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From: Mr. Zebulon Pike, Coffin Rock, Colorado
To: Mrs. Hannelore West, Kingsport, Mass.
November 1879
Dearest Sister,
It was my staying up far too late last night that may have saved my life early this morning. After completing my letter to you, I decided to merely doze in the chair rather than undressing and climbing into bed as my thoughts were still full of ideas and it would be an advantage to wake and be able to immediately turn and make a note rather than having to climb out of bed and across the room. It was in that state of near wakefulness that I heard someone turn the door’s latch..
In the gloom, he trod carefully towards the bed and leapt upon it with a canvas sack, expecting to find me there and thus, caught unawares, captured. I stood from my chair, snatched up the pistol from the table and fired at my attacker. It could have been the darkness or my being still partially asleep or even the dexterous avoidance of my attacker but, in any case, several shots failed to find their mark. I grabbed my cane and with it disgorged a cone of flame that quickly resolved the matter.
I threw a basin of water onto the flaming corpse on the bed and wrapped the blankets about it so that the flames did not spread to ignite the rest of the room and went out to the hall to learn that all of my fellow comrades had been similarly attacked, each dispatching their assailants according to their talents. One was captured alive and relatively unharmed by the thaumaturgy of Mr. Pace and, when interrogated, revealed that they had been sent by the missing Reverend to capture us. He also informed us that the Reverend's lair was located in the otherwise abandoned copper mine.
These so-called revelations I had easily deduced the night before with all the information and events we had gathered up to this point so, as had already been intended, we climbed the hill to the mine’s main entrance, leaving the cultist locked in the jail and the hotel proprietor to clean up the carnage left in our rooms.
The mine’s vertical elevator had been trapped, loosing a number of sizable rocks to fall upon us as we descended. I suffered a solid pummeling and the continuing pain in my side leads me to believe I have broken a number of ribs. Even injured, I was able to disarm several subsequent traps and thus prevent further injury.
On this excursion into the mines, I had brought my arc lamp and while it could be set to a brightness as intense as full daylight, I kept the setting low. At one turn, Miss LaRue stopped as if she had seen something. I myself saw only dancing shadows but others seemed to be able to see what she had and, in fact, started conversing with the shades. It was conveyed that these hidden voices I could not hear were the ghosts of miners whose bodies were being possessed by evil spirits and made to act on the Reverend’s behalf. These animated corpses were what I had been referring to as golems. The miner’s spirits said that they could not advance further because of the mystical barrier in the lower chambers but if we were willing to allow them to take possession of our bodies, we could carry them past the barrier where they could perhaps be of further assistance.
I was not convinced of the efficacy of this plan and declined. Miss LaRue and Mr. Bongiovi accepted and after only a momentary expression of discomfort and confusion, seemed to return to normal but now carrying additional spirits within themselves.
We continued through the tunnels, finally coming to a cavernous chamber. Above a pit of boiling mud hovered a glowing spheroid with the nebulous form resembling a great bear contained within. About the pit stood several more golem-creatures and far across the chamber on a rocky ledge, flanked by several more golems, stood the Reverend. Mr. Tobin later explained, as was explained to him by the old Indian in Castle Rock, that the bear form was a captured forest spirit and, the forces of darkness were feeding off of its power. Even without the explanation I saw the interconnectedness of these various elements like an organic clockwork and deduced that the Reverend was the winding key.
As chaos erupted about me, with gunfire and yelling, ghosts and monsters, I calculated the effects of distance, velocity, mass, ballistic coefficient, windage and the target’s gyrations. When the variables settled and the variance tended to zero, I pulled the trigger. The Reverend’s head snapped back with a satisfying swiftness and his body fell immediately. My previous experience has impressed upon me the importance of making doubly sure and I rushed across the room. As I attempted to clamber up the ledge, one of the golems grabbed the Reverends apparently lifeless body and disappeared into the wall. On reaching the place, I could find no signs of either door or passage and thought perhaps the earthen nature of the golems had allowed it to pass through the stone itself.
After the melee was complete, the Reverend, not as dead as I had hoped, rushed spectre-like from the cave wall, leapt from the ledge and dived into the boiling mud. On closer examination, bursting bubbles of mud revealed momentary glimpses of the town and surrounding countryside.
