Black Death from Arkham

Collinsport. Nichole Collins, having been affected by a glamour, had been successful in combating the loss of control regarding her vampiric nature. In so doing, she has become well aware that the reported rumor of an impending threat by a cabal of powerful New England necromancers had become a reality. And as she must prepare for whatever plans this unholy alliance of wizards may be planning, whatever the stratagem of the Cult of the Congregation of the Starry Wisdom Church may have concealed within a troublesome poem, she is filled now with haunting memories of her past.

Rhyaad had left the night before feeling as if he was not quite himself and Esther, she had wrapped up in her coat and said good night, returning home to the Old House, as Nikki sat alone in her office thinking over the events of the night. Just who had invoked the glamour? Surely it must have been Blair – or perhaps it was Petofi, having finally arrived in Collinsport. Or could it have been have been Elijah Snow. Did he have the capabilities to produce such a glamour? It most certainly was whoever was driving the Mercedes that had passed her – that had driven away from the graveyard on a previous night.

But for all the impending threat – the uncontrolled release of her vampiric nature – she had been able to maintain control. She had not given into her maddening desires. She had not attacked anyone. But more importantly, somehow the ordeal had allowed her a fleeting glimpse of her father. Yet another maddening desire – but one that she has lived with all her life. To find the answer – to discover what had happened, where he had gone. It had driven her to study his horrid books. As she always suspected she was the bridge – his salvation. How else could he still get through to her – from wherever thatwas – and so, she had said good night to Esther, unable to explain why she felt the need to remain behind as she once again searched through the ancient books—especially the dreadful, brittle, black covered De Vermis Mysteriis. Cross-referencing, trying to find some clue to the desert city. Irem? Perhaps. Or perhaps a city far older – forgotten, unrecorded. Alhazard’s Roba el Kaliyeh—its Nameless City? But the hours passed until it was nearly dawn of a new day and she had to race home to outrun the sun.

But her rest was fitful – lying there remembering just how much the unrestrained vampire in her had felt so good – so powerful . . . remembered being there in her father’s library, beneath the old desk, her fortress of solitude, where seated on the floor, she had read the horrid old books, at first struggling with the Latin – becoming more and more proficient as she progressed – learning more and more of the arcane and outré reality of the world. Not for the sake of the knowledge alone, but in order to find them. Her parents. Barnabas and Angelique. Names she could only associate with the ornately framed portraits that hung in the main sitting room of the London townhouse. Aware that the terrible knowledge she was absorbing was a risk she had to take – for as far as she knew there was no one else – no one seeking their whereabouts, trying to save them. And so it was left to her to read these vile books – to seek some clue to the mystery, to find an answer. Only to become ever more aware of the terrible prices one would have to pay in order to invoke any of the terrible rituals or incantations she deciphered – demands for monstrous and bloody sacrifices. She had tired one of the ancient spells, had secretly drawn out the eldritch signs and arcane markings and using a dagger she had found in her father’s desk killed a cat. She felt the horror and revulsion of seeking her hands covered in blood, the blade dripping, the animal dead . . . the scent of a desert filling the room . . . and knew she was doomed to failure – could not bring herself to the abyss and step in – staring at the face of evil and seeking herself looking back. The realization though not deterring her from still reading the appalling tomes – or later, when she grew up, seeking out others who may be less inclined to be dissuaded by profane magic and its consequences. Consequences, which at the time of her assault, her murder, her transformation into the undead, she had felt to be due in part to her consultations with Marceline de Chameaux in Paris. Torn between trying to become a sorceress and the moral dilemma of getting her hands bloody – becoming the evil her father had fought so hard against – so that when she awoke to her repellant cravings, to her unspeakable desires, the abhorrent understanding of the vile creature she had become, she could only feel that it was surely a retribution for her solicitation of black and forbidden forces.

“She is an experiment, Julia,” those haunting refrains repeating over and over as she lay during the day. An overheard fragment of a conversation between Professor Stokes and Julia—which at the time had had no meaning . . . until now – until her sudden recollection. How long had they known, had they been apprised of the attempted cure of her mother – and who is her mother – the woman whose DNA she shared or the woman who carried her in the womb – and are they not both her mother – the vampire and the witch – if only she could trust Praetorius or Catronia Kaye – someone. Bathory? Just as she had found her, she was suddenly gone, leaving her alone—once again—hither and thither upon the earth apparently going about the business of the Diogenes Club.

