this isn’t a man like any other. He’s not even human, not entirely. He’s an evil monster, a mutant, the result of weird, twisted genes.”
And still you’ll try to avenge us?
“Because I have to,” said the Necroscope, feeling oddly embarrassed. “It’s—” he shrugged the feeling off, “—it’s what I do. But this time as much for myself as for you.”
But if you do find and confront him, won’t he be able to do the same to you as he’s done to us?
“Maybe, and maybe not. I still have one or two tricks up my sleeve. But right now I have to leave you. There’s more work to be done, connections I must make, like a jigsaw puzzle I’ve got to fit together.”
Harry, wait! Determinedly and very urgently, now, en masse, they spoke up. Please wait, Necroscope!
“What is it?” He was taken aback. “Something I’m missing?”
Something we are missing—our very lives! Hasn’t Wee Angus told you how we thirst for revenge? And didn’t the teeming dead tell us a variety of things about you, in order to explain something of your beliefs, your philosophy, and the way that you’ve lived your life? For instance: an eye for an eye?
Harry felt cold inside. “I think I know what you’re getting at,” he said. “But—”
In the event you actually kill him, Harry, how exactly will you do it?
Now, reading their innermost deadspeak thoughts, the Necroscope knew for sure what they were getting at, and he answered: “Well, yes, that’s probably how I would try to do it. But—”
Then call us up! They all of them begged him as one. Surely you can understand why we would want to be part of it?
Harry pictured it, and it was gruesome. For as Wee Angus had told him, some of them had been down there for a long, indeed a very long time. And the deep salt sea isn’t kind to dead flesh.
“But I can’t see how you would manage it,” he said. “I mean…the problem with—to put it crudely—your various conditions . It would have to be the worst thing ever, maybe as bad as dying itself!”
You must leave that to us, Harry. For ever since we learned of you, of what you can do, we’ve been making our plans. But it will be an oh-so-slow process, and you’ll have act now. Only tell us you need us; tell us to make all ready; tell us to rise up, Harry! And we will.
Harry considered it: an eye for an eye. And it was true, it had always been his way. Let the punishment fit the crime. What could he do but give these poor denuded souls what they wanted?
And so he did; and having freed them from their immobility, and asking no more questions, the Necroscope drew his deadspeak thoughts back from the frozen deeps.
And then, feeling colder still, he huddled down further yet in his easy chair…
But shortly, as the morning wore on, so Harry warmed up, warmed to what must be done. For the chill he felt wasn’t at all physical but of the mind. And in his mind those words the dead ones had used, not as an accusation but as a simple reminder, continued to ring clear:
“An eye for an eye.” His philosophy, yes…
Darcy Clarke’s list was still on the table where he left it last night. There seemed small need to check it now, but he did so anyway. And all of the missing ones to whom he’d spoken were there, the ones who would scarcely be missed at all, or not too much; which in itself was a thought that brought something else into clearer perspective, something Harry felt he really should have seen from the beginning. The fact that this Möbius monster wasn’t merely brilliant—even a near-genius, if only by reason of his morbid mathematical achievements alone—but that he was also very clever ! For not only would his victims’ corpses never be found, for the most part they wouldn’t be missed! In murdering them in that way, he not only fed himself but also disposed of the (dreadful expression!) “leftovers,” leaving no trace, no evidence of his crime whatsoever! For who was there to care for such
And still you’ll try to avenge us?
“Because I have to,” said the Necroscope, feeling oddly embarrassed. “It’s—” he shrugged the feeling off, “—it’s what I do. But this time as much for myself as for you.”
But if you do find and confront him, won’t he be able to do the same to you as he’s done to us?
“Maybe, and maybe not. I still have one or two tricks up my sleeve. But right now I have to leave you. There’s more work to be done, connections I must make, like a jigsaw puzzle I’ve got to fit together.”
Harry, wait! Determinedly and very urgently, now, en masse, they spoke up. Please wait, Necroscope!
“What is it?” He was taken aback. “Something I’m missing?”
Something we are missing—our very lives! Hasn’t Wee Angus told you how we thirst for revenge? And didn’t the teeming dead tell us a variety of things about you, in order to explain something of your beliefs, your philosophy, and the way that you’ve lived your life? For instance: an eye for an eye?
Harry felt cold inside. “I think I know what you’re getting at,” he said. “But—”
In the event you actually kill him, Harry, how exactly will you do it?
Now, reading their innermost deadspeak thoughts, the Necroscope knew for sure what they were getting at, and he answered: “Well, yes, that’s probably how I would try to do it. But—”
Then call us up! They all of them begged him as one. Surely you can understand why we would want to be part of it?
Harry pictured it, and it was gruesome. For as Wee Angus had told him, some of them had been down there for a long, indeed a very long time. And the deep salt sea isn’t kind to dead flesh.
“But I can’t see how you would manage it,” he said. “I mean…the problem with—to put it crudely—your various conditions . It would have to be the worst thing ever, maybe as bad as dying itself!”
You must leave that to us, Harry. For ever since we learned of you, of what you can do, we’ve been making our plans. But it will be an oh-so-slow process, and you’ll have act now. Only tell us you need us; tell us to make all ready; tell us to rise up, Harry! And we will.
Harry considered it: an eye for an eye. And it was true, it had always been his way. Let the punishment fit the crime. What could he do but give these poor denuded souls what they wanted?
And so he did; and having freed them from their immobility, and asking no more questions, the Necroscope drew his deadspeak thoughts back from the frozen deeps.
And then, feeling colder still, he huddled down further yet in his easy chair…
But shortly, as the morning wore on, so Harry warmed up, warmed to what must be done. For the chill he felt wasn’t at all physical but of the mind. And in his mind those words the dead ones had used, not as an accusation but as a simple reminder, continued to ring clear:
“An eye for an eye.” His philosophy, yes…
Darcy Clarke’s list was still on the table where he left it last night. There seemed small need to check it now, but he did so anyway. And all of the missing ones to whom he’d spoken were there, the ones who would scarcely be missed at all, or not too much; which in itself was a thought that brought something else into clearer perspective, something Harry felt he really should have seen from the beginning. The fact that this Möbius monster wasn’t merely brilliant—even a near-genius, if only by reason of his morbid mathematical achievements alone—but that he was also very clever ! For not only would his victims’ corpses never be found, for the most part they wouldn’t be missed! In murdering them in that way, he not only fed himself but also disposed of the (dreadful expression!) “leftovers,” leaving no trace, no evidence of his crime whatsoever! For who was there to care for such
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