The Isle of the Undead by Lloyd Eshbach

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
Part one of Isle of the Undead. This is a
LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain.
For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox dot org.
Recording by Louise J. Bell. Isle of the Undead by

(00:25):
Lloyd Arthur Eschbach, Part one, A horror from the past.
A drab gray sheet of cloud slipped stealthily from the
moon's round face, like a shroud slipping from the face
of one long dead, A coldly phosphorescent face from which

(00:48):
the eyes had been plucked. Yellow radiance fell toward a calm,
oily sea, seeking a narrow bank of fog lying low
on the water, penetrating its somber mass like frozen yellow fingers.
Vilma Bradley shuddered and shrank against Clifford Darrell's brawny form.

(01:13):
It's it's ghastly, cliff, she said, ghastly. Darrell leaned against
the rail, laughing softly. One cocktail too many, that's the answer,
It's given you. The jitters listen. Faintly from the salon

(01:35):
came strains of dance music and the rhythmic shuffle of feet.
A nifty yacht, a south sea moon, a radio dance
orchestra dancers and little Clifford, and you call it ghastly,
almost savagely. His arms tightened about her, and the bantering

(01:57):
note left his voice. I'm crazy about you, Velma. She
tried to laugh, but it was an unconvincing sound. It's
the moon, Cliff, I guess I I never saw it
like that before. Something's going to happen, something dreadful. I

(02:20):
just know it. Oh, be sensible, Vilma. There was a
hint of impatience in Cliff's deep voice. A gorgeous girl
in his arms, dark haired, dark eyed, made for love,
and she talked of dreadful things which were going to
happen because the moon looked screwy. She released herself and

(02:45):
glanced out over the sea. I know I'm silly, but
her voice froze and her slender body stiffened. Cliff look
Darrell spun around, and as he stared, he felt a
dryness seeping into his throat, choking him. Out of the

(03:10):
winding sheet of fog into the moonlight. Crept a strange,
strange craft, her crumbling timbers blackened and rotted with incredible age,
the corpse of a ship. She seemed resurrected from the
grave of the sea. Her prow thrust upward like a scimitar,

(03:33):
bent backward, hovering over the gaunt ruin of a cabin
whose seaward sides were formed by port and starboard boughs.
From a shallow pit. Amidships jutted the broken arm of
a mast, its splintered tip pointing toward the blindly watching moon.

(03:55):
The stern, thickly covered with the moldering incrustations of a
curved inward above the strange high poop beneath which lay
another cabin, and along either side of her worm eaten
free board, ran a row of apertures, like oblong portholes.

(04:17):
Out of these projected great oars, long, unwieldy, as somberly
black as the rest of the ancient hulk. Now A
sound drifted across the waters, the steady rhythmic broom bom

(04:39):
boom of a drum beating time for the rowers. Its
hollow thud checked the heart, set it to throbbing in
tempo with its own weary pulse. Ghostly fingers, dripping dread
crawled up Darrell's spine. Stiff lipped vilma gasped. What what

(05:05):
is it? Cliff answered in a dry, husky voice, the
words seeming to trip over an awkward tongue. It's it's
it can't be damn it, but it's a galley, a
ship from the days of Alexander the Great? What's it

(05:26):
doing here? Now? Closer? She came through the moon path,
a frothing lip of brine curling away from her swelling
prow Closer, her coarse crossing that of the Aeriel, and
the watchers saw her crew. They gasped, and the blood

(05:49):
ebbed from their faces, men of ancient Persia, clad in leather,
curtles and rusted armor. And they were hideous in the
yellow moon glow. Cliff could see them clearly now, a
lookout standing motionless in the stem, the steersman on the

(06:11):
poop deck, the drummer squatting beside the broken mast, the
rowers in the pit, and all all were a bloodless white.
The skin of their faces puffed and bloated and horribly wrinkled,
like flesh that had been under water a long time.

(06:34):
Dead men, men whose movements were stiffly wooden, as dead
as their faces. But most horrible was the fact that
they were there that they moved at all. A queer mirage,
isn't it? A hollow voice spoke suavely behind them. Emma

(07:00):
gasped at the sudden sound, and they whirled. A foot
away stood the tall, lean figure of the aeriel's captain,
Leon Koryo. A queer smile twisted his thin lips. What's
the idea sneaking up on us, Darrell demanded angrily. He

(07:22):
didn't like this man, hadn't liked him from the moment
he had approached Cliff to sell him the yacht. But
Cliff had bought the craft because she was a bargain,
and in accordance with their agreement, he had hired Krio
as captain. The tall man's smile remained fixed, and he

(07:43):
bowed gravely. Sorry, sir, I always walk softly, a habit,
I suppose. He gestured toward the galley. It looks quite lifelike,
don't you think so? Life like? Cliff spoke between his

(08:07):
teeth as he again faced the black ship. It looks
dead to me. The galley had almost reached them, now
veering sharply to draw up beside the aerial. The drum
quieted and the oars trailed in the water, motionless except

(08:28):
for the swaying imparted by the waves. A musty age
old odor filtered through the air like a breath from
a grave. The music and dancing had stopped. A fear
filled hush shrouded the yacht. Vilma drew Cliff's arm about

(08:52):
her shoulder. He glanced back at the motionless captain. Do something, Corio,
he rasped, Don't stand there like a dummy. Corio nodded
with his same queer smile. His hand darted to an

(09:13):
inside pocket, came out bearing a curious instrument, like four
twisted cones of silver, bound together with silver thongs. As
he raised this to his mouth, his eyelids were slits,
behind which burned the embers of his eyes. Out over

(09:35):
the sea crept a single note, deep, hollow, laden with eerie,
minor wailings, a sound that summoned imperatively, yet a sound
that repelled. It was a moan, hideous as the moan

(09:58):
of a dying demon. It raked the heart with fear
tipped claws. It rose and fell, and rose again, and
as it died, it awakened the crew of the ancient
galley to motion, sweeping them in a hoarde to the

(10:20):
rail of the yacht. Cliff swung toward Corio in bursting fury,
fury mingled with dread. His fist lashed out at that
glittering silver instrument and the face behind it, but Corio
avoided him like a wraith, still smiling fixedly, the horn

(10:43):
again at his lips. Cliff cursed and hurled himself through
the air. One hand caught a bony shoulder. He felt
fingers like hooks clothes on his own throat. He wrenched free,
landing a stunning blow on Corio's face, saw him reel

(11:07):
and crash to the deck. And then he heard Vilma scream.
He whirled. She was struggling between two of the flabby
faced things from the galley. In an instant he was
upon them, his fist thudding against icy flesh burying itself

(11:28):
in something horribly soft and yielding startled. Cliff swung a
second blow, and an arm tomb cold and strong as
the tentacle of an octopus, wrapped itself around him, a
vise of thin covered bone. A dead, drowned face peered

(11:51):
over his shoulder, staring blankly. Other arms seized his legs,
and though he struck and writhed with the strength of
a mounting fear. He was borne to the rail. Over
they went, and dropped to the rotting deck of the galley.

