PHILIP E TINSLEY

GOLGOATH
Part 1
‘Renaissance en Vie’

"now that I've decided not to stay,

I can feel me start to fade away"
Trent Reznor

This is a free sample of GOLGOATH.

If you like what you read you can find out more about the book at the dedicated web-site:-
www.philtinsley.com/golgoath
as well as details of my other work

enjoy – Phil.
 PHILIP E TINSLEY

Chapter 1
Lost

Failing her was more than he could bear. A simple failure would have been
reconcilable, would have been forgiven. If he'd betrayed her, abused her trust,
her spirit or her nature she would have forgiven him. If he'd taken her for
granted, made her a slave to his desires or passions without regard or respect to
her frailties, still she would have forgiven him. She would have forgiven him a
hundred sins of the flesh and a hundred more of the heart or soul but now, after
so long alone, she would forgive him no more.

People speak of endless, undying love. Of passion that can overcome any odds,
that can unite two souls in a flame of eternal union. Love that can turn aside
fear, hatred and anger. Love that can ignite the heavens and pull the stars from
the night sky. But those who speak these words know nothing of love.

The love Golgoath had shared with Verimana was truly undying. It would be
forever and would defeat any foe. It was the stars in the night sky, the dew on
the grass, the first flower of spring. It was beauty itself and could blind the sun
with it's passion and move the earth with its power.

Their love was the only love but it was broken. Verimana was gone.

The loss Golgoath felt inside was a total, absolute emptiness. A bottomless pit of
sorrow that sucked away all emotion and left a black void in its wake. His heart,
once light with joy and love now felt dead and grey without it. He lacked
purpose or direction. Once he was an island in the river of life, an immovable
force of nature on which any idea or thought could grow, mature and venture
forth enriched by the fertile soil from which it was seeded. A safe haven and a
refuge for emotions too frail to survive elsewhere. A harbour to friends and

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passing souls where they might rest a while and leave feeling recharged and
empowered, ready to face whatever the river spirit had in store for them.

Now Golgoath felt like mere flotsam and jetsam on the water. Swept along by
time without a thought for his task, his purpose. Tossed amongst the other
debris to bear the punishment of a life controlled by another. Subject to every
obstacle or eddy and as powerless as those around him to control its ebb and
flow.

To end was all Golgoath longed for. A final, absolute cessation of the loneliness,
the pain and the guilt that bore down on him and crushed his soul every waking
second of every day for more years than he could remember. When death isn't
an option open to you, your only choice was to live. And living with the
knowledge of what he'd done was more than Golgoath could bear.

Hope had been a driving force once, when he was still looking, still searching,
but when hope left him it left a hole and despair filled it perfectly, eagerly. The
task of searching became futile and despair grew. His loneliness engulfed him
and despair grew. Soon despair was everything. Then in time even despair was
stripped from his mind and he became numb. He became used to the
numbness, accustomed to the lack of emotion or drive and entered an almost
tranquil calmness where the colour seemed to bleed from everything and all
sounds were muffled and muted. His skin felt like a warm rubber suit, insulating
him, protecting him but providing no stimulus.

Golgoath hadn't known how long this had lasted for, it could have been weeks,
months, or years but eventually he stopped. He'd already stopped eating,
drinking and sleeping; he'd even stopped breathing, then he stopped being.

In his house he'd drifted away. The unnatural spirit which held his physical body
together had come undone and slowly he'd faded. His once powerful aura was
depleted, it's well of energy dammed by his suffering. He'd faded from life like
an old memory from the mind. His physical form simply dwindled away. Without

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his aura here to maintain it's presence it had faded along with his few
possessions and the clothes he wore. Golgoath the great man became a prickle
on the backs of trespasser's necks; a ghoul that did nothing more than to add a
sense of unease to the house it haunted.

And the decades passed.

Chapter 2
Awake

At some point, the ethereal existence of Golgoath realised that what was left of
his consciousness seemed to be moving. Slowly, muzzily but eventually it
seemed with a certain purpose, it moved. A systematic routine of habit puzzled
and coaxed his dismembered senses to shake off their years of lethargy and
investigate what was happening within his barely connected mind. Slowly, over
an immeasurable length of time, he began to become aware of a need to
search, to hunt, to track. An undefined driving force was urging Golgoath to
press himself to an unknown task, some far off goal. A hidden motivation was
attempting to solidify his body from its dissolution, to breath fire into his heart
once more.

The dilution of time was still infusing his suppressed senses but small pieces of
a large puzzle were moving inexorably towards each other, drawn together like
objects in a void, slowly but with the inevitability and persistence of a glacier
and when the last of those pieces clicked into place the effect was cataclysmic.

Golgoath's long decades of peace were brought to a sudden, abrupt end. His
sleeping soul was thrust forcefully up through his consciousness into a world of
pain and misery. His body, brought back into existence by his aura's memory of
it, screamed in agony as it breathed once more. His chest burned and his limbs
felt full of fire. His head throbbed with raw power and his skin stung like he'd
endured a thousand lashes.

