Isle of the Undead Read online

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  Transcriber's Note:

  This etext was produced from Weird Tales October 1936. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.

  "One hand closed on his thin neck, and the other, a rock-like fist, made a bloody ruin of his mouth."]

  Isle of the Undead

  By LLOYD ARTHUR ESHBACH

  _A gripping, thrilling, uncanny tale about the frightful fate that befell a yachting party on the dreadful island of living dead men_

  * * * * *

  _1. A Horror from the Past_

  A drab gray sheet of cloud slipped stealthily from the moon's roundface, like a shroud slipping from the face of one long dead, a coldlyphosphorescent face from which the eyes had been plucked. Yellowradiance fell toward a calm, oily sea, seeking a narrow bank of foglying low on the water, penetrating its somber mass like frozen yellowfingers.

  Vilma Bradley shuddered and shrank against Clifford Darrell's brawnyform. "It's--it's ghastly, Cliff!" she said.

  "Ghastly?" Darrell leaned against the rail, laughing softly. "Onecocktail too many--that's the answer. It's given you the jitters.Listen!" Faintly from the salon came strains of dance music and therhythmic shuffle of feet. "A nifty yacht, a South Sea moon, a radiodance orchestra, dancers--and little Clifford! And you call itghastly!" Almost savagely his arms tightened about her, and thebantering note left his voice. "I'm crazy about you, Vilma."

  She tried to laugh, but it was an unconvincing sound. "It's the moon,Cliff--I guess. I never saw it like that before. Something's going tohappen--something dreadful. I just _know_ it!"

  "Oh--be sensible, Vilma!" There was a hint of impatience in Cliff'sdeep voice. A gorgeous girl in his arms--dark-haired, dark-eyed, madefor love--and she talked of dreadful things which were going to happenbecause the moon looked screwy.

  She released herself and 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 intohis throat, choking him....

  Out of the winding-sheet of fog into the moonlight crept a strange,strange craft, her crumbling timbers blackened and rotted withincredible age. The corpse of a ship, she seemed, resurrected from thegrave of the sea. Her prow thrust upward like a scimitar bentbackward, hovering over the gaunt ruin of a cabin whose seaward sideswere formed by port and starboard bows. From a shallow pit amidshipsjutted the broken arm of a mast, its splintered tip pointing towardthe blindly watching moon. The stern, thickly covered with themoldering encrustations of age, curved inward above the strange highpoop, beneath which lay another cabin. And along either side of herworm-eaten freeboard ran a row of apertures like oblong portholes. Outof these projected great oars, long, unwieldy, as somberly black asthe rest of the ancient hulk.

  Now a sound drifted across the waters, the steady, rhythmic_br-rr-oom, br-rr-oom, br-rr-oom_ of a drum beating time for therowers. Its hollow thud checked the heart, set it to throbbing intempo with its own weary pulse. Ghostly fingers, dripping dread,crawled up Darrell's spine.

  Stiff-lipped, Vilma gasped: "What--what is it?"

  Cliff answered in a dry husky voice, the words seeming to trip over anawkward tongue. "It's--it's--it _can't_ be, damn it!--but it's agalley, a ship from the days of Alexander the Great! What's itdoing--here--_now_?"

  Closer she came through the moon-path, a frothing lip of brine curlingaway from her swelling prow. Closer--her course crossing that of the_Ariel_--and the watchers saw her crew! They gasped, and the bloodebbed from their faces.

  Men of ancient Persia, clad in leather kirtles and rusted armor, andthey were hideous! In the yellow moon-glow Cliff could see themclearly now--a lookout standing motionless in the stem, the steersmanon the poop-deck, the drummer squatting beside the broken mast, therowers in the pit--and all, _all_ were a bloodless white, the skin oftheir faces puffed and bloated and horribly wrinkled, like flesh thathad been under water a long time.

  Dead men ... men whose movements were stiffly wooden ... as dead astheir faces. But most horrible was the fact that they were there, thatthey moved at all!