(12:12):
A numbness was creeping through him, like a contagion, spreading
from those crushing hands of ice. His struggles ceased. With
eyes that turned stiffly in their sockets, he looked for Vilma,
saw her raised high above the heads of two other

(12:32):
pallid creatures, saw them climb over the rail. Then the
blackness of a dank and musty cabin enveloped him, and
he was dropped with jarring force. His captors bulked black
against the moonlit doorway, treading soundlessly, and were gone. Cliff

(12:59):
lay in rigid paralysis, every sense keenly alive, his mind
striving to clutch a single spar of reason in this
chaotic whirlpool of the incredible. This couldn't be soon, he
would awaken to laugh at his absurd nightmare. Yet it

(13:21):
seemed horribly real. It was real. From the aerial boiled
a fearful bedlam, screams of terror, curses. Then other shadows
loomed in the doorway, and Vilma, motionless and rigid, was

(13:43):
dropped brutally beside him on the spongy floor. Furiously, Cliff
struggled against the maddening restraint of paralysis. He couldn't lie
here helpless. Vilma needed him. He'd he'd have to do something.
With an effort that studded his forehead with rounded drops

(14:06):
of sweat and sent the blood throbbing through the distended
veins of his neck. He sought to move, and like
a cord snapping, his invisible bonds fell from him. He
was crouching over Velma, rubbing her wrists, calling to her,

(14:27):
when again he heard the silver horn of Corio, a low,
droning utterly, unlike the note that had awakened the galley's crew,
It drifted languidly along a channel of endless sleep. It
seeped through the ear drums, touching every nerve tip with

(14:49):
resistless lassitude. Doggedly, Cliff fought against the sound, pressing his
hands over his ears, gritting his teeth, holding his eyelids wide.
Yet he felt his muscles weaken, began to relax, knew

(15:09):
dimly that his mind, sodden with drowsiness, was creeping toward
the pits of slumber, and the vibrant drone ended. His
head cleared rapidly, and he bent over Vilma. As he
touched a limp arm, he knew she had passed from

(15:30):
paralysis into a deep, quiet sleep. He shook her. It
was useless. He listened, heard her steady breathing, and at
that instant realized that the noises from the yacht had ceased. Rising.

(15:51):
He strode toward the square of chalky moonlight. A foot away.
He halted, fell back. He had heard a faint footfall,
had seen an armor clad figure climbing over the rail.
With silent haste, he flung himself down beside Vilma, and

(16:15):
there he lay while the crew of the galley carried
his friends from the aerial, all slumped in that unnatural sleep,
and stretched them out on the floor of the black cabin. Unmoving,
he watched through narrow lids till all save Corio had
been carried aboard, and the drowned things had gone back

(16:38):
to their places in the rower's pits. Again, the hollow
voice of the drum began throbbing through the silence, and
the oars creaked a faint accompaniment. He could feel the
galley cleaving the oily sea on his feet, he peered

(16:59):
through the doorway. The backs of the rowers rose and
fell with stiff mechanical rhythm. Beyond the galley's stern came
the yacht, slinking along like a thief, only one dim
light showing her diesel engines, purring almost soundlessly. He turned

(17:23):
and bent over Vilma, still in thrall to that strange,
deep slumber. As he traced the delicate outlines of her
lovely face, now so lifeless and pale, bitter wrath flared
within him, wrath and hatred for Leon Kryo. But as

(17:46):
he thought of the ghastly undead things out there in
the galley pit, thought of this water soaked anachronism which
had no right to be afloat, his skin crisped with
a sense of foreboding, a fear of what was yet
to come. He must do something. Stepping over the still

(18:13):
forms of his friends, he moved to the forward wall,
where a beam of radiance crept fearfully through a gap
between two boards. His hands touched the hull, and he
jerked them away, rotten clammy, like a decayed corpse, partly frozen. Crouching,

(18:39):
he peered through far ahead a blotch of evil blackness
squatted on the horizon, an island, crouching low like a
black beast ready to spring around it. The moonlight seemed
to dim, as though it were striving to hide some

(19:02):
nameless horror. Interminably Cliff watched while the shadowed mass drew
closer closer. They were headed for a towering wall of
black basalt, and as the galley neared it, Cliff saw

(19:22):
that it bore striking resemblance to a gigantic human skull,
its rounded surface broken by caves that the sea had
carved into, hollow eye sockets, and an empty nasal cavity.
The rock wall ended high above the water. Beneath it

(19:43):
lay a gaping chasm of pitchy darkness, and the galley
drum silenced. Oars at rest slid under the ledge into
the mouth of the skull. Just before total blackness fell.
Cliff sprang to Vilma's side and raised her in his arms.

(20:07):
If he hoped to do anything, he must do it now.
He groped his way to the starboard bow and moved
one hand along the dank timbers. Searching. He found what
he sought, a wide gap at the edge of a board.
Gently lowering Vilma to the floor, he gripped the slimy

(20:30):
wood with both hands and thrust outward mightily. A wide
strip of decayed timber burst free. He dropped it into
the sea and attacked the next board. In moments, a wide,
irregular opening yawned in the galleys hall. Leaning out, Cliff

(20:52):
looked down. He could see nothing. Then suddenly a faint
light appeared, and he heard the hum of the Ariel's
motors as she entered the cave. The humming ceased instantly,
but the faint light persisted. Now he could see the

(21:13):
blackness of waters, a rock wall beyond. He drew back,
and as he did so, he heard movements on deck.
At any moment the rowers might enter. He'd have to
risk a drop into the water. With Vilma, there was
nothing else to do, if only she were conscious. He

(21:35):
stooped and raised her, holding her firmly with one arm,
gripping the hole with the other, He climbed through the opening,
inhaled deeply, and dropped a heart stopping plunge, and cold
water closed over them. Down down. Then they shot upward,

(21:59):
reached the surface, and even as Cliff gulped a single
gasping breath. Something struck his skull a blinding, stunning blow.
The oars with rapidly numbing arms and legs. Cliff kicked
and flailed the water, striving for land. Dimly he knew

(22:24):
he no longer held Vilma. Dimly he visioned her as
were those ghastly undead. Then his body scraped on something hard,
and a blackness that was not physical blotted out consciousness.
End of Part one, Part two of Isle of the

(22:53):
Undead by Lloyd Arthur Eshboch. This LibriVox recording is in
the public domain. Part two, The dreadful Isle red hot
hammers pounding against his temples wakened Cliff Darrell. He opened

(23:14):
his eyes to stare into total darkness. Crawling with mental
monsters spawned by his pain stabbed brain. He lay half
immersed in shallow brine, his head resting on a jagged
stone just above the surface. Struggling to his hands and knees,

(23:36):
he shook his head from side to side dumbly, like
an animal in pain. Something had hit him, and now
he was in water and there was no light. What
had happened? Where was Vilma? Vilma? He groaned? He remembered

(23:59):
now they had dropped, and his head had struck something,
and and maybe she was floating out there even now,
dead eyes staring upward Vilma. He cried, his voice, pleading Vilma.

