story Chapter 2

[Butchern]

As Malcolm rushed in to try to tackle the man on the stone with the razor, the man drew the blade across his own neck. Blood sprayed over Malcolm stopping his advance. The man toppled over face-forward onto the stone. Malcolm watched in horror as the man's blood began to soak into the stone and disappear as quickly as it poured out of the dead man's neck.

The nearest of the singers to Coupard and Maria, a young woman wearing a muddy nurse's uniform, launched into a run straight at the pair of investigators. Maria leveled the gun and fired. The bullet hit the nurse in the stomach, and she stumbled forward, falling to her hands and knees about twenty paces from Maria. The other singers stopped advancing.

At the moment the singers stopped their advance, the last of the black birds let out an inhuman scream all in unison. More of the green mist pour from their beaks, and they fell to the ground unmoving with the remains of their kin. The mist continued to coalesce along the top of the stone, and Malcolm felt the stone began to vibrate beneath him.

The singers all turned and began walking back toward the stone. Even the wounded nurse, with a hand over the wound in her stomach began crawling back toward the stone.

Edited April 1, 2023 by Butchern (see edit history)

[matt_s]

Coupard again flinched at the rupturing of the night by the revolver's violent report. Maria's worth as a marksman was yet again proven. Thinking quickly - although perhaps not wisely, as even the keenest academic mind could not understand the unknowable - he shouted to Malcolm

The stone! I fear it will kill you if you linger!

and then to the singers, returning to the stone, Coupard addresses them by the nearest bird carcass and lobbing at the singer closest to the stone to get their attention and perhaps jar them back into reality a bit.

Don't come near us, and don't go to the stone. In fact, just wander off into the night and come to your senses in the morning that you have so clearly taken leave of in your profane revelry!

[Sir Lazeabout]

Malcolm scrambles for whatever safety he can find, running - or if necessary crawling - away from the blasphemous stone.

[Butchern]

Coupard smacked a young man in short sleeves in the back with a dead bird carcass. He staggered forward under the blow and turned to look at Coupard. He looked puzzled and dazed but he stopped walking. He rubbed his head as the others continued plodding toward the stone.

The vibrating stone began to make a screeching noise, similar to the screams of the dying birds. And then, just as Malcolm crawled clear of the stone, the stone crumbled into dust and collapsed down into a dark hole. The now-silent singers continued to walk toward the hole.

[Sir Lazeabout]

Unable to help himself, Malcolm crawls on his hands and knees up to the hole's edge, one cautious inch after another. With eyes wide with terror, but incapable of turning away, he gazes down into the newly formed abyss to see what might be lurking down there.

[matt_s]

Malcolm, the singers are coming right for you! Coupard says.

The cultists still seem borderline catatonic, and the dead bird appeared to have jarred the first out of their stupor, so he rushes to smack the others, hoping to beat some sense into them in a disturbingly literal fashion.

Whatever happened when they fell into the hole he did not know, but Coupard suspected it would be decidedly unpleasant even beyond the morbid consequences of plunging down a shaft.

[Butchern]

With the sleepers still advancing, Malcolm peered into the hole that was now lit only by moon light.

A rich, earthy smell that wafted up from the damp ground. The air was thick with the scent of fresh soil and wet clay. Cool, moist air hit his face.

The whole was as large as the stone had been. The sides of the hole were steep and jagged, as if they were carved out of the earth by some immense force. The walls of the hole were slick with moisture. The soil was a deep, chocolate brown color, and it clung to the walls in thick, heavy clumps. Roots stuck out of the sides of the hole like crooked teeth. The sound of dripping water echoed up from the depths.

There were probably sufficient handholds, roots, and soft spots to make climbing down into the hole possible . . . for anyone crazy enough to do so.

[Sir Lazeabout]

Malcolm gets up on his knees and half-turns to the advancing sleepers.

"No, wait, listen to me!" he pleads, holding out his hands in a feeble gesture. "Listen to me! No one else needs to go down there! It's enough now! It's, er, the will of the birds!"

[matt_s]

Coupard's efforts to rouse the staggering cultists were met with some apparent success, as a few appeared to rouse from their unearthly stupors.

To Malcolm, he shouts What should we do with this accursed hole? I'm not going down there, come hell or high water, but we can't exactly leave a massive pit that opens like the maw of Tartarus out in the open, can we?

 

[Butchern]

Coupard was able to shake four of the singers out of their hypnotic stupor. The other five continued their trek to the hole. Malcolm managed to stop the advance of one more, holding out his hands and screaming. The four remaining singers, two men and two women, reached the edge of the hole and toppled in, disappearing into the darkness below.

And with that, it was over . . . whatever it was. The singers began to blink their eyes and shake their heads. They looked around confused and began to speak.

"What is happening?"

"Dave? What are you doing here?"

"Margaret? What happened?"

"Oh dear God!"

[Sir Lazeabout]

Malcolm looks hauntedly at the deep pit. Real magic, true magic... Every fibre of his being want to descend into that stygian abyss and finally have what he has always searched for.

But if he does that, he knows, he will never return. How much of a seeker is he? How much of a magician?

Not that much of one. The realisation comes in a mix of relief and disappointment.

"Dynamite," he says hollowly. "A few sticks would surely be enough to collapse it. Let us force whatever is down there to at least go through the trouble of digging its way out, if it can."

[matt_s]

Coupard motions to Maria for her to lower the six gun, a faint tendril of smoking still spreading from the barrel.

Things are not right in this town. Take yourselves back home and get some sleep. First thing in the morning, find the local sheriff and also wire the police out in Charleston. This is a right proper mess. But for now, leave this forsaken place.

To Malcolm, he says in a hushed whisper,

Let us listen for a moment, ear to the loam, to see if we can hear anything down there, perhaps even any noises from the fallen cultists. If they still live, perhaps the local firemen can rustle them out. A careful look over the edge, aided by a light source, could also serve us well. Or perhaps that is the domicile of something fouler. Then, explosives would serve, and sadly we would deny those entombed there a Christian burial.

[Butchern]

Coupard and Malcolm found a flashlight on one of the now-quiet singers. They peered over the hole to look and listen. The hole descended into the earth about thirty feet before it bottomed out. There was mud and muck and standing water in the bottom of the hole. After a moment of looking around, both men noticed that the tunnel didn't really end at the bottom. Rather it turned, like an elbow and began to run horizontally to the north. The bottom part of the elbow was not nearly big around as the tunnel going down, but it was still large enough for a man to talk through hunched over. If they could find a way down to the bottom of the hole, they could explore through that tunnel. If they dared . . .

As the investigators pondered what to do next, they listened at the hole. They could hear the movement of air. It sounded like it was coming up from the pit. They could hear it, but they couldn't feel it on their faces. The sound came in short waves, like the blowing of a breeze.

[matt_s]

I suppose the rational thing would be to blow the hole with some sort of explosives or else burn it out and be done with it, but something tells me that the final key to this mystery lies below beyond that bend. But we'll need a way to get down, and more importantly, up once the delving's done. I can shimmy down a rope easily enough when put to it, and can probably manage shimmying my way back up again, but that's one too many things left to chance. When I go someplace like that, I want to know I can get out quick enough.

Hardware store should have ladders, but when town wakes up, all hell is going to let loose, because of well - Coupard sadly gestures around to the general state of the scene. If we want to go down, I reckon it's petty larceny. Could leave cash on the counter to assuage our conscience if that'll help.

 

[Sir Lazeabout]

Malcolm nods, with a feeling of dire fate realised.

"Let us go do just that, then," he says.