Pierce Mostyn in The Medusa Ritual

Pierce Mostyn, that intrepid foe of the things that go bump in the night, last appeared in Van Dyne’s Vampires, published October of last year.

Next week he will appear in a new adventure, his fifth: The Medusa Ritual.

The germ of the idea for Mostyn’s latest adventure can be found in the Hazel Heald and Lovecraft collaboration “The Man of Stone”. Collaboration, though, is a generous term; for, according to ST Joshi, Heald seems to have contributed virtually no prose to the story — based on textual evidence.

Thus, Heald probably only provided a story idea for Lovecraft to run with. Which he did, and that story then provided me with the idea for The Medusa Ritual. So thank you Hazel for that original idea!

However, while “The Man of Stone” got the wheels turning for The Medusa Ritual, there is nothing of the earlier story in the later one other than people being turned to stone.

While Van Dyne’s Vampires focused on what is essentially a mad scientist and his monsters, in Mostyn’s new adventure we return to the world of cosmic horror. That world where the terror originates from the realization that in the big picture we are completely and totally insignificant. A realization that can easily drive us to despair, madness, or self-destruction.

Nietzsche’s answer to achieving this awareness and its accompanying despair, was for the person to become a creative individual. To become as a god, in other words, for gods create; and in creating, the individual can thereby bring meaning to his or her otherwise meaningless life.

Nietzsche’s answer was essentially an existential one. We are in command of our fate. Counter the meaninglessness of existence by creating your own meaning.

Lovecraft, on the other hand, retreated into antiquarianism, and racial and cultural identity. The old days are good. The old ways are known and comfortable. My own kind are known to me. The foreigner is unknown, a mystery, and therefore suspect.

In Lovecraft’s fiction we see his philosophy play out in his vision of our world having been invaded by alien monster beings who have no regard for us. In strange, swarthy, and dark foreigners who do the bidding of these monsters. And in the insignificance of us Westerners and our science in the face of these ancient beings and their magical rituals. HPL’s conclusion is that it’s best if we don’t know too much of what is really out there, or know any of it at all.

When I come away from reading Lovecraft, I have the feeling that ignorance is bliss. In being ignorant, I can live my life in the delusion that this is a world of meaning and purpose. That I have essential meaning and purpose.

In “The Shadow over Innsmouth”, the narrator comes face to face with the horror of the curtain being pulled aside to reveal what truly is. He has looked into the abyss. In the end, when he realizes that he too will eventually join those monstrous denizens of the deep, rather than end his life, he resigns himself to his fate. For Lovecraft, once we know the truth, we either surrender to it, or go mad, or destroy ourselves. There is no Nietzschian optimism in Lovecraft.

Pierce Mostyn, knowing the truth, doesn’t go mad or destroy himself, but he is weighed down by the understanding that in the end all of his actions are futile. He resorts to duty to keep on going. Much like the ancient Roman Stoics. Duty gives him purpose and meaning in what is an otherwise meaningless and chaotic universe.

Now all of the above is a heck of a lot of philosophy. But don’t worry. It’s all in the background. The Medusa Ritual is not a philosophical treatise. It’s a tale of cosmic horror with plenty of action, adventure, monsters, and daring do. Just what we want to read. Right?

And it will be available, Amazon willing, on July 29th for your reading pleasure.

Comments are always welcome; and, until next time, happy reading!

The Medusa Ritual - Installment 18

The Medusa Ritual

A Pierce Mostyn Paranormal Investigation

by

CW Hawes

Dotty’s rescued. But will Pierce Mostyn be able to stop the Masked Man’s escape?

Read on for the thrilling conclusion of The Medusa Ritual!

Chapter 23

Mostyn hit the floor, and took out his pistol. He saw light in the entryway of one of the tunnels, and then gunfire erupted.

Jones, Mostyn thought. Hallelujah!

Arcing through the air were two flares. They hit the wall and fell to the floor. The bright light illuminated the situation in the small chamber. Mostyn’s eyes swept the room. He spotted two men struggling to drag Dotty from the chamber.