Arising she had stood looking off into the cold horizon once more feeling the nocturnal longing to slip into the darkness – she felt the siren call of even more vile books from her father’s collection, those she had secreted in the hidden room – The Necronomicon. But, she felt the need to check on Esther – who was not there when she opened her eyes to the setting sun. And so she had driven into Collinsport—back to the office, but there was no Esther. She tired her cell but no answer.

Hunting she hoped – and did not want to contemplate any other reason as she began to close up the ancient books she had left scattered upon her desk.

She slowly replaced them into the selves of the bookcase – As the front door opened, “Hello? Anyone here?”

“Dr. Artemis, oh do please come in.” She said putting away The Witch-Cult in Western Europe.

He closed the door behind him. She smiled; he was dressed in his usual black suit, and vest, the gold chain of his pocket watch dangling against the dark material – she imagined his closet contained a row of nothing but the same black suit.

“And how are you tonight Doctor?”

“Well—“ He says and holds up a bandaged hand.

“Oh — and what happened?” She asks.

“It’s been an interesting afternoon in Arkham.”

“Oh, how so?” Moving away from the bookcases and stepping over to Esther desk, which commands the center of the room, she pulls Esther’s chair back.

“A lady went into convulsions. I stuck my fingers in her mouth to keep her from swallowing her tongue.”

Nikki’s eyes widen.

“I’m afraid she bit me.”

Nikki’s eyes narrow, “Bit you?”

He smiled and shook his head as if to allay any speculation based upon her experiences, “Oh, it’s quite a common reaction while experiencing a seizure.”

Nikki indicated a chair and the doctor took a seat, “I checked her medical records. No contagious diseases.’ He held up the bandaged hand, “Oh, not too bad. Three stitches.”

“Well—at least there is that to be thankful for – is she prone to these . . . seizures?” She asks sitting down in Esther’s chair.

“Miss Jamieson? This is the first time. But she recently experienced a traumatic injury to the brain.” He explains and then adds, “Actually, I’m more worried about a little friend of mine . . ..”

“Oh, which friend is that Doctor?”

“Her name is Abby and she’s five years old.” He answers, “She’s also the target of a gang calling themselves the Black Death.”

“A street gang?”

“Yes. They want a key that belongs to Abby.”

Nikki frowns, “That seems odd, a street gang in search of a key – what does it open?”

“It opens a cabinet somewhere that contains incriminating evidence and names of this gang.”

Nikki gives Dr. Artemis a quizzical look. “A cabinet with incriminating evidence? Now how ever did she come by this – key?”

Dr. Artemis sighs and crosses his legs, straightening the crease in his trousers; “It was given to her by a teenaged girl named Jessica. I spoke with her for the first time tonight. Apparently Jessica’s ex-boyfriend was a member of the gang.”

“Doctor, have you informed the police, well, I am sure you have.” Nikki asks.

“Of course. They took a report and set a guard outside Abby’s foster home.”

Nikki sits back, “I know this sounds strange, but I just would not think of street gangs in Arkham. It’s such a quaint little town—

He nods, “Yes. You see they followed her to Arkham.”

“Oh—where are they from originally?”

“I have no idea. Jessica and I were cut off. I think it was the storm.”

The front door to the office suddenly opens, Nikki looks up and Dr. Artemis turns in his seat to watch as Esther enters, and unbuttons her coat. “Hey Artemis. Nik.” She says closing the door.

“Hello, Miss Friedman. Nice to see you again.” The doctor tells Esther.

Nikki, relieved to see Esther, rises from her chair, “Yes—I am glad to see you also – I tried to phone.”

“Battery needs a recharge.” Esther explains as she takes off her coat and puts it on the hanger.

“So, this key they want, “ Nikki asks as she walks around the desk to take a seat opposite the Doctor, “Has she turned it over to the police?”

“No. I placed it in a safe place until we find this cabinet.”

Esther walks over to the desk, “Don’t let me interrupt. Do go on.” And she starts shuffling through some papers she had left from the night before.

“Oh, gosh, I am sorry. Esther do we have tea or anything for the doctor. Would you care for a beer, I know we have that.” Nikki offers.

Esther looks at the doctor, “Heineken? I think there’s some Bud as well.”