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But by far the most painful ordeal of Golgoath's rebirth was when his seeming
aeons of blissful calmness were replaced with the full force of his memory, the
memory of what he'd lost and what he'd spent many years in vain searching for.
His beloved Verimana.

***

This return to physical form had been a little over a week ago. Since that time
Golgoath had mourned his lost love anew and was now laid cold and empty in
his ruined house. He'd spent long days reliving the events that had taken
Verimana from him and picked through the memories which he'd gathered
during the hundred years he'd spent looking for a way to reach her, from the
tragic events of 1864 in this very building, to his unwilling journey into
nothingness on its anniversary in 1964.

He considered beginning his search once more but the sheer enormity of the
task rekindled the barely dormant coals of his despair. He wondered why he had
to go through this pain year after long year. Why he wasn't allowed to die. Was
it some kind of punishment? Had he committed a crime so foul this was the only
life he could have, to be alone? Golgoath couldn't bear being trapped in this
way, to have no choice but to live in misery or search for something so well
hidden he had almost no chance of ever finding it.

Not knowing what to do, Golgoath decided to get away from this derelict house
and find out what had happened to the world outside. He knew he'd been away
for some time by the level of decay in this once grand home, but he had no idea
how much time, and so he set off, on foot, to the nearest town.

Golgoath walked for hours across open fields and down narrow country lanes
until, eventually, he reached the edge of Llangollen. He entered the town via
Shooters Hill, a route barely touched by the passage of time. As he walked he
noted the little changes, bright sign's by the roadside and plastic bins on every

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drive but by contrast there were many features still evident from before his
sleep.

A dry stone wall fronting an idyllic brick cottage, completely out of place
amongst the masses of grey stone and blue slate houses in the street. A
magnolia tree on a small common grown huge since he'd last seen it. The
skyline of the town appeared unchanged; no tower blocks or high-rise offices
marked the passage of the years.

Golgoath walked on into the town and stopped at the first shop he came to, It
was a tobacconists. Outside on the wall was a wire rack holding newspapers. He
pulled one free, the Shropshire Star, and learned that over twenty years had
passed since his absence and that It was now 1984; July the nineteenth
according to the newspaper. He thought back to Orwell's novel and wondered if
his oppressive society had come to pass. Judging by the rest of the front page
articles, it would appear not.

So now he knew. Twenty years asleep since he'd faded away which meant a
hundred and twenty years since he'd lost Lubloy and eight hundred and twenty
years since loosing Verimana. And every second of it a living reminder of his
mistake.

The sleeper had walked to the nearby town curious despite himself to see what
had happened during his slumber. As depressed and wretched as he felt, there
was an insuppressible part of Golgoath that needed to be sated. He needed
human contact, to be around people one more time.

On his walk through the small town Golgoath couldn't help but be fascinated
beneath his misery by the changes in lifestyle and fashion that had occurred in
his absence. He stood and watched people going about their business, scurrying
like insects in their tiny, insular worlds. He'd often wished for the ignorance and
short sightedness of man and, watching them now and knowing how their pains
and woes could be ended so easily, he envied them even more.

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Golgoath wandered aimlessly around the streets, having no particular

destination in mind, until eventually he gravitated to a restaurant café that he
used to frequent. The café was still there but was trading under a new name.
Where he expected to find ‘Dorothy's’ he now found ‘Maxine's’.

The name wasn't the only change. The girl behind the now garishly papered
pink and yellow counter, who was wearing an even more garish red poker-dot,
skin tight sweater with some kind of green ballet skirt, was watching Golgoath
with a look of complete disapproval. She’d accessorised her outfit with large
brightly coloured rings worn as bracelets and earrings. It seemed, if he was to
judge by the colours of the girl's attire, her jewellery and her make-up, that the
hippy movement that had begun before his sleep had left it's influences in
fashion if no where else.

She wore bright red lipstick with bright green eye-shadow and blue mascara.
She also had pink and green stripes in her hair along with ribbons and beads. It
put Golgoath in mind of the dandies of the French aristocracy that he'd met
when he'd visited there in the late eighteenth century crossed with the fifties
American rock and roll styles. Golgoath had seen several other young adults
dressed this way since entering the town.

The other noticeable differences to this era so far had been the machines. Cars
were now much squarer and, like the young people, brightly coloured, there
were also many more of them. The high-street shop windows displayed goods
designed to make housewife's lives easier. Automatic washing machines,
combined fridge-freezers, compact food processors and something called a
microwave oven. Mankind, it seemed, had turned the scientific wonders of
previous decades into the mundane kitchenware of today. He wondered how
long it would take them to learn.

One group of brightly dressed kids he'd seen had been carrying a portable
music player. The sound had been incredibly clear and sharp with a whole range

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of tones from deep throbbing drums to high pitched singing and electric piano
or organ of some sort. He withheld judgment on the composition, he'd heard
many styles of music over the centuries and this incarnation of the muse
seemed to be a progression of the rock and roll of the fifties and sixties, much
like the clothing. The sound quality of the device, though, was far superior to
the portable radios he'd heard in the sixties and much smaller too.