(24:22):
Only a mocking echo answered him. There was no other sound,
not even the whisper of waves swishing among the rocks.
Cliff pressed his hands fiercely against his throbbing head. The
pain had become a madness, matched only by the agony

(24:42):
of his own helplessness. He felt his reason reeling. He
fought an insane desire to fling himself shrieking into that
silent expanse of water to search for Vilma. Then, with
a tremendous his physical effort, he jarred himself back to sanity.

(25:05):
He staggered to his feet, groped stumblingly over the rocks,
away from the water. His hand touched a rock wall
broken and pitted by the action of the sea, and
he crept slowly inland, feeling his way like a blind man.

(25:25):
As he plodded on, his thoughts blended into one fixed idea.
He must get to light, must get light to search
for Vilma. Gradually, the insensate pounding in his head abated,
and strength returned to his body. When at last he

(25:48):
saw light beyond a narrow fissure around an angle in
the cavern he had almost recovered in moments. He was
gazing out over a plane bathed in the glow of
a leprous moon. As he stared, he shivered, and it
was not because of the cold draft drawing through the fissure,

(26:11):
fanning his brine drenched body, grim and starkly forbidding. The
plane lay before him, dead as the frozen landscape of
the moon. Once there had been life there, but now
only the skeletons of trees remained, lifting their wasted limbs

(26:33):
in rigid pleading to an unresponsive sky. Some there were
that had fallen uprooted by the fury of passing hurricanes.
These lay like the scattered bones of a dismembered giant age,
blackened and painted with hoar frost by the brushes of moonlight. Feebly.

(26:57):
The dead forest stirred unto the touch of a moaning wind,
and the gaunt shadows cast by the trees seemed to
be multi armed monsters slithering over the rocky earth. He
looked beyond the trees, and he saw light, little squares

(27:18):
of pale radiance cut high in the walls of an
ancient black castle castle. Cliff frowned. He could liken it
to nothing else, though he could not recall ever having
seen a castle which thrust curving, needle thin spires into

(27:38):
the sky like a devil's horns. Impatiently, Cliff stepped from
the wall of rock and glanced along a path that
writhed through the forest. Glanced and crouched swiftly, a low
cry escaping him a single spot of water on a

(28:00):
smooth flat stone, a spot shaped like a woman's shoe.
Vilma had passed this way, But might it not have
been some other woman from the Aeriel. No, they had
been carried, and even if they had walked, their feet

(28:22):
were dry, like a hound on the scent. Cliff Darrell
sped along the serpentine path. The wind moaned above him,
and the sowing branches seemed to whisper croaking warnings. But
he ran on his eyes constantly seeking signs of Vilma's course.

(28:45):
Here a drop of water shaken from her drenched skirt.
There another, And Cliff blessed the full moon, whose light
made possible his trailing of the almost invisible spore. Now
he had passed beyond the dead forest and was moving
toward the castle. The trail had been growing steadily fainter,

(29:09):
but he managed to follow it. It led him toward
a narrow stone stairway, climbing crookedly to a misshapen opening
in the wall. Light glowed faintly, lurid somewhere deep within.
And now Cliff heard a blasphemous sound belch from the

(29:32):
depths of the castle, a wheezing, sardonic croaking, like the
moan of a demoniac organ, rumbling an obscene dirge. His
hair bristled, and he stopped short. He looked at the steps,
searching for the fading trail, and he stiffened. There on

(29:58):
the second step was an irregular blotch of moisture. What
did it mean? Had Vilma crouched there? Had she ascended
those steps? Entered with drawn face, he began to skirt
the base of the black building, searching every nook and cranny,

(30:21):
scanning the bare walls. His heart lay like ballast in
his breast. If if something had lured Vilma into that
demon infested vault, he checked the thought. Suddenly he cursed mechanically.
He had begun to measure his stride in time with

(30:43):
the doleful dirge from the castle. He stalked on with
altered pace. As he rounded the corner at the rear
of the structure, he saw a shadow outlined against the sky,
crouching on a ledge below one of the little windows.

(31:04):
He looked again and cried, Vilma. The figure above him stirred,
looked down, then climbed hastily earthward. It was Vilma, Vilma,
with black hair hanging stringily about her head, face, pale

(31:24):
eyes fixed in the wideness of fear, Vilma, with her
wet clothing clinging to the lovely contours of her symmetrical body. Oh, Cliff.
She gasped a dry sob, choking her. Thank God, thank God.

(31:45):
She clung to him, her face hidden against his shoulder,
quivering uncontrollably. Then tears came, saving tears, relieving her pent
up emotions. Cliff said nothing, only held her close, strongly, protective,

(32:07):
and gradually he felt the tempest of terror subside. At last,
she looked up. Some of the dread had gone from
her face, and she tried to smile. I guess I
can't take it, she said. Cliff shook his head solemnly.

(32:30):
You're a game girl, Vilma. You've nerve enough for two men.
If you can tell me what happened, or if you'd
rather let it wait, just say so. I'll feel better
if I get it off my chest. She said, you
probably saw those things carry me from the yacht. Cliff nodded, well.

(32:58):
I was just about pair paralized when they dropped me
in their terrible boat. I remember you tried to arouse me,
then that horn blew, and I just seemed to float
away in an ocean of sleep. After that, I can
remember nothing till I awoke, with water filling my eyes

(33:20):
and nose and mouth choking me. Someone's arms were around me.
It must have been you, Cliff. And then they weren't
there anymore, and I struggled wildly out of my wits.
I don't know how I got to shore, but I did,

(33:40):
and I lay there in the shadow of the galley,
choking and gagging but afraid to cough. It wasn't altogether dark,
and I could see those dreadful things with people hanging
over their shoulders, carrying them along a narrow ledge close
to the water's edge, heading inland. I thought maybe you

(34:04):
were one of those limp bodies, and I I almost
died of fright. After a while, the last one had
gone and the light went out. Then I heard another
pair of feet moving over the rocks. Coyo. I suppose
the sound died and I was alone. That place was

(34:28):
awful cliff. The blackness almost drove me mad. I wanted
to scream, but I was afraid to. Some terrible weight
seemed to be crushing my lungs. If I followed those
undead things, they might capture me. But it seemed worse

(34:49):
to stay there in that dreadful dark. I got out
of there somehow, though it seemed to take hours. Then
I didn't know what to do. I stood at the
edge of the dead forest, trying to decide, trying to
to keep myself from shrieking and running anywhere. Then Corio's

(35:13):
horn blew again, a sound cliff worse than anything I've
ever heard it. It was a wicked sound, promising to
fulfill every foul desire that ever tainted a human mind.
It repelled, yet it lured irresistibly, and I answered. She