At the time, I didn’t considered the mechanics of the issue, just as when I left the Indian’s cave I only had the mystery of the experience. But now, as I’ve had a chance to think of it, I may now have and explanation of how I had exited the Indian’s cave into the church miles away. Imagine, if you will, a world of one lesser dimension than our own, like a great map sheet. Were one to fold the sheet, one could bring two otherwise distant locations next to one another, separated by only the thickness of the page itself. One might think that to go though to the other side, one would be required to poke a hole in the page but, as we are talking about dimensions and not paper, there would actually be no thickness of the page to separate them. Bring them to touching and one location would become the other instantaneously.
It is a marvelous insight into the very foundations of existence and the possibilities are staggering. For now, this is an intriguing thought experiment but, as I gather more data and, as the mystics seem to have proven the concept, it is only a matter time before I am able to deduce the underlying mechanisms and bend sufficient power and mechanisms to the task to manipulate space itself.
But first, back to the narrative at hand.
With the golems dispatched, the spirits of the murdered miners released and the Reverend’s power at the very least disrupted by a bullet in the head, the forest spirit was apparently regaining his strength with thanks to our intervention. The breaking of the dark hold on the region would require that the issue with the Reverend be settled once and for finally so we pursued him into the boiling mud with its bubbles of alternate space. But, as with the chaotic nature of the boiling liquid, our pursuit was scattered and I found myself suddenly tumbling out of a chifferobe in the brothel.
I imagine that, had I entered through the front door like a patron, I would have been smiled at, pampered, seduced and ultimately drained of my life force, much like a number of residents of the town had already experienced over the months of their presence. Instead, bursting unexpectedly out of the furniture into the creatures’ salon, they resorted immediately to physical violence. One corseted harpy leapt upon my back, embraced me with arms and legs, and sunk sharp teeth into my shoulder. Three others attempted similar actions from fore and flank but I was able to keep them back with several wild shots from my pistol.
Another bite from my clinging assailant urged me to take more decisive action before she was able to find an artery with her sharp teeth and I thumbed the action on my cane. The first burst caught one of the succubi full on, the second sprayed across another. To settle things with the one on my back I crossed my arms and with the nozzle of the cane across one shoulder and the pistol across the other I triggered both. The creature fell from my back and with my ear ringing and my balance disturbed by the firearms adjacent report, I turned and fired several more, ill-placed but ultimately effective rounds. I fired several more times at flailing, flaming forms as I escaped the inferno of the salon and stumbled from the building.
The church bell was ringing, no doubt the Reverand returned to his lair and rallying his remaining followers. Instead of going to the front door, I proceeded to the rear of the building adjacent to where I knew he would likely be, standing next to his copper altar. Messrs. Pace and Sombraro were able to join me there from wherever it was that the passage through the boiling mud gateway had deposited them as I set several sticks of dynamite against the wall. We took cover around the corner of the building and, as soon as the detonation blasted a hole through the wall, rushed back.
There was the Reverand Cheval, knocked to his knees before the overturned altar. His eyes were black and lifeless and the gaping hole in his head showed where my bullet had flown true in the cavern, yet he was very much alive, or rather, animated by some possessing spirit, much like his golems. I did not think on this in that moment but quickly raised my pistol and pulled the trigger only to hear the hollow sound of the hammer dropping on an empty cylinder. With all nine .41 caliber chambers empty, it would take me precious several moments to reset the hammer to discharge the undersling shotgun so I jumped at him through the smoldering wall. Too late, as he dropped down into the tunnel. But not so swift that he could avoid the conflagrative discharge from my cane.
I could see him writhing and screaming as the intense liquid fire immolated him. I kept the trigger depressed until the chamber was completely discharged and the tunnel mouth was like the glory hole of a blast furnace.
As the church collapsed about me I waited until the flames subsided enough that I could approach, reset the trigger, and file an ounce of lead shot into his dephlogisticated face. This shattered his skull completely and it was finally over.
As I expected, with the death of the Reverand, those surviving cultist who shortly before had been trying to kill us, awakened from their mesmerism as confused but otherwise normal townspeople. And although the pervasive feelings of illness have been lifted from the town, I myself have taken quite a battering over the past several days. Burns, bruises, bites and broken ribs. I am well versed in the medical arts but it is difficult to treat ones own injuries and I have less than full confidence in the abilities of anyone here, either my traveling companions or townspeople, to treat my wounds. Therefore, after a good night’s sleep I will travel back down to the train and from there travel on to Denver. My comrades seem inclined to stay in Coffin Rock to aid in the rebuilding and, more importantly, to hunt down any remaining spirit golems.
I may take this opportunity to stay in Denver to not only obtain the much sought after additional railcar, and replace my burned clothing but also to work on several projects and, of course, my fabric theory of the universe.