***

"Can you shut the door please?" Golgoath was being addressed by the colourful
girl behind the counter, a carefully measured dose of acid in her broad Welsh
accent indicated her distaste at having to talk to him but remained mild enough
to be dismissed as sarcasm about him standing in the open doorway of the café.

Golgoath stepped into the room, closed the door behind him and approached
the counter whilst reading the chalk-board menu above the girl's head.
Obviously food hadn't changed that much, just it's cost. Glancing at the prices
he knew he wasn't going to be able to get what he wanted for half a crown any
more.

"A cup of tea and a round of toast please." Golgoath dug out his change whilst
the girl shouted the order through an open door into the kitchen.
"Thirty-five pence" she said as Golgoath offered up two bob.
"What's this" she said "You tryin' to be funny or sommat?"
Golgoath looked perplexed at the board, he was feeling miserable and empty
hearted but he was sure his mind was working properly.
"I, I do not..." he started but the girl interrupted him
"Is this foreign or sommat? We only take British money ere', this is Llangollen
not London!" she sniped.
"I am sorry, it is.... all I have on me." he managed. The girl was joined by an
older woman from the back room wearing an apron and carrying a loaded butter
knife.
"What's the matter Toni?"

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"This bloke's tryin' to pay with this" the girl proffered the coins to the older
woman who took them and smiled
"Av' you been raidin' the piggy bank or sommat? I haven't seen old money for a
fair few years now".

Golgoath had lived long enough to know that monetary systems could change,
sometimes suddenly, and was always ready with a believable excuse for
sometimes using very outdated currency.
"I am sorry" he said "I have been living abroad for so long I did not realise this
was not in use any more". Disbelief momentarily flashed across the woman's
face but was replaced by curiosity.
"Didn't they 'ave newspapers where you lived then? We 'aven't used this stuff
since seventy-one"
"I have been performing missionary duties" This was usually considered licence
for any number of mistakes, ignorance and unusual attire.
"Do you have any more"? the woman asked indicating the coins.
Golgoath reached into his pocket and produced a handful of British imperial
coinage, last used in the town some thirteen years previous.

"You're a walking museum" she said whilst fingering through the coins in
Golgoath's huge palm,
"My mam’ad love to see some of these again, she moaned like buggery when
we went decimal. If you want I can take some of these in payment, it's not like
the banks'll exchange 'em any more"
Golgoath gently took hold of the woman's questing hand, turned it over,
emptied the entire collection of money into it and then closed her fingers over
the pile of worthless metal. Then he looked her in the eye and gave her a
friendly smile.

***

Golgoath sat at a window seat and watched the world go by as he sipped his
sweet tea and ate his hot buttered toast. It did nothing to alleviate the

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emptiness he felt inside as he had secretly hoped it would. It was stupid to think
that performing this ancient ceremony and exposing himself to people would
take away his pain or give him strength; yet still he hoped it would, stupidly
perhaps he hoped it would.

Thirty minutes later and the novelty of this new decade was wearing thin. The
colours may be brighter and the technology more impressive but behind it all
the people were just as small minded and self serving as always. New clothes,
old attitudes. Now that the distractions had lost their charm, Golgoath could feel
the emptiness sucking at him from inside, the void awaiting his company.

Golgoath had spent scores of decades in a vain search for a way to contact
Verimana. A search that had taken him to the four corners of the Earth and into
the blackest pits of human experience. He'd followed every lead, no matter how
tenuous, in the hope of finding a descendant of the last druid who could help
him contact Verimana once more.

Golgoath had felt the ache of despair for so long he knew nothing else. He felt
defeat circling him like a hyena choosing its moment and most of all he felt the
weight of loss in his grey heart. He could see no hope of ever being re-united
with his love and the futility of his search was an ever growing cancer in his soul
that threatened to consume him.

Golgoath thought about the past and all he'd lost, and he thought about the
future and how he'd never see his beloved again. He saw a world of pain and
suffering and in that sad moment he decided his fate.

It seemed ironic to him that the very act of lethargy that began this cycle of
depression should be its final conclusion. And here he sat, deciding to
deliberately go back into the void that had claimed him for so long. This time,
though, with the help of Al Azif it would be forever; or as close to forever as he
could hope for.

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To separate his being from this whorl of the spiral again and fade away to
nothing was what he planned. To become so faint of spirit and will that his
actual physical body would become thin then transparent then wraith like and
then nothing. To let the very essence of his being drift apart like gossamer
threads on the breeze, like smoke in the wind until there was nothing left. At
least nothing that would be considered human. An uneasy feeling in the old
house, a sigh in the air on stormy nights, a ghoul once more; this was what he
would become. This was the only recourse he felt was left open to him.

If death were an option, oh if only death were an option, he would embrace it

and pass willingly into the undiscovered country, but those doors it seemed,
were forever barred to Golgoath.

