"Salts of the Earth" - October 10, 2024
Waking up in a dungeon surrounded by monsters was not how Robert thought his day would go...
Every Thursday, Silver Gecko Publishing highlights one of my stories, either a work of short fiction, a novel, or an audiobook. This week’s selection is the short story “The Salts of the Earth.”
This story premiered in my horror anthology 13 TURNS. I was going through a huge H.P. Lovecraft phase at the time I wrote this, so you will see plenty of his influence in the style and subject matter. Keep an eye out for some cameos of infamous Lovecraft creatures and elements.
A good friend of mine in the 90s was the one who turned me onto Lovecraft’s work, and I will forever be grateful. Sadly, I learned a couple weeks ago that he had unexpectedly passed away. So if you’re reading this, have a toast of Guinness to my old pal Ron Crow. (Ron loved Guinness, as any good Irishman should!)
If you like the story, be sure to pick up your own copy of 13 TURNS on Kindle and in paperback.
-Kevin Carr
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Illustration by annbal (@annbal-2197203) from Pixabay
“The Salts of the Earth” by Kevin Carr
Tentacles reached for my legs. I jerked away, losing my balance and falling backwards into a puddle of filth.
Where the Hell am I?
I remembered my name was Robert. And I remembered distant images of smoky battles in open fields. I remembered the blood. I remembered the carnage. But all the rest was gray.
I kept hoping it would come back to me.
I pushed my hands against the wall to balance myself as I stood. My back brushed along spider webs and crumbling stone. The stench of the dungeon wafted up to my nose, and I grimaced. My legs wobbled, knees fighting to keep balance. How long had it been since I’d stood?
The tentacles – thick and green and octopoid – lashed out again, but I pulled myself away. They grasped only air. Long rows of suction cups lined them, and in the center of each was a yellow claw, like an eagle’s talon. Was this another prisoner in these wretched catacombs? Or was it a guard?
I heard the cries of rats deep within the walls and could smell their musty, heavy odor. Something skirted across my neck, then disappeared.
Regaining my breath, I reached out and pushed the iron gate of my cell. The hinges squealed painfully, and the door swung only half-open, enough for an escape. I squeezed past the thrashing tentacles and through the doorway.
The catacombs seemed to stretch forever. Dim light strained through grates in the ceiling, and a syrupy green muck dripped from their bars. A heavy mist covered the floor, engulfing my ankles.
At the end of the hall, I saw a door leading to a stone stairway, spiraling up out of sight.
A screech reverberated deep through the catacombs, and I tensed up. The echoes masked both its origin and proximity, and I broke into a run. As I sped by the other cells, I glimpsed the monstrosities inside – bulbous octopoid creatures with writhing tentacles... skeletal frames with flesh like dust, crumbling under the poor wretches’ movements... screaming figures that could have once been human but have since rotted away... shapeless forms... massive blobs of jelly... all moving, moving closer to me, but unable to reach beyond their cold, iron gates.
Then a few yards from the stairs, I heard a voice. It cut above the incessant wailing of the others for the mere fact that it sounded human!
“Robert!”
My feet skidded to a stop when I heard my name.
“Robert!”
I backed up several yards and turned to my left, peering in the cages. Dark, fuzzy shadows of the iron bars cut through the cells, forming spider webs against the back walls. I instantly recognized the man huddled in the corner of one cage. My sworn adversary.
“Robert...” he pleaded, crouching against the wall. “Please... help me...”
I could not forget his slovenly dress and haggard beard. If only a cigar dangled from his trembling lips he would have looked complete...
...except for the terror in his eyes. Before that moment, I did not believe this man knew terror.
“Hiram...” I said, stepping closer, reaching out to grip the iron bars. “What in God’s name are you doing here?”
He threw his hands up as I pulled open the gate, a frantic look on his face.
“Don’t...” he began too late. The gate had not been locked and it swung open, creaking on its rusty hinges.
An inhuman screech split the air. From the dark side of the doorway, a gray mottled arm swung out, striking my chest with tremendous force. My flailing hand grabbed the iron gate as I stumbled backwards. I fell to my knees and spun around, facing the opposing cages. Tentacles reached from the walls to grasp at my legs, and I quickly drew away. An eerie hiss, which sounded disappointed, filled the air.
I recovered to my feet, scrambling, holding onto the iron door. My eyes turned to look at Hiram, and I knew why he crouched in the far corner.
A hideous figure filled the doorway, snapping at me with jagged, yellow teeth. It lunged from Hiram’s cell, but a force from behind instantly stopped it short by the neck. The beast made a choking noise. A rusty iron ring clamped around its neck held it fast. A black, corroded chain stretched from that ring to the corner of the cell.
“What in God’s name is going on here?” I gasped.
His voice returned, soft with exhaustion and fear. “I don’t know. Do either of us even know where here is? Robert, I need your help. We are both gentlemen. I know we have met before in combat, but we are both gentlemen. For God’s sake, we are both HUMAN! Please do not leave me here!”