Mostyn fired a double-tap from his pistol, sending two forty-five caliber bullets into one of the men. The man pitched forward as if he’d been hit with a sledgehammer. The other man let go of Dotty, turned around, and fell backwards under the impact from another pair of bullets sent by Mostyn’s pistol.

With pistol in one hand and knife in the other, Mostyn low crawled across the floor to where Dotty lay. When he reached her, he positioned himself in front of her and took in the scene. Several of the black suits lay dead, there was no sign of the masked man or the Chinese woman. Jones, Baker, Hammerschmidt, and Stoppen entered the chamber. NicAskill stood up, her knife blade colored red.

Dotty groaned, and muttered, “Chinese woman. Stop her.”

Mostyn touched her cheek, stood, and said, “That tunnel,” he pointed to the one he meant, “the masked man and the Chinese woman were there. Let’s go.”

“Wait a minute,” Jones said, “where are the lizard people?”

“You saw them too?” NicAskill said.

“They led us here,” Jones replied.

“Well, I’ll be…,” NicAskill muttered.

“Let’s go!” Mostyn shouted. “Jones, NicAskill, you first. And when you see the masked man or the woman that was with him, shoot first, ask questions later.”

“Right, Boss,” Jones said, and plunged into the tunnel, with NicAskill following.

“Baker, Hammerschmidt, you two help Dotty.”

“My God, Mostyn, she’s in her birthday suit,” Baker said, dropping his pack and stripping off his shirt.

“Thanks, Willie Lee,” Mostyn replied, and to Dr Stoppen he said, “Follow me!”

Mostyn and Stoppen plunged into the tunnel. Almost immediately Mostyn noticed the tunnel descending deeper into the earth.

Maybe this connects to the auditorium, he thought.

Jones and NicAskill were about fifty ahead of Mostyn. They ran around a curve in the tunnel, and a moment later Mostyn, significantly ahead of Stoppen, rounded the curve and almost ran into Jones, who’d stopped.

Before them stood the Chinese woman. Her hand was raised in a signal to halt. “The master says, goodbye. It is time for you to die.”

The Chinese woman’s eyes turned red and she began to change shape.

“She’s the Gorgon!” Mostyn yelled, Dotty’s words suddenly making sense. Jones, NicAskill, and Mostyn opened fire on her. The Gorgon’s body shook and twisted under the impact of the bullets, but was still standing when the three OUP agents ran out of ammunition.

Her beautiful face was still visible, but her body was halfway between a woman’s and something amorphous, slimy, and tentacled. Out of her head, where her hair had been, tentacles were emerging. Rivulets of green ooze were streaming from the many wounds. Mostyn could already feel a certain paralysis setting in. He turned around, ejected the magazine from his pistol, slammed a new one home, and racked the slide. He grabbed his mirror, held it up, and opened fire, watching the monster in the mirror. The first half dozen bullets missed. The next two, however, smashed their way through the thing’s neck, nearly severing the head.

The Gorgon collapsed to the floor. Jones shook himself, muttering, “What the hell?”

NicAskill shook her head and took a deep breath. “My God, I couldn’t breathe.”

“You two alright?” Mostyn asked.

“Yep,” Jones said. “Although for a moment there, it was like I couldn’t make a decision.”

“Me, too. But I’m ready to go, sir,” NicAskill added.

“Where’s Dr Stoppen?” Mostyn asked.

“Here.” Stoppen crept around the curve with a sheepish look on his face.

“Okay,” Mostyn said, “let’s go. One monster down, and one to go.”

Down the tunnel they continued, coming out in the auditorium, which smelled of scorched stone from the thermobaric grenade.

Jones swept the place with his flashlight and helmet lamp. “No one seems to be here.”

“The masked man disappeared when I tossed the stun grenade on the dais,” Mostyn said. “There must be another tunnel somewhere around there.”

The team walked to the dais and Jones swept the area with the twin beams of his lights.

“Give me your flashlight,” Mostyn said.

