Free The Lonely Shadows: Tales of Horror and the Cthulhu Mythos by John Glasby Page B

They had to get out of this nightmare place. But how? It was something for which he had no answer at the moment.
    Kestro came forward, his face very evil, and pushed aside the black drapery revealing a narrow door set deep into the wall. He unlocked it with a key from his pocket and motioned them inside.
    Kennett stepped through with Fisher following close on his heels. Then he halted in mid-stride, all the fear coming back like a cold hand clutching at his heart, speeding it up, gripping the muscles of his chest.
    The first impression that forced itself on his dazed mind was—blackness! The room was long with a low ceiling and even the walls were black, smooth and shiny. Black tapestries, embroidered with the ancient symbols of the Order of Sathanas hung everywhere.
    At the far end was a vast altar, a thing of black marble, surmounted by a huge broken Cross being crushed in the coils of a gigantic black serpent. Black candles of pitch stood on either side, flickering dimly in the darkness.
    The altar cloth was embroidered with gold, studded with precious stones that winked mockingly at Kennett, jeering at him out of a thousand eyes of blue and red and green; depicting scenes from the Book of Set.
    And in front of the altar, rising from the cold smoothness of the temple floor, was a rough stone slab, badly discoloured with dark stains that time could not efface.
    Kennett felt his body tighten. God alone knew how many poor wretches had been sacrificed on that bloody stone slab to appease some hideous Black Deity, butchered by a crazy priest such as Kestro.
    “You had better prepare yourselves, my friends. Tonight the Great Master receives two more victims, and I make myself one with the Dark One. Then, everything will be mine.” Kestro moved forward until he stood in front of them, glaring up with a feral eagerness on his massive features.
    His face seemed to lift from his body, to float all by itself, outlined against the grey dimness. But the oily smile was still there and the small eyes look steadily into his, staring down into his very soul.
    Kennett steeled himself. This loathsome monster in human guise must not overcome him, or they were both lost. The darkness seemed to shimmer and recede, the walls of the black temple to flow away until they stood in a far distance. Kestro’s gaze locked with his.
    His face loomed closer. And now there was something black and awful around it, an evil aura that seemed intent on leaping forward at him with a frenzied movement, falling back only as he strove to keep a tight hold on his buckling consciousness.
    Finally, when it seemed his mind could hold out no longer, normality returned.
    The black walls rushed back into their original places, and there was Kestro, his head rejoined to his grossly corpulent body, glaring down at him. Then, without another word, he brushed past them, out through the narrow door, slamming it behind him. They were alone in the Temple of the Damned!
    Kennett started forward between the long rows of seats, his face taut. “There must be some way out of here,” he said fiercely. “There has to be. If only we can find it before that hellish crew comes back.”
    They went down into the lower levels of the temple towards the crazy altar with its symbols and evil-smelling candles. At the back, there was an elaborately-carved handrail, winding away through the heavy darkness.
    “What’s this?” asked Fisher. He pointed, clambering swiftly up the half-hidden stairs that lay behind the tall array of the altar. “Looks as although there maybe a way out of here.”
    At the top of the stairs, a wooden trapdoor covered a splintered exit near the top of the wall. The steps went right up to it, then stopped.
    “No use,” muttered Kennett. “It’s bolted from the other side. We’ll never get out that way.”
    “It’s worth a try, anyway,” admitted Fisher. “Here, let me have a go at it.” He lowered himself slightly, then heaved upwards, throwing the