Read Online The Satyr's Head: Tales of Terror by Brian Lumley, Ramsey Campbell, David A. Riley - Free Book Online
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broke through from below. Aside from these odd bubblings the water was quite quiescent, black except where a growth of green plants had half covered the surface. It might have been fathoms deep for all one could see into its depths, but in fact it must have been a couple of feet at the most, the bottom probably thick with the mud and the leaf-mould of generations.
The trees down there were weirdly stunted and gnarled old things, infested with fungi, rather different than the tall oaks higher up the slope. The ground was a soft, wet carpet of leaf-mould. It was quiet too, no birds singing down there, though if you listened hard enough, you could hear them chirping high up in the branches, in the light. I sat down on the bank and tossed a twig into the water. It splashed and a few ripples moved sluggishly outwards, then all was silent again. I was acutely aware of my laboured breathing: I had to regain my breath. I was sweating profusely, my brow like a wet and sticky fire causing black spots before my dizzy eyes. I saw no sign of the yellow dress, but something caught my eye in the water. It was the broken-off limb of an oak and it rested, due to its curvature, partly in and partly out of the evil smelling pond. It was absolutely infested with fungus, pale brown pulpy things giving it a hideously soft mantle. Down towards the water the growth was torn and smashed and hung limply into the greasy water, as if someone had pulled, clawed at the rotten fibres in desperation.
I closed my eyes; the dream came back—the door made of fungoid material being ravaged by the girl, her face a mask of hatred… or was it horror? My mind drifted imperceptibly to other things: the heat. It was so damned warm down here amongst the trees, as if the sun’s heat of a thousand years had been captured by this murky pool, held in this great dome of oak and chestnut and pine and released in searing gasps when unwary visitors stepped beneath that forbidden place. I wiped the sweat from my forehead. The black spots before my eyes remained. Lack of oxygen, I guessed. Must regain my breath. The heat seemed to be burning my neck now like a fever.
‘Can’t find me,’ breathed a voice, so soft, so quiet now, but even so it startled me.
‘Sugar and spice,’ I said lazily, too tired to move at the moment, dazzled by visions recurring in my mind. ‘Boletus and Toadstool,’ I murmured idly.
Something screamed far off.
I looked down, down at the black, turgid waters of the pool, the water lapping at my shoes, leaving vile black detritus on them. My head ached. What was it..? Something was making the usually still waters move. My twig… no, that was minutes ago. Something moving… out there by the tree limb! A brown plastic sandal floated dismally near the edge, green scum licking at its sole.
‘She’s fallen in!’ I screamed, jumping to my feet, my head, my eyes crushed even further by such sudden action. ‘Hey, Sally, hey… hey where are you?’ The water lapped gently, lapped thickly like obnoxious, noisesome protoplasm. Out there by the fungus-clothed log something yellow swirled in the water curiously. It was too much to bear. She had fallen in and drowned! But I’d been there all the time; there hadn’t been a splash. Only… only the faint, timeless scream far away.
A face surfaced by the limb, a final confrontation, the water sliding slimily off the pallid features. The face rolled, bloated, soft like the fungi, chin protruding, eyes choked up with green mud . I screamed, scrambling blindly up the steep bank, slipping, falling, making no way at all. It was all my fault. The face still stared, the mouth open, choked with pestiferous, clinging green weed . I found myself back where I began, by the water’s edge, tears streaming down my face. My hands were black with the luxuriant earth. I scrambled again and fell back, headlong into the pond. I crawled ashore, sodden, steam rising from my body.
I looked again across the water…
The trees down there were weirdly stunted and gnarled old things, infested with fungi, rather different than the tall oaks higher up the slope. The ground was a soft, wet carpet of leaf-mould. It was quiet too, no birds singing down there, though if you listened hard enough, you could hear them chirping high up in the branches, in the light. I sat down on the bank and tossed a twig into the water. It splashed and a few ripples moved sluggishly outwards, then all was silent again. I was acutely aware of my laboured breathing: I had to regain my breath. I was sweating profusely, my brow like a wet and sticky fire causing black spots before my dizzy eyes. I saw no sign of the yellow dress, but something caught my eye in the water. It was the broken-off limb of an oak and it rested, due to its curvature, partly in and partly out of the evil smelling pond. It was absolutely infested with fungus, pale brown pulpy things giving it a hideously soft mantle. Down towards the water the growth was torn and smashed and hung limply into the greasy water, as if someone had pulled, clawed at the rotten fibres in desperation.
I closed my eyes; the dream came back—the door made of fungoid material being ravaged by the girl, her face a mask of hatred… or was it horror? My mind drifted imperceptibly to other things: the heat. It was so damned warm down here amongst the trees, as if the sun’s heat of a thousand years had been captured by this murky pool, held in this great dome of oak and chestnut and pine and released in searing gasps when unwary visitors stepped beneath that forbidden place. I wiped the sweat from my forehead. The black spots before my eyes remained. Lack of oxygen, I guessed. Must regain my breath. The heat seemed to be burning my neck now like a fever.
‘Can’t find me,’ breathed a voice, so soft, so quiet now, but even so it startled me.
‘Sugar and spice,’ I said lazily, too tired to move at the moment, dazzled by visions recurring in my mind. ‘Boletus and Toadstool,’ I murmured idly.
Something screamed far off.
I looked down, down at the black, turgid waters of the pool, the water lapping at my shoes, leaving vile black detritus on them. My head ached. What was it..? Something was making the usually still waters move. My twig… no, that was minutes ago. Something moving… out there by the tree limb! A brown plastic sandal floated dismally near the edge, green scum licking at its sole.
‘She’s fallen in!’ I screamed, jumping to my feet, my head, my eyes crushed even further by such sudden action. ‘Hey, Sally, hey… hey where are you?’ The water lapped gently, lapped thickly like obnoxious, noisesome protoplasm. Out there by the fungus-clothed log something yellow swirled in the water curiously. It was too much to bear. She had fallen in and drowned! But I’d been there all the time; there hadn’t been a splash. Only… only the faint, timeless scream far away.
A face surfaced by the limb, a final confrontation, the water sliding slimily off the pallid features. The face rolled, bloated, soft like the fungi, chin protruding, eyes choked up with green mud . I screamed, scrambling blindly up the steep bank, slipping, falling, making no way at all. It was all my fault. The face still stared, the mouth open, choked with pestiferous, clinging green weed . I found myself back where I began, by the water’s edge, tears streaming down my face. My hands were black with the luxuriant earth. I scrambled again and fell back, headlong into the pond. I crawled ashore, sodden, steam rising from my body.
I looked again across the water…
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