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"Golem Grey"
"Golem Grey"
5/15/1978
I.
"I haven't met Eliphas Gold," Kenneth Dred said quietly. "I've read a few of his books, of course. Interesting work, perhaps a bit too fanciful to impress me but then cabalistic magic is not my field. Still, he is a respected author. I've never heard anything questionable about him. Why do you feel he intends to kill you?"
Dred's visitor raised his open hands, palms up. "Who can say? I think the man is a bit mad, to be honest. He has been fooling around with weird secret rites and cults and what not for years. That is bound to have a harmful effect. But I take his threats seriously! Yes, remember how he quarreled with Rosen at their meetings and no one has heard from Rosen for months now. The man is a menace, or should I say, what he creates is a menace!" Gresham seemed about to snap under tension. "I've seen his Golem. I saw it move. Nobody could stand up to it and live, nobody human."
Watching from a few feet away, arms folded, Jeremy Bane gave a baleful stare to this caller. "So naturally, you came here," he snapped. "If nobody human can do the job, you need someone who isn't quite human! Right?"
"Jeremy, please," said Kenneth Dred. "Mr Gresham didn't mean anything by that. You can see how worried he obviously is."
Letting out a breath, Bane stood down. He knew Dred was right. He had to learn some manners, learn a little tact. With the live he had led since childhood on the streets, it went against all his instincts but Bane had decided to give it a try. "Okay, Mr Dred. Since it's you saying so. I've done bodyguard work. Whatever this Golem is, I'll take care of it."
"Thank you, thank you, Mr Bane," Gresham gushed. "What a relief. You can't imagine how worried I've been. I can't go to the police, of course. The Midnight War must be kept secret from them. When can you start?"
Kenneth Dred stood up carefully. At seventy-eight, he was thin and frail but still dignified, perfectly groomed and well dressed in a dark blue suit with white shirt and narrow black tie. "I would like Jeremy to survey your home tonight, Phil. I trust his instincts for danger. But I want a brief conference first. Phil, would you mind waiting here for a minute? Jeremy, come with me to the library."
Gresham nodded and sank back down into a chair, visibly relieved. He looked like someone who has been given good news by a doctor after an examination. The reception room had magazines and newspapers on a low coffee table, but after Bane and Dred left the room, Gresham did not even glance at them. He was thinking about Bane. So that was the infamous Dire Wolf! Strange kid, no more than twenty or twenty-one but serious as hell. The boy dressed all in black, too. Slacks, turtleneck, sport jacket, not a bit of color. What was with those eyes, Gresham thought. They were pale, cold and suspicious. Wolf eyes.
As Dred walked across the hall to the library, Bane trotted quickly up the stairs to Katherine's room. He knocked sharply on the door, and her voice sang out clearly, "Come in, it's open." Bane entered reluctantly. He didn't like the frills and knickknacks and general feminine aspect she had given her room since moving in. It made him feel faintly ridiculous. At two in the afternoon, she was sitting up on her bed with a paperback but she slid off and rose to meet him. Katherine Wheatley happened to be an attractive girl, five feet four and slim, with a dancer's body. She had long straight black hair, light blue eyes that stood out in startling contrast, and a cheerful attitude. She had been in the States for most of her life, but now and then a British phrase would slip out.
All this was an unnecessary bonus, Bane thought. She could be fat and hideous and abrasive, and Kenneth Dred still would have taken her in. Telepaths were hard to locate, since most hid their abilities for fear of being too different from people, and in time, most had their powers atrophy. Katherine was not highly skilled yet, but her telepathy was strong and reliable, and she had come to the famous Kenneth Dred for training. "Mr Dred wants us," Bane said bluntly. "We've got a new case."
Katherine smiled slightly at his lack of small talk. She could not read more than the surface of Bane's mind. The Dire Wolf was too tightly repressed, too much in control of himself to let her in. This made him absolutely fascinating to a girl who could tell what most people were thinking. "Don't let's keep him waiting, then," she said.
II.
The library was crowded with books, wedged roughly into shelves and piled in corners, stacked on a small table by the window. Kenneth Dred sat behind his reading desk, with a shaded lamp shining down in front of him and watched his two assistants enter. They looked like babies to him. Nearly eighty, still alert and mentally active, Dred had no living family. He had never married. Every October he had a new book ready for his publisher about an occult topic, well-researched and lucidly written, but - and this made him smile- leaving out so much he judged too dangerous for the public to learn. In his youth, Dred had been a warrior in the Midnight Wars much like Jeremy Bane was now, and he had learned so much that that was better kept secret.
Katherine came in and took a seat in front of him, smoothing her dark blue pleated skirt. "Good afternoon, sir." Last January, she had agreed to move into this old nine-story brownstone to act as an investigator for him. He provided training in how to develop her telepathic skills, and in exchange she went out on errands of various sorts for him. Katherine had become fond of the old man. He was decent and sincere, and she thought he himself did not realize how lonely he really was. Another man, William Murdock, also assisted on occasion but Dred's real protege was Jeremy Bane.
She glanced over where Bane was standing near the corner of that desk. The Dire Wolf! She knew almost nothing about the fellow. He was not much for conversation. From scraps and hints and chance remarks, she knew that Bane was an orphan with no family. He was a native New Yorker. Evidently, he had been a thug of some sort, a streetfighter but not quite a career criminal before Dred had taken him in. She did know that Bane could move and react much faster than a normal person, even a trained martial artist or Olympic athlete. He had been born with enhanced reflexes and it was this that had enabled him to survive on the cruel streets and to now take on nightmarish threats for Kenneth Dred. She knew he carried a .45 automatic in a holster at the small of his back, and she knew he wore two silver-bladed throwing daggers sheathed on his forearms under his sleeves. She had seen him use these.