Jones handed the light to him, and Mostyn walked to the back wall, sweeping the beam of light across the stone. Not finding what he was looking for, he panned the beam of light across the floor.

“Ah, here it is,” he said, pointing to a crack along a portion of the line where the floor and wall meet. He then played the beam of light along the wall. “I don’t see a trigger, unless…” Mostyn pushed on the door and it swung inwards, revealing another tunnel.

“Jones, wedge this open so Baker and Hammerschmidt can follow.” He then entered the tunnel followed by NicAskill, Stoppen, and Jones.

Jones called out, “I saw Baker and Hammerschmidt enter the auditorium with Kemper when I jammed open the door.”

Mostyn waved his hand to signal he’d heard.

They followed the tunnel as it made a couple right angle turns and finally emptied into a large chamber. A chamber that was illuminated and filled with books, thousands of books filling the shelves from floor to ceiling along all four walls. In the middle was a large desk and chair. In one corner was a large and ornate Oriental folding screen. The screen was black and on it was a swirling chaos of red and orange, with two yellow cat eyes peering out of the chaos.

From around the screen, stepped the masked man. “You have found me. Most unfortunate for you.”

Mostyn raised his pistol.

“You cannot kill me, Mr Mostyn,” the masked man said.

“Want to see me try?” Mostyn replied.

“Many men have, you see, and I am still here.”

Behind Mostyn, Jones, and NicAskill, Dr Stoppen took out of his pocket a small black object and tossed it over the head of Jones. The little thing hit the floor, bounced once, and transformed into a hulking black monstrosity.

The masked man cried out, threw a handful of red dust into the air, and turned to flee. The monstrosity reached out, grabbed the masked man, pulled the screaming man to itself, and vanished.

“What the hell was that?” Jones asked.

“A class three demidaimonus,” Stoppen said. “A gift from Dr Bardon. For emergency use only.”

“Well, I’ll be damned,” NicAskill said. “And you had this thing all the time?”

“Well, not all the time,” Stoppen replied. “Dr Bardon gave it to me before he left. He thought we might have use for it. But only in the most dire emergency. I thought this qualified.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Jones asked.

“Because Bardon said not to. If you have an issue with him swearing me to secrecy, take it up with him.”

“That’s alright, Otto,” Baker said, having entered the room with Hammerschmidt and Kemper at the tail end of the conversation. “We all know Bardon moves in mysterious ways his wonders to perform.”

Mostyn clapped Jones on the shoulder. “You ought to know by now, the Director has lots of goodies up his sleeves.”

“What I don’t get,” Jones said, “is why he just doesn’t do all this himself instead of sending us in harm’s way.”

“Well, Jones, he’s not God,” Mostyn replied.

“He’s almost like God,” NicAskill said. “Are you sure he isn’t some kind of supernatural being?”

Mostyn shrugged. “I only know what he told me.”

“Which was?” NicAskill said.

“That he’s human. All too human.”

Jones shook his head. “Yeah, right.”

Epilogue

Dr Rafe Bardon lit his old bent bulldog briar pipe. The odor of sweet Virginia pipe tobacco filled his office. Sitting on the other side of his desk were Mostyn and his team. There was an empty chair in remembrance of Dr Winifred Petrie.

“I want to begin by saying thank you for an outstanding job. You destroyed a star vampire and the Gorgon. Wing Lee is no longer with us. His incredible library is being cataloged by Dr Stoppen. And we have made contact with the lizard people. All in all, a superb job. Thank you all.”

“What about the family of Fiorella Flores-Hernandez?” NicAskill asked.

“Yes, very unfortunate,” Bardon said, nodding his head slowly and gravely. “They will be adequately taken care of.”

“But what did you tell them?” NicAskill pressed.

“Something they could believe,” Bardon replied. “After all, who would believe that an extra-dimensional entity killed their daughter by turning her to stone? Why such things are the stuff of myth!” Bardon’s face was serious, but there was definitely a twinkle in his eye.

“Well, again, I want to thank you for your service. You all did fine work. Thank you.” Bardon stood and everyone knew that was the signal the meeting was over. As people began filing out, Bardon said, “Mr Mostyn and Dr Kemper, if you’d be so kind as to wait a few moments?”

