"Bats On Fire"
May. 19th, 2022 09:58 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dochermes"Bats On Fire"
10/29-19/30/1938
I.
On the furthest outskirts of town where paved roads gave way to hard-packed dirt, the Valley Rest Inn stood behind its gravel parking lot. A cheerful-looking three-story white building with a porch that held both a long bench and some rocking chairs, its name in cursive paint letters filled a wide picture window and the smaller neon VACANCY word glowed blue. Rolling to a halt in front of that porch, the dark green Plymouth convertible went silent as its engine was turned off.
A big man emerged from behind the wheel. Just over six feet tall, Memphis was solidly built with wide shoulders and a massive chest beneath that sedate pinstripe suit. His fedora was pushed far back on his head. Memphis was a black man about thirty years old, very dark-skinned and with his hair trimmed as short as possible. He turned slowly around as if looking for trouble before moving over to open the rear passenger door. "Everything seems quiet enough, Albert," he said. "No sign of any murderous glowing whatevers flying overhead."
Squeezing out from the rear seat of the car, Albert Rigby was not nearly as imposing as his partner. Barely of medium height and rather dumpy-looking despite his suit's tailored attempts to conceal his build, Rigby had a round face and mild blue eyes behind pince-nez whose ribbon hung down to his lapel. "Oh, it's good to stand up," he said. "That was a long ride."
"I quite agree," Memphis responded as he opened the trunk and lifted out two suitcases. "Being stuffed with food doesn't help, I indulged a bit too much at that roundhouse back there."
"Those WERE good pork chops. The dishes of applesauce always aid to the taste, but we both had second helpings which might have been too much." Rigby tightened the knot of his tie and adjusted his jacket. "Ready?"
"Right behind you," Memphis said. He followed his partner up onto the porch and through the front door which had an overhead bell tinkling to announce visitors. Behind the reception desk, a middle-aged man wearing a black vest over a blue dress shirt put down his copy of a pulp magazine and rose to greet them. "Say. I think I know you?"
"Good evening, sir," Rigby said. Behind him, Memphis carefully lowered the suitcases to the thin beige rug and straightened up, looming over his slightly-built partner.
"You are Albert Rigby, are you not?" asked the clerk. "Heh, I've seen those comedy shorts you've done. They showed them before the B-picture. My favorite was the one about having dinner with in-laws you never met before. And I enjoyed one of your books, it's the only one I've seen for sale. GOING BOTH WAYS AT ONCE, that's the one."
Rigby smiled with genuine pleasure. "Oh, glad to meet you, sir. I have a new book at the printers now, it should be in the stores before Christmas. I've starting writing about old folklore, ghost stories and such. Your name would be...?"
"Heins, George Heins. Owner and manager of this establishment, and to be honest it seems I sleep behind this desk more than in my own bed. Would you be wanting a room, Mr Rigby?"
"Yes, very much. One with two beds, if possible, and a private bath." Rigby had reached into his inner jacket pocket to remove his checkbook but he paused at the sour expression on the manager's face.
"Yes. Well, sir, there is a very nice colored couple living in the house half a mile up the road. Mr and Mrs Williamson. They have a few rooms they let out and I'm sure your servant would be perfectly comfortable..."
Rigby's voice did not grow cold or angry. He stayed civil. "No, no, Mr Heins. Memphis is my valet and chaffeur and much more. I try out my stories on him to see if he laughs. I must insist he stay with me."
"Please, suh, I doesn't mean to be no trouble," said Memphis in a completely different voice than the one he had used outside.
"I would be lost without you, Memphis," Rigby insisted. "Well, Mr Heins, if you can't accomodate me, I believe I have no choice but to try somewhere else."
"Well...." Heins was obviously debating with himself. "I don't know. Your man here certainly seems discreet and well-mannered. Fine looking fellow, in fact. But I don't want complaints from other guests."
"Honest, Mistuh Rigby, I wouldn't mind staying with my own," Memphis drawled with a distinct Deep South tinge that had not been there moments earlier.
"No, no, I must insist," Rigby went on. "Here. Let me write out a check this minute. I'm tired and cranky and I will not be denied."
"I suppose," Heins replied. He studied Memphis' stoic face. "You would come and go by the back door, to avoid trouble?"
"Yassuh, certainly." He picked up the suitcases again, which seemed to prompt everyone. Rigby took a suite of three rooms on the floor directly above them, added that he might want to stay a day or so.
"Well then. Supper is served in the common room at eight-thirty. It's meatloaf tonight." Heins rubbed his chin. "Memphis, is it? I could have a tray prepared for you to eat in your rooms."
"Thank you kindly, suh." Like Rigby, Memphis remained polite and even in his tones. "I quite understand."
"Well then, here is your key, Mr Rigby. Maid service is at four in the afternoon but Lucy will knock before she enters. It would be best if your rooms were, ah, unoccupied at the time."
"Don't worry," Rigby responded as he took the large brass key with its wooden tag bearing the room. "Neither Memphis nor I will cause a scandal. Especially since this town is still on edge after those mysterious deaths."
II.
At eleven that night, Rigby came downstairs toward the rear door and saw no one about. Big band music came from behind the office door but at a low level. He gestured the coast was clear to Memphis, who joined him. Finding the rear door unlocked, they stepped out into the night and headed for the car. While the tenants were at supper, the big black man had gone outside and moved the Plymouth around to the hard-packed dirt area behind the building.