***

Golgoath stood up to leave the café and as he pulled on his coat someone took
a hold of his arm. He turned quickly to see who it was and unwittingly looked
directly into their eyes. It was the woman from behind the counter. She gasped
and her legs buckled as the colour drained from her face. Golgoath, still looking
out from the blackness of his soul, reacted too late to break the woman's gaze
and her soul momentarily experienced the wretched futility of Golgoath's
condition. In that moment she was consumed by the bottomless well of negative
emotions that were driving him back into the void. All of his loss, despair and
anguish were upon her in an instant and it was more than her barely evolved
simian synapses could handle.

A single, hollow sounding sob escaped her lips before she collapsed to the floor,
her face slack, eyes unfocused and unblinking. The girl and another customer
rushed over to help the fallen figure as Golgoath backed towards the door, still
shocked by the effect his unguarded eye contact had had. The girl looked his
way but only for help, she had no knowledge of her fallen colleague’s condition
or its cause. How could she?

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Golgoath left, feeling even more wretched for the poor woman's state, and
headed out of the town quickly to go back to Treve. This time though it would be
for the last time.

Chapter 3
Treve

Golgoath entered the grounds to his living tomb via a small servant's door in the
south wall of what was once the vegetable garden but was now nothing more
than a riot of bracken, nettle and gorse punctuated with rambling fruit trees and
clumps of tall grass that had long since gone to seed. Golgoath picked his way
through a narrow, choked path to one of the kitchen doors, long since sealed by
decay and the elements. Then he circled around the house to the front and
climbed the aged and crumbling exterior of the building to the first floor where
he entered through a broken window into the once impressive library.

The house, like it's grounds, was not the statement of status it had once been.
Commissioned by Heracles Moramber in 1832 and built by William Butterfield,
an established Gothic revivalist architect from London, it stood on a hillside
facing into a small, secluded valley. Moramber had wanted the house to be a
romantic homage to medieval castle architecture of the kind found in eastern
Europe. Butterfield ensured the house had spires, crenulations, towers, arrow
slits, even a portcullis and all with his meticulous, Victorian attention to detail.

A hundred and seventy-five years into its life and Treve’s mock spires were full
of holes, its faux drawbridge collapsed, its grand stone staircase reduced to
rubble by shifting foundations and its moat nothing more than a green, slime
filled ditch stinking of stagnant water and decay. The interior of the house was
as decrepit as its exterior. Years of neglect had resulted in crumbling plaster,
rotting woodwork, mouldy furniture and an abundance of insect and rodent
infestations. Fine oak panelling was now blistered and rotten from exposure to
the elements and woodlice and beetle scurried across it's damp, flaking surface.

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The handmade Victorian wallpaper that wasn’t peeling at the corners hung
from the ceiling like ragged sheets on a washing line. The once beautifully
polished marble floor was mostly obscured by debris made up of newspapers,
books, plaster, leaves and all manner of detritus carried in, or excreted by one
of the many visitors from the animal kingdom. One such visitor had taken
residence. The library’s new tenants, a family of sparrows, had made their home
in one of the high cabinets, once reserved for scrolls and manuscripts but now
used to house a nest.

One of the birds flew past Golgoath's ear as he clambered over the littered floor,
carrying a long fat worm still wriggling in its beak. He watched it add a little
deposit to the grey-white organic sculpture it had created on the front of the
lower shelves then disappear into its nested cabinet.

Golgoath continued out of the library, down a wide, carpeted, high-windowed

hallway, past a rotted hole in the floor which gave an unexpected view of the
servant's toilet and up a narrow steep staircase previously hidden behind a
concealed door in the now warped and twisted oak panelling. This led to a very
narrow corridor which Golgoath had to stoop slightly and turn his broad
shoulders sideways to fit down and eventually opened into the room Golgoath
had awakened in, a large round chamber.

When Moramber's house was finished he'd named it Treve after the ancient
German town whose cathedral housed the Holy Coat of Trier, Tunica Inconsutilis,
said to be the seamless coat of Christ; the coat Christ had worn at the time of
his passion. The coat was empowered by belief and capable, they say, of
miracles of healing.

Moramber had been in possession of a fourth century ivory carving depicting

the empress Helena seated in the door to the cathedral awaiting a procession
closed by a chariot in which two ecclesiastics guard a chest. Christ's face
appears above the chariot. The chest, it was believed, contained the coat and

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the ivory carving was the earliest known reference to the holy relic.

Moramber met with a priest of the Treve cathedral chapter and convinced him to
'loan' the coat in return for the ivory. The priest, Wilhelm Arnoldi, knew the
church could never allow such a sacrilege and so he arranged and executed the
exchange himself. Moramber was to be allowed the coat, under the priest's
supervision, for one night. In exchange Moramber delivered the ivory to the
priest, who was elevated to a bishop for such a significant find.

