3 The Cult of Moonere
Doctor Fielding looked from his watch to the window of his office, opening upon a black velvet night. He had encountered considerable difficulty in restraining Inspector Chadwick from going at once to the Countess Moonard’s home in search of Ruth. Now he was further annoyed by the torture of doubt. Had he been foolish in obeying the voice—the voice of an old man he had seen only once before? Perhaps the telephone call had only been a trick to delay the rescue of Ruth. That could be, for it was very late, and there was no sign of the old man, although the sky was without a twinkle of starlight.
The telephone on his desk disturbed his thoughts with its jangling ring. He answered impatiently; it would be Inspector Chadwick calling again to find out if the mysterious old man had made his appearance.
“I think I should take a look around the Countess’ home,” Chadwick was insisting.
“No! We’ve gone this far; we must hold out. There’s someone at the door now. It’s surely he. I’ll call you when he’s gone,” Carl shouted into the telephone, crashed the receiver on the hook, and ran to the door.
It was only the charwoman, armed with buckets and mops for her nightly duties.
“Sorry, doctor,” she said, pushing a stray wisp of grimy hair from her eyes, “but I thought if ye didn’t mind, I would be cleanin’ yer office. But then if I’ll bother ye——”
“Yes, you will,” Carl answered hastily. “Forget about my office for this one night. I am expecting a caller.” He took some loose coins from his pocket and gave them to her. “Here, take these and buy yourself a midnight snack.”
“Ah, thank ye, sir, and God bless ye, sir, and——”
Carl had to push her gently but firmly out of the door to shut off the flood of almost tearful gratitude the old woman was heaping upon him.
He closed the door, and turned again to search the sky for any trace of unwelcome stars when a scream echoed down the corridor of the offices. Throwing open the door, he saw the old man standing in the corridor, his black cape covering his face. The charwoman was hastening down the stairs, gesticulating and screaming with fright.
“She saw my face,” the man in black said simply.
Carl ushered him into his office, and quickly locked the door. Pierre now kept his cape wrapped about his face as he looked suspiciously about the office.
“Are we alone?” he asked.
“Yes. I’ve been waiting all evening for you. Now please tell me about Ruth. Is she all right? Oh, what does it all mean anyway?”
Carl hurried him to a chair in front of his desk, and then seated himself. Pierre sat down, but still remained covered.
“Doctor Fielding, I am glad that you trusted my telephone call this afternoon,” Pierre began to speak. “When I told you last night that I would come to see you, it was because I wanted to help you. Your fiancée was in danger. I saw the sign of Moonere upon her throat.”
“You mean this?” Carl displayed the necklace Chadwick had found that afternoon.
“Yes, that is the mark of the Countess Moonard—the beginning of what will eventually become this!” Pierre stood up, throwing the cape from his face.
For a moment Carl’s senses reeled. He gripped the edge of his desk, and leaned unsteadily against the back of his chair. He felt the blood drain from his head; he had not felt this way since his first days in the dissecting-room at the medical school. His horror shamed him. After all, he was a doctor who was supposed to be able to stand the ghastly sight of blood and injury. But this was different! What he saw in Pierre’s face was beyond ordinary gore!
The face seemed to be afire. It looked like flesh that was slowly being cooked. The eyes bulged and smoke seemed to swirl from them. And above it all there was the horrible stench of charred human skin.
For a long moment Pierre said nothing. Carl could not speak, although he fought bravely to gain control of his feelings.
“Not a very encouraging sight, is it, doctor?” Pierre broke the awful silence.
“I—I can’t believe it. It’s not possible—it—in God’s name, man, what caused this?” Carl finally gasped.
“Moonere!” Pierre’s pained eyes looked into Carl’s.
“Moonere?”
“Perhaps you know her better by the name of the Countess Donella Moonard. The beautiful Countess Moonard and Moonere, the sorceress, daughter of the God of Sudre, are one. Your fiancée is marked for the sacrifice that for the last ten thousand years has offered up its beautiful captives to the greedy God of Sudre!”
“Sudre? Where is Sudre?” Carl stared at him incredulously.
“Sudre is another world, another planet, with another scheme of life—a scheme of life more complex than any dream of our existence, more terrible than all the horrors of history, beyond comprehension by any of our sciences or philosophies. It is all we are, refined and horribly exaggerated in some phases, until our most potent symbols of evil are only weak caricatures beside it. It is evil transcendent and all-powerful. It is the natural, purged of any goodness, and become supernatural and transcendent. A few men of ancient Egypt knew of its existence, knew of the All-Powerful One of Sudre, who has been playing his evil jest upon the helpless people of this earth for countless centuries.”
