Goat Mother and Others: The Collected Mythos Fiction of Pierre Comtois (55 page)

“Makes sense,” I admitted and somewhat reluctantly agreed to interview Sanders even though, as I’ve said, my main interests lay in a classroom setting rather than in the field. And in a way, this field trip off-campus qualified, in my mind at least, as being outside the usual academic requirements of my position as a full professor.

“Good,” said Walker. “Meanwhile, the arrangements have been made. Your visit has already been approved and you’re expected later this evening.”

“So soon?”

“Do you have any other appointments?”

“No.”

“Well then. Following the interview, you’ll write up a report for our colleagues in Pennsylvania?”

“Of course.”

So you see? The situation really was out of my hands. It was not as if I wanted to become involved. It was an order from my superior. What could I do? Anyway, I completed my course work for the day and after a leisurely supper, took myself across town to the hospital which I found was located behind a stone wall encircling well-manicured grounds.

I identified myself to a guard at the gate and was somewhat surprised to find others patrolling among the bare trees and withered hydrangeas. Walker didn’t tell me that Pickerton housed any really dangerous patients nor that it was a high security institution.

Following the guard’s directions, I drove through the gate and along a short drive to a visitor parking area that gave access to the main building by way of a side entrance. Inside, I found myself in a quiet reception area generously decorated with a number of potted plants.

“I’m Prof. Luke Withins,” I said, identifying myself to a girl sitting behind a counter. “I believe I have an appointment to speak to a patient tonight? His name is Armand Sanders.”

“Oh, yes,” said the girl. “I have you down right here. If you’ll just wait a moment, I’ll call Dr. Bross to escort you up to the ward.”

“Thank you. By the way,” I said after the girl had hung up the telephone. “I noticed quite a few guards around the building. Is that normal? I wasn’t aware that the hospital was a secure facility…?”

“Oh, we’re not, at least not until lately,” the girl replied. “But recently, there’s been a prowler about. Before the ground began to freeze, one of the nurses noticed a number of footprints in the flower beds as if someone was looking in at the windows. It was a little unnerving, let me tell you. So the hospital hired a security firm to keep watch outdoors and escort female staff members to the parking area after dark.”

“So the person hasn’t been caught I take it?”

“No. New footprints keep showing up I hear. Well, some of them are a man’s footprints but others look like those of a deer or something.”

“Deer? This close to the center of town?”

“I know! Funny isn’t it? But there definitely are other prints, animals of some kind, I’ve seen them myse

My conversation with the receptionist ended there as it was interrupted by the arrival of Dr. Bross, supervisor of Ward 9 where Sanders was located.

“Prof. Withins?” he asked, extending a hand.

“Yes.”

“Nice to meet you. Do you have any questions about our patient before we go upstairs?”

“Not really except that I wondered if it was safe…?”

“Oh, certainly. Sanders is not dangerous, except perhaps to himself. Although the primary reason for his commitment were concerns over suicidal tendencies, there’s been no evidence of that since his arrival here some months ago. It’s only for reasons of safety that he remains on suicide watch.”

“And the ravings that his family said he was having?”

“He still expresses unusual fear about, well…alien invaders and such,” laughed Bross, “but aside from that, he’s managed to convey his concerns in a much less excited manner than before his arrival here.”

“So my interview with him ought to work out all right?”

“He’s quite lucid if that’s what you mean. But don’t expect what he has to say to make any sense!”

At that point, we had entered an elevator and traveled up three flights to Ward 9. It was still early in the evening so the corridor there still bustled a bit with patients sitting quietly in wheelchairs or shuffling down corridors. Others remained in their rooms as a nurse occupied a station at the intersection of two corridors and an orderly and some nurse’s aids worked directly with patients.

“Adele,” said Bross, approaching the nurse’s station. “How is Sanders doing tonight?”

“Same as usual, doctor,” the nurse replied. “He received his meds after supper and asked to be excused from day-room activities. I think he’s eager to speak with the visitor he’s expecting.”

