The Pillar of Horns

Chapter Nine

Gregor adjusted himself, his newly bought shirt was uncomfortably tight, the islands small clothing store poorly stocked for a man of his size. He adjusted the collar, pulling it away from the skin of his neck.

The rest of his clothes were a write-off. His room in the hostel had been a torrent of gore, blood seeping through the polyester of his bag and staining the clothes within. He had stood in the doorway of the room despairing to himself. Not just for his lost belongings but for the young man who had shared his room. Gregor hadn't spoken with him, not really, a few grunts and nods proving more than effective, the unspoken male language carrying their meaning clearly.

The scene in the room had been horrific. The victim had been split open across the stomach, the entrails wrapped around his wrists and hooked to the ceiling fan that took up far too much space in the room. That creature, that supposed god, had removed the victim's teeth. It had pressed the bloody tooth fragments into the body's chest in the now telltale squared spiral pattern. The same one that had been attached to the keyring he and Elspeth had recovered.

Latching onto that single lead, Gregor and Elspeth had taken up a vantage point in the café opposite the visitor centre. Gregor clasped his hands around his cup of tea, the cuffs on his shirt straining under his bulk as he moved. The cuffs cut into his skin as he took a long sip.

"So," he said between gulps of tea, "you're thinking the same as me I guess?" He placed the teacup back onto the cheap table, the plastic wood effect veneer starting to peel off. Gregor undid the button on one of his cuffs and began to roll up the sleeve.

"Yeah, I think so," Elspeth replied. She had her own drink tucked in tight against her, a large mug of hot chocolate covered in cream, tiny pink marshmallows sprinkled on the twisting white mountain. Its warmth was soothing against the oddly chill morning air. "That same shape appears every time our furry friend makes a kill. What are the chances of the visitor centre using the same symbol?"

"Could be a coincidence?"

"Coincidences are for normal coppers. There is no such thing in our line of work." Elspeth lifted her cup to her lips, changing her mind as the cream came perilously close to her nose. She placed the mug onto the table and picked up a spoon. "Symbology, sacred geometry, ritual iconography and just plain old sympathetic magic. There has to be a reason every victim so far is a tourist, too right?" She waved the spoon around like a conductor waving a baton as she spoke.

"The key attached to that keyring was for our hostel. Looks like it was the one they gave the lad sharing with me." Gregor reached into his pocket, placing the key that the hostel staff had given him onto the table with. The metal clicked as it struck the cheap plastic. The key was loose unattached to anything. "This is how I got mine. They pulled it out of a drawer full of them. I think that key is from our third victim and he attached that on there."

"Got it from the visitor centre probably. A souvenir," Elspeth said. She spooned a wobbling clump of cream into her mouth. "It all comes back around to the centre doesn't it?" she continued, her words muffled through the mouthful of cream. Elspeth swallowed. "The centre has souvenirs with this logo, they exist to draw in and serve tourists, tourists who are then getting murdered and left with the same shape."

Gregor picked up his hostel key and tapped it on the table twice. "That thing from last night. It kept talking about its children, and requests and tithes. I think that's what's happening. Someone is asking that thing to do something, and it's collecting a portion of that request for itself as payment."

"So what? They ask it for tourists and in exchange, it gets a few of those tourists for itself?"

"I suppose so," Gregor said. "This thing considers itself a god. It makes more sense if it's helping with hunts and harvests. Jesus, all this is just to get some more fucking tourists? That's sick." He adjusted his newly rolled sleeve, brought up to match the other, the folds razor sharp.