Carl could only stare at Pierre, trying to realize meaning from the strange sounds he made. It was as if he listened to a man from another world.
“You do not understand, I know.” Pierre sat down again, wearily. “But I will make you understand, if you will only hear me out. You must try to grasp what I tell you.”
Pleadingly Pierre’s scarred hand reached across the desk and touched Carl’s fingers. Hastily Pierre withdrew his hand as he saw the look of revulsion upon Carl’s face. Carl felt himself sicken at the feeling of unearthly coldness of the man’s skin. The feeling of coldness was not in keeping with the appearance. To look at him was to think of fire, all-consuming fire!
“The way my hand felt to you just then is the way my skin is all over my body,” Pierre said. “Touch it, if you dare. You are a doctor. Examine me. These sores that look like boils and fire—feel them, and you will know the cold sensation of a billion miles of space.”
Carl’s hand moved slowly to Pierre’s face. With dread reluctance, his fingertips traced over the pitted, irregular features. It was like feeling an iced corpse, only worse, for this flesh was alive. When he withdrew his hand, he beheld a trace of damp, bluish substance upon his fingers.
Pierre spoke again: “Last night when I told you of the stars, you wondered what they had to do with my going out. Now you see my hopeless state; you see the unspeakable ugliness of my face. You must believe that all of this is a part of the curse the stars have in store for those who defy Moonere. When the moon and the stars loom so brightly in the evening sky, my flesh boils; my blood steams and courses through my veins, sending poison, poison from Sudre—moon-poisoning throughout my body. It is not the heated fire of the sun or of a furnace, but a cold, blue fire that chills as it burns, yet burns more intensely than a thousand blasts from hell.
“I am slowly being destroyed, because I have defied Moonere and sought to drive her from the earth. Do you know what it is to be destroyed, to be conscious every minute of your slow journey to death? Look! I’ll show you a picture.” Pierre took from his pocket a small photograph.
Carl looked from the photo to the man who stood before him. There was no resemblance. The picture was of an intelligent man in his late thirties. He was tall and straight, with a splendid, manly physique, and handsome face that was crowned with heavy black hair, graying at the temples.
“That is a picture of Professor Pierre Soret.” Pierre stood up, pointing to the picture in Carl’s hand. “You see the man was tall, a large man, an athlete in his college days. Now look at him!” He made a disdainful gesture to his present slight figure that was scarcely five feet in height. “I am the same man of that photograph taken over ten years ago. But there is no way I could prove it, because I am slowly being burned to a stony cinder.”
“I can’t believe it,” Carl cried out against the madness of his thoughts. “How can you expect me to believe that this woman has been able to destroy you like this? What fiendish power, even of the supernatural, could do this to a man?”
“The crystal of Sudre in Moonere’s temple. Like the light-collecting principle of our modern telescopes and reflectors, it draws together the beams of Sudre into one hellish and destructive fire.
“Sudre is a world, a satellite of the outermost planet of our solar system. Astronomers have not discovered this moon, Sudre, for it is not of sufficient size or density to enter into their calculations; and its discovery would disclose none of its power of evil, even if it were charted. Nor do they realize that upon it burns a fire that is controlled by the evil magic of the God of Sudre. Upon certain nights of the month, when it is on the side of that outer planet which is facing earth, the power of that fiery creation is directed upon me. Even when it is on the other side of that planet—and it revolves about it once every twenty-seven of our days—those rays come down to earth with sufficient power to keep me living in the painful realization of my certain death.
“And there is life there; a life of eternal evil, like nothing science has ever yet discovered or ever will discover—life that would strike horror in the strongest hearts of the most coldly impersonal scientific explorer. The life of the undead, of which you have heard in your tales of earth horror, is nothing compared with its evilness.”
The old man’s voice droned on. “I will not dwell upon a description of them, for it is this threat to your own fiancée’s life that prompts me to even mention this to you. This evil beyond hell, which is the Countess Moonard’s power—the crystal of Sudre——”
He broke off a short moment, then resumed: “You have seen the sun’s powerful rays burning paper under a magnifying lens? Upon almost the same principle, yet using the crystal of Sudre instead of glass, Moonere burns her lovely offerings upon the altar of the God of Sudre. Few men are ever sacrificed to Sudre; it is almost always women, for the God of Sudre is a carnal fiend, delighting in despoiling chastity and ravishing virginity.