Moramber had learned of the coat's power to heal and hoped to cure his wife
with it. She was a long time sufferer of brain fever and falling sickness and her
doctors did not believe she would be long of this earth. The coat was
transported by the new bishop to Moramber's house in 1864. Here Moramber's
wife, Elizabeth, wore the coat during a healing rite performed by the Grand
Vizier of the Order of Celobites in a room specially built for the occasion at the
centre of Moramber's gothic castle. The room was called 'Renaissance en Vie' . It
was round and accessed by a secret passage.

Moramber designed the room to be a catalyst for the process that would deliver
his wife to good health once more. It had a large, crystal and iron domed roof
with a jade and iron staircase running from the floor to an exposed observation
platform at the apex of the dome. The staircase made a complete circle of the
room before reaching the platform. There were four, huge, black marble
fireplaces at the cardinal compass points each containing a black iron cage over
a fire pit. In the centre of the chamber a circle of exquisite chairs surrounded a
large, triangular onyx dais upon which a life-size statue of Christ in gold and
bronze stood placidly as if waiting for a bus.

The measurements of the room were specific to within a sixteenth of an inch

and all of the geometric shapes and Sanskrit writing inlaid in jade on the
polished black obsidian floor were mirrored in the intricate iron fretwork of the
staircase with its jade steps and the large domed roof with its crystal panels. All
of the geometric shapes and Sanskrit writing were taken directly from an

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ancient text, the Al Azif, and were the names of ancient entities required to
channel life energy into our plane of existence. All of the names that is, but one;
Golgoath.

***

Prior to the rite the coat was placed upon the statue whilst Elizabeth would be
prepared. This would consist of laying her naked on the dais (incidentally this
was also at Christ's feet) and reciting passages from the Al Azif; that is the
original Sanskrit, encrypted work by Abdullah Alhazred using his original key,
not one of the heavily interpreted and abridged works generally thought of as
the original such as the much mentioned Latin text, The Necronomicon. This
was how the Order of Celobites wished it to be.

The author, Abdullah Alhazred, was of course as mad as a hatter with a mercury
enema, as is the case of anyone who has studied his work, the Al Azif, in any
detail. He included passages in that not only gave access to the realm of the
dead but also to other realms, where beings waited, patiently, for a doorway to
this rich and fertile land of life and energy to open.

Moramber had planned the performing of the rites in painstaking detail. The
Grand Vizier of the Order of Celobites was prepared for the ceremony by three
unbaptised virgins. Their religion free past and their virginity were both
guaranteed prior to the event. Several girls had been disqualified in the
planning because discoveries were made of their secret pubescent adventures
into sex. The girls in turn were prepared by imbibing the blood and semen from
a bull born to a dead cow. After the preparation ceremony with the Grand Vizier
the three girls were no longer virgins.

The gold and bronze statue was just an ornament, it seemed fitting that the coat
of Christ should have a suitable resting place prior to the ceremony. The dais,
however, was an intricate piece of the ritual. A tool to focus the energies that
would be channelled into our sphere of existence and then into Elizabeth. The

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chairs, apparently there for the comfort of the observers, were positioned
between the dais and the jade names of the ancient ones. Each was constructed
out of rosewood with fine gold filigree which acted as a pure, conducting
endoskeleton to connect their guests with the hostless souls to be called forth.
Each chair contained a mechanism to simultaneously trap and pierce the skin of
its guest. The blood would be channelled into grooves in the floor which would
then flow into a bowl below the dais.

The guests consisted of the Bishop and his two bodyguards, Elizabeth's brother
George, the architect William Butterfield, Lord Sumner of Kent, the father of one
of the three virgins and Moramber's Solicitor; a French man called Pierre
Epuisement.

Moramber had nothing against any of these people, indeed he actually quite
liked George, but the rite called for eight bloodlines and so eight bloodlines
there were. He convinced himself that if any of them knew Elizabeth like he
knew her, and possibly George, then they would gladly and willingly offer their
blood to save her. As it was, their sacrifice was appreciated in their ignorance.
The only other significant detail that connected the men was their trust.
Moramber had convinced each man to attend the ceremony in total secrecy,
even arranging elaborate alibis for several of them. In short, none of the guests
could be traced back to Treve if they should happen to disappear.

Chapter 4
Inside

The ceremony took place on the night of October 15th 1864. The guests had all
arrived during the preceding week and had been accommodated in abstract
luxury within the guest rooms of Treve.

***

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Part of the castle's eccentric charm was that each guest room was decorated
and furnished by a different artist. Some famous, some local and some that
Moramber had met whilst travelling and then commissioned to return to Treve
with him and make their mark. All were given free range and unlimited funds to
create their masterpieces and what resulted was the most unique and
mismatched set of rooms in the British Isles and possibly even Europe.

Treve had forty guest suites. Twenty-two had so far been reshaped at the hands
of artists, sculptors and, in several cases, inspired individuals who had caught
Moramber's imagination and had subsequently been brought back to the castle
and paid handsomely to create a room. Two of these individuals had been poor
nobodies before meeting Moramber but were now respected artists in their own
rights. Such was the nature of Treve, to breed creativity and be a home to the
birth of new life and new ideas.

