devil, no more, please no more.”
“I
recalled the figure on the cellar steps.
I must get out of the there at once, I thought. Even if that figure on the steps came to life
to hurl itself upon me.
“In
seconds I had reached the stairway, ready for what might come. I stood there in silence with nothing more
than the lamp in my hands. I brought the
yellow flame closer and I saw there for the first time that the man was
dead. His nails had been torn and the
incisions in his chest and temples revealed that an autopsy had been
performed. I rushed past the corpse but
I must have done something -- yes, please tell me that I caused it to happen --
for the dead man suddenly slipped down a few steps and came to rest upright on
the floor below. The arms were raised,
the fingers were turned inwards to the head, to the crown of the head exactly
the same form, the same stance, the same gesture as the Egyptian figurine.
“And
the eyes that had been sewn shut were now open, sliding open and filled the
room in a red, plasmatic glow. There was
no other light for the lamp must have shattered. I turned away from the corpse and I saw that
one of the two doors was shut, the other swayed in the midst of a violent
wind. Rapidly I ran up onto the safety
of the outside world.”
“Is
that it? Is that all?” She asked.
“That’s
all, Pumyra.”
“What
do you make of it?”
His
mouth was open but before he could answer, from deep within the Tower of Omens
both heard a loud and familiar appliance in operation.
“The
scroll saw! In the basement. He’s in the basement.” Bengali said.
He jolted out of the room, she followed directly on his heels.
The
basement of the Tower of Omens. Dark,
though along the tops of the walls were short, rectangular windows. Cold, though it was the middle of July. Damp, though the air elsewhere everywhere was
dry, desert dry. Marked and unmarked
boxes of a thin, yellow wood along with crates whose lids were nailed or
screwed down, full of refuse, cluttered the interior in various groupings.
The
air was scented with the distinct odor of ash and of sawdust.
The
doorknob twisted quickly until the click sounded. The wooden door then creaked open in a loud
and in a penetrative groan. The top
hinges were so dire in need of oil that the metal part snapped in a puff of
thick, red rust. The door came to rest
before the inner wall at an odd angle until the bottom hinges broke, too and
then wooden door fell to floor with a loud clang. Dust flew up in the air in a gray cloud.
Pumyra
and Bengali burst into the room. The two
tried to speak but the loud sounds from the saw muffled their collective
voices. The tall, green scroll saw was
on and running but there was something wrong -- the side panels that housed the
internal mechanisms had been removed and lay limply upon the side of tall
mountain of crates.
“I’ll
make it stop, I’ll make it stop once and for all!” a sharp whine echoed unseen
from within the mazes of boxes. “Mumm-Ra
won’t hurt me anymore.”
The
two Thundercats saw to their collective horror that the thin, jagged blade
slowly began to slide from the holding apparatus until al last it was fee
entirely. They stood in horror, they
could do nothing but watch as Snarfer suddenly popped into view, his eyes
bright red, his little hands rung and ran over each other. The circulating metal blade bounced onto the
floor and, still rotating, wobbled its way to the small victim. All in all the incident took no more than a
few seconds and after a loud shriek it was over.
The
saw struck him first in the nose -- his mouth was open screaming -- the muzzle
itself was shattered and flew into the air in about three pieces. The blade made a slight turn while it
continued to embed itself into the victim.
It struck through one of the eyeballs which then proceeded to rupture in
a burst of clear liquid mixed with shredded cornea and iris.
By
that time the saw was well into the skull where it split the bones clearly in
half from the upper right ear to the lower left side where the jaw had once
been. Blood and brain matter squirted
into the air. The neck was also severed
diagonally which, of course, caused part of the head to fall onto the floor
where it broke apart like an egg.
The
saw was not done yet, the torso from the waist up was sliced in half. Entrails and internal organ flopped down to
the floor along with the rest of the shredded body. Oddly, the heart continued to beat for a
while, those parts of the heart that were not sliced, diced and spewed on the
floor. Blood squirted in small pools in
ever shortening vigor -- and then at last it was over.
Bengali
unplugged the machine. Pumyra stood
motionless at the door, she had the Egyptian statue in her hands -- the eyes
that had been up to that time shut were now open and red, brightly red -- she
must have taken it down perhaps without thought. Without thought her hands let
go their grip and the figure fell, shattered on the floor. While the broken pieces scattered across the
floor from outside there was lightning and thunder intermingled with the cackle
of hideous laughter.
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