"Here is our problem," Dred began thoughtfully. "A sorcerer named Eliphas Gold has allegedly threatened the life of our client, Philip Gresham. Gold has shown the man an actual Golem he has constructed, which he says he will send to slay him. Because of the reputation our little team has established, Gresham knew to come to us for protection."
"Golem?" asked Bane. Just the one word.
"A Golem is a statue of hard clay which can be brought to life by an adept. The higher kind has a consciousness of its own. Most merely act as a puppet, carrying out the orders of their creators. Golems are actually from a tradition outside our Midnight War. They are part of cabalistic magic, an effect brought about by calling on the Holy Name of God. The most famous Golem protected the Jews in the ghetto of Prague in Medieval times, but there have been a number of lesser ones created since. That Holy Name is always somewhere on the Golem, inscribed on its body or written on a strip of parchment. Removing it is the best way to destroy the creature.. often, the only way."
"Why...? Why, it has to be a fraud, It must be a trick of some sort. Those tales are just folklore." Katherine added in a small voice, "aren't they?"
"Ah, my dear, you have seen so much in the past few months you have been working here. Have you forgotten the beast that chased you in the moonlight? Atron Ke? The warren of ghouls in Syracuse?"
"No, no. Of course not. I realize the Midnight War is all too real," she answered. "But still, that doesn't mean we will just blindly believe any wild story we are told, does it? Because some strange things are true, it doesn't follow that EVERYthing weird and gruesome is also true."
"Quite all right," he smiled. "I certainly would be dubious if I had not personally seen a Golem move and walk under Gold's control. He is a disgraced Rabbi, after all, once a revered man but now fallen. Only Simon Cohen knows more of Jewish magic than Gold does. Yet he had never done any harm that I have heard of. He is not a bad person as far as I know, just one tempted by forbidden knowledge. If I thought he was a menace, I would never send you to call on him."
"What, me?" came an uncertain squeak.
"Yes, I am sure you will be quite safe. Trust your perception. Read the man as best you can without probing too deeply, and report back to me what you find. I have his address here someplace, Sutton Place as I recall. Jeremy, I would like you to stay around Gresham and guard him until this is resolved."
"Fine with me," the Dire Wolf said. "Not that I would mind a good fight about now."
Dred raised a bony finger. "Ah, this may well turn out to be nothing. But if there is danger, if something unnatural is being to slay, then there is no one I would count on more than you."
Katherine got the address from Dred's notes and excused herself. Going to her room, she changed into a fresh white blouse and put on a light jacket. She washed her hands and face briskly, repaired what minimal make-up she wore, and brushed her hair. Looking at her reflection in the mirror over the dresser, the teen grinned unexpectedly at the anticipation she saw in her own eyes. She had always been such a mousy little girl, a bookworm and wallflower. She could not imagine from where this taste for excitement had come. Stepping out onto East 38th Street, she caught the mind of a taxi driver and he swung over to pick her up.
III.
In Gresham's apartment in a large two-family house on the outskirts of the city, Jeremy Bane prowled and inspected everything critically. The drive there in Gresham's quite new Honda had been uneventful and without much conversation. The Dire Wolf was not good company at the best of times. He peered suspiciously out the living room window. They were on the ground floor, the sidewalk was directly outside. It was just getting dark, but this time of year dusk lingered a while. Behind him, Gresham was smoking his third cigarette in ten minutes. "What makes you choose a career like this, Mr Bane?"
Giving the man an unfriendly glance, Bane did not answer. He drew the curtains after making sure the windows were locked, then walked over to stand by the front door. Undiscouraged, Gresham continued, "I mean, why would you want to keep putting yourself in such danger? I've read a bit about some of the things you've done."
"Maybe I don't want to talk about it, eh?" Bane snapped. "Wait. I'm sorry. Mr Dred says I have to learn some courtesy. Sorry. I have never been much for chat."
Gresham snubbed out his cigarette. "I don't mean to intrude. If you like, I will just go in my bedroom and leave you here to stand guard."
"What bothers me is sending Katherine to see that Gold guy by herself. I should be with her. But I guess Mr Dred knows what he's doing." He suddenly turned the cool appraising glare of his eyes on Gresham. "What's the problem between you and Gold anyway?"
"We, we were members of a club. We met to discuss our interests in the supernatural and folklore. I guess our disagreements just got too heated." "
"And there's a woman involved, too, isn't there?"
"How did you...? I mean, why do you say that?"
Bane snorted tactlessly. "Ah, there are only so many reasons for one man to be at another's throat. It's usually money or some broad."
"Ellen is not a broad!"
"Ellen, eh?" said Bane. "Your wife or his?"
Gresham stared angrily but he could not match the intense eyes of the Dire Wolf. Few could. After a few seconds, he turned away. "You know, you really are impossible! Arrogant little bastard."
"So what? I'm not here to make friends," Bane said. "But I will keep you alive."
