V THE LONG VERSION
Monday 18th February 1923
A bad time for friends to drop by
Consciousness returned to our seared minds. We might have been out of it for mere minutes but when we came to our senses we realised that Letty and Mika had joined the late night party; bound and tortured like the rest of us. A severe case of bad timing had led them to follow in our footsteps to the cemetery—just in time to captured by cultists. We were all still hemmed in by the circle of abominations. Makryat paced the centre of the circle, observing us intently like a predator sizing its prey.
More torture
As physically and mentally drained as we were, it was of some comfort at least to realise our mortal wounds had been illusory. Our tormentor had tricked our minds in an attempt to extract information. The fact we were still alive was testament to the fact Makryat had not yet finished with us. Poor Pierre was slumped as low as his bonds would allow him to sink. He alone of us showed no sign of life. Makryat was chanting again. Our heads felt crushed under the weight of his unintelligible and foul words. We renewed our screaming with vigour.
[Here, Percy gains permanent plutomania (mania for wealth). Suddenly in the face of death he was afraid of losing his substantial material worth. And Letty gains permanent ballistaphobia (fear of missiles and firearms). ]
The voice from beyond
Pierre’s eyes flickered open and he began to shout in a hoarse voice that was his—and yet not his. His eyes stared into space and the voice sounded as if it were projected across a great void. He acted like one possessed. His words were bellowed in chaotic French: “Le sang qui vient d’être versé était-il si pur?” Cartwright translated under his breath: “Was the blood that has just been shed, so pure?” Pierre straightened up from his slumped posture. He regarded us strangely, squinting and screwing his face, as if he were struggling to make out our features. He uttered in confused tones: “Dupois? Pressi? Renault? Josephine? Babin? Est-ce que vous?”
[Here, Pierre is temporarily possessed by the spirit of his ancestor-Michel Beaumains. Willing him back to life].
Where is the Simulacrum?
Makryat was visibly taken aback by Pierre’s resurrection. The old sorcerer’s eyes flashed and his face contorted to anger. “Where is the simulacrum?” he demanded. Pierre remained obstinately silent. Makryat, looking for some leverage, stalked over to Father Mika, who was tied up to Pierre’s immediate left. The old man pressed his thumbs into Mika’s eyes until blood was drawn. Makryat maintained eye contact with Pierre and issued again, “Where is the Simulacrum?” Pierre’s defence crumbled. In his normal voice now, he admitted: “The Palace. In the Palace. In the vaults.”
Bring forth the sack
Makryat stood back satisfied. He bragged (whether for his benefit or ours); “You are but flyspecks before men of knowledge. Your opposition is pitiful and futile unto our lord. The Skinless One will come forth and he will look favourably upon me. As for the likes of you….” He didn’t bother to finish his sentence. Instead he smiled and summoned forth the cultists bearing the large oilskin sack. An expectant mood among the cultists became palpable. Hushed voices, like whispered prayers, became audible. The sack-bearers came to the centre of the circle. They drew out knives to slash the belly of the great oilskin. What happened next was both mind-bending and stomach-wrenching.
A new blasphemous beast is born
Children, a dozen young boys and girls, spilled out from the sack. They were sickeningly fastened together; their flesh and appendages crudely stitched to one another until they formed a singular mass. The heap writhed on the ground. Some children snivelled and wailed, others were lost to shock. More cultists stepped forward, bearing between them three large vats. The tubs, steaming with heat, were filled with melted human flesh. At a sign from Makryat the vats of hot flesh were emptied over the mass of screaming children. The flesh enveloped them whole. It melded the obscene heap into a single profane entity. The children’s’ screaming was muted. A new blasphemous beast was born. A few eyes could be seen blinking and mouths gasping in the membrane of flesh, and several limbs protruded allowing the beast to propel itself.
[Here, Banks gains permanent megalophobia (fear of large objects), Ludwig gains permanent homichlophobia (fear of fog), and Letty gains permanent dermatillomainia (disorder in which the sufferer continuously picks at their skin). ]
The cult departs
Makryat laughed and instructed his cultists to leave. The host solemnly departed leaving us to the mercy of the skin-beast. We stared wide-eyed at the beast as it moved menacingly toward us. On the periphery of our vision Makryat was suddenly enshrouded by a black shadow with wings that descended from the night sky. The shadowed creature hoisted the cult leader aloft and they flew away in the direction of Pera—towards the location of Pera Palace Hotel.
Desperation
In our peril we each desperately tried to escape our bonds. Banks cried and prayed aloud to himself. He prayed to himself like one filled with religious fervour, as if by his own power a miracle would save him—and maybe if were very lucky, the rest of us might be saved too. Ludwig, of slightly clearer mind, cried out into the night: “Companion. Denizen of the Graves. Come forth!” The Companion of the Dead must have been watching proceedings from close by. It revealed itself to Ludwig immediately on being summoned. “Heh. Heh. Nasty! Nasty!” joked the Companion nodding toward the approaching skin-beast. “Not laughing now are they?” the Companion said itself. “Free me!” implored Ludwig of the gleeful Companion. A rake of the Companion’s talons obliged and Ludwig’s bonds were cut. That done the Companion scooted away back to the safety of the darkness. Soon we were all untied. Ludwig quickly searched through the pile of belongings that had been taken from us but his medallion and the Mims Sahis weren’t there. A pang of anxiety bit deep into Ludwig’s heart before he was dragged away. We had to complete our escape and get to Pera.
An unexpected saviour comes to our rescue
The skin-beast was now almost upon us. It blocked our path. There was a sudden deep roar, and we watched awestruck as a ferocious bear bounded out of the shadows and set upon the skin-beast. The bear was large. Much larger than the last time we saw it. We had recognised it immediately as the bear that had danced in the street for our entertainment two nights ago. The bear with which Cartwright had felt a bond when they touched.
Run away!
With the bear risking its own life to preserve ours, we did the only decent human thing: We ran. We ran without stopping. And despite the bear’s cries of animal agony in its death throes, we didn’t look back. We reached the gate. Banks had locked it behind us when we were burying the locals. Now we had no lock picks. We climbed. Percy cleared the perimeter wall in a single bound but not everyone was in a fit enough state to scale it. Pierre used a piece of broken masonry to smash the padlock. Freedom won, we all fled the cemetery and ran into the night.
A man and a boat
On reaching the Scutari dock we were surprised to hear a voice beckoning us. A shadowed figure on the shore stood with oar in hand next to a rowboat. “Quickly!” the mysterious figure cried. We didn’t stop to think. We ran over and clambered into the boat. The shadowed figure was none other than the gypsy bear trainer. Suddenly we all felt very bad about leaving the bear to its fate.
Row, row, row your boat
The gypsy pushed us out onto the water and set the oars. With only the moonlight to guide us, he rowed us out onto the Bosporus. Ludwig asked: “How did you know to find us? Why are you helping?” The gypsy introduced himself as Aktar. Aktar was not a gypsy al all, but a Turk in disguise. An agent in the service of Atatürk. He informed us that he’d been aware of us for a couple of days now. He realised that we had set ourselves against a mutual enemy; an enemy that would destabilise Turkey. On the basis that the enemy of my enemy is my friend, he believes we are worth saving. Conversation went quiet for a minute. Aktar continued to pull on the oars. It was Banks who piped up to break the awkward silence: “Sorry about your bear by the way. It’s dead.”
MORE TO FOLLOW