“Each convert to Moonerism is given a super-thrill in the discovery of how beautiful she can become. Ah, that is the way Moonere first enslaves her victims. They come to her seeking beauty. She promises them eternal loveliness, beyond even their dreams; and when they do as she decrees, they always receive this precious desire of every woman. That is why no one ever reveals the secret of Moonere. They do not dare, for she not only holds their lives in her hands, once they come to her, but she also holds woman’s most priceless treasure—beauty. Every year, lovely women sink into the depths of despair and torture because they seek the unnatural grant of beauty from the God of Sudre.”
Carl cried out, suddenly remembering: “You’re right! That was the way Ruth was trapped, I’m sure. I have seen the change in her.”
“True, young man, although your fiancée is not yet fully enslaved. Tomorrow night, the full force of the rays of destruction from Sudre will fall upon earth. Moonere will hold her rites to the God of Sudre. Once the girl has danced within the temple of the maidens of Moonere, there will be no salvation for her. To leave Moonere, or to defy her, would mean the doom you now see in my face.”
“But how were you trapped?” Carl asked.
“I will tell you of that. You see the secret of Moonere has never been new to me. From my earliest youth I knew that my life was to be dedicated to the destruction of Moonere and the evil reign of the God of Sudre; just as my ancestors have fought and died in silence for this curse. In my family, throughout the centuries, the knowledge of Sudre and Moonere has existed. We dared not reveal it; and even if we had done so, none would have believed us. Yet all of it is true.
“From ancient cities, long since buried beneath the sands of the deserts, to modern London, Moonere has slipped inconspicuously through life, carrying the curse of the God of Sudre, while my family has silently borne the banner of humanity. Although I am only a few years past forty, my knowledge of science and the ancient arts is far advanced. Were it not for the fact that I have the jealously guarded secrets of all these generations behind me, I could never have attained the ability I now have.
“That ability will explain your fiancée’s strange actions in the earlier part of the day. I have taken over her mind. Telepathy is one power that Moonere and I both have in common. She thinks that is the only weapon I have, but she is wrong. At last I have discovered a more powerful ray than the one that burns in the glass of Sudre. With it, I hope to destroy Moonere and free the world of the constant threat of her accursed power.”
“But what will become of Ruth?” Carl asked anxiously.
“I may be able to save her, if you help me. Today Moonere knew that I had taken Ruth’s mind from her powerful grasp. It was I who awakened her from the sleep Moonere sent her to last night. It was I who kept warning her to beware.”
“Yes, I know. That was what frightened her—the sound of your voice.”
“Of course, and she called for you. I gave her the telephone number of your friend. But when you arrived, you gave her a sedative, thus undoing much of my good work.”
“But how did you know what I gave her? You were not there.”
“I saw everything nevertheless. I will tell you how later. I saw the Countess’ servants kidnap your fiancée while she slept. I saw them take her to the temple where she will be forcibly detained until the night of the sacrifice.”
“And that will be——”
“Tomorrow night. The rays will be at their maximum intensity. If everything goes right, and it is the will of God that I defeat this devil-daughter from another world, your fiancée will be returned to you, unharmed; the many tortured souls who now follow Moonere will be freed; and the world will be rid of at least one black scourge of unholiness. The work of my family will be finished.”
“But you still haven’t told me why you were burned by the crystal,” Carl interrupted.
“So I haven’t. And you need that to convince you further that I am not a madman spinning lies to lure you into lunacy, eh? Well, it was through my desire to test my ray with which I hope to destroy Moonere. That was ten years ago, shortly after the death of my father. I was so sure that with this ray nothing could prevent my success in exterminating Moonere that I went to her home. I knew just where to find the secret entrance that leads to the temple of the maidens. No one else could have found it. The home of the Countess Moonard was built sixty years ago; and in all of London, neither you nor Scotland Yard combined could find a trace of the architects who constructed it. It is so ingeniously arranged to mislead a curious snooper that one could spend the rest of his life wandering from one false corridor into another, never getting anywhere. No, only I could find the secret entrance that leads to the temple with its star-glass in the roof. The plan of the house is the same as was her first temple many centuries ago.”
“You mean the Countess is immortal?”