With unwavering fondness,
Zebulon
To: Mrs. Hannelore West, Kingsport, Mass.
November 1879
Dearest Sister,
It was my staying up far too late last night that may have saved my life early this morning. After completing my letter to you, I decided to merely doze in the chair rather than undressing and climbing into bed as my thoughts were still full of ideas and it would be an advantage to wake and be able to immediately turn and make a note rather than having to climb out of bed and across the room. It was in that state of near wakefulness that I heard someone turn the door’s latch..
In the gloom, he trod carefully towards the bed and leapt upon it with a canvas sack, expecting to find me there and thus, caught unawares, captured. I stood from my chair, snatched up the pistol from the table and fired at my attacker. It could have been the darkness or my being still partially asleep or even the dexterous avoidance of my attacker but, in any case, several shots failed to find their mark. I grabbed my cane and with it disgorged a cone of flame that quickly resolved the matter.
I threw a basin of water onto the flaming corpse on the bed and wrapped the blankets about it so that the flames did not spread to ignite the rest of the room and went out to the hall to learn that all of my fellow comrades had been similarly attacked, each dispatching their assailants according to their talents. One was captured alive and relatively unharmed by the thaumaturgy of Mr. Pace and, when interrogated, revealed that they had been sent by the missing Reverend to capture us. He also informed us that the Reverend's lair was located in the otherwise abandoned copper mine.
These so-called revelations I had easily deduced the night before with all the information and events we had gathered up to this point so, as had already been intended, we climbed the hill to the mine’s main entrance, leaving the cultist locked in the jail and the hotel proprietor to clean up the carnage left in our rooms.
The mine’s vertical elevator had been trapped, loosing a number of sizable rocks to fall upon us as we descended. I suffered a solid pummeling and the continuing pain in my side leads me to believe I have broken a number of ribs. Even injured, I was able to disarm several subsequent traps and thus prevent further injury.
On this excursion into the mines, I had brought my arc lamp and while it could be set to a brightness as intense as full daylight, I kept the setting low. At one turn, Miss LaRue stopped as if she had seen something. I myself saw only dancing shadows but others seemed to be able to see what she had and, in fact, started conversing with the shades. It was conveyed that these hidden voices I could not hear were the ghosts of miners whose bodies were being possessed by evil spirits and made to act on the Reverend’s behalf. These animated corpses were what I had been referring to as golems. The miner’s spirits said that they could not advance further because of the mystical barrier in the lower chambers but if we were willing to allow them to take possession of our bodies, we could carry them past the barrier where they could perhaps be of further assistance.
I was not convinced of the efficacy of this plan and declined. Miss LaRue and Mr. Bongiovi accepted and after only a momentary expression of discomfort and confusion, seemed to return to normal but now carrying additional spirits within themselves.
We continued through the tunnels, finally coming to a cavernous chamber. Above a pit of boiling mud hovered a glowing spheroid with the nebulous form resembling a great bear contained within. About the pit stood several more golem-creatures and far across the chamber on a rocky ledge, flanked by several more golems, stood the Reverend. Mr. Tobin later explained, as was explained to him by the old Indian in Castle Rock, that the bear form was a captured forest spirit and, the forces of darkness were feeding off of its power. Even without the explanation I saw the interconnectedness of these various elements like an organic clockwork and deduced that the Reverend was the winding key.
As chaos erupted about me, with gunfire and yelling, ghosts and monsters, I calculated the effects of distance, velocity, mass, ballistic coefficient, windage and the target’s gyrations. When the variables settled and the variance tended to zero, I pulled the trigger. The Reverend’s head snapped back with a satisfying swiftness and his body fell immediately. My previous experience has impressed upon me the importance of making doubly sure and I rushed across the room. As I attempted to clamber up the ledge, one of the golems grabbed the Reverends apparently lifeless body and disappeared into the wall. On reaching the place, I could find no signs of either door or passage and thought perhaps the earthen nature of the golems had allowed it to pass through the stone itself.
After the melee was complete, the Reverend, not as dead as I had hoped, rushed spectre-like from the cave wall, leapt from the ledge and dived into the boiling mud. On closer examination, bursting bubbles of mud revealed momentary glimpses of the town and surrounding countryside.