Rigby settled into the back seat while Memphis took the wheel and eased the massive car out onto the road before turning on the headlights.
"We're heading north, right?"
"Yes," Rigby answered. "I have been looking over my notes about the strange events in this town. My clipping service thought I might find the deaths interesting. For such a small drowsy Vermont town, the strangest sightings have been made here of odd small glowing objects passing overhead at night. A house burned down, killing all six occupants after one of these objects was seen. Then a man was killed by being pushed off a bridge by something with a body bigger than a dog while his family watched in horror. They were too stunned to make out what it was."
"Sounds like Midnight War, all right."
"You know, Memphis, I notice when we're in public that you've been putting on the accent more heavily than usual lately."
"Heh. Oh, I don't like doing the minstrel show act. It annoys me. But to be honest, most white people feel less threatened by a sleepy-sounding Negro. They relax more around me. Sometimes they let things slip that they wouldn't if I spoke like an educated person."
"I know. Some of our toughest cases were cracked when you overheard useful information." Rigby shifted around in the back seat. "I've never heard of flaming attack beasties before, have you?"
"No, can't say I have. When I put on the Skull helmet, I can hear the voices of previous wearers but it's hard to find anything specific. It's like walking through a party and catching bits and pieces of what people are saying, but there's never time to spend sifting through all the information."
Rigby made a scoffing noise. "We HAVE been busy lately. I'll say the streets are empty. We haven't seen another car yet or even a house with its lights on. This town is scared, scared stiff."
"There's the bridge, I think." Memphis turned the big car right and came to a halt on the side of the road. A short wide stone bridge crossed a dry ravine which stretched fifteen feet below them. The bridge was chipped and dingy with long exposure to the elements but it seemed sound enough. A luminous full moon and an autumn sky packed with stars gave more than enough light to see clearly. Memphis could even make out his own shadow, something he had been as a child told was lucky.
"Let's get out and take a look," Rigby said, opening his door.
"Have you got that Colt I bought for you?"
"No. Sorry, Memphis, I need so much practice before I can be trusted with it. The best I could hope for is only shoot one of my own feet with it and not anyone else. You better handle the rough stuff."
The taller, younger man squared his shoulders and started to speak in annoyance, then caught himself. "I'd feel better if you had it, that's all. I don't dare carry a gun. It's a good way for folks like me to end up hanging from a tree branch."
As his partner strode across the bridge, pausing to gaze down into the ragged ravine below on both sides, Rigby held back a few feet. He took his favorite pipe from his coat pocket but hesitated to pack the bowl. After a second, he tucked the tobacco pouch away again. Better to let Memphis investigate undistracted. Rigby glanced around and a dark old house on a nearby hill caught his attention.
Less than a half mile away, sitting atop a drab hill bare of trees or bushes, the three story house was a black shape against the starry sky. Something about its appearance seemed ominous to Rigby but he could not have elucidated. Why did nothing grow on that slope? The hill seemed stripped of any foliage. He thought he should get a bettter look, find out if even scruffy grass survived near that house.
"I see where the man was shoved off this bridge," Memphis announced in a low somber tone. "The paper gave his name as William L Palmston, and age as forty.
"While his family saw the tragedy," Rigby added. "Something glowing and flaming swooped down to shove him over the railing, but they could not say what it was. His wife..or, his widow I suppose.. said that he didn't even have time to scream before he hit those rocks down there."
Memphis rested his hands on the railing and peered down. "I want to come back during the day. Most likely the police either washed off any blood or covered the impact point over. But honestly, there's nothing here to provide the slightest clue."
"LOOK!" shouted Albert Rigby, grabbing his partner by the arm and swinging him around. "Up by that old dark house."
Rising into the night sky and moving toward the two men with terrifying speed were three large shining forms. Their exact shapes could not be made out. In only a few seconds, the horrors would be upon them.
Memphis gave his partner a hard shove away, making him stumble. "You get in the car right now!"
"What ARE they?"
But in that brief moment, three flickering shapes hurtled headlong down at them. The man known as Memphis braced himself, lifting his left arm defensively. The air around his body blurred and abruptly he was wearing a snug uniform of black leather, with a straight sword sheathed at his left hip and a silver helmet shaped like a human skull on his head.
On his raised arm, a round silver shield had appeared from nowhere and the fiery apparition crashed into that shield, only to rebound as if striking a solid wall.
III.
The Silver Skull immediately pivoted as the second of the horrors rushed at him. His sword whirled in a backhand stroke that cut the flying monster down with a satisfying thunk. Memphis stepped back, saw the first glowing thing still moving feebly and drove the point of his sword deep into its meaty form. He tugged the sword loose, heard Rigby scream and wheeled around.
His friend and partner of the past three years was being carried away. Already out of reach overhead, his legs dangling and thrashing futilely, Albert Rigby was being held in the taloned feet of a luminous bat with a wingspread of more than twelve feet.
"Memphis, Memphis! Help me!" came the panicked scream.
