Drome
A Weird-Scientific Serial
By John Martin Leahy
The Story So Far
Milton Rhodes and Bill Carter penetrate the caverns of horror beneath Mount Rainier, and kill a huge demon—an ape-bat—that has attacked them. They rescue Drorathusa, the Sibylline priestess of the Dromans, from being dragged to death by the dying struggles of the ape-bat, and in company with Drorathusa and her companions they wander into a veritable Dante's Inferno beneath sea-level, on their way to Drome. Carter, waking suddenly as the Dromans and he are slumbering, sees a monstrous ghostly shape coming straight toward him from the roof of the cavern.
Chapter 30
The Moving Eyes
I jerked out my revolver; I reached over and gave Rhodes a shake that would have awakened Epimenides himself, then grabbed the electric light and flashed it upon the descending monster.
I could scarcely believe my eyes. Nothing but the empty air. The monster had vanished.
"What's the matter?" came the sudden voice of Rhodes. "What in paradise is going on now?"
I rubbed my eyes and stared upward once more.
"Look there!" said I, pointing.
"Tell me, do you see nothing there?" "There isn't anything there, Bill—now."
"But there was something there a second ago—and it didn't go away."
"What did you see?"
"I thought at first that it was a demon, phosphorescent or something. It was up there. I tell you it was up there. And it was coming down, coming down straight toward this very spot."
"Great Cæsar's spook!" exclaimed Rhodes.
"I can't understand," I told him, "where the thing went. It was there, and the next instant it wasn't."
"Turn off your light," said Rhodes quickly. "Turn it off, Bill."
"Great Zeus, what for? You'd better have your revolver ready."
"Revolver fiddlesticks! Off with it, Bill; off with the light!"
The light went off. And look! There it was again—almost directly over us. It was not descending now but was hovering, hovering, as though watching, waiting. Waiting for what? And it seemed, too, to thrust out arms or tentacula. And look! Something started to drop from it—phosphorescence (I shall call it that) dropping to the floor, where it writhed and crawled about like a mass I of serpents. Writhed and crawled and grew dimmer—faded, faded.
We sat staring at this mysterious, inexplicable phenomenon in amazement, fascination and horror.
"What on earth can it be?" I asked, my voice a whisper.
"Who," said Rhodes, "would ever have dreamed of such a thing as that?"
"I'm afraid," I told him, a shudder passing through my heart, "that our revolvers can't hurt a thing like this. It seems to be watching us. Look! Aren't those eyes—eyes staring at us, moving?"
"Eyes? Watching us? Oh, Lord, Bill!" said Rhodes.
"As for sending a bullet into it, don't," he added, "do anything so foolish."
He arose, stepped over and awoke
