The Jar of Nephren-Ka

Clash of the Titans

Quitman, Georgia: 12:08 AM, Monday, June 11th, 1984

As I climbed the stairwell, my mind was a maelstrom of disgust, curiosity, horror, and confusion. I was so preoccupied that I didn't immediately notice that the tall man was no longer lying where I had left him.

As I was exiting the priest's hole, though, a sound came from my right, and it all clicked. I jerked to my left just in time. Something long, thin, and very hard struck me in the right shoulder.

The blow wasn't solid, but nevertheless sent a jolt of pain through me that traveled across my chest. My right arm went numb. The Jar dropped out of it, making a sound like a bowling ball hitting the lane as it landed on the hardwood floor and rolled to the side.

The force of the blow made me stumble forward, and I tripped over a chair. Falling, I tucked my head and rolled, twisting as I did so. I came up on one knee on the other side of the fallen chair, facing my opponent.

As expected, it was the tall man. He had an elongated face with the prominent jaw and brow ridges that identify a sufferer of acromegaly. Now that I had a good look at his face, I christened him Lurch, after the old TV character.

Lurch was holding a fireplace poker in his right hand. At least two of the fingers on his titanic hand were overlapping the grip, holding the bare metal of the poker.

Jesus Christ, I thought, I was lucky to have regained my senses when I did. If I had not jerked to the left, he would have brained me with that thing, and judging from the pain in my shoulder, I would have been writing with crayons for the rest of my life.

I reached around to grab my weapon, but I couldn't feel it at all with my right hand. Lurch began, well, lurching my way, so I reached out with my left hand, lifted a chair, and threw it at him as I rose to my feet.

Lurch brought both of his arms in and covered, like a boxer backed into a corner, and the chair bounced off his arms harmlessly, thought the force of it rocked him back on his feet a bit.

I used the distraction to back away, putting a little more distance between me and this giant, spindly butler from hell. With a look of irritation on his face, Lurch recovered and rushed forward.

Vigorously shaking my right arm to get some life into it, I backed away further. With my left arm, I grabbed a lamp from a nearby table, ripped it free of the wall socket, and threw it at Lurch. I aimed for his head, but I can't aim for shit with my left arm. The vase drifted to the right, and Lurch batted it away harmlessly with his left arm.

I had reached the vast hall now, and was finally getting some feeling back in the top half of my arm, but I still could not feel my hand. Lurch followed me out into the hall, and I continued backing away, trying to buy enough time to let my arm wake up.

When Lurch closed the distance to about ten feet away, he took me completely by surprise by lunging forward, extending the sharp tip of the poker like a sword, just like an Olympic fencer.

I jerked to the left in time to avoid being speared, but not in time to avoid injury. The tip caught me just below my ribs on the right side, tearing through my fatigues and leaving a jagged gash in my side.

I sucked in air through my clenched teeth, and swung my left arm, open palmed, at Lurch's right ear. I connected with a meaty thwap, and Lurch screamed, a sound like some great and angry mythological beast.

Lurch's right hand dropped the poker and came up to cover his ear. He backed away, eyes wide and wet.

I took another step back, reaching around behind me again in a vain attempt to grab my sidearm.

Blood was leaking out from under Lurch's right hand, and he pulled it free of his ear and stared at the blood. Then he looked back at me, tears of pain giving way to a black fury.

He let out a roar I could feel in my chest and rushed me. I fumbled with the revolver, finally getting it free of the holster. Lurch slammed into me like an NFL defensive lineman, and I left my feet on an unstoppable journey into whatever the fuck was behind me. I silently prayed it was soft.

It wasn't.

I hit the wall with enough force to fuse atoms, sharp snapping sounds from inside the wall evidence of the murderous strength of an angry Lurch. The weapon popped out of my grip, clattering somewhere on the floor. Crunches, accompanied by sharp stabs of pain, came from inside me, and all the breath exited my lungs. Oh shit, I thought, as I struggled to regain my breath.

Lurch wasn't waiting for me to recover. He reached up and wrapped both long, insanely powerful hands around my neck and began squeezing.

He lifted me off my feet and held me against the wall, fingers like garrotes; dark, angry eyes inches from mine.

My eyes felt like they were going to pop out of my head, and little spots of light were beginning to appear in my peripheral vision.

I reached up with my left hand and grabbed his bottom lip, then pulled down as hard as I could. There was a ripping feeling, like tearing fabric, and then Lurch let me go, howling again and holding his mouth.

I knelt and fumbled on the floor for the revolver, nearly blind from the lack of air, and so dizzy I could not stand. Just as I felt my hand close around the grip, Lurch reached down and took up the poker. His lower lip was hanging loose, and blood was dripping out of his mouth in a crimson waterfall.

I leveled my weapon and fired. A puff of plaster on the far wall, and the fact that Lurch didn't drop like a stone, were my only clues that I had missed.

Lurch immediately dropped the poker and put his hand to his ear again, eyes closed in agony. The gunshot in the cavernous hall was loud enough to hurt my ears, so I couldn't imagine how bad it must have hurt Lurch, with his exploded ear drum.

I steadied my arm and fired again. This time, I hit in center mass, and he staggered a step back, hand still on his ear but eyes open wide now. His mouth opened in a look of surprise, and he took a step forward.

I shot again. A dark hole appeared in his neck, the air making a whistling noise as the air escaped. Blood began seeping out of the hole as Lurch dropped to his knees, eyes still wide, and locked on my face.

He dropped face first on the floor with a sound like a large tuna being dropped on the deck of a fishing boat. He lay there, legs twitching spasmodically, as he bled out on the rug.