“Of course; that is, the lifetime of Moonere does not correspond with any human conception of a life-span. Moonere, or the Countess Moonard, as she has been known here in London, is from another planet, and has lived on this earth, serving the God of Sudre, for many ages. As long as she serves faithfully, she will live at his will. If she never offends her fiendish deity, she will live eternally. Even in my family, where the knowledge of her has existed for many centuries, there is no record of her beginning. You will find that hard to believe, because such things are beyond the comprehension of men. It will always be so with the mysteries of this world. Only a few learn the solemn secrets, and they find their knowledge a curse, their lips forever sealed by man’s eternal skepticism.
“But as I started to tell you, when Moonere and I finally clashed, my ray proved a failure—a fault I have corrected. I was seized and dragged down into the center of the temple. My clothes were torn from me, and I was thrown upon the altar. The crystal burned; the poison crept into my body. I thought that my time had arrived, that this would mean death. But that was not her plan. I was exposed only for a few brief moments, much the same as the convert who takes the final vows. Then I was released. Mind you, I was set free. I could go to the police and Scotland Yard if I wanted to. I could tell them my story.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Do you think they would believe such a story? Furthermore, even if I took them to the temple, to the very altar, what could I prove? Upon the surface, Moonere has nothing that would arouse any suspicion beyond ordinary curiosity.”
“But your face—you were horribly disfigured after the exposure to the glass, were you not?”
“No. That is not the way the glass first interprets the ray of Sudre. Those exposed to it for only a brief moment upon the altar, find that their youth, their physical charm, is doubly enhanced. When I was thrown from the temple, I looked years younger; my hair, which was turning gray before I entered, became black and glossy again. I could not look into a mirror without realizing the wonderful appearance that had been given to me. But it was only temporary. That is the way Moonere holds her victims for ever, sealing their lips, and bending them to unending servitude. The beauty does not last. Only by constant bathing in the rays beneath the glass can one keep fresh. Deny yourself those rays and the aid of Moonere, and you find your entire body slowly being destroyed. One look into the mirror, by a victim so denied, is enough to enslave the soul with fear.
“Any night when the heavens are filled with the diffused rays of its many bodies, and Sudre is between earth and the planet about which it revolves, the torture of slowly being burned to a cinder increases for me. That is why I remain inside my home, which I have succeeded in partially insulating from them. That is why I can walk about in the fresh air upon only those all too few dark nights. In my home, I work with my inventions, the findings of many years of research by my family. But each night, Moonere and the Thing of Sudre send their rays to me. It is their jest, a further extension of their joy in the torture of mere mortals. My body now has an attraction for those rays. Even behind the closed, insulated walls, I feel their burn. With my present ray-machine, I have been combating them. Every night, if you could only see with your normal eyes the battle of Moonere’s ray of death and my own discovered ray, you would know what a strange, unbelievable life I lead.”
Carl looked wan and weary. Just now it seemed to him that there was nothing real about anything. The man who stood before him with his horrible face, his story of Moonere—everything was like a mad plot and setting for a dream of horror. All he could do was trust and pray that, through this man who knew the secrets, Ruth would be saved from a life far worse than death.
“All this is so strange, so far removed from reality,” Carl said. “There is nothing I can do but follow your directions. I will do anything to save Ruth from this life.”
“Then you must come with me.” Pierre stood up and threw his cape about his face. “I will take you to my home. There are many things I must teach you before tomorrow night, the night of the sacrifice. I will have great need of your assistance in my laboratory. You will be protected with everything my knowledge can give you. Perhaps I should warn you that I believe tomorrow night Moonere will seek to destroy me entirely. If you are with me, you may suffer a similar fate. Shall we go?”
“We go!” Carl rose to his feet, and hurriedly put on his coat and hat.
Once outside, under the low-hanging canopy of the black night’s sky, Pierre breathed heavily, as if the murky air of night was doubly precious to him.
“Young man, you are about to witness what no one outside my own family has ever seen. You will see the work of many past generations, and you will see strange inventions that are of the future. Science has been very slow in its progress, compared with what my family has achieved.” Pierre laughed, a rather cracked and squeaky laugh, somewhat disturbing to Carl; it was the first time he had heard the man laugh. “Indeed, my boy, if you live through this, you will never forget it; yet you will never be able to tell another soul. Imagine it! How little the people on this world really know of what is going on about them! Here is busy, foggy, magnificent, dingy, dirty London with her many souls living their frustrated daily lives, their noses to the ground; and every night a drama they can never see is played up there in the sky. In their very midst two houses hold the powers and the secrets of ages beyond recall!”