“Tea would be nice, but don’t trouble yourselves.”

Esther looks at him and shrugs, and then goes back to looking through the mail she had not finished examining the day before – occupants mostly except for a past due electricity bill, which for some reason she glances at the account number: 12121586.

“I am not sure we have any tea, sorry.” Nikki smiles.

“It’s fine.”

“So, this cabinet with evidence, do you happen to know where it is located?”

“Not a clue. That’s why I thought I’d bring it to your attention.”

“Oh – so, you would like to look into this for you?” Nikki said, surprised and slightly honored that the Doctor would entrust her – as she is aware of his distrust of the Undead.

“I’m very worried about Abby, so yes.” He tells her evenly, “Since we lost Detective St. Clair, the Arkham PD has gone to the dogs.”

“Yes, well, I am sorry, seems our gain in Miss St. Clair was Arkham’s loss.”

“Indeed.”

Esther staples some papers, “The whole department with one detective gone? I thought your Chief of Police was very capable.”

“Yes, well, he is our best.”

“So, Abby, I gather . . . well, to ask, her parents? As it seems she’s under your care, what happened to them?”

Dr. Artemis adjusted the cuff of his shirt beneath his suit jackets sleeve, “She’s an orphan. This teenaged girl, Jessica, she has been taking care of her, that is until I found her.”

“So, is she staying with you?”

“Oh no.” He shakes his head; “I had her put with a foster family. It’s temporary, though.”

“Once you get Child Services involved . . ..” Esther says as she puts the stapled pages in a folder and opens a lower drawer to drop it into an olive hued hanging file.

Nikki frowns, “Is that safe, knowing this gang is looking for her?”

“Oh, perhaps I did not mention, I have a man guarding the house.”

“Well, I need to make a trip to Providence anyway, so I will stop by Arkham and have a talk with her.”

Esther gets up to use the restroom and excuses herself.

Dr. Artemis nods to Esther, “That sounds like a great idea, Miss Collins. Now as to your retainer . . . “

Nikki smiles at him, “Oh, well, like Mister Holmes, I sometimes wave it all together. You have helped me so many times—it’s my turn to return the favor.”

Dr. Artemis shakes his head, ‘Oh, no I insist. The travel expenses alone will make this a difficult case for you.”

“Well, let’s say expenses and Esther will send you a bill for them.”

“Very well.”

“Unless something unforeseen comes up, I should will be down to Massachusetts tomorrow night, or the next, is that agreeable, will Abby be available?”

“Well—I may or may not be around.” He hesitated a moment, but did not elaborate, “But I will try, should it be tomorrow.”

“Vey well, I will phone you to let you know when I am coming.” Nikki suspects the doctor is involved in some other matter– one to which he is more reticent to discuss . . . with her perhaps? His trust apparently only going so far – “Oh, is this Jessica will she be available also, I should like to speak with her as well.”

Esther returns from the restroom wiping her hands with a paper towel that she drop into the wastebasket. She takes a seat and reaches to remove her pack of cigarettes – takes a glance at the doctor, and decides against it.

“Is there any news on your cult? Or your film?”

“Well – we are still trying to decipher the riddle that Noah Mankowski left us, as you know . . . the poem.” Nikki glances over to Esther, who as if on cue produces from her desk drawer the old map they had been examining the night before.

“So, have you got any farther with the poem?” He asks – it is obvious the map Esther has withdrawn from her desk piques his interest.

“We have found out what the actual map part of the map was – actually . . . “ Esther sets the old map down on the desk, turning it to face the doctor, as she also produces a copy of the poem and puts it beside the map.

Dr. Artemis adjusts his glasses and leans forward to look at the map.

He notes that the map is old; it is labeled “Ye mappe of Innsmouthe,” and that “The Devil’s Reef”is circled in red ink..

Esther as if by magic produces now a magnifying glass, “Ah, here is a magnifying glass if ya want. But it’s th’ only thing that matches the doodle on Noah’s paper

Dr. Artemis takes a slight gulp as he looks at the map, the red circle, “I was right . . .”

Nikki looks at the doctor even as Esther raises an eyebrow and says, “Is there something you want to share Artemis?

“It’s not the Miskatonic River . . . it’s the The Manuxet and it flows through Innsmouth.”