Before an argument could get underway, they both heard a truck pull up outside and the motor stop. Bane motioned for Gresham to step back. The sound of heavy footsteps thudded up the steps to the front door, and even as Bane moved closer, that door abruptly leaped entirely off its hinges and slammed into him with murderous impact. A huge hulking man wrapped in a white raincoat, fedora pulled low over his head, loomed up and lunged at Gresham. Fingers harder and stronger than flesh clamped around the terrified man's neck and tightened like a noose. There wasn't even time to scream. The sound of Gresham's neck snapping was horribly loud. Heaving up from where the door had smashed him down, Bane whipped one silver-bladed dagger from its sheath under his sleeve and flung it with expert accuracy. The blade sank inches deep in the monster's neck but seemed to have no effect. The Golem swung stiffly around, reaching up to yank the knife out of its neck and fling it with a clatter to one side. The monster's skin was grey, its features crude and unfinished. Etched into its forehead were four Hebrew letters. As Bane stared, the creature's mouth dropped open and a voice sounded, although the lips and tongue did not move.
"I had hoped there would be no witnesses," came that hollow voice. "Now I fear that since you choose to stand beside this dog in life, you must fall beside him in death." With that, the brute lurched stiffly forward and its thick gloved hands reached out. A strange feral grin was on Bane's face, as if he was enjoying this. He took one flashing step forward, spun to one side and drove out a straight side kick that smacked directly into the monster's solar plexus. It was like kicking the wall. As the Golem grabbed at him, Bane crouched low, whipping the other dagger from his other arm and dove in close. The silver blade sank to the hilt in the unliving chest. But it also had no effect, and this time the Golem got hold of him in a crude bear hug. Arms stronger than human arms tightened around Bane, way too powerful for their grip to be broken. He struggled, hooking one foot behind the thing's leg preparing to throw them both to the ground but the Golem smashed its face directly at Bane's head. Being struck with a rock would not have been easier to take. The Dire Wolf sagged, the monster let him fall. Then one hand tightened its fingers in Bane's hair and the other clay fist cracked down hard on the young man's head. When the Golem let go, Bane fell like a dead man.
The Golem went over to verify that Philip Gresham was indeed dead. A satisfied grunt sounded deep within the bulky torso, then the monster seemed to notice the dagger still protruding from its chest. Tugging the knife out, the Golem regarded the blade with curiosity but then discarded it and lumbered back out the door.
Only a few minutes passed before Bane twitched and turned over. He had not completely lost consciousness but had been dazed and helpless. It took a few moments before he could sit up, and a few minutes after that before he got to his hands and knees and then rose unsteadily. He had taken worse beatings, he thought sourly, but that never made it easier. Gingerly examining his head with his fingers, he decided that his skull wasn't broken despite the way it felt. Then he noticed Gresham. Bane knew a corpse when he saw one but he still knelt and examined the man. No neck was meant to dangle like that. As he rose, a huge surge of shame rose up inside the Dire Wolf. He had failed. He felt sick to his stomach. All his big talk and cockiness, and he had been of no use when the moment of truth came. Bane covered his mouth with his hand and lowered his head. But then, suddenly he went to retrieve his daggers, sheath them on his forearms and hurry out the door. He may have bungled this part, but his job was not over yet.
IV.
Katherine Wheatley stepped out of the elevator. Before she had entered around the lobby of Weissburg Towers, she tried a trick she had been working on. Staring at the security guard who sat in a chair in the corner, she concentrated strongly on the hallway to the far side, visualizing it clearly, bringing it to the front of the man's consciousness. In a second, the guard stood up with a worried look and walked over to peer down that hallway. While he was doing that, Katherine scurried past him and got in the elevator just as the door opened. Riding up to the eighth floor, she almost hugged herself in delight. It had worked perfectly. She put an idea into someone's mind and he had acted upon it. She could distract people at will. Kenneth Dred was right, her telepathy could be used without hurting anyone. She had so much to learn. As the elevator door opened at the eighth floor, Katherine stepped out into a small foyer with a gleeful smirk. Narrowing her eyes, she reached out carefully into the rooms beyond that door. Nothing. No one was in there, not even a sleeping person in a dreamless state. Ah well. She hated to go back without speaking to Gold, it seemed like she would have to go back down and wait to see if he showed up. on an impulse, she tried the door and to her surprise found it unlocked. That was odd. Her hesitation lasted less than a second. Katherine knew beyond all doubt there was no one in the apartment, even someone deep in slumber had brain waves she would perceive. Months of associating with Jeremy seems to have rubbed off on me, she thought as she boldly opened the door and stepped inside.
It was quite a posh suite, in her opinion. A lot of money had gone into the furnishings, the huge home entertainment system, the original paintings. The living room was long and wide, with high windows looking out on the skyline. Three doors were spaced along the far wall. Katherine stepped lightly to poke around. One door was open, beyond was obviously a bathroom with a sink and shower stall visible. The door in the middle opened with strange reluctance. It wasn't locked but somehow the door itself seemed to resist moving. Inside, she flicked on a switch and saw a rather ordinary bedroom. The big double bed had its only pillow on the left side, which seemed odd. On an otherwise bare dresser was a single framed photograph. It showed a rather pretty if severe woman in her thirties, with curly dark hair. It was signed in a tight, minute handwriting, "Dearest love, your Ellen." Odd that the frame had no glass in it. Katherine reached to pick the portrait up and saw that it sat in the center of a design drawn in red chalk on the dresser top... a cabalistic symbol.
