Newsgroups: alt.horror
From: piharris@cix.compulink.co.uk (Philip Harris)
Subject: No subject 
Reply-To: piharris@cix.compulink.co.uk
Date: Tue, 5 Jan 1993 23:08:00 +0000

This is a story I have just finished, I'd appreciate any comments.



THE SAND MAN

Outside the sandstorm raged.

Henry sat in the centre of the tent, his hot hands gripping the book
he had discovered two days earlier. The pages of the book were
covered in barely legible hand written text and he had spent three
days studing the scrawl, looking for clues to it's meaning.

It was supposed to be one of five books which were created by
cultists in the 12th century, worshippers of some unholy god. The
books were reported to contain the history of the cult, and the key
to hitherto unknown power.

He had been warned that the books contained secrets that no man was
supposed to learn. His father himself had told him that they were
cursed, and whoever read it's contents would be forced to endure an
eternity of anguish.

But still he had researched the location of the books for two years.
He'd travelled thousands of miles in search of one. Finally, after
weeks of digging he'd found a copy, his copy.

Three nights ago the group of men he had brought from the town to
help him with his dig had discovered a sandstone building, a small
temple. Henry had sent the men away, and continued the digging alone.
He'd dug himself a narrow gap, just big enough for him to slide
through, and dropped into the temple.

Henry's flickering torch revealed walls covered with arcane drawings,
set with gold, but his attention had been drawn to the sandstone
altar at the front of the building. The thick leather bound book had
been attached to the altar with a gold chain but he hadn't come all
this way to let a piece of metal stop him. A hammer and chisel
shattered the chain like glass and he'd gently lifted the dust
covered book from the altar. Blowing the dust from the cover he'd
revealed the title, Nostradius Mortalis.

He'd spent the last three days studying the book alone. He'd not
eaten, ignoring the incessant nagging of his stomach completely and
his water had almost run out. Still he couldn't bring himself to
leave the tome. The text was confusing and contradictory, almost
impossible to read let alone understand. There was no punctuation, no
paragraphs, no titles or headings. It was heavy going, his head
ached, but still he continued examining the book, looking for some
insight into it's meaning.

Around him the heavy material flapped violently in the howling wind.
Outside it had become dark, as though the sun had become eclipsed by
the storm. The wind roared

Then , without warning, the storm stopped, and there was silence,
total silence. The storm was over, but the darkness stayed. Henry
glanced around himself, his hair plastered to his head by the
oppressive midday heat. A droplet of sweat dropped from his nose into
the sand in front of him. All he could hear was the beating of his
heart, the rest of the world was silent. He glanced nervously around
again.

The ground beneath him seemed to lift up slightly, then he was
falling.

He was dropping, then sliding, down a long sand covered slope. It was
completely and utterly dark. Even his own hands, just a few
centimetres from his face, were invisible. He tried to slow himself
by digging his feet in, but only managed to kick up a plume of sand,
the majority of which ended up in his face. Then his feet caught
something firm and he was flipped onto his stomach, his mouth filling
with sand. It became difficult to breathe, each choking breath
brought him closer to blacking out, and he supposed, death.

After two agonising minutes he reached the bottom of whatever shaft
he had fallen down.

The ground was hard, and his body ached from both the slide down and
his landing. Gingerly he stood up, checking for broken bones. By some
miracle, he was intact, covered in sand but intact. The room he was
in was square, and dimly lit although he couldn't see from where. At
his feet was the book. There were no exits.

Then he noticed the chill. Above ground it had been sweltering,
midday and so hot that nothing would leave the safety of the shade.
But down here, wherever here was, it was frighteningly cold. Henry's
breath condensed in the air, his teeth began to chatter and a shiver
ran down his back.

"So you finally decided to join us."

Henry swung round to face the voice. In one corner of the room stood
a dark shape, he was not sure it had been there when he had first
arrived. Slowly the shape took one step forward, and he saw it was a
man, of sorts. He was tall, at least seven feet, probably more. He
was dressed entirely in black, which made his pale, greyish head
stand out even more. It's jaw was elongated, the jaw bone standing
out, the skin stretched taunt over it. It's eyes were a deep,
glittering red revealing no emotion.

The creature smiled, at least Henry assumed it was a smile. It's lips
slid back revealing row upon row of tiny, shark-like teeth. Saliva
dripped from the teeth. The creature flexed it's long bony fingers,
the nails at the end of each one glistening with some form of liquid.

The room suddenly became home to a sandstorm, a thousand times more
intense than the one above ground. The sand from the floor whipped
round the room, seemingly centred on Henry. The noise was deafening
and he put his hands over his ears, trying to block out the screaming
wind. A wave of sand hit him square in the face, his eyes stung
agonisingly as the sand stuck to their surface, absorbing the
moisture. He tried to blink, but the action simply aggravated the
pain. His lids rubbing the harsh sand across the surface, blinding
him.

More sand whipped across his face, flaying the skin from his skull,
exposing the raw nerves underneath. The pain was exquisite, Henry
sank to his knees, his clothes ripped to shreds by the wind, and the
sand that accompanied it. And still the storm continued. The skin
over his entire body was ripped away within seconds, and the
seemingly endless stream of sand began to adhere to the exposed
muscle, coating him. His teeth, no longer protected by his lips
became pitted and cracked as the sand beat down upon Henry's face.

Henry screamed, and the sand filled his mouth, cutting off the sound,
destroying his tongue, ripping his vocal chords to tiny shreds on the
way down to his lungs. His lungs were full within seconds, and Henry
died.

Slowly the wind dropped down, but still the sand continued, falling
on the golden form crouched in front of the creature. Eventually even
the sand ceased to fall and where Henry had once been there was a
sand encrusted statue of a crouching man.

Then, very slowly, the statue began to stand, sand sliding off it's
body as it did so. The coating of sand that remained was thin, damp
patches were beginning to show as blood from the man within tried to
escape the envelope of sand. The Sand Man's eyes were thick with
sand, yet he seemed to stare at the creature before him. Behind the
creature an entrance had appeared, a doorway in the sand which led
into almost complete darkness. Once more the creature effected a
parody of a smile, then it turned and left the room.

The Sand Man stood totally still, staring after the creature. The
exit led to a dim corridor, and in the corridor was the creature
itself, along with a group of four humanlike figures. Each one was
disfigured beyond recognition, but all had clearly once been human.
One was sodden, it's water filled body bloated out of proportion.
Another was blackened and scorched, another a dry husk of a man, all
moisture sucked out completely. The forth man-creature was covered in
slashes, it's skin sliced to ribbons.

Each one of the creatures held a book and each one was staring at the
Sand Man.

The Sand Man bent down and picked up the book that had brought him to
the pit, agonising pain sliding up and down his body as he moved. He
stood for a moment, then joined the other creatures. For the rest of
eternity.

Philip Harris
4th January 1993

     **********************
     *                    *       .... TERROR IN THE UK ....
     *    Philip Harris   *       
     * Born Oct 15th 1969 *    Barker....Campbell....Herbert...
     * Died Feb 25th 1973 *
     *                    *       .... TERROR IN THE UK ....
     **********************
     
Newsgroups: alt.horror,rec.arts.movies