The redecorating had so far taken a little over thirteen years, with some rooms
taking over twelve months for their artist to finish due to the shear scale of the
projects or simply the amount of detail involved. Sometimes there were several
artists working at once and this led to new fusions of ideas and concepts.
Sometimes it led to heated arguments and on several occasions physical
violence. Artists are passionate and unstable at the best of times, put them in a
confined space for too long and friction is inevitable.

***

At one stage a twenty-two year old called Charles Lutwidge Dodgson, whom
Moramber had met some years previous in Yorkshire enthralling a group of
children with his stories, was commissioned to decorate a small suite of rooms
on the top floor of Treve which overlooked the ornamental eel pool and topiary
laden driveway approach to the castle. At the same time a Scottish artist and
locomotive engineer, fifty-two year old David Octavius Hill, was attempting to
turn one of the smaller guest rooms into a luxury train carriage complete with a

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brass, steam driven engine that operated a giant turntable on which the bed
was placed so that the occupants could view the entire room without having to
move.

Dodgson, being a mathematician as well as a story-teller, gladly assisted Hill

with this venture. The two men set about building the steam engine in the guest
room but before it was complete they came to loggerheads over the use of
vented steam. Hill wanted to use it to drive a pump that would provide hot
water to a shower in the room's en-suite bathroom rather than waste the latent
energy. Dodgson, insisting that it was his work, wanted the steam to be vented
outside of the windows so that the effect of travelling by train could be
recreated by the condensed clouds of steam that would result. Tensions had
been building throughout the joint venture and the ensuing brawl nearly
resulted in Dodgson's death when Hill lamped him quite literally with a heavy,
railway carriage lantern. Had Dodgson's injuries proved fatal, Alice in
wonderland would never have been written.

Hill completed his 'loco-motif' room and, in a fit of guilt, set about completing
Dodgson's 'Adventures in a secret garden' room. Dodgson had been creating an
interactive storybook whereby the room's occupant read a story written in one
long line of text that started on the wall just inside the door, at a child's eye
level, ran across the walls, over the floor, across handmade bedding, along the
skirting boards, up water pipes, across the ceiling (here the reader had to climb
an oak limb that Dodgson had incorporated into the room and crawl along
wooden jetties to view the text), across the windows (etched into the glass) and
back to the door. There the reader was instructed to take a bath, for the last
chapter was written in an ever decreasing spiral around the inside of the large,
circular bath tub, ending by having the stories main characters disappear down
the plug hole as they read a story written on a bath tub about characters who
disappear down a plug hole, and so on and so forth.

Dodgson had been using a young London artist by the name of John Tenniel to
illustrate the story as it progressed around the room. Tenniel had a good idea of

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 GOLGOATH

what Dodgson wanted and continued under Hill's supervision. The completed
room featured many more railway tracks, steam trains and suspicious plumes of
billowing grey and white smoke appearing from behind distant tree lines than it
ever would have with Dodgson in charge, but it was finished none-the-less.

Dodgson never returned to see the completed room and condemned Treve as
'an eccentric's folly' and 'the joke of the art world'. He never acknowledged that
'adventure in a walled garden' was, indeed, his work.

Chapter 5
Preparation

Moramber's guests enjoyed the exquisite food, fine wines, imported brandy and
perfect hospitality of their host and his skeleton serving staff, the remainder
having been loaned to one of Moramber’s acquaintances for a grand ball; a
common practice for servants of this time. This was Moramber's method of
controlling the rumour and gossip about black magic and the like that would
undoubtedly surround what was being planned.

The staff who remained were considered by Moramber to be loyal and

trustworthy.

The specially selected guests were led up to 'Renaissance en Vie' on the

evening of October 15th whilst the Grand Vizier deflowered the three virgins in a
sound-proofed ante-chamber. The guests were each given a glass of red wine
upon entering the chamber fortified with brandy and, unbeknownst to them, a
few drops of blood from the girl's ruptured hymens. Then they were made
comfortable on the large, ornate chairs.

Sally and Doris had instructions to comfort the three traumatised girls and take
them back to their homes in a waiting carriage. This they did as soon as the

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 PHILIP E TINSLEY

Grand Vizier had completed his ceremony with them. Mrs Wiggan, the cook, had
already been sent home after the evening meal had finished so all whom
remained in the house were the eight guests with Moramber, his wife, James,
the castle head, Elizabeth, the housekeeper, Molly, the lady's maid, the Grand
Vizier and his assistant Jonah. At least that's the fifteen people Moramber
believed were in Treve that night. The sixteenth, uninvited guest was watching,
unseen, from the observation platform. His presence, there by rite of name
inlaid in jade in the obsidian floor by an unknown hand, was authorised by a
much higher and older order to ensure that no doorways were opened to beings
who were neither invited nor welcome.