"Hang on, buddy!" the uniformed man yelled back up. It was only now that the Silver Skull could make out what they were fighting. Giant monster bats bigger than any specimens ever reported even in legend. What was making them shimmer like that? The flames around their bodies gave off little heat. Memphis knelt and ripped up a handful of grass from the side of the road as he ran to the Plymouth
Cleaning the sword blade had become such a habit that he didn't realize he was doing it. As he grasped the handle of the driver's door, Memphis shivered. The Silver Skull uniform and weapons vanished and he was back in his normal clothing, with even his neatly blocked fedora squarely on his head. This meant there was no immediate threat to himself. The Skull regalia could be summoned at will, but it tended to disappear when not needed. Memphis hopped in behind the wheel, turned the key and swung the heavy car over onto the stone bridge.
Before he passed the two dead creatures, they both burst into intense white-hot fire. Something to remember, he thought. Alive, they glowed cold but after they were killed, they went up in flames.
IV.
[Inside, the house has had some of its interior walls knocked out to form a single large room. Laboratory equipment and supplies are everywhere. Along one wall, a dozen wire-mesh cages hold the human-sized bats. A middle-aged man in a white lab smock and rubber gloves meets the returning bat, throwing the stunned Rigby against a wooden frame and tying him with rope to it before he can recover his bearings.
The bat is lured into an empty cage with a deep porcelain bowl of blood plasma. As it kneels and laps up the gruesome fluid, the man secures the cage door. He is working on a steaming vat where a phosphorus compound is settling.
Up on the roof, Memphis unfastens a slanted skylight and lightly drops down into the lab.
"What? Who?" The man in the lab coat jumped back a step and glanced around wildly before realizing there was only one intruder. "Who are you? Why are you wearing that ludicrous costume. Is... that a REAL sword?"
"Test me and find out," Memphis snapped. In fact, he was an imposing sight even without the ominous black uniform and weaponry. For some unexplained reason, his eyes were not visible. The eyeholes of the skull-shaped helmet remained as black and empty as if no one was wearing it. "My friend was brought here by one of your little pets."
"Oh, I see. Obviously, you are not one of the incompetent local police officers. Allow me. Anton Novikoff of St Petersburg University and the Sorbonne. Possibly the world's expert on the Chiroptera! Now that I have regained some composure, I recognize your costume. The Silver Skull, yes. I believe you have not been seen for decades, perhaps a century or so."
"I appear when I'm needed," Memphis said. He gestured with his shield arm. "Looking at all the chemicals and beakers and whatever, I guess you coat these giant bats with something that makes them glow and then catch fire."
"Ah, despite your backward rural accent, you are not completely ignorant," the Russian snorted. "Tri-phosphorus with fine aluminum oxide mixed in. Longterm exposure is harmful to the little dears, I regret to say."
The Silver Skull took a menacing step toward the man. "And I suppose you're breeding them to reach this size? I'm surprised they can fly at all."
"These charming beasts are in fact from the adjacent realm of Okali," Novikoff boasted. "Brought to this world with great difficulty. They are not at all easy to maintain, I must say. Wherever Shandor and I relocate, stray dogs and cats tend to be disappear. Hobos and vagrants as well. Heh heh, it's rather droll how many tramps looking for a meal have instead become one!"
V.
"Never mind all that," Memphis interrupted in a voice made hollow and menacing from within the silver helmet. "You stay out of my way right now and your head will stay on your shoulders. Albert, how are you doing over there?"
"A little shaken up, but I guess I am okay," Rigby said. "Certainly glad to see you. Excuse me, Mr Novikoff was it? Do you have any journals or notes about your experiences.
Anton Novikoff blinked and his voice revealed confused. "I don't... What do you care? Why would you even ask such a thing?"
"I might be able to use it as material in my new book," Rigby called over. "To be honest, people who attack my friend with the Skull helmet usually end up in no condition to answer questions."
"I do not find your insolence amusing! It has come to this, then. I expected discovery sooner or later, but from stupid policemen who could be bribed or fast-talked away. Better for you to never have come here, young man."
Glaring at the stocky Russian and stepping still closer, the Silver Skull dropped his right hand across his waist to clasp his sword hilt. "Oh, I think I'm catching on. You brought back something worse than these killer bats from Okali. Come on, brother, spill it. What else is here?"
"There is me," whispered a raspy voice from the shadows at the far end of the lab. In a career filled with witnessing bizarre sights, Memphis had never been more unsettled. A Humanlike body five feet tall but covered with short sleek grey fur, a misshapen head with huge upright ears over a pushing in rodent face, folded bone-ribbed wings protruding up behind him from under his arms, the monster hobbled forward with his weight resting largely on a solid walking stick.
Red eyes smoldered. The fanged muzzle opened and the thing spoke perfectly intelligible English. "Ah. There are many more colorful inhabitants of Okali than even the wisest Humans know about," he chuckled. "The Speaking Apes, the manticores, the Centaurs, great lake serpents, so much more. I have learned your language in the past few years. Am I an apt student, Anton?"
"Yes indeed," said the Russian. "Shandor is at near-genius levels, he has picked up much world history and the customs of this crude country as well. That is not his true name, of course."
"It will do," the creature laughed. He moved closer to the intruder in the black uniform. "The Silver Skull. I really thought you were only a legend from the Darthan Age."
"Oh, you'll find I'm real enough if you get much closer. Listen. I'm taking my friend home. Be glad he hasn't been harmed. I'm going to cut him down and take him out of your crazy little chamber of horrors."