At the time, I didn’t considered the mechanics of the issue, just as when I left the Indian’s cave I only had the mystery of the experience. But now, as I’ve had a chance to think of it, I may now have and explanation of how I had exited the Indian’s cave into the church miles away. Imagine, if you will, a world of one lesser dimension than our own, like a great map sheet. Were one to fold the sheet, one could bring two otherwise distant locations next to one another, separated by only the thickness of the page itself. One might think that to go though to the other side, one would be required to poke a hole in the page but, as we are talking about dimensions and not paper, there would actually be no thickness of the page to separate them. Bring them to touching and one location would become the other instantaneously.
It is a marvelous insight into the very foundations of existence and the possibilities are staggering. For now, this is an intriguing thought experiment but, as I gather more data and, as the mystics seem to have proven the concept, it is only a matter time before I am able to deduce the underlying mechanisms and bend sufficient power and mechanisms to the task to manipulate space itself.
But first, back to the narrative at hand.
With the golems dispatched, the spirits of the murdered miners released and the Reverend’s power at the very least disrupted by a bullet in the head, the forest spirit was apparently regaining his strength with thanks to our intervention. The breaking of the dark hold on the region would require that the issue with the Reverend be settled once and for finally so we pursued him into the boiling mud with its bubbles of alternate space. But, as with the chaotic nature of the boiling liquid, our pursuit was scattered and I found myself suddenly tumbling out of a chifferobe in the brothel.
I imagine that, had I entered through the front door like a patron, I would have been smiled at, pampered, seduced and ultimately drained of my life force, much like a number of residents of the town had already experienced over the months of their presence. Instead, bursting unexpectedly out of the furniture into the creatures’ salon, they resorted immediately to physical violence. One corseted harpy leapt upon my back, embraced me with arms and legs, and sunk sharp teeth into my shoulder. Three others attempted similar actions from fore and flank but I was able to keep them back with several wild shots from my pistol.
Another bite from my clinging assailant urged me to take more decisive action before she was able to find an artery with her sharp teeth and I thumbed the action on my cane. The first burst caught one of the succubi full on, the second sprayed across another. To settle things with the one on my back I crossed my arms and with the nozzle of the cane across one shoulder and the pistol across the other I triggered both. The creature fell from my back and with my ear ringing and my balance disturbed by the firearms adjacent report, I turned and fired several more, ill-placed but ultimately effective rounds. I fired several more times at flailing, flaming forms as I escaped the inferno of the salon and stumbled from the building.
The church bell was ringing, no doubt the Reverand returned to his lair and rallying his remaining followers. Instead of going to the front door, I proceeded to the rear of the building adjacent to where I knew he would likely be, standing next to his copper altar. Messrs. Pace and Sombraro were able to join me there from wherever it was that the passage through the boiling mud gateway had deposited them as I set several sticks of dynamite against the wall. We took cover around the corner of the building and, as soon as the detonation blasted a hole through the wall, rushed back.
There was the Reverand Cheval, knocked to his knees before the overturned altar. His eyes were black and lifeless and the gaping hole in his head showed where my bullet had flown true in the cavern, yet he was very much alive, or rather, animated by some possessing spirit, much like his golems. I did not think on this in that moment but quickly raised my pistol and pulled the trigger only to hear the hollow sound of the hammer dropping on an empty cylinder. With all nine .41 caliber chambers empty, it would take me precious several moments to reset the hammer to discharge the undersling shotgun so I jumped at him through the smoldering wall. Too late, as he dropped down into the tunnel. But not so swift that he could avoid the conflagrative discharge from my cane.
I could see him writhing and screaming as the intense liquid fire immolated him. I kept the trigger depressed until the chamber was completely discharged and the tunnel mouth was like the glory hole of a blast furnace.
As the church collapsed about me I waited until the flames subsided enough that I could approach, reset the trigger, and file an ounce of lead shot into his dephlogisticated face. This shattered his skull completely and it was finally over.
As I expected, with the death of the Reverand, those surviving cultist who shortly before had been trying to kill us, awakened from their mesmerism as confused but otherwise normal townspeople. And although the pervasive feelings of illness have been lifted from the town, I myself have taken quite a battering over the past several days. Burns, bruises, bites and broken ribs. I am well versed in the medical arts but it is difficult to treat ones own injuries and I have less than full confidence in the abilities of anyone here, either my traveling companions or townspeople, to treat my wounds. Therefore, after a good night’s sleep I will travel back down to the train and from there travel on to Denver. My comrades seem inclined to stay in Coffin Rock to aid in the rebuilding and, more importantly, to hunt down any remaining spirit golems.
I may take this opportunity to stay in Denver to not only obtain the much sought after additional railcar, and replace my burned clothing but also to work on several projects and, of course, my fabric theory of the universe.
With unwavering fondness,
Zebulon