(35:41):
stopped and buried her face in her hands. After a moment,
she went on. The sound stopped just as I found
myself crawling on hands and knees up the stone stairway
on the other side, another started that awful groaning music,

(36:04):
but it didn't draw me. I ran down the steps
and scurried away like a rabbit, trying to find a
place to hide. After a while I came back. I
thought you must be in there, and I climbed up
to the window and Cliff, it's hellish. Her eyes boring

(36:30):
into his, widened in the same rigid terror he had
seen in them when he joined her. We could go
back to the cove and get away on the aerial Vilma,
Cliff said stonily, And if you think we should, we will.
But I brought our friends here, and well, I want

(36:55):
to get them out if I can with an effort.
Vilma nodded. Of course, we can't do anything else. He
released her and stepped up to the wall. I'm going
to see what's going on in there, he said. You
wait here till I come down. In sudden dread, Vilma

(37:20):
seized his arm. No, Cliff, I couldn't stand waiting here alone.
I'll go with you. He nodded understandingly, and together they
began climbing the precipitous wall, fitting hands and feet in
step like crevices that made progress fairly rapid. Soon they

(37:43):
were crouching on a wide stone ledge, clinging to thin
rusted bars, staring into the Black Castle and of Part
two Part three of Aisle of the Undead by Lloyd

(38:08):
Arthur Eschboch. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain.
Part three The Steps of Torture. A gigantic hall lay
before them, a single chamber, whose walls were the walls
of the castle, whose arched ceiling rose far above them.

(38:33):
Directly below their window, a stone platform jutted from the wall,
spreading entirely across the chamber. A stone altar squatted in
the center of the platform, a strangely phosphorescent fire smoldering
on its top, and from the altar descended a wide,

(38:54):
wide stairway ending in the middle of the hall. All
this cliff saw in a single sweeping glance. Afterward, he
had eyes for nothing save the lethal horror of a mad,
mad scene, revealed by the dim radiance of the altar fire.

(39:17):
Behind the altar stood five huge figures clad in long
hooded cloaks of scarlet. The central figure had arms raised wide,
his cloak spread like the wings of some bloody bird
of prey, and from his lips came a guttural incantation,

(39:37):
a blasphemous chant in archaic Latin, in time with the
wheeze of the buried organ. Now his arms dropped and
he was silent. From the room below came a concerted
whine of ceremonial devotion. A hollow, hungry wail rose from

(40:00):
the bloodless lips of strangely assorted human figures ranging down
the center of the long stairway in two facing columns,
A hundred or more there must have been, representing half
as many periods and countries, according to their strange and
ancient costumes, men in the armor of medieval Persia, the

(40:24):
crew of the black Galley, yellow haired Vikings, hawk faced
Egyptians with leather brown skins, half naked Islanders, red sashed
Pirates from the Spanish main men of today, and about all,
like the dampness that clings to a tombstone, hovered a

(40:48):
cloud of death. The undead cliff's gaze roved over the
tensely waiting columns, then leaped to the foot of the stairs. There,
cowering dumbly like sheep in a slaughter pen. Were his
friends from the Ariel. All clothing had been stripped from them,

(41:12):
and they stood waiting in waxen statuesque stiffness. He saw
then that three others lay prone before the stone altar,
naked and ominously still. And far down at the very
end of the hall stood Leon Coryo, draped in a

(41:35):
hooded cape of unbroken black, a glint of silver in
his hand. His horn of drugging sounds now as though
at a silent command. A girl left the group and
began to mount the stairs, as those motionless three must
have mounted. Vivacious Anne she had in the life of

(42:00):
Cliff's yacht party, but now she was changed. Her blanched
face was rigid with inexpressible terror, despite the semi stupor
which numbed her senses. Her nude body glowed like marble
in the dim light. Horribly. Her feet began their climb

(42:24):
with a little catch step, suggested by the moaning chant
of that cracked organ note. She reached the first of
the undead, and Cliff saw light glint on a knife blade.
A crimson gash appeared in the flesh of her thigh
and dead lips touched that wound, drank thirstily. The girl

(42:51):
strode on, blood gleaming darkly on the white skin. A
second drank of the crimson flow a third, and the
blood ceased gushing forth. Another knife flashed, and lips closed
again and again on a redly dripping wound, and the girl,

(43:15):
with the unchanging pace of a robot, climbed the stairway
to its very top, climbed while fiendish corpses drank her
life's blood, climbed to sink down on the altar. One
of the red clad figures stooped over her, lifted her

(43:37):
buried long teeth in her throat, and Cliff saw his face.
His own face paled, and talons of fear raked his brain.
Those others on the stairs, they were abhorrent zombies freed
from the grave. But this monster, a vampire, vested with

(44:03):
the lust and cruelty and power of hell. He lowered
her finally, and she sank down, lay still beside the
other three. Another began the hellish climb, a giant of
a man with a thickly muscled torso. Cliff knew him instantly,

(44:27):
and his heart seemed to stop Leslie's Stark they had
played football together. A brave man, a fighter. He mounted
the stairway with the same little catch step, the same
plodding stiffness, no resistance, no struggle, only a hell of

(44:51):
fear on his face. The marrow melted from Cliff Darrell's bones.
What what could he do against a power that did
that to less Stark. He tried to swallow, but the
saliva had dried on his tongue. He wanted to turn

(45:13):
to Vilma, but he could not wrench his eyes from
the frightful spectacle. Up the stone steps, Stark strode, and
no blade leaped toward him, no thirsty lips closed on
his flesh. In an unwavering line, he mounted toward the

(45:37):
cowled monster in the center of the dais, like a
puppet on the end of a string, mounted to pause
before the stone altar, to lie on it, head bent back,
throat bared mercifully, Cliff regained enough control to close his eyes.

(46:01):
He opened them at a gasp from Vilma, saw the
vampire raise the flaccid body of less Stark and hurl
it far from him, to crash to the stone steps,
to roll and thud and tumble down and down, sickeningly,
to lie awkwardly twisted on the floor before his companions

(46:26):
and another began to climb the long stone steps. All
through the interminable night, Cliff and Vilma crouched on the ledge,
staring through the barred window. A hundred times they would
have fled to escape the maddening scene, but they could

(46:46):
not move. Senses reeled before the awful monotony of the
ceaseless climbing. Their eyes smarted with fixed staring. Their tongues
and throats were part to desert dryness. Yet only after
hours of endless watching, only after the last victim had

(47:09):
climbed the steps did the edge of terror dull and
the modicum of control returned to their bodies. Stiffly, Cliff
looked over his shoulder. A faint tinge of gray rimmed
the sea on the eastern horizon, almost daylight. He whispered hoarsely.