***

Golgoath retrieved a small packet out of his waistcoat, opened it and took out a
hard boiled sweet to suck on whilst he watched the guests being seated in their
instruments of torture. He sucked on it noisily and wondered if his intervention
would be needed on this evening, or if Mr Moramber would achieve his goal of
curing his beloved's sickness without unwittingly opening any portals. He hoped
for the latter; having felt the pain of loss and separation himself he had too
much empathy to see others have to endure it. If it was to be the former, then
he would perform the task with speed and efficiency and despatch any, other,
uninvited guests with as much sensitivity as the situation would allow.

Golgoath leaned against the intricate iron fretwork of the platform's banister
and observed how the Frenchman seemed to be inspecting his elaborate seat
with its elaborately concealed trap. His prodding and poking was about to reveal
the chairs gruesome secret when he was addressed by his neighbour, Lord
Sumner.
“Is that it?” the man was enquiring, indicating the coat on the statue by sloshing
his cocktail in its direction.
“Oui monsieur, zhat is see tunica inconsutilis, I have seen it in, err, pic-tures
before, you understand? But never in zhee rheal life”
“Was kind of expectin' something...” Lord Sumner struggled for the right words

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 GOLGOATH

“I don't know, something more elaborate or ...divine even, not some tatty old
brown dressing gown!”
“Monsieur Sumner” sighed Epuisement “you mhust understand zhat Jhezus was
a 'umble man, he wore zhee clothez of a carpenter”
“yes, yes, you're right of course Mr Episment, it's just hard to imagine this...”
here he struggled again “…piece of clothing, having any power other than
keeping you warm after a bath!” at this Lord Sumner laughed raucously, a man
who appreciated his own humour.

***

Lord Sumner and Monsieur Epuisement had met on the day of their arrival and
had instantly hit it off. Lord Sumner instantly hit it off with everyone, at least in
his version of the universe he did. Monsieur Epuisement had taken an instant
dislike to Lord Sumner but maintained his professional persona in case Lord
Sumner was ever in need of a new lawyer.

Lord Sumner sought out Monsieur Epuisement several times during the
following week for 'intellectual stimulation'. This consisted of Lord Sumner
providing an endless monologue of his beliefs, prejudices and extractions from
his seemingly bottomless pit of pointless knowledge for Monsieur Epuisement's
listening pleasure.

From these tiresome encounters Monsieur Epuisement had learned that Lord
Sumner did not believe in the occult, the supernatural or any other realms of
fancy. He did believe in luxury and status and tried to acquire as much of both
as he could. Lord Sumner had been briefed in detail by Moramber during the
planning of the ceremony about what was to transpire and how unspoken it
must be, but Lord Sumner interpreted this as Moramber building on the
suspense and adding to the mystery of what was surely to be a night of magic
tricks and elaborate illusions to entertain these select few guests. Lord Sumner
believed Moramber would be the topic of conversation at parties and social
gatherings for years and was looking forward to the evening with the

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 PHILIP E TINSLEY

uncontrollable enthusiasm of a child.

His only regret was that he hadn't thought of this fantastic extravagance
himself. Lord Sumner firmly believed, despite what the other guests had been
saying, that the evening would consist of nothing more than smoke and mirrors.
Secretly he hoped for a magic lantern display, he'd seen one some years back
and had been thoroughly mesmerised by it. That would be a treat and no
mistake.

***

Monsieur Epuisement returned to the study of his seat but was interrupted once
more by another of the guests John Weaver, father to one of the deflowered
girls, who stood up with a gasp as he saw a procession entering the room.

Chapter 6
Ceremony

Emerging from an ante-chamber through an elaborately carved archway was

Moramber carrying his wife, Elizabeth, in his arms. She was wrapped in an
almost transparent red silk gown and appeared to be unconscious. Briskly
walking past Moramber and his prostate wife was the Vizier’s assistant, Jonah,
wearing a long black robe lined with red silk and decorated with lines of text in a
little known and mostly forgotten language.

Jonah asked the guests to return to their seats and remain there no matter what
happened. Lord Sumner was red faced and bright eyed with a potent mix of
anticipation and alcohol and the assistant's foreboding command merely added
to his excited state; it was all he could do not to jump up and down whooping
and clapping.

Once the guests were in their places Jonah opened the leather bound volume he

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was carrying and began reading. He read aloud but not in any language that the
guests recognised. What he read was a single stream of unbroken syllables
pitched in a low monotone with a certain nasal harmonic that made it sound not
unlike a Buddhist chant. He walked slowly towards the circle of seats whilst he
read, not once raising his eyes from the page, then he passed between the
cardinal and his aides where he stood and continued his monotonous
monologue. Now and then Jonah raised his free hand in the air and made
various gestures. The sign of a triangle, the shape of a wave, a hand held with
fingers splayed out and other simple signs.

The guests were watching him and waiting with baited breath when suddenly,
one after another, the four, huge, black fireplaces around the chamber ignited
their oil soaked peat logs and a wave of super-heated air washed over the room
from all four directions converging on the triangle of onyx in the centre of the
circle of chairs which responded with a visible shudder.