Katherine frowned. This meant something. Was this Gold fellow trying to, well, cast on a spell on the woman? Was this a type of voodoo? So it seemed. She felt a vague unease as she noticed faint scratches in an X across the photo. Who was this Ellen, why did he hate her? With a shrug, she went to check out the third room. Vaguely she felt she had better hurry and get out of here in case Gold came back. The third room was somberly lit by two red nightlights. It was a sort of workplace, she realized . There was a shelf with tools and small boxes and a magnifying lens on a flexible stand, with a stool pulled up next to it. There were dozens of books filling a wall. Katherine leaned it closely, trying to read the titles in the dim lurid light. Everything seemed to be about magic and theology, folklore and history. There were books by Gold himself, books by Garrison Nebel, even a row of volumes written by Kenneth Dred. That struck her as funny. Katherine glanced over at a closet door and started for it, when she noticed a glossy 4X5 photo tacked to the wall. She peered at it. It was Philip Gresham! Red symbols were chalked on the wall around the photo, as they had been for the picture of Ellen, but four thin red lines, like the crosshairs on a gunsight, centered on Gresham's throat. She swallowed uneasily. All this vindictive energy troubled her.
Without warning, alarm swelled up inside her. Something was terribly wrong. Katherine felt as if she couldn't breathe, her heart was pounding. She turned to leave the room when, through the open door, she saw the door to the foyer slam open and a giant loom up to fill the opening. Katherine drew back. The Golem stepped in, not closing the door behind him, wrestling out of the raincoat and flinging the hat aside. Underneath, he wore a loose white smock that reached to his knees. His bare feet had no toes, just round pads of clay, and there was no hair on his roughly shaped head.
The monster did not seem aware of her. It lurched awkwardly across the living room to stand gazing out the window at the city. Katherine dared not try to distract its attention with her telepathic trick. She did not want to risk getting its attention. Quietly as she could, she backed two steps and slid into the closet, closing its door more furtively than anything she had done in her life. One of the red nightlights was in the closet. She turned and saw a still form on a wooden chair, mouth hanging open, eyes rolled up in its head. There was no mind activity, she was within a hand's breadth of a corpse. To her credit, she did not scream but she could not help but gasp. And then heavy footsteps sounded nearby, coming closer.
V.
Bane had taken Gresham's car and sped down into Manhattan. There was no time to call the police to report the death, not even time to phone Kenneth Dred for orders. The hunt was on. He had Eliphas Gold's address, and while he did not know if the Golem would be going there, he was miserably aware that Katherine had been sent there. She was not meant for this game. The girl was vulnerable, soft, perhaps even more so than the average civilian. Bane pulled into a spot near Weisburg Towers, strode past the security guard who opened his mouth and then closed it again. He seemed to think this was a good time to mind his own business, which was lucky for him because Bane would have backhanded him into senselessness without breaking stride. The elevator took the Dire Wolf up to the eighth floor, seemingly crawling. He felt he could have raced up the stairs quicker. Bane leaped out of the elevator, across the foyer in a single stride and came through the open door in time to see the broad back of the Golem in front of another door. As Bane came into the room, a voice called out, "Jeremy!"
It had to be Katherine Wheatley. Seeing that she had spotted someone behind him, the monster wheeled around just a five heavy slugs punched home in his face and chest. The automatic sounded ear-breakingly loud in that enclosed space. The Golem twitched and reeled back a pace, then started walking grimly toward the intruder. Holstering his pistol, Bane came forward to meet him. His head still throbbed sharply, he owed this creature one. The big arm swung wide and Bane easily swayed to one side to avoid it. Again, the Golem threw a punch but even by Human standards he was stiff and slow. The Dire Wolf acted as if the monster was moving in slow motion.
Behind the confrontation, Katherine felt that the waves of hatred she perceived were coming from that creature. That must be Eliphas Gold slumped in that chair, dead and gone, his mind sent to animate a pile of hard clay in a mockery of human life. Now she could pick up on the mental roar that echoed from the Golem's consciousness: Death to flesh! Death to all living things!
A third time, the monster flung its fist around in a wide roundhouse that would have cracked open the head of any person it struck. But Bane had planned how to handle this in his drive here. He had no intention of breaking his knuckles or snapping his ankles striking this thing. In his hands were the silver-bladed daggers he had been given by Kenneth Dred. Although he did not know it then, they had been blessed and ensorcelled by the Eldarin, making them holy indeed, and few malicious spells could defy them. Seeing his opening, Bane darted in and he slashed as quick and sure as if he had practiced the move all his life, slicing a thick slab free from the Golem's forehead. It spun away, and with it went the Name that given the monster an imitation of life. Seizing up in midstride, one arm still raised, the Golem fell face down and broke into fragments.
"Ha! And that's how we do it!" Bane yelled. He sheathed the daggers and turned toward Katherine. "You okay? He didn't hurt you?"
She came closer but did not embrace him in relief as she wanted to. He would not accept it. "I'm all right, Jeremy . Thank you. My word, you came right on time. He had just realized I was in that room." Katherine felt on the edge of tears, not from grief but merely from all the tension being released. She sniffled a little.
"This damn thing killed Gresham," Bane told her. "I blew it. I couldn't protect him against this thing." The Dire Wolf stood over the jumble of clay fragments, watching it angrily as if he wasn't sure the fight was over. Bending, he picked up the thick slab he had cut from the Golem's forehead. There was a faint warmth and trembling in the piece of clay, as if it were somehow alive. "Golem grey," he muttered.
"Oh, my God. Jeremy..."
"What?" he turned to her.
"It's Gold. He's isn't really dead. That's his body back there, yes, but his mind.. his soul.. is trapped in that piece of clay. Forever."
___________________
4/1/1972 - Rev.2/23/2013
Earliest version written 1968 for FEAR HAS MANY FACES.