Shandor laughed again. He stood more upright and spread his leathery wings to their full twelve-foot span. "The confidence of the ignorant. You are facing not only a killer bat of Okali, but THE killer bat... their King. And I can smell that your blood is hot and rich and salty."
With that, the Silver Skull whipped out his sword and drew the circular shield around in front of him. "I've seen some of those stupid Dracula movies. Vampire bat, huh? Well, I don't carry a cross or any garlic but I don't need them."
"You still do not understand," the monster retorted. He flung his cane hard to one side near Memphis, drawing the Skull's attention for a split-second, flapping those great wings and rising up to crash hard into his intended victim. Shandor's bare feet were prehensile as hands. One closed around the wrist holding the sword and the other clamped on the shield arm with agonizing strength far beyond mortal man's ability to match.
The monster gripped the Silver Skull's neck with both hands, whipping his wings back and forth to keep his prey off balance. "Yes. Yes. Your common vampire bats that you read of sometimes? They are descended from we killer bats of Okali, grown small and nearly harmless compared to us. I am so amused to hear of these motion pictures which depict them as assuming human shape."
"The Undead are tougher than you," Memphis replied in a strangely assured tone. "You are only living flesh and blood." He drew his head back and smashed the front of his silver helmet into Shandor's muzzle as hard as he possibly could. The creature's grip weakened. Memphis wrested himself free, got his footing and spun the sword in a horizontal arc that slit open a shallow wound on the killer bat's torso. Shandor rose straight up, barely escaping another murderous swipe from that razor-edged blade.
"Dammit!" grunted Memphis. He lowered his sword to the damp stone floor and whipped the round shield from his left forearm, flinging it backhand like a discus with the skill of long experience. The sharp edge dug into the monster's back but did not catch, and the shield fell to clatter to the floor. In another second, Shandor was plunging through the open skylight and out into the night.
"I will never saw I have seen everything," Albert Rigby called over. His voice was weak but undefeated.
"Hang in there, pal," replied the Silver Skull. He called back his shield and it appeared on his arm again in a faint glimmer of blue light. One of the properties of his equipment was that he could not separated from any of it. He held out his hand and the straight sword Chalcemar suddenly was clasped in his grip again. "I'll get you down."
"Look out! Look behind you!" Rigby shrieked.
Wheeling, shield up and sword held point forward, the Silver Skull saw with a cold twinge that Anton had opened all the wire frame cages. A dozen of the huge bats were whirling and fluttering straight at him, and they glowed with the tri-phosphorus compound. Memphis had no time to think, only react. He stepped in front of where his partner was tied. Setting his boots firmly, he growled, "Try me and find out, boys."
A nightmare of hacking at bodies that spurted blood, of fending off fangs trying to get under his helmet at his neck. of kicking brutally at fallen killer bats... the ordeal seemed to last forever but only a few minutes elapsed before Memphis was swaying weakly over a floor littered with dead and dying monsters which glowed white hot.
"Gah-DAMN, that wasn't easy," he gasped. "All right, Albert, we need to make tracks out of here." As he used the bloodied edge of his sword to saw easily through the ropes, Memphis paused at the flickering light. Several of the bats had burst into flame hot as thermite, igniting the heavy wool drapes and quickly catching the wooden roof on fire as well. As he stared for that second, another of the killer bats popped open into a glaring fireball.
"This house is old as Perdition," Rigby shouted, stamping his feet to help the circulation. "It's going to go up like a bonfire. Let's go, Memphis!"
Sheathing his sword, the Silver Skull pointed at a twisted body curled up under a bench. "That Russian fellow, Anton Whatever-His-Name was. Looks like one of those bloodsuckers finished him off."
"I can't say I'm sorry, my friend." Rigby grabbed the much stronger man by an arm and trying yanking him along. "My word, are you filled with lead or something?"
"All muscle and bone," Memphis replied in the first hint of a lighter tone. They both hustled across the blazing lab, now filling with noxious gases as some of experimental chemicals caught on fire. Oily black smoke swirled and curled behinf them as if trying to delay their escape. But in a minute, they staggered outside and lurched unsteadily down the hill away from the conflagration. Both had endured a lot that night, and they weren't at their best.
As they nearer the stone bridge, a flicker passed over Memphis and the black outfit with its helmet and sword and shield was gone. He wore his normal suit and tie, even his hat was tilted at an angle on his close-cropped hair. "Oh. Oh, that's a relief."
"I'll tell the world it is." Albert Rigby rubbed an appreciative hand across his partner's muscular back. "When I see your Silver Skull outfit go away, I know the danger is over. For the moment at least."
"Look at that house cracking away," Memphis said. "We better sneak back into the hotel before the whole town is rousted. Getting blamed for starting that is not on my agenda."
In the back seat as they rolled back through the darkened streets, Rigby sniffed at his sleeve. "And I stink. Between the fire and the phosophorus, I'm not exactly a handful of fresh roses damp with dew."
"Here we are at the hotel," Memphis said. "No lights on yet. Quick. I think you need to take a quick bath and change into your spare clothes. Then I for one intend to sleep until three o'clock tomorrow afternoon."
"Sounds like a plan." Albert Rigby got out of the rear of the car and gently closed the door. "Now I'm wondered about that batman freak. Shandor. He flew out the window, Memphis, he got away. He's still out there."
Ushering his partner toward the back door of the hotel, the Silver Skull whispered,"The way he looks? He won't be hard to find."