(47:33):
Vilma nodded, her gaze, still held by that chamber of horror,
Cliff followed the direction of her eyes and saw Corrio
standing like a great bat in his hooded cape, close
to the far wall. He raised his four piped horn
to his lips, and the instrument's fourth note crept through

(47:58):
the room. It was a doleful sound, a cry like
the cry death itself might possess. Yet oddly and horribly,
it was soothing, promising the peace of endless sleep. And

(48:20):
touched by its power, the columns of undead stiffened, thinned
to wraiths, flowed as water flows down the stone steps,
vanished the dead alive. Those five vampires in crimson cowls
looked upward uneasily. The shadows under the roof were graying

(48:45):
with the light of dawn. Cliff could sense their thought.
Before sunrise, they must be in their tombs under the castle,
to sleep until another night. With one accord, they strode
down the stairs, past Korrio, who had prostrated himself, and

(49:06):
entered a black opening in the wall. With their departure,
the altar fire dimmed to a sullen ember. Krio arose.
He was alone in the chamber save for that dead,
broken body lying in a twisted heap at the foot
of the stairs, and those other half alive wretches stretched

(49:32):
out before the altar. Now, Cliff told himself was the
time for him to get in there at Koreo. Now
was the time to rescue his friends, but he continued
to crouch, unmoving Again. Chorrio blew on his silver horn,

(49:56):
and a faint cry leaped from Vilma's tensed lips, the
luring note that had drawn her. Cliff thought hazily. Then
he thought of nothing save the sound, the sound that
promised him all he could desire, Earth and its dominion

(50:16):
his for the taking. If he answered that call, then
even the sound eluded his senses, and he heard only
the promise. He must answer, must claim what was rightfully his.
But those half dead creatures, the sight of their stirring

(50:39):
steadied his staggering sanity. Here and there, heads lifted, and
bloodless husks of bodies tried to rise in the pallid light.
They seemed like corpses freed from newly opened graves. Some
could only reach their knees, others rose to uncertain limbs,

(51:05):
and all moved down the stairway toward Choio, answering his
summons followed as he made his slow way toward the
opening in the wall, still blowing the single note, the
note that promised Earth and all it held. Cliff glanced

(51:27):
toward Vilma, and she was not there. He looked down,
saw her far below, dropping from crack to crevice with
amazing speed and daring hastening toward Chorio. The thought jarred
any lingering taint of allurement from Cliff's mind. He must

(51:50):
stop her. He swung around, ignoring the cramped stiffness of
his legs, and started down the steep wall, down recklessly,
with Korrio's horn note only a faintly heard sound fading
behind him. Now he saw Vilma reach the rocks below

(52:12):
and dash around the corner of the castle, and he cursed,
redoubling his speed down, down, and suddenly the ancient rock
crumbled under foot for an instant. He hung from straining
finger tips, then dropped a smashing impact a stone that

(52:36):
slid beneath him, and his head crashed against the castle wall.
Through a fiery mist of pain. He pictured Vilma in
the grasp of Korrio. The mist thickened, grew black, engulfed him.

(52:57):
End of Part three, Part four of Isle of the
Undead by Lloyd Arthur Eschbach. This LibriVox recording is in
the public domain. Part four In Corio's Hands, Cliff awoke

(53:24):
with the sun glaring down on his face. He opened
his eyes, and stabbing lances of light pierced his eyeballs.
Momentarily blinded, he pressed his hands across his face and
struggled erect. There was a sick feeling in his stomach,
and the back of his head throbbed incessantly. He touched

(53:48):
the aching area and winced. A lump like an egg
thrust out his scalp. It was sticky with blood. He
stood there, weaving from side to side, trying to recall something.
As memory came, he groaned Vilma. He had last seen her,

(54:12):
racing madly toward Corio, lured by his damned horn. It
was daylight now, the sun had risen at least an
hour ago, an hour with Vilma gone. Shaking his head
to clear it and gritting his teeth at the pane,

(54:32):
he stalked along the wall. Turning the corner, he strode
on toward the crooked steps. The lifeless terrain reeled dizzily,
but he went on resolutely. The pain in his head
was fading to a dull ache, and as he mounted
the steps, strength seemed to flow back into his legs.

(54:57):
With every sense taut, he passed into the gloom of
the castle. A quick glance He cast about, saw the
body of stark lying where it had fallen. No use
to examine it. There was no life there. His gaze

(55:18):
swept up the slope of the stairway to the altar
at its head, lingered on the phosphorescent eye of light
still glowing there. Then he shrugged grimly and moved on
to the doorway in the wall. Warily, he peered in.

(55:38):
As his eyes adjusted themselves to the greater darkness, he
saw a narrow stairway leading downward into a shadowy corridor.
Somewhere in the tunnel's depths, a faint light shone. He
could see nothing more. He moved stealthily down the dam

(56:00):
dank stares. At the bottom, he paused, listening. He could
hear nothing. A hundred feet ahead, the corridor divided in two.
A burning torch was thrust in the wall at the junction.

(56:21):
Cliff nodded with satisfaction. CHOREO must be somewhere near by,
for only a human needed light. Silently, Cliff strode along
the corridor. At the fork, he hesitated, then chose the
right branch, for light glowed faintly along that passageway. The

(56:45):
other led downward black as the pits of hell. A
doorway appeared in the wall ahead, and he moved warily
with fists clenched. Flickering torchlight filtered into the corridor. There
was no audible sound. Now Cliff peered into a small

(57:08):
chamber and gasped in sudden horror, his eyes staring unwinkingly
at a spectacle incredibly pitiful. Here were the passengers of
the aerial, whitely naked and lying in little groups on

(57:28):
the cold stone floor, huddled together for warmth. Their faces
turned toward Darrell as he stood in the doorway, but
there was no recognition in the vacuous eyes, no thought,
no intelligence, and little life. In the wide mouthed stairs.

(57:49):
It seemed as though their souls had been drained from
their bodies. With their blood sickened, Cliff turned away, cursing
his own helplessness to aid them, cursing lyon Choreo, who
was responsible for their plight. Black wrath gripped him. As
he moved on again, the corridor branched, and again he

(58:15):
kept to the right. Suddenly he halted, ears straining, he
heard the sound of a voice, the hollow voice of Choreo.
It came faintly but clearly from a room at the
end of the passageway. Cliff went forward slowly, and so

(58:41):
my dear Koreo was saying. We entered into a pact
with the Master, a pact sealed with blood. In exchange
for our lives, we three were to bring other humans
to this island for the feasting of the dead alive.

