The Dark Boatman: Tales of Horror and the Cthulhu Mythos Read Online Free PDF Page A

It looks like a boat, rather a primitive design, and there are leaves, or perhaps flames, in the background. Do you mind if I keep it for a while? I’d like to have the experts look at it. I’ll let you have it back.”
    “You may keep it if you wish,” I said. “It’s of no interest to me and I’ve no idea of its worth.”
    “It could be extremely valuable,” he remarked, eyeing me dubiously as if reluctant to accept it.
    Had I known of its true meaning and value, I would certainly never have let him have it for, unwittingly, by that simple act I had brought doom upon both of us. For Ambrose is gone now, like all the others of my accursed family. Some might say he went in my place, and my only consolation is that his fate was not as terrible as mine is likely to be.
    That afternoon, we decided to explore the upper rooms, for I was now anxious to discover the whereabouts of the clock that had featured so strangely in my uncle’s letter. But though we searched every room on the top floor, we found no sign of anything even remotely resembling a clock. It might have well gone undiscovered had it not been for Ambrose’s sharp eyes later that afternoon.
    Disappointed in our efforts to find a clock, he went out into the grounds to look, instead, for the family mausoleum, which I was certain had to be located somewhere within walking distance of the house. Most of the grounds lay to one side of the house, and at the front where they stretched in the direction of the narrow track that served as a road. Very little vegetation of any kind grew close to the cliff edge, for here there was only a meager covering of soil on top of hard rock. But elsewhere stood a veritable forest of tall trees and bushes, which had long gone untended.
    The unnatural growth of vegetation was not due only to years of neglect, however. We came across several places where grotesque plants flourished in such wild profusion we were forced to literally hack our way through them. Long, creeping tendrils as thick as my wrist coiled and intertwined among patches of abnormally large fungi of such garish colours and hideous configurations it was almost impossible to believe they were natural species. Everything we saw seemed changed , as if the roots which penetrated deep into the soil sucked some blasphemous nourishment from the earth, transforming and mutating them into the shapes they now possessed.
    The mausoleum, when we eventually found it, was an unobtrusive, low building, concealed within the trees close to the eastern boundary of the property. Very little of the structure was visible apart from the huge door that sloped backward at the bottom of a short flight of steps leading below ground level.
    I had not thought to bring a key with me but, to our surprise, the heavy door was not locked and readily yielded to our efforts.
    Ambrose had brought a powerful torch and, stepping inside, he shone the beam around the dark interior. It was considerably larger than we had anticipated from the outside, clearly built many centuries earlier from stone blocks which had survived the years remarkably well.
    So this was where the Dexter dead lay interred, I mused as I glanced at the long rows of coffins stacked along the walls. That they were indeed those of my ancestors appeared evident from the state of increasing decay, the further they lay from the door. Those against the far wall had all but crumbled into mouldy heaps of dry dust.
    Yet there was still a nagging suspicion at the back of my mind, one that had to be confirmed or stilled forever. Motioning Ambrose to hold the torch steady, I gripped the outer edge of the coffin lid nearest me and slid it aside. Tilting the torch, Ambrose shone the beam directly into the coffin, revealing to our startled gaze that it was empty. In my mind, there was no doubt at all that it had never been occupied. An examination of several others confirmed my suspicions, for inwardly, I had been half-expecting something like this,