12/12/2020
10/29-19/30/1938
I.
On the furthest outskirts of town where paved roads gave way to hard-packed dirt, the Valley Rest Inn stood behind its gravel parking lot. A cheerful-looking three-story white building with a porch that held both a long bench and some rocking chairs, its name in cursive paint letters filled a wide picture window and the smaller neon VACANCY word glowed blue. Rolling to a halt in front of that porch, the dark green Plymouth convertible went silent as its engine was turned off.
A big man emerged from behind the wheel. Just over six feet tall, Memphis was solidly built with wide shoulders and a massive chest beneath that sedate pinstripe suit. His fedora was pushed far back on his head. Memphis was a black man about thirty years old, very dark-skinned and with his hair trimmed as short as possible. He turned slowly around as if looking for trouble before moving over to open the rear passenger door. "Everything seems quiet enough, Albert," he said. "No sign of any murderous glowing whatevers flying overhead."
Squeezing out from the rear seat of the car, Albert Rigby was not nearly as imposing as his partner. Barely of medium height and rather dumpy-looking despite his suit's tailored attempts to conceal his build, Rigby had a round face and mild blue eyes behind pince-nez whose ribbon hung down to his lapel. "Oh, it's good to stand up," he said. "That was a long ride."
"I quite agree," Memphis responded as he opened the trunk and lifted out two suitcases. "Being stuffed with food doesn't help, I indulged a bit too much at that roundhouse back there."
"Those WERE good pork chops. The dishes of applesauce always aid to the taste, but we both had second helpings which might have been too much." Rigby tightened the knot of his tie and adjusted his jacket. "Ready?"
"Right behind you," Memphis said. He followed his partner up onto the porch and through the front door which had an overhead bell tinkling to announce visitors. Behind the reception desk, a middle-aged man wearing a black vest over a blue dress shirt put down his copy of a pulp magazine and rose to greet them. "Say. I think I know you?"
"Good evening, sir," Rigby said. Behind him, Memphis carefully lowered the suitcases to the thin beige rug and straightened up, looming over his slightly-built partner.
"You are Albert Rigby, are you not?" asked the clerk. "Heh, I've seen those comedy shorts you've done. They showed them before the B-picture. My favorite was the one about having dinner with in-laws you never met before. And I enjoyed one of your books, it's the only one I've seen for sale. GOING BOTH WAYS AT ONCE, that's the one."
Rigby smiled with genuine pleasure. "Oh, glad to meet you, sir. I have a new book at the printers now, it should be in the stores before Christmas. I've starting writing about old folklore, ghost stories and such. Your name would be...?"
"Heins, George Heins. Owner and manager of this establishment, and to be honest it seems I sleep behind this desk more than in my own bed. Would you be wanting a room, Mr Rigby?"
"Yes, very much. One with two beds, if possible, and a private bath." Rigby had reached into his inner jacket pocket to remove his checkbook but he paused at the sour expression on the manager's face.
"Yes. Well, sir, there is a very nice colored couple living in the house half a mile up the road. Mr and Mrs Williamson. They have a few rooms they let out and I'm sure your servant would be perfectly comfortable..."
Rigby's voice did not grow cold or angry. He stayed civil. "No, no, Mr Heins. Memphis is my valet and chaffeur and much more. I try out my stories on him to see if he laughs. I must insist he stay with me."
"Please, suh, I doesn't mean to be no trouble," said Memphis in a completely different voice than the one he had used outside.
"I would be lost without you, Memphis," Rigby insisted. "Well, Mr Heins, if you can't accomodate me, I believe I have no choice but to try somewhere else."
"Well...." Heins was obviously debating with himself. "I don't know. Your man here certainly seems discreet and well-mannered. Fine looking fellow, in fact. But I don't want complaints from other guests."
"Honest, Mistuh Rigby, I wouldn't mind staying with my own," Memphis drawled with a distinct Deep South tinge that had not been there moments earlier.
"No, no, I must insist," Rigby went on. "Here. Let me write out a check this minute. I'm tired and cranky and I will not be denied."
"I suppose," Heins replied. He studied Memphis' stoic face. "You would come and go by the back door, to avoid trouble?"
"Yassuh, certainly." He picked up the suitcases again, which seemed to prompt everyone. Rigby took a suite of three rooms on the floor directly above them, added that he might want to stay a day or so.
"Well then. Supper is served in the common room at eight-thirty. It's meatloaf tonight." Heins rubbed his chin. "Memphis, is it? I could have a tray prepared for you to eat in your rooms."
"Thank you kindly, suh." Like Rigby, Memphis remained polite and even in his tones. "I quite understand."
"Well then, here is your key, Mr Rigby. Maid service is at four in the afternoon but Lucy will knock before she enters. It would be best if your rooms were, ah, unoccupied at the time."
"Don't worry," Rigby responded as he took the large brass key with its wooden tag bearing the room. "Neither Memphis nor I will cause a scandal. Especially since this town is still on edge after those mysterious deaths."
II.
At eleven that night, Rigby came downstairs toward the rear door and saw no one about. Big band music came from behind the office door but at a low level. He gestured the coast was clear to Memphis, who joined him. Finding the rear door unlocked, they stepped out into the night and headed for the car. While the tenants were at supper, the big black man had gone outside and moved the Plymouth around to the hard-packed dirt area behind the building.