(59:02):
Every third month. Each of us must return with our
cargo when the moon is full, and since we come
back on alternating months, they have a constant supply of
fresh blood. Usually some of our captives live from full
moon to full moon before they become like those of

(59:24):
the galley, the undead. Some of these we waken when
it suits our fancy. They are not like the masters.
They awaken only when we call them. We three, or
the Masters. More than life they give us for what

(59:46):
we do. Centuries ago, pirates used this island for refuge.
They died, and they left their treasure in this castle.
It lies in the room where the masters lie, and
we three receive payment in gold and gems. To night

(01:00:10):
I receive my pay, and to morrow I leave on
the aeriel, and you go with me. Cliff heard Vilma answer,
and even while his heart leapt with relief. He marveled
at the cool scorn in her voice. So I go

(01:00:33):
with you, do I? I'd rather climb the stairs with the
rest of your victims than have anything to do with you,
you munster. When Cliff Darrell finds you, Darrell Koro's voice
was a frozen sneer. He'll do nothing. I'll find him,

(01:00:59):
and he'll wish he could climb the stairs of blood.
As for you, you'll go with me, and like it,
a drop of my blood in your veins, and you
will belong to the Master, as do I. We shall
attend to that, But first there is something else more pleasant.

(01:01:27):
His words fell to an indistinguishable purr. Still moving stealthily,
Cliff hastened forward. Suddenly Vilma screamed, and he launched himself
madly across the remaining distance stood crouching at the threshold.

(01:01:50):
Vilma lay on an ancient bed, her wrists and ankles
bound with leather thongs drawn about the four tall posts.
Only the torn remnants of her undergarments covered the rounded
contours of her body, and Koro crouched over her, caressing

(01:02:11):
the pink flesh. Vilma writhed beneath his touch, Cliff growled
deep in his throat as he sprang. Koro spun around
and leapt aside, but he was too slow to escape
Cliff's powerful lunge. One hand closed on his thin neck,

(01:02:35):
and the other a rock like fist, made a bloody
ruin of his mouth. Howling with pain, Koro tried to
sink his teeth in Cliff's arm. Cliff flung him aside,
following with the easy glide of a boxer. Korio crawled
to his feet, cringing, dodging before the nemesis that stalked

(01:02:59):
him again, Cliff leapt and Chorrio, yellow with fear, darted
around the bed and ran wildly into the hallway. At
the door, Cliff checked himself, reason holding him. Chorio could
elude him with ease in this labyrinth of passages, and

(01:03:21):
his first concern was Vilma's safety. He returned to the bed.
Vilma looked up at him with such relief and thankfulness
on her face that Cliff, with a little choked cry,
flung himself to his knees beside the bed and kissed
her hungrily. For moments their lips clung. Then Cliff straightened, shakily,

(01:03:47):
trying to laugh. We've got to get out of here, sweetheart,
he said. I'm not afraid of Chrio, but he knows
things about this place that we don't know. After you're
safe on the yacht, I'll come back and get him.
He looked around for something with which to cut her bonds.

(01:04:10):
On the wall above the bed were crossed a pair
of murderous looking cutlasses. Seizing one of these, Cliff wrenched
it from its fastenings and drew it through the cords.
She stood beside him, Free your clothing, Cliff began his

(01:04:31):
eyes on her almost nude body. She blushed and pointed
mutely to a heap of rags on the floor. Her
eyes flamed wrathfully. He he ripped them from me. The
muscles of Cliff's jaws nootted, and he scowled as he

(01:04:52):
surveyed the room for a drape or hanging to cover her.
For the first time he really saw the place. All
the lavish splendor of royalty had been expended on this chamber.
It might have been the bedroom of a king, except
that the ancient furnishings belonged to no particular period were

(01:05:14):
in fact the lute of raids extended over centuries, yet
despite its splendor, everything was repulsive, cloaked with the same
air of unearthly gloom that hovered about the galley. He
moved toward an intricately woven tapestry, but Vilma checked him,

(01:05:38):
shuddering with revulsion. No, Cliff, it's too much like grave clothes.
Everything about this place makes my flesh crawl. I'd rather
stay as I am than touch any of it. Cliff
nodded slowly, let's go. Then they hurried through the corridors

(01:06:02):
toward the stairway, with Cliff holding the cutlass in readiness.
As they passed the room in which lay the Aeriel's passengers,
he tried to divert Vilma's attention, but she looked in
as though hypnotized. I saw them before, she whispered, it's awful.

(01:06:26):
As they started up the stairway to the great Hall,
Cliff took the lead. He moved with utmost caution. It
doesn't seem right, he said, uneasily. We should hear from Corrio.
At that moment they did hear from him. Literally, from

(01:06:48):
somewhere in the maze of tunnels, came the sound of
his accursed horn, the note of sleep. It swirled insidiously
about their heads, numbing their senses. Cliff felt his stride falter,
saw Vilma stumble, and he hurled himself forward, furiously gripping

(01:07:12):
her arm. Hurry, he shouted, striving to pierce the fog
of sleep. We've got to get out, damn him. Vilma
rallied for an instant and they reached the top of
the stairs on across that wide, wide room, each step

(01:07:35):
a struggle on while the droning sound floated languidly through
every nerve cell on till their muscles could no longer move,
and they sagged to the hard stone asleep. Moments later,

(01:07:56):
Cliff opened his eyes to meet the hellish glare of
Leon Koro. Koro smiled thinly. So you awaken, good, I
would have you know the fate I have planned for you.

(01:08:17):
You see this, He held the cutlass high above Darrell's throat,
like the blade of a guillotine. With this, I could
end your life quite painlessly and quickly. It really would
prove entertaining for miss Bradley, I'm sure, he chuckled faintly.

(01:08:40):
Behind bruised and swollen lips. Cliffs squirmed, striving to rise,
then subsided instantly, he was bound hand and foot. I
could kill you, Korrio repeated, musingly, But that would lack finesse.

(01:09:04):
His teeth bared in a feline smile, and it would
be such a waste of blood. Instead, I'll take you
out to the galley and let you lie there till
her crew awakens to night. They have tasted blood, and

(01:09:24):
after to night will taste none again for another month.
I imagine they'll drain you dry. The last phrase was
a vicious snarl. Cliff heard Vilma utter a suppressed sob,
and he turned his head. She lay close by, bound

(01:09:48):
like him with strips of leather. Furiously, Cliff strained at
his fetters, but they held. And while you wait for
those gentle persians to awaken, Corio continued, in tones caressingly soft.
You can think of your sweetheart in my arms. It

(01:10:13):
may teach you not to strike your betters, though you
can never profit by your lesson stooping, he raised Cliff's
powerful form and managed to fling him over one shoulder.
Then he moved from the great Hall, down the stone
steps and across the dead plain with its sighing skeleton trees.

(01:10:39):
He was panting jerkily by the time he came to
the fissure leading to the cove, but he reached it
despite Cliff's two hundred pounds. Without pausing, he went on
into the cavern along the rock ledge, to step at
last upon the deck of the Black Galley. Pleasant thoughts,

(01:11:03):
he said gently, as he dropped Cliff to the spongy boards.
You have only to wait till dark. Cliff listened to
his rapid footfalls till they died in distance. Then there
was no sound save his own breathing. Gradually his eyes

(01:11:26):
became accustomed to the heavy gloom, and he saw that
Coriel had dropped him just at the edge of the
rower's pit. There were white things down there, bones pale
as marble, scattered about aimlessly. Could could those bones join

(01:11:49):
to make the rowers who would arise with the night?
It seemed absurd, was absurd, yet he knew it was so.
He had seen too much to doubt it. He rolled
over on his back and stared upward into the shadows.