5/15/1978
I.
"I haven't met Eliphas Gold," Kenneth Dred said quietly. "I've read a few of his books, of course. Interesting work, perhaps a bit too fanciful to impress me but then cabalistic magic is not my field. Still, he is a respected author. I've never heard anything questionable about him. Why do you feel he intends to kill you?"
Dred's visitor raised his open hands, palms up. "Who can say? I think the man is a bit mad, to be honest. He has been fooling around with weird secret rites and cults and what not for years. That is bound to have a harmful effect. But I take his threats seriously! Yes, remember how he quarreled with Rosen at their meetings and no one has heard from Rosen for months now. The man is a menace, or should I say, what he creates is a menace!" Gresham seemed about to snap under tension. "I've seen his Golem. I saw it move. Nobody could stand up to it and live, nobody human."
Watching from a few feet away, arms folded, Jeremy Bane gave a baleful stare to this caller. "So naturally, you came here," he snapped. "If nobody human can do the job, you need someone who isn't quite human! Right?"
"Jeremy, please," said Kenneth Dred. "Mr Gresham didn't mean anything by that. You can see how worried he obviously is."
Letting out a breath, Bane stood down. He knew Dred was right. He had to learn some manners, learn a little tact. With the live he had led since childhood on the streets, it went against all his instincts but Bane had decided to give it a try. "Okay, Mr Dred. Since it's you saying so. I've done bodyguard work. Whatever this Golem is, I'll take care of it."
"Thank you, thank you, Mr Bane," Gresham gushed. "What a relief. You can't imagine how worried I've been. I can't go to the police, of course. The Midnight War must be kept secret from them. When can you start?"
Kenneth Dred stood up carefully. At seventy-eight, he was thin and frail but still dignified, perfectly groomed and well dressed in a dark blue suit with white shirt and narrow black tie. "I would like Jeremy to survey your home tonight, Phil. I trust his instincts for danger. But I want a brief conference first. Phil, would you mind waiting here for a minute? Jeremy, come with me to the library."
Gresham nodded and sank back down into a chair, visibly relieved. He looked like someone who has been given good news by a doctor after an examination. The reception room had magazines and newspapers on a low coffee table, but after Bane and Dred left the room, Gresham did not even glance at them. He was thinking about Bane. So that was the infamous Dire Wolf! Strange kid, no more than twenty or twenty-one but serious as hell. The boy dressed all in black, too. Slacks, turtleneck, sport jacket, not a bit of color. What was with those eyes, Gresham thought. They were pale, cold and suspicious. Wolf eyes.
As Dred walked across the hall to the library, Bane trotted quickly up the stairs to Katherine's room. He knocked sharply on the door, and her voice sang out clearly, "Come in, it's open." Bane entered reluctantly. He didn't like the frills and knickknacks and general feminine aspect she had given her room since moving in. It made him feel faintly ridiculous. At two in the afternoon, she was sitting up on her bed with a paperback but she slid off and rose to meet him. Katherine Wheatley happened to be an attractive girl, five feet four and slim, with a dancer's body. She had long straight black hair, light blue eyes that stood out in startling contrast, and a cheerful attitude. She had been in the States for most of her life, but now and then a British phrase would slip out.
All this was an unnecessary bonus, Bane thought. She could be fat and hideous and abrasive, and Kenneth Dred still would have taken her in. Telepaths were hard to locate, since most hid their abilities for fear of being too different from people, and in time, most had their powers atrophy. Katherine was not highly skilled yet, but her telepathy was strong and reliable, and she had come to the famous Kenneth Dred for training. "Mr Dred wants us," Bane said bluntly. "We've got a new case."
Katherine smiled slightly at his lack of small talk. She could not read more than the surface of Bane's mind. The Dire Wolf was too tightly repressed, too much in control of himself to let her in. This made him absolutely fascinating to a girl who could tell what most people were thinking. "Don't let's keep him waiting, then," she said.
II.
The library was crowded with books, wedged roughly into shelves and piled in corners, stacked on a small table by the window. Kenneth Dred sat behind his reading desk, with a shaded lamp shining down in front of him and watched his two assistants enter. They looked like babies to him. Nearly eighty, still alert and mentally active, Dred had no living family. He had never married. Every October he had a new book ready for his publisher about an occult topic, well-researched and lucidly written, but - and this made him smile- leaving out so much he judged too dangerous for the public to learn. In his youth, Dred had been a warrior in the Midnight Wars much like Jeremy Bane was now, and he had learned so much that that was better kept secret.
Katherine came in and took a seat in front of him, smoothing her dark blue pleated skirt. "Good afternoon, sir." Last January, she had agreed to move into this old nine-story brownstone to act as an investigator for him. He provided training in how to develop her telepathic skills, and in exchange she went out on errands of various sorts for him. Katherine had become fond of the old man. He was decent and sincere, and she thought he himself did not realize how lonely he really was. Another man, William Murdock, also assisted on occasion but Dred's real protege was Jeremy Bane.
She glanced over where Bane was standing near the corner of that desk. The Dire Wolf! She knew almost nothing about the fellow. He was not much for conversation. From scraps and hints and chance remarks, she knew that Bane was an orphan with no family. He was a native New Yorker. Evidently, he had been a thug of some sort, a streetfighter but not quite a career criminal before Dred had taken him in. She did know that Bane could move and react much faster than a normal person, even a trained martial artist or Olympic athlete. He had been born with enhanced reflexes and it was this that had enabled him to survive on the cruel streets and to now take on nightmarish threats for Kenneth Dred. She knew he carried a .45 automatic in a holster at the small of his back, and she knew he wore two silver-bladed throwing daggers sheathed on his forearms under his sleeves. She had seen him use these.
