The Second Wish and Other Exhalations Read online

  THE SECOND WISH AND OTHER EXHALATIONS

  By Brian Lumley

  A Macabre Ink Production

  Macabre Ink is an imprint of Crossroad Press

  Digital Edition published by Crossroad Press

  Digital Edition Copyright © 2017 Brian Lumley

  Copy-Edited By: Tony Masia

  Original publication by Hodder Headline PLC – 1995

  LICENSE NOTES

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to the vendor of your choice and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Meet the Author

  Born in County Durham, he joined the British Army’s Royal Military Police and wrote stories in his spare time before retiring with the rank of Warrant Officer Class 1 in 1980 and becoming a professional writer.

  In the 1970s he added to H. P. Lovecraft’s Cthulhu Mythos cycle of stories, including several tales and a novel featuring the character Titus Crow. Several of his early books were published by Arkham House. Other stories pastiched Lovecraft’s Dream Cycle but featured Lumley’s original characters David Hero and Eldin the Wanderer. Lumley once explained the difference between his Cthulhu Mythos characters and Lovecraft’s: “My guys fight back. Also, they like to have a laugh along the way.”

  Later works included the Necroscope series of novels, which produced spin-off series such as the Vampire World Trilogy, The Lost Years parts 1 and 2, and the E-Branch trilogy. The central protagonist of the earlier Necroscope novels appears in the anthology Harry Keogh and Other Weird Heroes. The latest entry in the Necroscope saga is The Mobius Murders.

  Lumley served as president of the Horror Writers Association from 1996 to 1997. In March 2010, Lumley was awarded Lifetime Achievement Award of the Horror Writers Association. He also received a World Fantasy Award for Lifetime Achievement in 2010.

  Bibliography

  Psychomech Trilogy

  Psychomech

  Psychosphere

  Psychamok

  Necroscope Series

  Necroscope

  Necroscope II: Wamphyri!

  Necroscope III: The Source

  Necroscope IV: Deadspeak

  Necroscope V: Deadspawn

  Vampire World I: Blood Brothers

  Vampire World II: The Last Aerie

  Vampire World III: Bloodwars

  Necroscope: The Lost Years, Volume I

  Necroscope: The Lost Years, Volume II

  Necroscope: Invaders

  Necroscope: Defilers

  Necroscope: Avengers

  Harry Keogh: Necroscope & Other Weird Heroes

  Necroscope: The Touch

  Necroscope: The Möbius Murders

  H.P. Lovecraft’s Dreamland Series

  Hero of Dreams

  Ship of Dreams

  Mad Moon of Dreams

  Iced on Aran

  Other Novels and Collections

  A Coven of Vampires

  Beneath the Moors

  Beneath the Moors and Darker Places

  Brian Lumley’s Freaks

  Dagon’s Bell and Other Discords

  Demogorgon

  Fruiting Bodies and Other Fungi

  Ghoul Warning and Other Omens

  Ghoul Warning and Other Omens … and Other Omens

  Haggopian and Other Stories

  Harry and the Pirates

  In the Moons of Borea

  Khai of Ancient Khem

  Maze of Worlds

  No Sharks In The Med & Other Stories

  Screaming Science Fiction

  Sixteen Sucking Stories

  Spawn of the Winds

  Synchronicity, or Something

  The Burrowers Beneath

  The Caller of The Black

  The Clock of Dreams

  The Compleat Crow

  The Compleat Khash: Volume One: Never a Backward Glance

  The Fly-by-Nights

  The Horror at Oakdeene and Others

  The House of Cthulhu

  The House of Doors

  The House of the Temple

  The Last Rite

  The Nonesuch

  The Plague-Bearer

  The Return of the Deep Ones and Other Mythos Tales

  The Second Wish and Other Exhalations

  The Taint and Other Novellas

  The Transition of Titus Crow

  The Whisperer and Other Voices

  DISCOVER CROSSROAD PRESS

  Visit us online

  Check out our blog and

  Subscribe to our Newsletter for the latest Crossroad Press News

  Find and follow us on Facebook

  Join our group at Goodreads

  We hope you enjoy this eBook and will seek out other books published by Crossroad Press. We strive to make our eBooks as free of errors as possible, but on occasion some make it into the final product. If you spot any problems, please contact us at [email protected] and notify us of what you found. We’ll make the necessary corrections and republish the book. We’ll also ensure you get the updated version of the eBook.