When everyone was gone, Mostyn and Kemper resumed their seats. Dr Bardon sat and relit his pipe. When he had it going, he spoke.

“I’m glad you got there in time, Pierce, otherwise our Dr Kemper would not be here and, well, we’d have a bigger problem on our hands.”

“What problem, sir?” Dotty asked.

“Don’t have time to go into it now, my dear. No, no time.”

Mostyn looked at Dotty. “Yes, we were very lucky getting there when we did, sir,” Mostyn said.

Bardon smiled. “Oh, I don’t think luck had anything to do with it.”

“What do you mean, sir?” Mostyn asked.

“Just what I said, my boy, just what I said. Now, unfortunately, I can’t give you two any time off. A very big discovery has been made by one of our satellites. The photos are phenomenal, and I have to send you two out right away.”

Bardon slid a folder to the edge of his desk. Mostyn picked up the folder and took a look inside.

“Is this for real?” Mostyn asked.

“It is, Pierce, my boy, it is.” Bardon rubbed his hands together in obvious glee. “The opportunity of a lifetime.”

“For crying out loud,” Dotty said, “will you two let me in on what’s going on?”

“Sorry, Dot,” Mostyn said, “we’re going to Saudi Arabia.” A wicked smile appeared on Mostyn’s face. “And just think…”

“What?” Dotty said.

“There won’t be any trees.”

A look of disgust appeared on her face. “Maybe not, but there will be plenty of goddamn sand. For once, just once, I’d like to get an assignment in a city.”

Dr Bardon leaned back in his chair and folded his hands across his ample stomach. Around his pipe, his mouth was stretched into a big smile. “Oh, you will, Dr Kemper, you will.”

The End

If you enjoyed reading the working draft of The Medusa Ritual, and would like to know when the final version will be released, become a VIP Reader and be the first to know! You’ll also get the Pierce Mostyn novelette, “The Feeder” — which is available only to my VIP Readers! 

If you haven’t read the other books in the Pierce Mostyn Paranormal Investigations series, check them out on Amazon.

What people are saying about the Pierce Mostyn series:

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“…a weird tale of adventure, humor, and horror.”

The Medusa Ritual is copyright © 2019 by CW Hawes. All rights reserved.

The Medusa Ritual - Installment 4

Mostyn and Kemper fighting monsters to save America and the world.

The Medusa Ritual

A Pierce Mostyn Paranormal Investigation

by

CW Hawes

An art exhibit. Modern art. Dotty’s not at all impressed. Not until she sees the sculptures. They are like nothing she’s ever seen before. They are too lifelike. They look real. And perhaps they were at one time.

4

In the morning, the team met in one of the hotel’s conference rooms. Mostyn ordered in breakfast. Before they all got settled, Jones did a perfunctory sweep to make sure that there were no bugs.

“Don’t want state secrets getting out,” he quipped.

The team engaged in small talk until the breakfast arrived. When the hotel staff departed, Mostyn began the working breakfast meeting.

“Tonight at eight, we’ll be going to the James Cortado art exhibit. Pay particular attention to the sculpture. Ask around and see what you can find out about it from the guests.”

“What are we looking for specifically?” Winifred Petrie asked.

“I think that will become apparent when you see the sculptures,” Mostyn replied.

“What do you want us to find out?” Harbin Hammerschmidt asked.

“Whatever you can,” Mostyn said. “No matter how outlandish or insignificant it seems.”

“I still don’t understand what all of this has to do with the book,” Otto Stoppen said, his face clearly displaying his puzzlement.

“I don’t either, Dr Stoppen,” Mostyn replied. “However, Dr Bardon thinks there is something of value we’ll learn at this exhibit that will aid our search.”

Stoppen held up his hand. “And if Dr Bardon says it is so, it is so.”

Mostyn smiled. “That’s right.”

“Is this a formal occasion?” Petrie asked. “Because if it is, I didn’t bring anything formal to wear.”