Rigby settled into the back seat while Memphis took the wheel and eased the massive car out onto the road before turning on the headlights.
"We're heading north, right?"
"Yes," Rigby answered. "I have been looking over my notes about the strange events in this town. My clipping service thought I might find the deaths interesting. For such a small drowsy Vermont town, the strangest sightings have been made here of odd small glowing objects passing overhead at night. A house burned down, killing all six occupants after one of these objects was seen. Then a man was killed by being pushed off a bridge by something with a body bigger than a dog while his family watched in horror. They were too stunned to make out what it was."
"Sounds like Midnight War, all right."
"You know, Memphis, I notice when we're in public that you've been putting on the accent more heavily than usual lately."
"Heh. Oh, I don't like doing the minstrel show act. It annoys me. But to be honest, most white people feel less threatened by a sleepy-sounding Negro. They relax more around me. Sometimes they let things slip that they wouldn't if I spoke like an educated person."
"I know. Some of our toughest cases were cracked when you overheard useful information." Rigby shifted around in the back seat. "I've never heard of flaming attack beasties before, have you?"
"No, can't say I have. When I put on the Skull helmet, I can hear the voices of previous wearers but it's hard to find anything specific. It's like walking through a party and catching bits and pieces of what people are saying, but there's never time to spend sifting through all the information."
Rigby made a scoffing noise. "We HAVE been busy lately. I'll say the streets are empty. We haven't seen another car yet or even a house with its lights on. This town is scared, scared stiff."
"There's the bridge, I think." Memphis turned the big car right and came to a halt on the side of the road. A short wide stone bridge crossed a dry ravine which stretched fifteen feet below them. The bridge was chipped and dingy with long exposure to the elements but it seemed sound enough. A luminous full moon and an autumn sky packed with stars gave more than enough light to see clearly. Memphis could even make out his own shadow, something he had been as a child told was lucky.
"Let's get out and take a look," Rigby said, opening his door.
"Have you got that Colt I bought for you?"
"No. Sorry, Memphis, I need so much practice before I can be trusted with it. The best I could hope for is only shoot one of my own feet with it and not anyone else. You better handle the rough stuff."
The taller, younger man squared his shoulders and started to speak in annoyance, then caught himself. "I'd feel better if you had it, that's all. I don't dare carry a gun. It's a good way for folks like me to end up hanging from a tree branch."
As his partner strode across the bridge, pausing to gaze down into the ragged ravine below on both sides, Rigby held back a few feet. He took his favorite pipe from his coat pocket but hesitated to pack the bowl. After a second, he tucked the tobacco pouch away again. Better to let Memphis investigate undistracted. Rigby glanced around and a dark old house on a nearby hill caught his attention.
Less than a half mile away, sitting atop a drab hill bare of trees or bushes, the three story house was a black shape against the starry sky. Something about its appearance seemed ominous to Rigby but he could not have elucidated. Why did nothing grow on that slope? The hill seemed stripped of any foliage. He thought he should get a bettter look, find out if even scruffy grass survived near that house.
"I see where the man was shoved off this bridge," Memphis announced in a low somber tone. "The paper gave his name as William L Palmston, and age as forty.
"While his family saw the tragedy," Rigby added. "Something glowing and flaming swooped down to shove him over the railing, but they could not say what it was. His wife..or, his widow I suppose.. said that he didn't even have time to scream before he hit those rocks down there."
Memphis rested his hands on the railing and peered down. "I want to come back during the day. Most likely the police either washed off any blood or covered the impact point over. But honestly, there's nothing here to provide the slightest clue."
"LOOK!" shouted Albert Rigby, grabbing his partner by the arm and swinging him around. "Up by that old dark house."
Rising into the night sky and moving toward the two men with terrifying speed were three large shining forms. Their exact shapes could not be made out. In only a few seconds, the horrors would be upon them.
Memphis gave his partner a hard shove away, making him stumble. "You get in the car right now!"
"What ARE they?"
But in that brief moment, three flickering shapes hurtled headlong down at them. The man known as Memphis braced himself, lifting his left arm defensively. The air around his body blurred and abruptly he was wearing a snug uniform of black leather, with a straight sword sheathed at his left hip and a silver helmet shaped like a human skull on his head.
On his raised arm, a round silver shield had appeared from nowhere and the fiery apparition crashed into that shield, only to rebound as if striking a solid wall.
III.
The Silver Skull immediately pivoted as the second of the horrors rushed at him. His sword whirled in a backhand stroke that cut the flying monster down with a satisfying thunk. Memphis stepped back, saw the first glowing thing still moving feebly and drove the point of his sword deep into its meaty form. He tugged the sword loose, heard Rigby scream and wheeled around.
His friend and partner of the past three years was being carried away. Already out of reach overhead, his legs dangling and thrashing futilely, Albert Rigby was being held in the taloned feet of a luminous bat with a wingspread of more than twelve feet.
"Memphis, Memphis! Help me!" came the panicked scream.