  If you’d like to be notified of new Crossroad Press titles when they are published, please send an email to [email protected] and ask to be added to our mailing list.

  If you have a moment, the author would appreciate you taking the time to leave a review for this book at the retailer’s site where you purchased it.

  Thank you for your assistance and your support of the authors published by Crossroad Press.

  Introduction copyright © Brian Lumley, 1995.

  “The Second Wish”, copyright © Brian Lumley, 1980, first published in New Tales of the Cthulhu Mythos, ed. Ramsey Campbell, Arkham House, 1980.

  “The Sun, the Sea, and the Silent Scream”, copyright © Brian Lumley, first published in F&SF, Feb. 1988.

  “De Marigny’s Clock”, copyright © Brian Lumley, 1971, from The Caller of The Black, Arkham House, 1971.

  “The Luststone”, copyright ©Brian Lumley, 1991, first published in Weird Tales, Fall 1991.

  “Mother Love”, copyright © Brian Lumley, 1971, first published in Witchcraft & Sorcery, May 1971.

  “What Dark God”, copyright ©Brian Lumley, 1975. first published in Nameless Places, ed. G.W. Page, Arkham House, 1975.

  “The Thief Immortal”, copyright © Brian Lumley, first published in Weirdbook 25, Autumn 1990.

  “The House of the Temple”, copyright © Brian Lumley, 1980, first published in Kadath Vol I, No. 3, Nov. 1980.

  “Back Row”, copyright © Brian Lumley, 1988, first published in Terror Australis, Autumn 1988.

  “Name and Number”, copyright © Brian Lumley, 1982, first published in Kadath Vol II, No. 1, July 1982.

  “Snarker’s Son”, copyright © Brian Lumley, 1980, first published in New Tales of Terror, ed. Hugh Lamb, Magnum 1980.

  “Rising with Surtsey”, copyright © Brian Lumley, 1971, first published in Dark Things, ed. August Derleth, Arkham House, 1971.

  “David’s Worm”, copyright © Brian Lumley, 1972, first published in Year’s Best Horror No. 2, ed. Richard Davis, Sphere Books, 1972.

  THE SECOND WISH AND OTHER EXHALATIONS

  Table of Contents

  Introduction

  The Second Wish

  The Sun, the Sea, and the Silent Scream

  De Marigny’s Clock

  The Luststone

  Mothe
r Love

  What Dark God?

  The Thief Immortal

  The House of the Temple

  Back Row

  Name and Number

  Snarker’s Son

  Rising with Surtsey

  David’s Worm

  Introduction

  A couple of years ago I cropped Fruiting Bodies & Other Fungi; then Dagon’s Bell & Other Discords rang out; by all rights The Second Wish & Other Exhalations should be the last gasp, so to speak. A trilogy, with each book containing a witch’s dozen of stories from across my twenty-five-year span as an author. So that by the time this one sees print, all or most of the short stories and novelettes that I would wish to preserve will have been collected in this, that, or the other volume.

  That’s not to say that there aren’t more short stories and novelettes; there are, but they have already been collected, or they were ‘theme’ stories that wouldn’t fit in. My tales of the Primal Land, and my Dreamlands stories, for example, would feel out of place here; many of them wouldn’t be sufficiently, well, macabre. And if there’s any theme at all to what I’ve tried to present in these books, that’s it: the macabre, or what I continue to think of as ‘horror stories”, despite the fact that a good many authors nowadays tend to shy away from the horror tag.