“How did you get here?”
“I don’t know. Same way as you, I suppose. I woke up in this cell, guarded by this hideous beast.”
My mind flew back to my own escape from my cell and the tentacles that tried to hold me at bay. It appeared as if both our guards were designed to restrain us, but not harm us – at least not immediately.
“I couldn’t leave any person in this Hell,” I told Hiram. “If either of us are to escape, we will do so together.”
I stepped forward and sized up my opponent. It stretched its chain as far as possible, revealing only part of itself in the dim light. Shadows covered the rest. For that, I was grateful.
The thing seemed roughly bipedal, slumping forward in an ape-ish stance. The sloping forehead and long snout gave it a canine look, but only thin strands of dingy white hair threaded from its scalp. Splotches of gray covered its ghost-white arms which grasped wildly at me. The bony claws could have once been human hands, but were now covered with flaking, mold-caked scales. The fiendish subject gnashed its teeth, drawing my gaze to its pointed ears, bloodshot eyes, flat nose, and drooling lips. I looked into its glaring red sockets and felt the very essence of panic rise in my belly.
The hideous creature seemed to laugh and stepped forward with half-hoofed feet, pulling its chain tight. A look that I took to be of frustration washed over its face. It snarled.
Taking its moment of surprise as an opportunity, I charged. It reared back and kicked the ground with its hooves. Reaching black claws forward, it awaited me.
At the last moment, I reached to the side and grabbed hold of the iron door. The thing turned, keeping me in its sight. It reached through the bars with a bony claw and clutched the sleeve of my coat. Straining against the chain, it craned its head around the edge of the iron door and snapped at me with dribbling, yellow fangs.
I snatched a lock of its long, gray hair and pulled tight. The beast let go of my sleeve and yelped. Yanking its head downward, I threw my weight against the door, causing it to swing forward. It tried to pull away, but was not fast enough. The hard iron edge crashed down on its skull, smashing it against the stone jamb with a hollow pop! The beast let out a muffled squawk, its limbs spasmed suddenly, then fell limp. The creature crumbled to a heap in the doorway, its skull split open like a melon. The stench which poured out caused me to gag.
Already, Hiram was on his feet and running towards me. I reached out a hand and pulled him forward.
“Come,” I said, stepping over the dead body. “I think I see the way out.”
Hiram followed me as I ran towards the stone stairs. Shrieks and wails of the monstrosities in the catacombs followed us, growing softer and softer as we ascended, but never quite fading completely away.
A large wooden door greeted us at the top.
“Try it,” Hiram said softly. “It may be open.”
I nodded and grasped the handle. To my surprise, it turned easily, clicked, and opened into a brightly-lit room. I blinked and shielded my eyes.
We stood on one end of a massive ballroom, stretching at least thirty yards to the other side. From the high ceiling hung two massive chandeliers. Six-foot frames lined the walls, holding portraits of stately-looking men – all old... all white as sheets... and none smiling.
An immense Persian rug – its worth incalculable – covered the entire floor. Opposite us, a stunning, gold-etched archway led to another room. At the far end of that room, an decrepit man stood behind a dark-stained oak podium. A dark brown sore had scabbed over the side of his nose, eating away at his own face. In his hand, he held up a fat, smoky jar sealed with clamps. The audience before him sat with their backs to us; I could see only their heads – most of them bald and splotchy. A few sported thick rugs of silver.
“Come,” Hiram said, moving forward.
I watched as Hiram stepped onto the intricate designs of the Persian rug and winced at the dark tracks his wet shoes made. Typical of Hiram: never too concerned with fancies.
I swallowed hard and followed after wiping my shoes as clean as possible on a small throw rug to the side. I caught up next to my companion as he passed midway through the room. We heard the ancient man on stage speak:
“And our next item, kind sirs, is fifty grams of Benito Mussolini...”
An excited murmur ran through the crowd. Several people clapped.
Hiram and I reached the archway where I noticed, above the golden design near the keystone, a plaque. It read:
I say to you againe, doe not call up Any that you cannot put downe.
– Jedediah Orne’s letter to Joseph Curwen, 1770
Hiram ignored the plaque and stepped boldly into the other room.
“Let’s start the bidding at a thousand...” the old man’s voice echoed in the open space. It broke off suddenly when he noticed us. His face froze.
Then he smiled.
The rest of the audience followed his gaze, and they started to fidget in their seats, turning to see what stood in the doorway.
Gasps and murmurs ran through the crowd. The members grinned and whispered to one another, pointing at us as if we were animals in a cage.
Then, one of the men stood up, his frail frame wobbling as he steadied himself on his chair.
He began to clap.
The sound infected the others who joined in with vigorous applause. A few cheers sprinkled through the crowd.
“Gentlemen!” the leader at the podium shouted over the din. “The Generals have arrived.”
With the announcement, the crowd cheered louder. I stepped backwards.…