"Here is our problem," Dred began thoughtfully. "A sorcerer named Eliphas Gold has allegedly threatened the life of our client, Philip Gresham. Gold has shown the man an actual Golem he has constructed, which he says he will send to slay him. Because of the reputation our little team has established, Gresham knew to come to us for protection."
"Golem?" asked Bane. Just the one word.
"A Golem is a statue of hard clay which can be brought to life by an adept. The higher kind has a consciousness of its own. Most merely act as a puppet, carrying out the orders of their creators. Golems are actually from a tradition outside our Midnight War. They are part of cabalistic magic, an effect brought about by calling on the Holy Name of God. The most famous Golem protected the Jews in the ghetto of Prague in Medieval times, but there have been a number of lesser ones created since. That Holy Name is always somewhere on the Golem, inscribed on its body or written on a strip of parchment. Removing it is the best way to destroy the creature.. often, the only way."
"Why...? Why, it has to be a fraud, It must be a trick of some sort. Those tales are just folklore." Katherine added in a small voice, "aren't they?"
"Ah, my dear, you have seen so much in the past few months you have been working here. Have you forgotten the beast that chased you in the moonlight? Atron Ke? The warren of ghouls in Syracuse?"
"No, no. Of course not. I realize the Midnight War is all too real," she answered. "But still, that doesn't mean we will just blindly believe any wild story we are told, does it? Because some strange things are true, it doesn't follow that EVERYthing weird and gruesome is also true."
"Quite all right," he smiled. "I certainly would be dubious if I had not personally seen a Golem move and walk under Gold's control. He is a disgraced Rabbi, after all, once a revered man but now fallen. Only Simon Cohen knows more of Jewish magic than Gold does. Yet he had never done any harm that I have heard of. He is not a bad person as far as I know, just one tempted by forbidden knowledge. If I thought he was a menace, I would never send you to call on him."
"What, me?" came an uncertain squeak.
"Yes, I am sure you will be quite safe. Trust your perception. Read the man as best you can without probing too deeply, and report back to me what you find. I have his address here someplace, Sutton Place as I recall. Jeremy, I would like you to stay around Gresham and guard him until this is resolved."
"Fine with me," the Dire Wolf said. "Not that I would mind a good fight about now."
Dred raised a bony finger. "Ah, this may well turn out to be nothing. But if there is danger, if something unnatural is being to slay, then there is no one I would count on more than you."
Katherine got the address from Dred's notes and excused herself. Going to her room, she changed into a fresh white blouse and put on a light jacket. She washed her hands and face briskly, repaired what minimal make-up she wore, and brushed her hair. Looking at her reflection in the mirror over the dresser, the teen grinned unexpectedly at the anticipation she saw in her own eyes. She had always been such a mousy little girl, a bookworm and wallflower. She could not imagine from where this taste for excitement had come. Stepping out onto East 38th Street, she caught the mind of a taxi driver and he swung over to pick her up.
III.
In Gresham's apartment in a large two-family house on the outskirts of the city, Jeremy Bane prowled and inspected everything critically. The drive there in Gresham's quite new Honda had been uneventful and without much conversation. The Dire Wolf was not good company at the best of times. He peered suspiciously out the living room window. They were on the ground floor, the sidewalk was directly outside. It was just getting dark, but this time of year dusk lingered a while. Behind him, Gresham was smoking his third cigarette in ten minutes. "What makes you choose a career like this, Mr Bane?"
Giving the man an unfriendly glance, Bane did not answer. He drew the curtains after making sure the windows were locked, then walked over to stand by the front door. Undiscouraged, Gresham continued, "I mean, why would you want to keep putting yourself in such danger? I've read a bit about some of the things you've done."
"Maybe I don't want to talk about it, eh?" Bane snapped. "Wait. I'm sorry. Mr Dred says I have to learn some courtesy. Sorry. I have never been much for chat."
Gresham snubbed out his cigarette. "I don't mean to intrude. If you like, I will just go in my bedroom and leave you here to stand guard."
"What bothers me is sending Katherine to see that Gold guy by herself. I should be with her. But I guess Mr Dred knows what he's doing." He suddenly turned the cool appraising glare of his eyes on Gresham. "What's the problem between you and Gold anyway?"
"We, we were members of a club. We met to discuss our interests in the supernatural and folklore. I guess our disagreements just got too heated." "
"And there's a woman involved, too, isn't there?"
"How did you...? I mean, why do you say that?"
Bane snorted tactlessly. "Ah, there are only so many reasons for one man to be at another's throat. It's usually money or some broad."
"Ellen is not a broad!"
"Ellen, eh?" said Bane. "Your wife or his?"
Gresham stared angrily but he could not match the intense eyes of the Dire Wolf. Few could. After a few seconds, he turned away. "You know, you really are impossible! Arrogant little bastard."
"So what? I'm not here to make friends," Bane said. "But I will keep you alive."