  But while the collections themselves haven’t had specific themes — except horror, of course — the introductions have; they were platforms for my own ideas about the horror story. I prefaced Fruiting Bodies with a ‘What’s wrong with horror?’ introduction; not an apology for the genre, just a brief examination of what, to my way of thinking, has gone wrong with it. And I came to the conclusion that while a good many recent tales of terror are still recognizably ‘horror’ stories (how else can we describe them? A month-old corpse by any other name, etc.), far too often the modern variety fails to entertain but merely … horrifies!

  And in my introduction to Dagon’s Bell I tried to de­scribe what a horror story should be all about; not its contents, but the feeling it evokes: the need to look back over your shoulder when the house is dark and still. So, entertainment by frisson: the continuing theme that blood and guts aren’t enough in themselves but — like good food — the real measure of the art is in the presentation, the way it’s served up.

  And so in The Second Wish, for the third time, I’m attempting to serve up horror stories that won’t just horrify but satisfy, too, and might occasionally make you want to take a peek over your shoulder, or maybe gasp out loud.

  If, on the other hand, you’re looking for something to make your stomach heave, forget it — you won’t find it in this corner of the bookshop. The chemist’s (or drugstore, to you American cousins) is next door. If you should find it here, however, then for sure I’ve strayed from the path and failed to achieve my real goal, which was always and only to entertain — albeit in a cold, shivery, gasping sort of way …

  Brian Lumley

  Torquay

  February 1994

  The Second Wish

  Among horror classics The Monkey’s Paw must rank with the very best. I don’t think it inspired the present tale, though certainly both stories share similar macabre motifs.

  My first wish when I set about to write this story was to reiterate the theme of ‘The Warning Ignored’ and the resultant ‘Payment Exacted’; that’s what it’s about. It’s also a Cthulhu Mythos story, but despite the usual (unusual? obligatory?) references, it isn’t typically Lovecraftian.

  As for my second wish:

  Sixteen or seventeen years ago when this story was written, I was still a soldier. I wasn’t dependent upon earnings from my literary efforts; writing was only my hobby, while the Army was my real bread and butter. Which made me easy meat if an editor wanted changes made in a manuscript: I wouldn’t kick and scream at the mere suggestion. At that time the important thing was to get my stuff into print.

  In order to comply with editorial dictates, I re-wrote the original ending in a style that never entirely satisfied me: a case of ‘who pays the piper calls the tune,’ so to speak. This time around I’ve put the matter right. It’s only a small thing — just a paragraph, that’s all — but I can now consider The Second Wish in its entirety published the way I want it.

  My third wish is that it should give you the creeps!

  The scene was awesomely bleak: mountains gauntly grey and black towered away to the east, forming an uneven backdrop for a valley of hardy grasses, sparse bushes, and leaning trees. In one corner of the valley, beneath foothills, a scattering of shingle-roofed houses, with the very occasional tiled roof showing through, was enclosed and protected in the Old European fashion by a heavy stone wall.

  A mile or so from the village — if the huddle of time-worn houses could properly be termed a village — leaning on a low rotting fence that guarded the rutted road from a steep and rocky decline, the tourists gazed at the oppressive bleakness all about and felt oddly uncomfortable inside their heavy coats. Behind them their hired car — a black Russian model as gloomy as the surrounding country­side, exuding all the friendliness of an expectant hearse — stood patiently waiting for them.

  He was comparatively young, of medium build, dark­ haired, unremarkably good-looking, reasonably intelligent, and decidedly idle. His early adult years had been spent avoiding any sort of real industry, a prospect that a timely and quite substantial inheritance had fortunately made redundant before it could force itself upon him. Even so, a decade of living at a rate far in excess of even his ample inheritance had rapidly reduced him to an almost penniless, unevenly cultured, high-ranking rake. He had never quite lowered himself to the level of a gigolo, however, and his womanizing had been quite deliberate, serving an end other than mere fleshly lust.