  * * * * *

  "A queer mirage, isn't it?" A hollow voice spoke suavely behind them.

  Vilma gasped at the sudden sound, and they whirled. A foot away stoodthe tall, lean figure of the _Ariel's_ captain, Leon Corio. A queersmile twisted his thin lips.

  "What's the idea--sneaking up on us?" Darrell demanded angrily. Hedidn't like this man, hadn't liked him from the moment he hadapproached Cliff to sell him the yacht. But Cliff had bought the craftbecause she was a bargain, and in accordance with their agreement hehad hired Corio as captain.

  The tall man's smile remained fixed, and he bowed gravely. "Sorry,sir. I always walk softly. A habit, I suppose." He gestured towardthe galley. "It looks quite life-like, don't you think so?"

  "Life-like?" Cliff spoke between his teeth as he again faced the blackship. "It looks _dead_ to me!"

  The galley had almost reached them _now_, _veering sharply to draw upbeside_ the _Ariel_. The drum quieted, and the oars trailed in thewater, motionless except for the swaying imparted by the waves. Amusty, age-old odor filtered through the air like a breath from agrave. The music and dancing had stopped. A fear-filled hush shroudedthe yacht.

  Vilma drew Cliff's arm about her shoulder. He glanced back at themotionless 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 insidepocket, came out bearing a curious instrument like four twisted conesof silver bound together with silver thongs. As he raised this to hismouth, his eyelids were slits behind which burned the embers of hiseyes.

  Out over the sea crept a single note, deep, hollow, laden with eeryminor wailings--a sound that summoned imperatively, yet a sound thatrepelled. It was a moan, hideous as the moan of a dying demon. Itraked the heart with fear-tipped claws. It rose, and fell, and roseagain, and as it died, it awakened the crew of the ancient galley tomotion, sweeping them in a horde to the 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 facebehind it, but Corio avoided him like a wraith, still smiling fixedly,the horn again at his lips. Cliff cursed, and hurled himself throughthe air. One hand caught a bony shoulder; he felt fingers like hooksclose on his own throat. He wrenched free, landing a stunning blow onCorio's face--saw him reel and crash to the deck--and then he heardVilma scream!

  He whirled. She was struggling between two of the _flabby-faced thingsfrom_ the galley! In an instant he was upon them, his fist thuddingagainst icy flesh, burying itself in something horribly soft andyielding. Startled, Cliff swung a second blow; and an arm, tomb-coldand strong as the tentacle of an octopus, wrapped itself around him--avise of thin-covered bone! A dead, drowned face peered over hisshoulder, staring blankly. Other arms seized his legs, and though hestruggled and writhed with the strength of a mounting fear, he wasborne to the rail. Over they went, and dropped to the rotting deck ofthe galley.

  A numbness was creeping through him like a contagion, spreading fromthose crushing hands of ice. His struggles ceased. With eyes thatturned stiffly in their sockets he looked for Vilma, saw her raisedhigh above the heads of two other pallid creatures, saw them climbover the rail. Then the blackness of a dank and musty cabin envelopedhim; and he was
dropped with jarring force. His captors bulked blackagainst the moonlit doorway, treading soundlessly, and were gone.

  Cliff lay in rigid paralysis, every sense keenly alive, his mindstriving to clutch a single spar of reason in this chaotic whirlpoolof the incredible. This _couldn't_ be! Soon he'd awaken to laugh athis absurd nightmare.... Yet it seemed horribly real.... It _was_real!

  From the _Ariel_ boiled a fearful bedlam. Screams of terror. Curses.Then other shadows loomed in the doorway, and Vilma, motionless andrigid, was dropped brutally beside him on the spongy floor.

  Furiously Cliff struggled against the maddening restraint ofparalysis. He couldn't lie here helpless! Vilma needed him! He'd--he'd_have_ to do something. With an effort that studded his forehead withrounded drops of sweat and sent the blood throbbing through