"Hang on, buddy!" the uniformed man yelled back up. It was only now that the Silver Skull could make out what they were fighting. Giant monster bats bigger than any specimens ever reported even in legend. What was making them shimmer like that? The flames around their bodies gave off little heat. Memphis knelt and ripped up a handful of grass from the side of the road as he ran to the Plymouth
Cleaning the sword blade had become such a habit that he didn't realize he was doing it. As he grasped the handle of the driver's door, Memphis shivered. The Silver Skull uniform and weapons vanished and he was back in his normal clothing, with even his neatly blocked fedora squarely on his head. This meant there was no immediate threat to himself. The Skull regalia could be summoned at will, but it tended to disappear when not needed. Memphis hopped in behind the wheel, turned the key and swung the heavy car over onto the stone bridge.
Before he passed the two dead creatures, they both burst into intense white-hot fire. Something to remember, he thought. Alive, they glowed cold but after they were killed, they went up in flames.
IV.
[Inside, the house has had some of its interior walls knocked out to form a single large room. Laboratory equipment and supplies are everywhere. Along one wall, a dozen wire-mesh cages hold the human-sized bats. A middle-aged man in a white lab smock and rubber gloves meets the returning bat, throwing the stunned Rigby against a wooden frame and tying him with rope to it before he can recover his bearings.
The bat is lured into an empty cage with a deep porcelain bowl of blood plasma. As it kneels and laps up the gruesome fluid, the man secures the cage door. He is working on a steaming vat where a phosphorus compound is settling.
Up on the roof, Memphis unfastens a slanted skylight and lightly drops down into the lab.
"What? Who?" The man in the lab coat jumped back a step and glanced around wildly before realizing there was only one intruder. "Who are you? Why are you wearing that ludicrous costume. Is... that a REAL sword?"
"Test me and find out," Memphis snapped. In fact, he was an imposing sight even without the ominous black uniform and weaponry. For some unexplained reason, his eyes were not visible. The eyeholes of the skull-shaped helmet remained as black and empty as if no one was wearing it. "My friend was brought here by one of your little pets."
"Oh, I see. Obviously, you are not one of the incompetent local police officers. Allow me. Anton Novikoff of St Petersburg University and the Sorbonne. Possibly the world's expert on the Chiroptera! Now that I have regained some composure, I recognize your costume. The Silver Skull, yes. I believe you have not been seen for decades, perhaps a century or so."
"I appear when I'm needed," Memphis said. He gestured with his shield arm. "Looking at all the chemicals and beakers and whatever, I guess you coat these giant bats with something that makes them glow and then catch fire."
"Ah, despite your backward rural accent, you are not completely ignorant," the Russian snorted. "Tri-phosphorus with fine aluminum oxide mixed in. Longterm exposure is harmful to the little dears, I regret to say."
The Silver Skull took a menacing step toward the man. "And I suppose you're breeding them to reach this size? I'm surprised they can fly at all."
"These charming beasts are in fact from the adjacent realm of Okali," Novikoff boasted. "Brought to this world with great difficulty. They are not at all easy to maintain, I must say. Wherever Shandor and I relocate, stray dogs and cats tend to be disappear. Hobos and vagrants as well. Heh heh, it's rather droll how many tramps looking for a meal have instead become one!"
V.
"Never mind all that," Memphis interrupted in a voice made hollow and menacing from within the silver helmet. "You stay out of my way right now and your head will stay on your shoulders. Albert, how are you doing over there?"
"A little shaken up, but I guess I am okay," Rigby said. "Certainly glad to see you. Excuse me, Mr Novikoff was it? Do you have any journals or notes about your experiences.
Anton Novikoff blinked and his voice revealed confused. "I don't... What do you care? Why would you even ask such a thing?"
"I might be able to use it as material in my new book," Rigby called over. "To be honest, people who attack my friend with the Skull helmet usually end up in no condition to answer questions."
"I do not find your insolence amusing! It has come to this, then. I expected discovery sooner or later, but from stupid policemen who could be bribed or fast-talked away. Better for you to never have come here, young man."
Glaring at the stocky Russian and stepping still closer, the Silver Skull dropped his right hand across his waist to clasp his sword hilt. "Oh, I think I'm catching on. You brought back something worse than these killer bats from Okali. Come on, brother, spill it. What else is here?"
"There is me," whispered a raspy voice from the shadows at the far end of the lab. In a career filled with witnessing bizarre sights, Memphis had never been more unsettled. A Humanlike body five feet tall but covered with short sleek grey fur, a misshapen head with huge upright ears over a pushing in rodent face, folded bone-ribbed wings protruding up behind him from under his arms, the monster hobbled forward with his weight resting largely on a solid walking stick.
Red eyes smoldered. The fanged muzzle opened and the thing spoke perfectly intelligible English. "Ah. There are many more colorful inhabitants of Okali than even the wisest Humans know about," he chuckled. "The Speaking Apes, the manticores, the Centaurs, great lake serpents, so much more. I have learned your language in the past few years. Am I an apt student, Anton?"
"Yes indeed," said the Russian. "Shandor is at near-genius levels, he has picked up much world history and the customs of this crude country as well. That is not his true name, of course."
"It will do," the creature laughed. He moved closer to the intruder in the black uniform. "The Silver Skull. I really thought you were only a legend from the Darthan Age."
"Oh, you'll find I'm real enough if you get much closer. Listen. I'm taking my friend home. Be glad he hasn't been harmed. I'm going to cut him down and take him out of your crazy little chamber of horrors."
Shandor laughed again. He stood more upright and spread his leathery wings to their full twelve-foot span. "The confidence of the ignorant. You are facing not only a killer bat of Okali, but THE killer bat... their King. And I can smell that your blood is hot and rich and salty."