“Very good.”

Taking Sanders’ chart, Bross led the way down to Sanders’ room. The door was open.

“Armand?” said Bross, knocking lightly by way of warning Sanders that his visitor had arrived.

“I’m here, doctor,” came the reply as Sanders swung about in a swivel chair placed before a small metal desk.

“There’s a Prof. Sanders here to see you. I believe he’s expected?”

“He is,” said Sanders, rising from his chair and extending a hand. “Please sit down professor.”

As the only place to sit was on Sanders’ neatly made cot, I took a seat there. Looking the patient over, I was surprised to find him looking quite healthy in his clean hospital whites. And although his face was creased with what some call worry lines, they were by no means predominant. He had a receding hairline and I noticed that his hands shook slightly. The result of the medicines he was taking or something else? Still, overall, I was impressed with his demeanor and inclined to believe that our conversation would be a pleasant one.

“Doctor,” said Sanders.” You’ve heard my story many times before. Do you mind if I fill in Prof. Withins privately?”

“Of course not,” said Bross without hesitation. “I’ll wait down at the station. Let me know if you need me.”

Sanders watched Bross leave but made no attempt to close the door. Then, speaking in a low voice, he addressed me.

“So you’ve come at the request of the university?” he asked.

“Pennsylvania University, yes.”

“Did they give you any reason why they wanted this interview?”

“I think they want to know more about the confusing reports that have been made over the years about the Hughbanks Expedition,” I said truthfully. “It was thought that all of the surviving members had died or dropped from sight, so it came as a surprise when they read that you had appeared as a patient here.”

“The hypocrites!” spat Sanders. “To the public, they act like they’re all scandalized at the reported debacle in Belize, but what they really want to know are more details on what really happened to us. The expedition brought back a number of artifacts that have never seen the light of day because they were buried in storage cabinets in the deepest recesses of the campus. For years, members of the expedition were unable to give them any information about the artifacts because none of us could remember anything about them…”

“How was that?”

“Because we were brainwashed, professor! Oh, don’t look so surprised. Did you really believe that story about our getting involved with local drug dealers? Do you think any professional like Hughbanks would allow something like that? Mixing in local politics is strictly verboten on such digs as you well know otherwise not only would expensive expeditions be jeopardized, but the lives of members put at risk in countries that are often unstable and even lawless.”

“Then there were no drug dealers?”

“Isn’t that what I just said? It was aliens, professor, or at least their human henchmen, that disrupted the dig,” insisted Sanders, moving his chair closer to me. “We were getting too close to their secrets. The aliens…some kind of fungoid-based life-forms who call themselves the Mi-Go…became alarmed when Hughbanks led the expedition into the El Cacao region. There’d never been extensive exploration of the area before, and as we moved deeper into the jungle and began uncovering a whole city of ancient ruins such as had never been seen before in Mayan, Incan, Aztec, or even Tolmec cultures, there were increasing indications that someone didn’t want us to go any farther.”

“You didn’t come across any fields of cannabis plants or…?”

“You still think it was all about drugs, do you professor? No. There was no sign of any drug producing organization or local growers. This was something else. At first, we began to find our way blocked by recently felled trees and later, items began to disappear from our camp: food, tools, medicine, water, until it was no longer possible to fool ourselves that we’d been the ones mislaying the items.

“It was at that point that we ran into the El Cacao natives which we were surprised to find were of European stock, albeit by way of Mexico. Of course, that wasn’t immediately apparent as they’d abandoned western dress for what materials they could find in the jungle so at first, they appeared to us as wild natives what with their skins and feathers and body paint and such. Dr. Hughbanks tried to talk to them, at one point coaxing their leaders into camp for a peace conference. They spoke a corrupted Spanish so that some of our party could communicate with them after a fashion, and it was quickly discovered that though they once had been members of some branch of American Amish, they’d long since abandoned the Christian faith for something far more primitive and to them, virile.”