  They had been ten very good years by his reckoning and not at all wasted, during which his expensive life­style had placed him in intimate contact with the cream of society; but while yet surrounded by affluence and glitter he had not been unaware of his own steadily dwindling resources. Thus, towards the end, he had set himself to the task of ensuring that his tenuous standing in society would not suffer with the disappear­ance of his so carelessly distributed funds; hence his philandering. In this he was not as subtle as he might have been, with the result that the field had narrowed down commensurately with his assets, until at last he had been left with Julia.

  She was a widow in her middle forties but still fairly trim, rather prominently featured, too heavily made-up, not a little calculating, and very well-to-do. She did not love her consort — indeed she had never been in love — but he was often amusing and always thoughtful. Possibly his chief interest lay in her money, but that thought did not really bother her. Many of the younger, unattached men she had known had been after her money. At least Harry was not foppish, and she believed that in his way he did truly care for her.

  Not once had he given her reason to believe otherwise. She had only twenty good years left and she knew it; money could only buy so much youth … Harry would look after her in her final years and she would turn a blind eye on those little indiscretions which must surely come — provided he did not become too indiscreet. He had asked her to marry him and she would comply as soon as they returned to London. Whatever else he lacked he made up for in bed. He was an extremely virile man and she had rarely been so well satisfied …

  Now here they were together, touring Hungary, getting ‘far away from it all.’

  “Well, is this remote enough for you?” he asked, his arm around her waist.

  “Umm,” she answered. “Deliciously barren, isn’t it?”

  “Oh, it’s all of that. Peace and quiet for a few days — it was a good idea of yours, Julia, to drive out here. We’ll feel all the more like living it up when we reach Budapest.”

  “Are you so eager, then, to get back to the bright lights?” she asked. He detected a measure of peevishness in her voice.

  “Not at all, darling. The setting might as well be Siberia for all I’m conc
erned about locale. As long as we’re to­gether. But a girl of your breeding and style can hardly—”

  “Oh, come off it, Harry! You can’t wait to get to Budapest, can you?”

  He shrugged, smiled resignedly, thought: You niggly old bitch! and said, “You read me like a book, darling — but Budapest is just a wee bit closer to London, and London is that much closer to us getting married, and—”

  “But you have me anyway,” she again petulantly cut him off. “What’s so important about being married?”

  “It’s your friends, Julia,” he answered with a sigh. “Surely you know that?” He took her arm and steered her towards the car. “They see me as some sort of cuckoo in the nest, kicking them all out of your affections. Yes, and it’s the money, too.”

  “The money?” she looked at him sharply as he opened the car door for her. “What money?”

  “The money I haven’t got!” he grinned ruefully, relaxing now that he could legitimately speak his mind, if not the truth. “I mean, they’re all certain it’s your money I’m after, as if I was some damned gigolo. It’s hardly flattering to either one of us. And I’d hate to think they might convince you that’s all it is with me. But once we’re married I won’t give a damn what they say or think. They’ll just have to accept me, that’s all.”

  Reassured by what she took to be pure naiveté, she smiled at him and pulled up the collar of her coat. Then the smile fell from her face, and though it was not really cold she shuddered violently as he started the engine.

  “A chill, darling?” he forced concern into his voice.

  “Umm, a bit of one,” she answered, snuggling up to him. “And a headache too. I’ve had it ever since we stopped over at — oh, what’s the name of the place? Where we went up over the scree to look at that strange monolith?”

  “Stregoicavar,” he answered her. “The “Witch-Town.” And that pillar-thing was the Black Stone. A curious piece of rock that, eh? Sticking up out of the ground like a great black fang! But Hungary is full of such things: myths and legends and odd relics of forgotten times. Perhaps we shouldn’t have gone to look at it. The villagers shun it…”