With that, the Silver Skull whipped out his sword and drew the circular shield around in front of him. "I've seen some of those stupid Dracula movies. Vampire bat, huh? Well, I don't carry a cross or any garlic but I don't need them."
"You still do not understand," the monster retorted. He flung his cane hard to one side near Memphis, drawing the Skull's attention for a split-second, flapping those great wings and rising up to crash hard into his intended victim. Shandor's bare feet were prehensile as hands. One closed around the wrist holding the sword and the other clamped on the shield arm with agonizing strength far beyond mortal man's ability to match.
The monster gripped the Silver Skull's neck with both hands, whipping his wings back and forth to keep his prey off balance. "Yes. Yes. Your common vampire bats that you read of sometimes? They are descended from we killer bats of Okali, grown small and nearly harmless compared to us. I am so amused to hear of these motion pictures which depict them as assuming human shape."
"The Undead are tougher than you," Memphis replied in a strangely assured tone. "You are only living flesh and blood." He drew his head back and smashed the front of his silver helmet into Shandor's muzzle as hard as he possibly could. The creature's grip weakened. Memphis wrested himself free, got his footing and spun the sword in a horizontal arc that slit open a shallow wound on the killer bat's torso. Shandor rose straight up, barely escaping another murderous swipe from that razor-edged blade.
"Dammit!" grunted Memphis. He lowered his sword to the damp stone floor and whipped the round shield from his left forearm, flinging it backhand like a discus with the skill of long experience. The sharp edge dug into the monster's back but did not catch, and the shield fell to clatter to the floor. In another second, Shandor was plunging through the open skylight and out into the night.
"I will never saw I have seen everything," Albert Rigby called over. His voice was weak but undefeated.
"Hang in there, pal," replied the Silver Skull. He called back his shield and it appeared on his arm again in a faint glimmer of blue light. One of the properties of his equipment was that he could not separated from any of it. He held out his hand and the straight sword Chalcemar suddenly was clasped in his grip again. "I'll get you down."
"Look out! Look behind you!" Rigby shrieked.
Wheeling, shield up and sword held point forward, the Silver Skull saw with a cold twinge that Anton had opened all the wire frame cages. A dozen of the huge bats were whirling and fluttering straight at him, and they glowed with the tri-phosphorus compound. Memphis had no time to think, only react. He stepped in front of where his partner was tied. Setting his boots firmly, he growled, "Try me and find out, boys."
A nightmare of hacking at bodies that spurted blood, of fending off fangs trying to get under his helmet at his neck. of kicking brutally at fallen killer bats... the ordeal seemed to last forever but only a few minutes elapsed before Memphis was swaying weakly over a floor littered with dead and dying monsters which glowed white hot.
"Gah-DAMN, that wasn't easy," he gasped. "All right, Albert, we need to make tracks out of here." As he used the bloodied edge of his sword to saw easily through the ropes, Memphis paused at the flickering light. Several of the bats had burst into flame hot as thermite, igniting the heavy wool drapes and quickly catching the wooden roof on fire as well. As he stared for that second, another of the killer bats popped open into a glaring fireball.
"This house is old as Perdition," Rigby shouted, stamping his feet to help the circulation. "It's going to go up like a bonfire. Let's go, Memphis!"
Sheathing his sword, the Silver Skull pointed at a twisted body curled up under a bench. "That Russian fellow, Anton Whatever-His-Name was. Looks like one of those bloodsuckers finished him off."
"I can't say I'm sorry, my friend." Rigby grabbed the much stronger man by an arm and trying yanking him along. "My word, are you filled with lead or something?"
"All muscle and bone," Memphis replied in the first hint of a lighter tone. They both hustled across the blazing lab, now filling with noxious gases as some of experimental chemicals caught on fire. Oily black smoke swirled and curled behinf them as if trying to delay their escape. But in a minute, they staggered outside and lurched unsteadily down the hill away from the conflagration. Both had endured a lot that night, and they weren't at their best.
As they nearer the stone bridge, a flicker passed over Memphis and the black outfit with its helmet and sword and shield was gone. He wore his normal suit and tie, even his hat was tilted at an angle on his close-cropped hair. "Oh. Oh, that's a relief."
"I'll tell the world it is." Albert Rigby rubbed an appreciative hand across his partner's muscular back. "When I see your Silver Skull outfit go away, I know the danger is over. For the moment at least."
"Look at that house cracking away," Memphis said. "We better sneak back into the hotel before the whole town is rousted. Getting blamed for starting that is not on my agenda."
In the back seat as they rolled back through the darkened streets, Rigby sniffed at his sleeve. "And I stink. Between the fire and the phosophorus, I'm not exactly a handful of fresh roses damp with dew."
"Here we are at the hotel," Memphis said. "No lights on yet. Quick. I think you need to take a quick bath and change into your spare clothes. Then I for one intend to sleep until three o'clock tomorrow afternoon."
"Sounds like a plan." Albert Rigby got out of the rear of the car and gently closed the door. "Now I'm wondered about that batman freak. Shandor. He flew out the window, Memphis, he got away. He's still out there."
Ushering his partner toward the back door of the hotel, the Silver Skull whispered,"The way he looks? He won't be hard to find."
12/12/2020