“Which I understand is really a dirty river.” Nikki cuts her eyes back to Esther.

“Indeed. And there is an island of sorts. The Devil’s Reef, they call it.”

Nikki nods, “That is what Esther says, see she circled it.”

Dr. Artemis looks aghast, “You circled it! How old is that map?!”

Esther shrugs, “I dunno. I’m not a mapmaker. ‘s the only one I could find at the Collinsport Historical Society.”

“A three hundred year old map and you used a red marking pen on it?!” He looks up at Esther in alarm.

Esther sighs and props her head on her desk via her arm, “Well what’s done is done and there’s no sense yellin’ about it. Might not have happened if maybe you might have told us it was the Manuxet – seeing as how you just said you were right about it”

Nikki looks at Artemis with narrowing eyes, “Yes, doctor.”

He looks at both of them, and remains silent for a moment. “Innsmouth is not anything any one should be stirring up trouble.”

“So the point is, what do ya know ’bout th’ place?” Esther presses him.

Dr. Artemis stares at map, horrified. Nikki is not certain if it is because it is a map of Innsmouth, or because of Esther’s red circle.

“It was a seaport town. Very prosperous in the whaling days. Now, it’s decayed, inbred, home to riff-raff and junkies. One would call them hillbillies if the town were in the hills.”

“From what I hear, it’s become almost deserted.” Nikki adds, having begun her own research of the seaport village.

Dr. Artemis almost under his breath says, “I wish.”

“Fallen to a bad elements they would say.” Nikki asks.

“Quite so.”

“And what does this have to do with all the s**t we’re facin’?” Esther says now really wanting a cigarette.

Dr. Artemis as if in his library says sternly, “Young lady!”

Esther only looks at him.

He glances down at the poem again, “Keziah Mason is not known to have any connection with Innsmouth whatsoever. Although, in those days, there was no cult in Innsmouth.”

He continues looking at the poem and suddenly says to himself, “ . . . key?” and then he looks off, away from the intense glare of Esther.

“Yes?” She asks.

“Something come to mind?” Nikki says lightly.

“No. It’s nothing.”

“Artemis—“ Esther demands and is almost of a mind to light up a cigarette if he isn’t more forthcoming.

He sits back, “This poem makes little sense. But the general impression is this: One must go to the island, Devil’s Reef. There, one will find some sort of key—and with the key in hand, one must perform several bloody sacrifices . . . which will lead to the reanimation of Keziah Mason . . ..”

“Yes, that part is fairly explicit.” Nikki says and lightly combs her fingers back through her hair.

“And it is she who will lead the way to the Shining Trapezohedron.”

Esther nods, “So. What you just said makes some sort of sense.”

Dr. Artemis smiles wryly, “Thank you, Miss Freidman.”

“So how does the poem make little sense?” Esther asks.

“Well, because it seems one of the “treasures” Keziah bestows is her own permanent death. Maybe, Miss Collins, after you finish with Abby’s case, you can go through Innsmouth and take a look at the reef.”

Nikki nods, “Yes, it seems now to be part of my travel plans.”

He looks at Nikki oddly, “I would suggest you go alone.”

Then looks at him evenly, “Owing to my – condition? Safer for me to go?”

As if he doesn’t want to mention she is a vampire he nods, “Well . . . Yes.”

“Although, should I discover the whereabouts of this Key, I must say, this part about sacrifices—I’m . . . well . . . that is not going to happen.”

“I would hope that is the part you will be able to prevent from happening.”

“However, as long as no one else has a copy of the poem, it’s safe to assume no one will know what it entails to find the Trapezohedron.” He adds, “And no one else has a copy, right?”

“As far as we know.”

“There are four copies we made and each of them are accounted for.” Esther informs him, glancing at her Zippo lying on the desktop.

“Of course the young man who gave it to us has disappeared.”

“Well, I think the best thing to do is burn all the copies of the poem.” He glances at the document atop the desk, “Doesn’t even rhyme.”

“It does in its original language,” Esther tells him.

“Well if get rid of the copies, that way, you are assured no one will be tempted to commit these sacrifices.”

“Well there are a host of individuals looking for it that is for certain.” Nikki confirms his fears.

Esther frowns, “Noah gave this to us for a reason. I’m sure it was not to burn it, otherwise he would have.”

