Read Online The Hammer Horror Omnibus by John Burke - Free Book Online

grave.
    There was a rustle of feet between the tombs, and a woman stood above him.
    He stared at her ankles, not daring to look up. A violent spasm of trembling attacked him. If he were to raise the lantern and look straight into that face which had so far appeared to him only as a dulled reflection . . .
    Carla said: “Somehow I knew you’d be here.”
    Paul gasped. “Another of your premonitions?” he managed to blurt out.
    They looked at each other for a long moment. Then Carla knelt beside the piled earth and held the lantern for him. Paul turned back to the open coffin and pulled the shroud from his father’s face.
    The noble features were unexpectedly calm. Whatever pain and horror there might have been at the end, the lines of the face had somehow settled into a stern tranquillity. Professor Heitz’s stoicism had asserted itself in his final agony, and the face was that of a dignified statue.
    A statue . . . Paul touched the head, and his fingers met unyielding stone. He ran them down to the neck. There was no decay here, no dissolution; not even the softness of living flesh.
    He looked up at Carla.
    “Why did Namaroff issue a false death certificate? Who is he trying to shield?”
    While Carla held the lantern high he scrambled out of the grave. She took his arm to steady him, and together they went to sit on the step of a grandiosely columned tombstone.
    “ ‘Our whole history is incredible,’ ” Carla quoted, “ ‘filled with monsters and fear.’ ”
    That was exactly what his father had said. All at once Paul realized, too, where they had been said. He stared at Carla.
    She nodded sadly. “Yes. I’m sorry. I read your father’s letter. Doctor Namaroff wanted me to memorize as much of it as possible.”
    “But why?”
    “He was hoping there would be something in it which would throw new light on . . . on Medusa . . . the legend . . .”
    The name came out only as a whisper, as though Carla feared that merely to utter it was to bring the Gorgon down upon her.
    “Why are you telling me all this now?”
    “I’m afraid.”
    “Everybody here’s afraid.”
    “Yes, but this is new. It’s not just the castle and the . . . the creature . . . that’s not all I’m afraid of.”
    “Of Namaroff?” he said.
    “Yes.” Again it was only a whisper.
    “But why?” When her head sank in dejection he commanded: “Go on—tell me!”
    “You asked me just now who he’s trying to shield. There is somebody—or something. And I don’t know who. He used me to spy on you—he’d use anyone who suited his purpose—and he must want to know more than he does. But he already knows more than anyone ought to. I’m sure of that. There’s something in him . . . something too secretive, too contriving. And possessive . . .”
    The note in her voice struck a resonance in Paul’s mind. He said: “Is Namaroff in love with you?”
    “Yes.”
    “And jealous?”
    “Yes.”
    “Then why don’t you leave the Institution? It can’t be very pleasant, working in this atmosphere and with that man coveting you—”
    “I can’t leave. I owe him a great deal. He plays on my gratitude, and I know he’s doing it, but I can’t leave.”
    It was a grotesque place for it to happen, but suddenly she was in his arms. Paul held her close, and knew that, whatever else happened, when he left Vandorf he would take Carla with him.
    Aloud he said: “You’ll come with me. We’ll leave Vandorf together.”
    “I can’t.”
    “Don’t be afraid. When you’re with me there’s no need to be afraid.”
    She lifted her mouth to his. They kissed, and through her shuddering body he felt both her desire for him and that incommunicable terror which permeated this whole accursed valley.
    “Paul,” she breathed.
    He forced himself to hold her away from him. “Carla, there’s no need to be afraid,” he repeated firmly. “You’re a free person. You can leave Vandorf—leave Namaroff—whenever you choose.”
    She shook her