Before an argument could get underway, they both heard a truck pull up outside and the motor stop. Bane motioned for Gresham to step back. The sound of heavy footsteps thudded up the steps to the front door, and even as Bane moved closer, that door abruptly leaped entirely off its hinges and slammed into him with murderous impact. A huge hulking man wrapped in a white raincoat, fedora pulled low over his head, loomed up and lunged at Gresham. Fingers harder and stronger than flesh clamped around the terrified man's neck and tightened like a noose. There wasn't even time to scream. The sound of Gresham's neck snapping was horribly loud. Heaving up from where the door had smashed him down, Bane whipped one silver-bladed dagger from its sheath under his sleeve and flung it with expert accuracy. The blade sank inches deep in the monster's neck but seemed to have no effect. The Golem swung stiffly around, reaching up to yank the knife out of its neck and fling it with a clatter to one side. The monster's skin was grey, its features crude and unfinished. Etched into its forehead were four Hebrew letters. As Bane stared, the creature's mouth dropped open and a voice sounded, although the lips and tongue did not move.
"I had hoped there would be no witnesses," came that hollow voice. "Now I fear that since you choose to stand beside this dog in life, you must fall beside him in death." With that, the brute lurched stiffly forward and its thick gloved hands reached out. A strange feral grin was on Bane's face, as if he was enjoying this. He took one flashing step forward, spun to one side and drove out a straight side kick that smacked directly into the monster's solar plexus. It was like kicking the wall. As the Golem grabbed at him, Bane crouched low, whipping the other dagger from his other arm and dove in close. The silver blade sank to the hilt in the unliving chest. But it also had no effect, and this time the Golem got hold of him in a crude bear hug. Arms stronger than human arms tightened around Bane, way too powerful for their grip to be broken. He struggled, hooking one foot behind the thing's leg preparing to throw them both to the ground but the Golem smashed its face directly at Bane's head. Being struck with a rock would not have been easier to take. The Dire Wolf sagged, the monster let him fall. Then one hand tightened its fingers in Bane's hair and the other clay fist cracked down hard on the young man's head. When the Golem let go, Bane fell like a dead man.
The Golem went over to verify that Philip Gresham was indeed dead. A satisfied grunt sounded deep within the bulky torso, then the monster seemed to notice the dagger still protruding from its chest. Tugging the knife out, the Golem regarded the blade with curiosity but then discarded it and lumbered back out the door.
Only a few minutes passed before Bane twitched and turned over. He had not completely lost consciousness but had been dazed and helpless. It took a few moments before he could sit up, and a few minutes after that before he got to his hands and knees and then rose unsteadily. He had taken worse beatings, he thought sourly, but that never made it easier. Gingerly examining his head with his fingers, he decided that his skull wasn't broken despite the way it felt. Then he noticed Gresham. Bane knew a corpse when he saw one but he still knelt and examined the man. No neck was meant to dangle like that. As he rose, a huge surge of shame rose up inside the Dire Wolf. He had failed. He felt sick to his stomach. All his big talk and cockiness, and he had been of no use when the moment of truth came. Bane covered his mouth with his hand and lowered his head. But then, suddenly he went to retrieve his daggers, sheath them on his forearms and hurry out the door. He may have bungled this part, but his job was not over yet.
IV.
Katherine Wheatley stepped out of the elevator. Before she had entered around the lobby of Weissburg Towers, she tried a trick she had been working on. Staring at the security guard who sat in a chair in the corner, she concentrated strongly on the hallway to the far side, visualizing it clearly, bringing it to the front of the man's consciousness. In a second, the guard stood up with a worried look and walked over to peer down that hallway. While he was doing that, Katherine scurried past him and got in the elevator just as the door opened. Riding up to the eighth floor, she almost hugged herself in delight. It had worked perfectly. She put an idea into someone's mind and he had acted upon it. She could distract people at will. Kenneth Dred was right, her telepathy could be used without hurting anyone. She had so much to learn. As the elevator door opened at the eighth floor, Katherine stepped out into a small foyer with a gleeful smirk. Narrowing her eyes, she reached out carefully into the rooms beyond that door. Nothing. No one was in there, not even a sleeping person in a dreamless state. Ah well. She hated to go back without speaking to Gold, it seemed like she would have to go back down and wait to see if he showed up. on an impulse, she tried the door and to her surprise found it unlocked. That was odd. Her hesitation lasted less than a second. Katherine knew beyond all doubt there was no one in the apartment, even someone deep in slumber had brain waves she would perceive. Months of associating with Jeremy seems to have rubbed off on me, she thought as she boldly opened the door and stepped inside.
It was quite a posh suite, in her opinion. A lot of money had gone into the furnishings, the huge home entertainment system, the original paintings. The living room was long and wide, with high windows looking out on the skyline. Three doors were spaced along the far wall. Katherine stepped lightly to poke around. One door was open, beyond was obviously a bathroom with a sink and shower stall visible. The door in the middle opened with strange reluctance. It wasn't locked but somehow the door itself seemed to resist moving. Inside, she flicked on a switch and saw a rather ordinary bedroom. The big double bed had its only pillow on the left side, which seemed odd. On an otherwise bare dresser was a single framed photograph. It showed a rather pretty if severe woman in her thirties, with curly dark hair. It was signed in a tight, minute handwriting, "Dearest love, your Ellen." Odd that the frame had no glass in it. Katherine reached to pick the portrait up and saw that it sat in the center of a design drawn in red chalk on the dresser top... a cabalistic symbol.