Sanders lowered his voice and his eyes became more intent. I could tell that whatever kind of mania that had landed him in Pickerton, it had arisen from somewhere inside him and at that point, lay just beneath his calm exterior. I knew then that a wrong word spoken by myself could set him off, so I determined to humor him the best I could.

“Go on,” I said.

“They told us that their ancestors had come to the region many years before and found…creatures already living there, creatures that possessed vast knowledge and, practicing strange surgical techniques, could transport them across abysses of time and space that left their brains bursting with wonder and black delights. After their leaders had returned from such mind-expanding journeys, enthusiasm for the creatures grew to such an extent that it descended into a regard that was indistinguishable from worship.

“Naturally, Hughbanks humored them, the same as you are doing to me I’m sure,” continued Sanders knowingly. “But the same way I can tell that you remain credulous, so too did those natives. They led us on a bit, showing us the ruins and as they took us deeper and deeper into the surrounding jungle, the buildings became more fantastic in design, more inexplicable in purpose. Then one day, we were attacked in camp. We were seized and restrained and it was then that we first set eyes upon the object of the natives’ worship: as a kind of buzzing speech filled the camp, a number of the things emerged fully from the surrounding vegetation. We stared in horror at sight of the crab-like bodies, and it was then that some of us were killed resisting the things. We were taken back into the jungle and shown to an entrance below one of the ruined buildings. It was dark at first, but as we were led downward light appeared, and we emerged into a cavernous space filled with weird humming machinery of a sort never seen in any earthbound laboratory. With mounting horror and disquiet, we were shown bodies of natives where they seemed preserved under glass, the tops of their heads open and their brains removed. I barely recall how the others reacted but for myself, I was somewhat stupefied as we were shown how the brains were stored in cylinders and prepared for fantastic journeys to other times and other galaxies. Some, we were told, were bound for Pluto, one of the alien creatures’ way stations, known to the natives as Yuggoth.

“At that point, as you can well imagine, most of us had had enough. Refusing to see more, we began looking for the way out but by then it was too late. We were prevented from going, and I for one could not help focusing my attention on cruel-looking instruments some of the things held in their claw-like hands…but I can see I’ve gone too far. You don’t believe me, do you?”

“Of course I…”

“They say I’m mad professor, but I’m not,” insisted Sanders. “They brainwashed us is what they did. Not by any psychological means but by a simple surgical technique. That’s why those of us who finally made it back to civilization told some stupid tale of a battle with drug dealers. It was the cover story they wanted us to convey. To discourage any more expeditions to El Cacao — and it worked too. For years our conditioning held as we died one by one. But something must have gone wrong with me. Maybe my body managed to rewire itself, I don’t know but suddenly, a couple years ago, my memory began to return. At first it felt like a dream I was remembering but after a while I became certain that my memories were of no dream. I did some research that corroborated my suspicions. Eventually my memory returned completely and I had no doubts. My mistake was trying to convince my family that I wasn’t mad; that my recollections were of events that really happened. I should have kept it all to myself. As it is, I wound up here and worse, news of my commitment filtered out into the newspapers, because I can’t think of any other way they could have found out about me.”

“Who?”

“The creatures, the Mi-Go…that’s what they call themselves you know. They must have begun to look for me and found me here. Prowlers have been reported lingering on the hospital grounds. You’ve heard about that? There were both human footprints and other less identifiable prints as well, right?”

“I was told they were deer…”

Sanders snorted and leaned back in his chair, shoving it back toward the desk as he did so.

“They weren’t deer!” he almost shouted. “I don’t know how they do it without being spotted but their human servitors, those natives, they help them. They never go anywhere without them. They’re always somewhere nearby.” He laughed then, suddenly. “You don’t believe any of this of course?”

“Well, I…”

“Of course you don’t. Neither would I in your place. But go on, write your report of this interview to the fools at the university…if you want to submit something that’s incomplete. You do want the full story don’t you?”

“Of course, if there’s more…”