Dark Tales Of Lost Civilizations by Eric J. Guignard (Editor) Page A

that was when I first noticed that Saturn hung exactly over the trapdoor, shining balefully down upon us with a malice whose source I could not describe—but could not fail to notice.
    No matter what rewards I promised, none of the men could be enticed to be the first to set foot into that hideous abyss. I suppose my ravenous curiosity got the best of me, for I seized an electrical torch and declared the men spineless and frightened women—I would make the plunge alone. Thank God for Major Holtz, for he immediately offered to accompany me and, appealing to the honor of the men, he enticed four to accompany us. Truly the pure blood of our Aryan forefathers sings in his veins.
    Before descending, we decided to tie a rope to a nearby masonry block and uncoiled it behind us so that we could beat a hasty retreat if need be. We set up a radio—but this later proved in vain, for nothing but static was ever received on either end.
    Crossing the mouth of the trapdoor, we descended a sort of irregular staircase that plunged drunkenly into the stygian depths. The walls were made of the same cyclopean blocks of soapy, greenish stone as the rest of the city. For the most part they were devoid of any markings whatsoever, but once or twice I thought the beam of my torch landed upon a bas relief of a cruel face or twisted figure—only to have it prove blank stone upon closer inspection. Above us the ceiling rose to such heights that, when I cast my beam upward, it vanished into the gloom long before reaching the top. Once or twice when looking upward I fancied that the cone of light from my torch illuminated things resembling leering, carven faces or inhuman statues protruding from the ceiling or walls, but whenever I took a second glance I was always proven false.
    After what seemed an eternity we finally reached a level surface. We found ourselves in a network of chambers, each so vast that even if they were fully lit, men standing on both sides would not be visible to each other. Lengthy exploration proved that these chambers were hexagonal in configuration and each one abutted another so that they formed a perfect honeycomb. I found this geometric arrangement to be, if you can believe it—reassuring. I must confess that I had half expected some unimaginable perversion of geometry wholly beyond the ability of the human mind to grasp.
    Grand arches rose to adjoin each chamber with the other, arches so high that they made the Arch de Triumph seem positively dwarfish in comparison! Sometimes, when the darkness did not press in quite so close, I could illuminate impossibly high-groined ceilings with the feeble beam of my electric torch. The walls, ceilings, and arches were all composed of that same soapy, green stone and utterly devoid of markings or ornamentation. In later rooms I was thrilled to discover the mangled, twisted remains of machinery. Imagine! In a place whose age counted in the thousands—machinery!
    We found apparatuses which must have been stoves, waste disposal units, filtration systems, automated elevators, and lighting fixtures. But we also found networks of crystal tubes and bulbs which may have been used for some unimaginable alchemical purpose—or something else entirely. We found arcane cylinders which stretched beyond our view, metal globes that hung in a lattice of magnetized filaments, interlocked rings that seemed to describe the orbit of planets—or at least I fancied they did. What ancient civilization was this that could manufacture such marvels? If we could but decipher it, unravel its secrets—how the world would tremble before Germany’s might!
    Of all that remained, however, none was small enough to be easily transported without pack animals or mechanical aid; in short, the entire underground demesnes was, except for rubble, entirely devoid of portable contents. It was almost as if whatever men—if they had been men—who once lived there, departed with the entirety of their belongings. But most