Katherine frowned. This meant something. Was this Gold fellow trying to, well, cast on a spell on the woman? Was this a type of voodoo? So it seemed. She felt a vague unease as she noticed faint scratches in an X across the photo. Who was this Ellen, why did he hate her? With a shrug, she went to check out the third room. Vaguely she felt she had better hurry and get out of here in case Gold came back. The third room was somberly lit by two red nightlights. It was a sort of workplace, she realized . There was a shelf with tools and small boxes and a magnifying lens on a flexible stand, with a stool pulled up next to it. There were dozens of books filling a wall. Katherine leaned it closely, trying to read the titles in the dim lurid light. Everything seemed to be about magic and theology, folklore and history. There were books by Gold himself, books by Garrison Nebel, even a row of volumes written by Kenneth Dred. That struck her as funny. Katherine glanced over at a closet door and started for it, when she noticed a glossy 4X5 photo tacked to the wall. She peered at it. It was Philip Gresham! Red symbols were chalked on the wall around the photo, as they had been for the picture of Ellen, but four thin red lines, like the crosshairs on a gunsight, centered on Gresham's throat. She swallowed uneasily. All this vindictive energy troubled her.
Without warning, alarm swelled up inside her. Something was terribly wrong. Katherine felt as if she couldn't breathe, her heart was pounding. She turned to leave the room when, through the open door, she saw the door to the foyer slam open and a giant loom up to fill the opening. Katherine drew back. The Golem stepped in, not closing the door behind him, wrestling out of the raincoat and flinging the hat aside. Underneath, he wore a loose white smock that reached to his knees. His bare feet had no toes, just round pads of clay, and there was no hair on his roughly shaped head.
The monster did not seem aware of her. It lurched awkwardly across the living room to stand gazing out the window at the city. Katherine dared not try to distract its attention with her telepathic trick. She did not want to risk getting its attention. Quietly as she could, she backed two steps and slid into the closet, closing its door more furtively than anything she had done in her life. One of the red nightlights was in the closet. She turned and saw a still form on a wooden chair, mouth hanging open, eyes rolled up in its head. There was no mind activity, she was within a hand's breadth of a corpse. To her credit, she did not scream but she could not help but gasp. And then heavy footsteps sounded nearby, coming closer.
V.
Bane had taken Gresham's car and sped down into Manhattan. There was no time to call the police to report the death, not even time to phone Kenneth Dred for orders. The hunt was on. He had Eliphas Gold's address, and while he did not know if the Golem would be going there, he was miserably aware that Katherine had been sent there. She was not meant for this game. The girl was vulnerable, soft, perhaps even more so than the average civilian. Bane pulled into a spot near Weisburg Towers, strode past the security guard who opened his mouth and then closed it again. He seemed to think this was a good time to mind his own business, which was lucky for him because Bane would have backhanded him into senselessness without breaking stride. The elevator took the Dire Wolf up to the eighth floor, seemingly crawling. He felt he could have raced up the stairs quicker. Bane leaped out of the elevator, across the foyer in a single stride and came through the open door in time to see the broad back of the Golem in front of another door. As Bane came into the room, a voice called out, "Jeremy!"
It had to be Katherine Wheatley. Seeing that she had spotted someone behind him, the monster wheeled around just a five heavy slugs punched home in his face and chest. The automatic sounded ear-breakingly loud in that enclosed space. The Golem twitched and reeled back a pace, then started walking grimly toward the intruder. Holstering his pistol, Bane came forward to meet him. His head still throbbed sharply, he owed this creature one. The big arm swung wide and Bane easily swayed to one side to avoid it. Again, the Golem threw a punch but even by Human standards he was stiff and slow. The Dire Wolf acted as if the monster was moving in slow motion.
Behind the confrontation, Katherine felt that the waves of hatred she perceived were coming from that creature. That must be Eliphas Gold slumped in that chair, dead and gone, his mind sent to animate a pile of hard clay in a mockery of human life. Now she could pick up on the mental roar that echoed from the Golem's consciousness: Death to flesh! Death to all living things!
A third time, the monster flung its fist around in a wide roundhouse that would have cracked open the head of any person it struck. But Bane had planned how to handle this in his drive here. He had no intention of breaking his knuckles or snapping his ankles striking this thing. In his hands were the silver-bladed daggers he had been given by Kenneth Dred. Although he did not know it then, they had been blessed and ensorcelled by the Eldarin, making them holy indeed, and few malicious spells could defy them. Seeing his opening, Bane darted in and he slashed as quick and sure as if he had practiced the move all his life, slicing a thick slab free from the Golem's forehead. It spun away, and with it went the Name that given the monster an imitation of life. Seizing up in midstride, one arm still raised, the Golem fell face down and broke into fragments.
"Ha! And that's how we do it!" Bane yelled. He sheathed the daggers and turned toward Katherine. "You okay? He didn't hurt you?"
She came closer but did not embrace him in relief as she wanted to. He would not accept it. "I'm all right, Jeremy . Thank you. My word, you came right on time. He had just realized I was in that room." Katherine felt on the edge of tears, not from grief but merely from all the tension being released. She sniffled a little.
"This damn thing killed Gresham," Bane told her. "I blew it. I couldn't protect him against this thing." The Dire Wolf stood over the jumble of clay fragments, watching it angrily as if he wasn't sure the fight was over. Bending, he picked up the thick slab he had cut from the Golem's forehead. There was a faint warmth and trembling in the piece of clay, as if it were somehow alive. "Golem grey," he muttered.
"Oh, my God. Jeremy..."
"What?" he turned to her.
"It's Gold. He's isn't really dead. That's his body back there, yes, but his mind.. his soul.. is trapped in that piece of clay. Forever."
___________________
4/1/1972 - Rev.2/23/2013
Earliest version written 1968 for FEAR HAS MANY FACES.