“When was the poem written? Was it in Akkadian?” Artemis asks, “How could an ancient Akkadian know about Keziah Mason in 1692?”

“No. It was in Aramaic with Hebrew alphabet . . . but no I don’t know when it was written.”

“And so, maybe they are talking about some mason, a stone-cutter, perhaps.”

Esther picks up the poem and looks at it, “A Mason . . . that is this person’s beloved witch? I don’t think so, Artemis.”

“Maybe the river is the Tigris or the Euphrates.”

Nikki looks at him aware that he suspects something – which he is not going to divulge – may even look into himself.

“But the doodle here – it matches perfectly.” Esther points out

“Doodle?” Dr. Artemis says, “What doodle?”

“Yes. That’s how I found Innsmouth. There is a doodle. Right here,” she points at the outline of an island on the original poem she removes from her desk in order to show him, “I’m sure I mentioned it.”

Dr. Artemis looks at the original document – and the small drawing of a map and merely shrugs.

Esther lays the document down and points at it with her finger for emphasis,” THAT . . . THAT is what led me to this Devil’s reef.”

Artemis still looks puzzled, “I still do not understand this reference to Mason. Of course, since her disappearance in 1692, there have been reported sightings of Keziah Mason over the years. She is something of an urban legend in Arkham. Perhaps this is all a hoax, Miss Collins – and if so, a bad one.”

Nikki frowns, “Were there any reported sighting in or around Innsmouth?”

“No. Her sightings have occurred exclusively in the house where she lived and on the nameless island out in the Miskatonic.

“Well.” Esther places her hands on the desk and pushes herself up. “It is getting late, and I’m jusy gonna say. I’m exhausted.”

“Certainly Esther—if you wish to wait a bit, I can drive you.”

“Naw, it’s a nice night for walking.”

“Even if exhausted?” The doctor asks.

Esther just looks at him wanting to say, you exhaust me—never saying anything other than talking in circles in order not to say what you’re really thinking. And what she really wants is a cigarette—and she can’t light one up not with him around.

Dr. Artemis rises as Esther stands, “Have a good night’s sleep, Miss Friedman.”

Esther looks over at Nikki, “If I don’t see you before ya go on your trip Nik, good luck. An you too Artemis.

“Thank you.”

Nikki looks up at her, “Thanks Esther. You headed back to the Old House?”

Esther walks over to the coat rack, puts on her coat and pulls out a packet of cigarette, “Yeah. Night.”

“Good night, Esther.” Nikki now feeling just how much Esther longs for a cigarette.

Esther removes one from her pack and lights it as she steps out the door.

Dr. Artemis sits again, “You should talk to that young lady about smoking. She has her whole life ahead of her.

“So, I will be down to see Abby, let’s hope we can figure this out before something happens.” Nikki tells him with a smile.

“I hope so too.” Dr. Artemis nods, “Oh. All three members of this gang had the same tattoo on their necks. A skull with a star for one of the eyes.

“Is that a symbol of the gang itself?” Nikki asks

“I’m guessing it must be. Like I said, they call themselves the Black Death.”

“Like the plague?”

“Well, they were dressed all in black with black masks.” The doctor explains and then turns to give Nikki a wry smile, “Some plague. There are only three of them.”

“Now that is odd.”

“How so?”

“A gang of three.”

Dr. Artemis sighs, “Being in a gang is all about bragging and puffing oneself up to sound more important, more dangerous than they are.”

“Yes, but they are usually a bit larger in number . . . perhaps these are rejects from some other gang.”

“Or survivors.”

“Another possibility.” Nikki nods.

“Did you hear a car pull up?” The doctor suddenly asks turning his head toward the plateglass windows where there is a glare of lights on the glass.

Nikki turns to look at the window, headlights shutting off, “Yes. It would appear there is a car stopping out front.”

Doctor Artemis nervously looks up to Esther’s father’s rifle on the wall.

Nikki looks at the doctor, “What is it Doctor?”

Artemis whispers, “The Black Death?”

“You think they followed you here?”

“I don’t know. It’s possible.”

Nikki rises and walks over to the window. She glances out, not having to cup her hand around the glass to see past the light of the office reflected on the window glass, “No, I think it’s, yes, it’s the gentleman who cleans the offices next door.”

“Oh.” He says and sounds relived.

Cue Music End of Episode