The Hexer from Salem - The House at the End of Time E-Book

Wolfgang Hohlbein

• Herausgeber: Bastei Entertainment
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Serie: An Occult Fantasy Series
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2016

Seitenzahl: 124

Beschreibung

From the outside, the house looked grim and imposing. Perhaps the appearance was even a bit sinister, like those old, lonely mansions threatening danger. The blackened, decades- old facades exuding something malignant. Really, though, it was just a house forgotten a lifetime ago, alone in the woods for twice that long.
That was the outside.
Inside was unearthly. Unearthly and deadly...

Leseprobe

Contents

Cover

What is The Hexer from Salem?

The Author

Title

Copyright

The House at the End of Time

Preview

What is The Hexer from Salem?

The Hexer from Salem, a novel series in the vein of H.P. Lovecraft, was created and written almost entirely by Wolfgang Hohlbein. The epic began in 1984 in a pulp-fiction series: Ghost-Thrillers from Bastei Publishing and later as a stand-alone series under The Hexer from Salem, before it finally became available in paperback and collectors editions.

The story takes place primarily in nineteenth century London, following the chilling adventures of The Hexer, Robert Craven and, later on, his son as they encounter the Great Aged — godlike creatures hostile to humans — and their representatives on earth.

The Author

Wolfgang Hohlbein is a phenomenon: With more than 200 books selling over 40 million copies worldwide, he is one of Germany’s most prolific fantasy writers. Hohlbein is well-known for his young adult books and above all his novel series, The Hexer from Salem.

Wolfgang Hohlbein

Episode 4: The House at the End of Time

Translated by William Glucroft

BASTEI ENTERTAINMENT

Digital original edition

Bastei Entertainment is an imprint of Bastei Lübbe AG

Copyright © 2016 by Bastei Lübbe AG, Schanzenstraße 6-20, 51063 Cologne, Germany

Written by Wolfgang Hohlbein

Translation by William Glucroft

Cover design by Thomas Krämer

Cover illustration © shutterstock/creaPicTures

eBook production: Urban SatzKonzept, Düsseldorf

ISBN 978-3-73251-355-0

www.bastei-entertainment.com

The House at the End of Time

From the outside, the house looked grim and imposing. Perhaps the appearance was even a bit sinister, like those old, lonely mansions threatening danger, the blackened, decades-old facades exuding something malignant. Really, though, it was just a house forgotten a lifetime ago, alone in the woods for twice that long.

That was the outside.

Inside was unearthly. Unearthly and deadly …

Jenny couldn’t quite put it into words. She kept still after Charles broke off the decaying lock on the front door and leaned against one of the panes of the large entryway. A speck of gray light cast itself down the hallway. It was perhaps the first time in years the house’s interior was lifted out of darkness. Jenny was sure she heard short, clattering claws above the pounding of her own heart. Rats, she feared. Of course. The house was vacant and had been taken over by rats and spiders. She hated rats.

That wasn’t all. A strange and formless danger lay within the walls, something that could be neither seen nor heard nor smelled, but palpably felt.

“Let’s go, Charles,” she said haltingly. “I’m … afraid.” She whispered, as though the sound of her voice would awaken whatever ghosts were residing there, but it made no difference: it carried anyway through the hallway’s cavernous darkness. The unpleasant sensation of creeping spiders trickled down her back.

Charles just shook his head and casually touched her arm, trying to smile. “Nonsense,” he said. “There’s nothing here to fear. This house has been empty for nearly fifty years. I played here all the time as a kid. It was our hiding place, but that was a long time ago.”

Jenny shuddered. Charles’s attempt to comfort her only deepened her fear; she couldn’t say exactly why. Her heart beat faster. Saliva was gathering behind her tongue. She felt nausea setting in. Her palms were sweaty.

“I don’t want to stay here,” she said again. “Please, Charles!”

Charles sighed. He looked back through the doorway and into the surrounding wilderness that faded quickly into the gray twilight. “We can’t continue,” he said after a while, his voice sounding both decisive and sympathetic. “They are searching the main road for sure and I have no doubt they’ll check every guesthouse within fifty miles of here.” He smiled. “We can’t sleep in the woods, you know. It’s just for one night.” He shook his head and took a deep breath, looking around. “There must be a candle somewhere,” he mumbled. “There used to be dozens lying around.”

“Charles, I …”

“Please, Jenny,” he interrupted. “By this time tomorrow we’ll be married and then nothing in the world can separate us. But until then we have to be careful.” He stepped close to her, putting a hand on her shoulder and kissing her lightly on the forehead. “You know as well as I what will happen should your parents discover us,” he whispered.