(01:12:09):
He must lie here helpless while Corio returned to Vilma,
did with her as he pleased. Perhaps he might even
transform her into a blood tainted monster like himself. He
saw her again in that room of ancient splendor, spread
eagle to the bed, and the muscles corded in his arms,

(01:12:34):
and his lips strained white in a futile effort to
break free. Interminably, he lay there waiting. The galley was
damp with the chilling dampness of a sepulcher, and the
dampness penetrated deeper and deeper. Clamping his jaws together to

(01:12:55):
prevent their quivering, he struggled against a rising tide of
madness which gnawed at his reason. His mind began to
crunch and jangle, like a machine out of gear, threatening
to destroy itself. On and on, in plodding indifference, the

(01:13:17):
stolid moments passed till at last Cliff realized that it
was growing darker. He rolled over on his side and
stared into the galley pit, eyes fixed on the inert
masses of white. Soon they would move, Soon, the undead

(01:13:37):
would rise. His thoughts, touched by the whips of dread,
sped about like slaves seeking escape from a torture pit,
and abruptly, out of the welter of chaotic ideas came
one straw of sanity. He seized it his heart, hammering

(01:13:59):
with hope. Those Persian sailors were armed. Their swords and
knives were real, for they cut flesh. Somewhere among their
bones must lie sharp edged blades. He struggled to the
edge of the pit, let his feet drop over as

(01:14:21):
they touched. He balanced precariously for an instant, then fell
to his knees. He peered feverishly about among white bones,
moldering garments, and rusted armor, and saw a faint glimmer
of light on pointed steel. He sank forward on his

(01:14:42):
face in the direction of the gleam, turned over, squirmed,
and writhed till he felt the cold blade against his hands.
He caught it between his fingers and began sawing back
and forth. Was heartbreaking. Work age had dulled the weapon,

(01:15:05):
and long slivers of rust flaked off, but the leather
which bound him was also ancient. Though progress was slow
and the effort laborious, Cliff knew his bonds were weakening,
but it was growing darker. Even now. He could see

(01:15:25):
only a suggestion of gray among the shadows. If those
undead things materialized while he lay among them, sweat stood
out on his forehead, and he redoubled his efforts, straining
at the leather as he sawed. With a snap, the
cords parted and his hands were free. A single slash

(01:15:49):
severed the thongs about his ankles, and he stood up
leapt to the deck. Not an instant too soon there
was movement in the pit, a hideous crawling of bones
assembling themselves into skeletal form. Cliff waited to see no more.

(01:16:10):
There were limits to what one could see and remain sane.
With a bound, he crossed the rotting deck and sprang ashore.
Despite the dark, He almost ran from the madness of
that cave, ran till he passed through the wall of rock,
till he saw the rim of the moon gleaming behind

(01:16:32):
the castle. End of Part four, Part five of Isle
of the Undead by Lloyd Arthur Eschbach. This LibriVox recording

(01:16:53):
is in the public domain. Part five the end of
the Island. Out on the plain, he sprinted through the
ghostly forest. He knew he had no time to spare.
Knew that soon the march of torture would begin. Knew
that if Vilma were within the castle, she must answer

(01:17:17):
the summons of Corio's horn. Even now, light glowed faintly
in the high square windows that horn at the foot
of the steps. He stopped short. If he heard the horn,
he too must answer, He dared not risk it with

(01:17:41):
impatient fingers. He tore a strip of cloth from his shirt,
rolled it into a cylinder, and thrust it into his ear.
Another for the other ear, and he darted up into
the castle. A sweeping glance revealed no one, only the
murky glow of the altar fire and the wraiths of

(01:18:02):
smoke pluming upward toward the shadowed roof. Wishing now that
he had brought a weapon from the galley, cliff crossed
to the opening in the wall. He stood at the
top of the steps, listening, then cursed silently as he
remembered that he could hear none but very loud sounds.

(01:18:27):
He saw nothing, so he hastened down into the corridor.
His steps were swiftly stealthy as he moved toward Corio's room.
He was past the first branching passage when a sixth
sense warned him of someone's approach. He ran swiftly to

(01:18:49):
the next fork, then paused within its shelter and glanced back.
Saw five red cowled figures glide along the tunnel and
vanished up the stairway. Cliff frowned. With the vampires in
the great hall. Corio must soon follow leading his victims

(01:19:10):
to the blood feast. He drew back deeper into the shadows.
His groping hands touched something in the dark, round and hard,
like a keg. Curiously, he investigated it was a keg,

(01:19:31):
and there were others. A sandy powder trailed to the
floor from a crack in one of them. Thoughtfully, Cliff
let it run through his fingers. Gunpowder. Of course, he
had heard Krio mention pirates and their treasure, and this

(01:19:52):
had been their cash of explosive an idea was forming.
He looked up to see a shadow pass the mouth
of the tunnel. He crept forward and peered out. He
saw the black hooded figure of Leon Korio striding along.

(01:20:13):
Saw him enter the room where the passengers of the
Aeriel lay in a breath, Cliff was down the corridor
to Corrio's room. A tarnished silver candelabrum shed faint light
through the chamber, and by its flickering glow, he searched
for Vilma thoroughly, painstakingly, futilely. He stood in the center

(01:20:40):
of the room in indecision, his forehead creased with anxiety.
If only he could find her, he'd know how to plan.
He ran his hand through his hair helplessly, then heard
very faintly the luring note of Corio's horn. She must

(01:21:01):
answer that summons. Unless Koryo had her tide somewhere, his
best chance of finding her lay in the hall above.
On the wall still hung the mate of the cutlass
he had used to free Vilma. He wrenched it down
and ran out into the corridor. The last of the

(01:21:22):
naked marchers was disappearing up the stairway. Now the horn
note died, and he could feel more than here the
rumbling base of the dirge from the depths below him.
He ran the rest of the distance along the passageway
and mounted the steps two at a stride. He looked

(01:21:45):
into the torture hall. As on the previous night, Koro
stood far back, close to the wall in which Cliff crouched.
The arms of the Master were raised high, raised, Cliff knew,
though he could not hear it in a blasphemous incantation,

(01:22:07):
And then he saw something that sent a crimson glance
of fury crashing through his brain. Hilma stripped, like the rest,
stood with the other victims at the foot of the
long steps. Her body gleamed pinkly in contrast to the

(01:22:28):
pallid drabness of the half dead automatons, and she held
her head proudly erect. But from where he stood, Cliff
could see the side of her face, and it bore
a look of terror. He could see Coreo's face, too,
and he was looking at the girl, baffled, fury glaring