“Yes, it’s formal,” Mostyn replied. “After lunch a team of OUP people will bring the formal attire and get us fitted if we need it.”

“I hope they bring us women different dresses,” NicAskill said.

“I think you ladies will have a selection to choose from, all based on information from your personnel files,” Mostyn said.

“Really?” NicAskill’s face took on a look of genuine surprise.

“You’d be amazed at what is in your file,” Baker replied.

“Then, again,” Jones said, “you probably don’t actually want to know.”

“Wow,” was all NicAskill managed to say.

“If you live long enough, you’ll get used to no longer having a private life,” Kemper said.

“You aren’t helping things,” NicAskill replied.

Dotty shrugged. “It’s the truth.”

Mostyn held up his hand. “Back on topic, folks. You can do what you want for the rest of the morning. Just be back here in this room by one. Because if your clothes need some tailoring we want maximum time for the tailors to make the alterations. Any questions?”

There were none, and Mostyn continued, “Enjoy your breakfast.”

After everyone had eaten and departed, Mostyn asked Kemper if she wanted to see the La Brea tar pits.

“How romantic, Mostyn. Why the hell do you want to go there?”

“Always wanted to. Ever since I was a kid.”

“Never took you for a dinosaur lover.”

“Giant mammals, Kemper. Woolly mammoths and such.”

“Details, details.”

He pulled her to him and kissed her.

“Are we going to do this or see old bones.”

“See old bones. Let’s go.”

Kemper laughed. “Petrie was right.”

“How’s that?”

“Men.”

***

The gallery was located at the corner of Beverly Blvd and Fuller Ave. Mostyn arranged for two limousines to take the team to the gallery. They were posing as wealthy investors and modern art collectors from New York, and, according to Mostyn, had to look the part. They arrived at eight-thirty.

The champagne was freely flowing and each team member took a glass. However, Mostyn had warned them there was to be minimal drinking. They were, after all, on duty.

The team members spread out and began looking at art and making small talk. Mostyn and Kemper made their way to a wall on which hung two rather large paintings.

She whispered to him, “These have to be the most ugly things I’ve seen in, I don’t know, maybe forever?”

Mostyn whispered back, “I’ve seen worse.”

“God.”

An obviously overweight man, who wore his tuxedo badly, stood next to Kemper. The man took a drink from his champagne flute. “The angst. So palpable. It resonates in the soul. Don’t you think?”

Dotty looked at him. “It’s palpable, alright. As palpable as a morning shit.”

A look of indignation appeared on the man’s face. “Dear me,” he said, and walked away rather briskly.

“We’re play acting here, Dotty. Please remember that.”

“Look, Mostyn—”

Kemper was interrupted by the approach of a tall and slender man. He was dressed in black slacks, a black turtleneck, black shoes and socks, and had longish black hair that he wore combed straight back from his high forehead.

“If you like the paintings, I’ll knock off ten percent for the pair.” He smiled, showing his brilliant white teeth.

“You’re the artist?” Mostyn asked.

The man took a slight bow. “James Cortado at your service.”

“The paintings are very interesting, but my wife was actually more interested in seeing the sculpture.”

Kemper smiled at him. “We have a corner that I think just the right sculpture would be perfect in.”

“Of course. The sculptures are very unique. As one of a kind, as, say, one person is different from another. Follow me.”

Cortado led them to a part of the gallery that was partitioned off from the main room with curtains and movable wall partitions.

“The sculptures are here.”

“Why do you have them hidden?” Kemper asked.

“They are only for special investors.” He paused, and then continued, “I should let you know they are very expensive.” He pulled aside the curtain, and motioned with his hand for Mostyn and Kemper to enter.

Kemper looked at Mostyn, who walked into the area containing the sculptures. Kemper followed, and then Cortado walked in.

One look, and Kemper exclaimed, “Oh, my God, they look real!”

Cortado took a small bow. “Thank you.”

She looked at a bat, circling around it, and said, “This is amazing.”

“Look at this statue, Dot,” Mostyn said.