Jenny nodded slowly. Of course she knew. It was exactly why they had decided, like a modern Romeo and Juliet, to run away together and get married at Gretna Green. She was just eighteen and knew her parents would do everything in their power to keep Charles away from her. More than once they had threatened to ship her off to boarding school if she kept seeing him. And her father wasn’t one to make empty threats.

Of course Charles was right. Every word. Yet she regretted her decision as soon as they had set foot in this strange house.

Charles let her go gently, turned around and gingerly stepped inside. Jenny kept to the door, not wanting to leave what little light there was. Charles fumbled in the darkness for a while, cursed to himself, and returned a few seconds later covered in dirt and dust. His cheek was scratched, but he had a candle in his hand. Beaming with triumph, he squatted to place the candle on the floor and fished a box of matches from his pocket. Soon, the candle was lit, pushing the darkness a little further away.

Charles stood up and handed the candle to Jenny so he could close the door. The heavy, nine-foot-tall door moved only with a good deal of effort. It had been warped by time and left Charles out of breath by the time he finally closed it. The lock clicked into place with an eerie, muffled clank.

“Let’s go upstairs,” he suggested. “There are a few rooms still in one piece.” He took the candle back from Jenny, gave her an encouraging look, and moved toward the staircase at the end of the hall.

Jenny followed with her heart still racing. The candle revealed a great deal once her eyes had adjusted. The hall was full of broken furniture, dust, and trash that had been collecting there for decades. Spiderwebs hung everywhere like curtains, and thick strands of dust extended from the ceiling to the floor. Rat droppings covered the stairs, and the smell of festering decay wafted over from a dark corner. This was no house, Jenny thought with a shudder. It was a grave.

They went up the stairs, Charles moving quickly, forcing Jenny to keep up. At the top, a wide, open gallery branched off through countless doors. Jenny was sure she heard sounds — whispers of voices, pattering of steps, hushed breaths, and a light, deeply evil cackle …

Panic surged through her, but she pulled herself together, balling her fists so tightly her fingernails dug painfully into her palms.

“Charles,” she whispered. “I want to leave.”

Charles stopped and turned around slowly to look at her. His face was serious, and Jenny thought she could glimpse a hint of fear in his eyes.

“I want to go,” she said again, a bit louder than before. “Please, Charles. I’d rather sleep out in the woods than here in this house.”

The whispers were growing louder. Someone laughed, softly with malicious glee. Charles’s mouth trembled. The candle’s flame began to flicker, throwing jittery reflections and soft shadows against the walls — shadows that moved on their own and began closing in on them …

“Please,” she said again. “I … won’t stay here.”

Charles gave an uncertain nod. Sweat broke out on his forehead, although it was quite cold. Jenny realized he was hearing the same things. She wasn’t imagining the voices and steps.

“You … are right,” he said tensely. “Let’s find somewhere else to stay the night …”

He was cut off as the whispers subsided, the laughter stopped, and the shadows retreated. No longer were they scurrying about, but had formed together into a massive, impenetrable darkness around the young lovers. It was suddenly uncannily quiet.

But just for that moment. Then a quick, whining screech tore through the silence like the opening of a door to another time.

Jenny swung around. Her eyes widened with fear when she saw all the doors behind her swing open one after the other.

At first, she could see nothing more than dark shadows and formless shapes hiding behind them. They soon closed in — silently, insidiously, and relentlessly.

She only started screaming when she saw what emerged in the gallery, silently coming toward them.

“You said, Salem?”

It took a moment for Howard to react. He’d been sitting half asleep for the last two-and-a-half hours next to the window, making no noise other than the occasional sigh. Like Rolf and me, he was waiting for those passengers who’d gotten on at Carlisle to disembark. Howard had bought up the whole compartment so we could travel and talk undisturbed; however the train was overfilled and the conductor answered him with a shrug and pointed out that the additional passengers couldn’t be put in the coal car. It was a man and two women (based on their conversation, a married couple and mother-in-law) who showed how awkward the situation was for them. Actually, they were quite friendly, but their presence meant there could be no discussion about hexers, magic, and the Great Aged.

“What?” Howard asked.

I repeated my question: “Salem,” I said. “Speaking with Priscylla yesterday you mentioned Salem.” Surely, he noticed how halting my voice was? Try as I might, I hadn’t yet recovered from the recent events, let alone forgotten them. How could I? I loved Priscylla more than ever. Howard, however, didn’t respond with the same urgency.