(01:22:50):
from his eyes, as though she were there against his will.
Cliff's first impulse was to fling himself out there with
his cutlass and hack a way to freedom for Vilma
and himself, But cold reason checked this folly. Such a
course could end only in death. Motionless, he watched the

(01:23:16):
scene before him, his brain frantically seeking a plan with
even a ghost of a chance of succeeding the gunpowder.
There was enough of the stuff below to blast this
entire castle into the hell where it belonged. Hastily, he
retraced his steps to the tunnel in which he had

(01:23:38):
found the kegs, plucking the torch from its niche in
the wall as he passed it. He held it high
above his head as he examined the contents of the
broken keg unmistakably gunpowder. Thrusting the cutlass beneath his belt,
he clutched a handful of the black dust. Then, crouching

(01:24:01):
close to the floor, he drew an irregular thread through
the passageway toward the stairs. Once he returned for more powder,
but in a few minutes the job was done. At
the foot of the steps, where the trail ended, he
touched his torch to the black line and watched a

(01:24:21):
hissing spark snake its white smoked way back toward the
powder kegs. An instant he watched it then sprang up
the stairs. He'd have to move fast. With a hideous howl,
he darted into the hall, his cutlass above his head.

(01:24:41):
Porreo spun about, and it was his last living act.
A single sweep of the great blade sheared his head
from his neck, sent it rolling grotesquely across the floor.
For three heart beats, the body stood hood with a
fountain of blood spurting from severed arteries. Then it crashed. Coolly.

(01:25:10):
Cliff leaned over the twitching cadaver, ignoring the bedlam on
the stairs, the hoarde sweeping down toward him, hurling aside
the waiting humans. He pried open, clutching fingers, seized a
twisted silver instrument and raised it to his lips. The

(01:25:30):
mass of undead were almost upon him, the murky light
glinting on menacing blades. When Cliff blew the first note,
the note of sleep, he tried again, hastily, and it
was the right one. At the doleful, soothing sound, the

(01:25:52):
undead halted in their tracks, halted and melted into nothingness
before his eyes eyes. But now those other five, in
their robes of bloody red, they were charging, And even
though they were unarmed, Cliff felt a stab of fear.

(01:26:14):
They possessed powers beyond the human powers a mortal could
not combat. He braced himself and waited at the bottom
of the steps. They stopped, ranging in a wide half circle.
The central monster, the Master, flung up his arms in

(01:26:36):
a strangely terrifying gesture, and Cliff saw his carmine lips
move in a chant which he could not hear. Something
a chilling presence hovered about him, seemed to settle upon him,
cloaking him with the might of the devil himself. That

(01:27:00):
unheard incantation continued, and Cliff felt a cold rigidity creeping
through every fiber, slowly freezing his limbs into columns of ice.
With a mighty effort of will, he flung himself toward
that accursed drinker of blood, and at that instant a

(01:27:22):
terrific detonation rocked the ancient building, and a cloud of
smoke and flame burst from the opening in the wall.
Cliff was hurled from his feet, rolled over and over,
and crashed against the wall by the awful concussion the
cutlass and silver horn sent whirling through the air. Dizzily,

(01:27:47):
he staggered to his feet, crouching defensively. Sounds came to
him clearly. Now the explosion must have jarred the plugs
from his ears. He scanned the room, saw the unclad
humans scattered everywhere, most of them lying still and unconscious.

(01:28:08):
He saw Vilma rising slowly. Then he looked for the
monsters in red startled, he saw them rushing toward the
opening in the wall to vanish in its smoke filled interior.
Why did they? Then he knew down there somewhere were

(01:28:32):
their graves, graves rent and broken by the explosion. Graves
threatened by the flames, and panic had seized the vampires,
fear of the death which would result with exile from
their tombs. Unsteadily, Cliff crossed to Vilma. She saw him

(01:28:54):
coming and flung herself, sobbing into his arms. He crushed
her lithe form close, and another explosion, more violent than
the first, sent a section of the stone floor leaping upward,
as though with life of its own. Clinging to Vilma,
Cliff managed to maintain his footing, though the floor bucked

(01:29:18):
and heaved, a snapping, booming roar, and a great chasm
opened in the floor. A breathless instant, and a segment
of the stone stairs, rumbling thunderously, dropped out of sight
into a newly formed pit. With it went the blasphemous

(01:29:41):
altar and its phosphorescent fire. Deafened, stunned, momentarily powerless to move,
Cliff's mind groped for an explanation. It seemed incredible that
gunpowder could cause such havoc, and the swaying of the

(01:30:01):
floor continued. The thick stone walls shook alarmingly. Suddenly he
understood an earthquake. The explosions had jarred the none too
stable under strata of rock into spasmodic motion that must
grind everything to bits. The island was doomed, and Earth

(01:30:26):
would be better without it, if only they could reach
the aerial first, new strength flowed through him, and, hugging
Vilma close, he staggered toward the spot where he knew
the door must be. Somehow he reached it and reeled
down the broken stone steps. The plane of dead trees

(01:30:52):
swayed like the deck of a ship in a storm.
As Cliff started across it. A gale had arisen and
swept in from the sea, ripping dry branches from the
skeleton growths and whirling them about like straws. Yet somehow
Cliff reached the crevice in the rock wall with his burden,

(01:31:15):
reached the deck of the galley, crossed it, and won
to the safety of the aerial. Minutes later, with diesel
engines purring, they crept out through the narrow channel into
the open sea. Ten minutes later, the isle of the
undead lay safely behind them. Vilna had dressed, and now

(01:31:41):
they sat together in the pilot house. Cliff had one
arm about her and one hand on the wheel, and
so the girl was saying, while Corio carried you to
that terrible old boat, I got loose. He hadn't tied
me very tightly, and I slipped my hands free. I

(01:32:04):
had to hide, and I could think of only one
place that might be safe, where he wouldn't think to
look for me. I ran down to the room where
those those others lay. I undressed and buried myself among them.
It was horrible the way they sucked each other's wounds.

(01:32:26):
Cliff pressed a hand across her lips. Forget that, he said,
almost fiercely, Forget all of it. Do you hear? She
looked up at him and said, simply, I'll try. They
glanced back toward the black blotch on the horizon. The

(01:32:49):
seismic disturbances continued unabated at that moment. They saw the
barrier of rock, like a skull, split and sink into
the sea. Beyond cleansing. Tongues of flame licked the sky.
They saw a single jagged wall of the castle still standing,

(01:33:12):
one window glowing in its black expanse, like a square
bloody moon against a bloody sky. It crumbled. They turned away,
and Cliff's arms circled the girl. He loved their lips
met and clung, and the ariel plowed on through the

(01:33:35):
frothing brine, bearing them towards safety and forgetfulness together. End
of Part five. End of Isle of the Undead by
Lloyd Arthur Eschbach recording by Louise J. Bell, Sebastopol, California,