The Chambered Tomb
by Redmond Shaw
A Tale of the Abbey Square Club
Chapter V
Singh and I turned the key and left Dolly pounding at the inside of the Keeper’s cottage door, where we had left her with her father’s service revolver in case our expedition ended like Archie’s. We kept to the sides of the track and moved uphill, into the gloom. The bare limbs of hazel and silver birch caught at us and we had to walk in line until we reached a shallow puddle that bore the enormous footprint of the hideous beast, pointing uphill. We looked at each other and breathed the chill air. Singh held out the lanterns and we lit them and moved again uphill. The track opened onto the higher moor and faded into the general scrub.
The Barrow came into sight, the white stone picked out by the moon.
“We should go back.” I said. “Get help.” There seemed no profit in confronting the creature with two old cavalry sabres and some lanterns.
“I think it's too late, old chap.” Said Singh. He pointed his sabre at the tomb. The wrought iron put up by Archie had been torn outwards, as if by some tremendous force, and the paw prints in the mud showed a terrific struggle between some kind of hound and a number of booted men. A length of chain lay broken in the mire, and inside the first chamber I could see a pale arm stretched out on the floor.
“My word.” I said. “It’s loose.”
It was at that exact point that we heard the hiss of the creature, like steam escaping from some terrible machine, and we turned around to face the thing. It was a terrible sight. Eyes burning through the gloom and its grey head and maw swung low and thick drool slipped from its jaw.
Singh was faster than me, his sword swinging out at the beast—but we were too close together and it took us both down in one charge, its filthy ridged back driving into Singh’s solar plexus, and he went down. As it turned to look at me it pressed a huge, sodden paw into his chest and then leapt onto me. Its great fangs dropped filthy slobber into my eyes. I managed to get my right elbow under me, but the weight of the thing was colossal and I have to admit that I saw my terrible fate in those vile teeth bearing down on my throat.
A flat bang rang out and the beast twitched hard to my right, crushing my shoulder. It looked left, still silent, and I heard Singh getting to his feet, the sabre scraping on the rock of the tomb, but another shot rang out and blew the great dog’s forehead in and its brains against the tomb walls. The hound dropped onto me, and I could see over its grey haunch that Dolly stood ten feet away, the smoking Webley in front of her, her eyes fixed on the beast. Singh stood up and walked towards her, jumping out of the way when the stinking hyena breathed in and Dolly blew its lungs out all over me.
I could see Dolly put the safety on the big .38 revolver, and drop it in her overcoat pocket, but after that black stars moved across my vision and I realised I could not breathe. I heard Dolly say something to Singh…
“Richard. Richard!” The pressure had gone and I could see Singh rolling the disgusting corpse of the dog across away from me. I managed to sit up, but had clearly cracked some ribs. “How are you?” Dolly said. I was silent for a few minutes and Dolly had the good grace to look away as I recovered myself: the sight of those terrible fangs inches from my face had nearly unmanned me.
I got up with Dolly’s help and Singh relit my lantern, extinguished in the melee. We could hear shouts from the valley. Singh put his hand on my shoulder and held up his sabre, broken halfway and covered in gore.
“Well at least one of us got a blow in.” I said. We made our way back to the track and I said between wheezes—curiously I was desperate for my pipe—“I say, Dolly. That really was some excellent shooting.”
“Yes.” Said Dolly, “And don’t ever try and keep me from trouble again.”