The Hammer Horror Omnibus by John Burke Read Free Book Online

you know that as well as I do.” When Namaroff did not reply he went on: “My father refers to a terrible thing stalking among the people of Vandorf. ‘It turned Sascha to stone and others before her. The conspiracy of silence must be broken before others go the way I am going. If there are cycles of possession by that which was once Medusa . . .’ And there he breaks off, and scrawls those last words about turning to stone. Medusa, Dr. Namaroff,” Paul challenged. “Does that mean anything to you?”
    “A character from mythology. Not really my field, Mr. Heitz.”
    “When my father wrote this letter he knew what was happening to him. He knew how he was dying, and why. And it wasn’t heart failure.”
    “That is your opinion,” said Namaroff frigidly. “No doubt you’ll have an opportunity of expressing it at the inquest.”
    “When will it be held?”
    “It has not been decided. But I’ll see that you’re informed. Goodbye, Mr. Heitz.”
    Paul had to accept this blunt dismissal. He went back to the millhouse. Hans was anxious that they should leave without delay. He was not surprised by the lack of cooperation being shown to Paul. It had been the same with his father. And look what happened to the Professor when he stubbornly lingered!
    Paul took his father’s letter out of his pocket and began to re-read it for what must have been the tenth time. He strolled out of the cool house into the fitful sunshine and went down the steps to the tangle that had once been a well-kept kitchen garden. At the end of the garden was a fishpond surrounded by a low stone wall. The scene could have been idyllic but for the awareness of evil drifting like a miasma from the forest.
    Paul sat on the low wall and turned the sheets of paper over yet again, wondering what terrible experience could have produced such incoherent ramblings from a man normally as precise as his father had been.
    This spirit which may be an elemental force or an individual personality of great destructiveness from the past is capable of taking on human form. No other possible explanation. The human envelope itself could not have survived that long. If someone in Vandorf is possessed . . .
    Impatiently he got up and went back into the house, tossing the letter on to the table. But he was restless. His father’s books were arrayed on the room’s one sagging shelf, but Paul was in no state to settle down to work on them. His father had done too much already. There were scribbled notes everywhere, and innumerable markers jutting out between the pages of the books. But the only result had been death.
    Paul shivered. He had to step outside again, into the brightness of day. Again he took a few paces down the steps and looked through the trees towards the castle, demanding an answer.
    Hans would be glad if they could pack up those books and go. And what else was there to do?
    There was a faint rustle in the room behind him. Paul ignored it for a moment, thinking that Hans had come in. Then something prompted him to turn.
    A dark girl with high cheekbones and deep eyes lost in shadow stood by the table.
    She said: “Forgive me for intruding. The door was open—I couldn’t make anyone hear . . .”
    “Who are you?”
    “I’m Carla Hoffmann.” She came towards the door, and as she moved she gave off a faint musky scent which went well with her graceful, almost animal walk. Yet seen at close quarters she was a trim, modern young woman with an urban self-assurance. “Dr. Namaroff’s assistant at the Institution,” she added.
    “Can I help you?” said Paul with no great enthusiasm. Her attractiveness was undeniable, but if she was Namaroff’s assistant he was in no mood to be attracted.
    “I’d like to help you if I can,” she said.
    “Does Namaroff know you’re here?”
    “He’d be very angry if he did.” When Paul waited noncommittally, she burst out: “Please believe me, I only came here to see if there was anything I could