When she saw what Mostyn was looking at, she said, “A person.”

“I think you’ll want to see this up close.” The tone of his voice was such that she knew he thought it very important.

Kemper walked to where Mostyn was standing, and stood next to him. She gasped. “Oh, my…”

Before them was a statue of a woman sitting on the floor. Her hands were raised as if she were warding off an impending blow, and the look on her face was one of sheer terror.

Kemper examined the statue, slowly walking around it. “I’ve never seen anything so lifelike. How do you do it?”

Cortado smiled. “Trade secret.”

Kemper smiled back. “Of course.”

“How much?” Mostyn asked.

Mild disgust flitted across Cortado’s face. “If you have to ask, you can’t afford it. I’ll send Milt.” And Cortado turned and left.

“Guess you put him off,” Kemper said.

“I can’t help it I’m not rich. I always ask the price if I don’t see it.”

Kemper replied, “Tsk, tsk. We’re pretending to be rich. Your middle class is showing.” And she shook her finger at Mostyn.

“Sorry,” he said, dragging out the two syllables.

She bent close and touched the figure. “It feels like stone, but there’s so much more detail than I’ve ever seen on a statue.”

She stood just as a man wearing an ice cream suit walked in.

“Hello,” he extended his hand to Mostyn, who took it. “I’m Milt Salzman. I’m James’s manager.” He gave Kemper a bow.

“I’m sorry I insulted the artist,” Mostyn began, “but old habits die hard. I was wondering how much the statue cost.”

“The bigger pieces are very unique,” Salzman said. “We have three human figures, four rats, and the one bat. Half a million for the rats, one mil for the bat, and ten million for the human figures.”

“I see,” Mostyn said, while taking his phone out of his pocket. He typed on it and returned it to his pocket.

“Was there a particular piece you were interested in?” Salzman asked.

Kemper was looking at the two other human figures. One as a man lying on his side, his face displaying a profound look of horror. The other was also a man who was walking. His face showed surprise, rather than terror.

“Take a look at these, Pierce, dear.”

“The rats don’t sell well, if I’m honest with you,” Salzman said. “I can knock ten percent off the price.”

Mostyn’s phone chimed. He took it out of his pocket and looked at the screen. He smiled and returned the phone to his pocket.

“I’ll take the woman, the bat at the entrance, and pick out a rat for me.” Mostyn handed his card to Salzman. “Call that number and arrange with my people for pick up. I want then tomorrow. Will that be a problem?”

“The show runs for another four days,” Salzman said. “We don’t let pieces go before the show ends.”

“I want them tomorrow, or no sale,” Mostyn said.

“Well, uh,” Salzman looked at the card. It told him Mostyn was an investor. “Yes, of course, Mr Mossman. I’ll make arrangements with your people first thing in the morning. We will, of course, have to run a credit check. It’s standard policy.”

“No. Call them now. They’ll pick the items up first thing in the morning.” Mostyn took out the phone again, tapped on it, and then showed Salzman the screen. “That’s my bank account. You can see I have the money in it.”

Salzman looked. “Well, yes, but, well, er… This is all highly irregular.”

Mostyn shrugged. “Do you want eleven and a half million, minus the ten percent, or not? This isn’t a difficult transaction.”

There was a gleam in Salzman’s eyes. “Mr Cortado wants his buyers to be happy.”

“Good,” Mostyn said. “Make me happy.”

To Be Continued!

While waiting for the next installment, the entire Pierce Mostyn Paranormal series is available for your reading pleasure.

Do you hate cliffhangers? There’s none in this series. Each book stands by itself.

Do you think books are magic? That for just a while you can be anywhere, doing anything? Then join Pierce Mostyn and experience some magic!

“An action-packed, and suspenseful read with good characters and just enough scientific theories wound through the plot to make it possible. It reminded me a little of the X-files. If you get spooked easily don’t read this on a dark and stormy night when alone in a remote area.” —from an Amazon review of Terror in the Shadows.

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The Medusa Ritual is copyright © 2019 by CW Hawes. All rights reserved.