“I said Salem,” he answered, leaning back as if he wanted to fall asleep again. It wasn’t the first time I directly addressed the things he had said.

Nor was it the first time he evaded my question or didn’t answer. This time, however, I wouldn’t let him get away with it. His words didn’t make any sense, except …

I shook those thoughts away and looked him square in the face. Howard smiled, feigned a yawn, and stared out at the passing scenery. The train was going at full speed and the landscape was sliding by just as quickly. We’d reach Glasgow in less than two hours. Then, at least, as Howard explained it, we’d continue from the station by the coach for which he had already telegraphed. At that point, he’d definitely have plenty of opportunities to distract himself from answering me.

“And?” I pressed.

Howard looked up in obvious displeasure. He wasn’t trying to hide the fact that he didn’t like me pursuing this line of questioning. “And, what?” he retorted.

“I want to know what you meant,” I said, not loudly but with emphasis. Something had changed between us. In the last two days he had become like a father figure, but now …

I couldn’t quite put my finger on the feeling. It wasn’t hostility, or even mistrust. Yet there was a palpable tension. He was hiding something from me, and I could feel it.

Howard sighed, shook his head, and shuffled about in his uncomfortable seat. “You don’t need to worry about Priscylla,” he said. “I get it, lad. But she’s in the best hands with Dr. Gray’s friends. Believe me, they have experience with this sort of thing. If anyone can make a person normal, it’s them.”

“Make a person normal?” I had to struggle to hold back my anger. “You make her out to be deranged.”

Howard looked at me gravely. “She is, Robert,” he said softly. “Not the way you’d normally use the word — she isn’t unstable or insane. But her spirit is clouded.” He tapped his head. “She’s mixed up in powers she couldn’t possibly cope with. She’s not evil — not really, anyway. She was once even a likeable person. But it’ll take considerable time and patience to bring her back to the person she was.”

“In Salem,” I added.

Howard’s face darkened. “Please, Robert,” he said softly. “Don’t start …”

“What are you hiding from me?” I said curtly. Rolf, who’d remained quiet up to this point, next to Howard — his eyes closed as if he were sleeping — now opened one of them to look at me.

“You’re hiding a great deal from me,” I continued more sharply, perhaps even a touch aggressively. “You’ve told me neither where you sent Priscylla nor what will happen to her there.”

“Because I don’t know,” Howard claimed. “Nor does Dr. Gray. And better that way — for her and our own safety. We’re working with very careful people, but they don’t know who we are. You know we have powerful enemies and we have to plan for one of us falling into their hands. You can’t admit to what you don’t know.” He smiled. “It’s a time-tested trick used by spies, for example, to …”

I cut him off. “You’re still hiding something from me. What you’re saying is meaningless. Salem was destroyed more than a century ago and Priscylla …”

“Lyssa,” Howard said quietly. “Her real name is Lyssa.”

“It makes no difference to the fact that Salem hasn’t existed for more than a hundred years.”

“Does too,” Rolf mumbled. Concerned, I looked at him as he yawned without covering his gaping mouth, scratched the stubble on his face, and looked back at me through watery eyes. His bulldog face was full of fatigue.

“Rolf’s right,” Howard added a bit too quickly. “Salem wasn’t destroyed the way most believe. Dozens were killed in a pogrom but the place still exists today. I was there a few years ago, and that’s when I met Priscylla.”

I didn’t believe a word of it. I didn’t need any of my particular talent to see he was lying. But why? Why would he have reason to lie to me? Unless he thought there was something I needed protecting from.

“Lyssa,” I murmured. “That’s her real name?”

Howard nodded.

“And?”

“And?”

“No surname, no family, nothing?”

Howard hesitated. “I don’t know,” he finally said. Another lie. “And it makes no difference.” He sighed, looked back out the window, and went on without looking at me: “It’s not much longer to Glasgow, Robert. If the coach is on time we can continue directly. And we should eat if there’s time. There won’t be a chance to, after.” He stood up. “Let’s go to the cafe car.”

I gave him a sober stare but he ignored it. Rather, he smiled and gestured for me to get going.

Matthew Carradine held the lantern so the light fell on the house’s half-open door. The yellow-white light revealed dust, refuse, pieces of moldy furniture, clumpy heaps, and the remnants of human footsteps.

“They were here,” Carradine said. “And not too long ago.”

Boldwinn, just a pace behind, leaned forward to inspect the footprints. He seemed to doubt what he was looking at. “You’re sure, Carradine?” he asked. His voice was cold and only contempt seemed to resonate from his face.

Carradine looked up angrily. “Listen, Boldwinn,” he snapped. “I …”