The guests looked at one another in stunned silence. Lord Sumner sat open
mouthed watching the Christ statue vibrate slightly following the dais' shudder
then all became still again and the only noise was Jonah's low chanting and the
crackle of the fires.

Moramber, who had been waiting outside the circle, walked forward and placed
Elizabeth onto the now still onyx. He laid her flat with her arms at her sides, her
body limp and unmoving. He untied and removed the red silk gown leaving her
as naked as a babe, then he retreated speaking soft words of love.

The sight of this rather attractive woman laid naked and unconscious in front of
an invited audience raised a few eyebrows and also a few libidos. Several of the
guests looked at one another and wondered if the ceremony of which Moramber
had spoken included an opportunity to explore the pleasures of his wife's
recumbent body. She was not in her prime, but her slender form seemed firmer
and more toned than most women of her age. Her breasts, quite large for her
small frame, were the only part of her that seemed to be showing her years as

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 PHILIP E TINSLEY

they rested flat and wide to either side of her chest in this prone position.

Jonah began walking slowly around the dais still speaking a seamless string of
sounds and making occasional signs with his hand towards the prone form of
Elizabeth. With each circuit of the dais the chant picked up new harmonics and
behind the human sounds there was an emerging guttural, animal noise echoing
the words of the script. The animal noise was unsettling to the guests and found
purchase in the pits of their stomachs and at the napes of their necks. It
reached inside and brought the scared child of each listener out to have
executive control of their emotions. Every listener, that is, but one.

Golgoath had moved from the observation platform and was now watching the
proceedings from half way down the encircling staircase. He saw with the eye of
a professional how the assistant had accessed the Ecruos, the living energy
which sustains this whorl of the spiral, and shaped it into a sphere of
considerable force large enough to encompass the circle of chairs. The assistant
had a little more skill at this level of sorcery than most humans of this era, but
the esoteric text he held was all that was needed to gain access to these long
forgotten powers. Golgoath made a mental note to reclaim this copy of the Al
Azif as soon as his work here was done.

The sphere the assistant had created was reasonably well formed and would
resist most attempts at passage either from within or without. Golgoath was
preparing to open a crack in it should the need arise for his intervention but
continued to watch as the assistant sculpted two keys from the freshly tapped
living energy. The floating forms, sometimes geometric shapes, sometimes
organic, were each roughly six inches across and would grant passage through
the sphere of protection to anyone they were imprinted onto. The assistant
called one to himself and sent the other away, presumably for the Grand Vizier.

All of this went unseen by the guests. It took skill and practice to be able to see
the raw Ecruos, something most humans had long since forgotten how to do. All
they saw were some apparent hand gestures and more symbolic signing.

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 GOLGOATH

After circling the onyx dais three times, with the animal noises steadily
increasing in volume, Jonah stopped and closed the arcane volume. The
inhuman chanting continued unaided. He walked through the protective sphere
to a small table set by the archway and retrieved another book. This one was
much newer, a hardback notebook with several markers in it. He selected a
marker, opened the book and returned to the circle of chairs where he waited.

Nothing happened for a few moments, then the disembodied chanting doubled
in volume and changed key. The sound was no longer uncomfortable, it had
gone beyond that. Now it was arousing a deeper, more primal fear in the souls
of the eight men. They looked about themselves at the deepening shadows and
their fear grew. John Weaver, the father of one of the former virgins, was about
to get up and run when Jonah started speaking again.

"Wilhelm Arnoldi, Karl Kaas, Johann Tetzel, Hercule Epuisement, George

Williamson, William Butterfield, Arthur Sumner, John Weaver". The list was read
as a roll call but required no reply. The guests waited nervously to learn what
was to be asked of them.

Chapter 7
Deceived

“Thank you” these words were spoken by Moramber as he pulled down a

contact lever to supply power to the chairs. A succession of cries went up from
the instantly entrapped guests as their seats erupted in a network of bars and
wires that restrained, encaged and trapped their former beneficiaries all at
once.

“What in the blazes is the meaning of this!” screamed Lord Sumner in a

panicked, child-like voice as he looked in vain for a way to free himself. Similar
cries in other languages went up around the circle of petrified captives and the
Bishop began to pray loudly in German. The men's struggles for freedom were

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hampered not only by the many barbs and blades that lined the insides of the
newly formed cages, only inches from their skin, but also the straps that tightly
wrapped around their chests, arms and legs. Several of the guests began to
struggle frantically but only succeeded in lacerating their skin with this futile
attempt at breaking free.

Golgoath, the unseen guest, watched Moramber instruct his manservant and
the lady's maid to leave and not return to the room again this night. The pair left
with grave expressions. In servitude they may be, but godliness was paramount
and what was happening was not the work of any good god, especially not
theirs.

As soon as they had gone Moramber turned to a large steel clad control panel
that buzzed and smouldered with stored energy and pulled a small lever which
sparked as it connected with its contacts. He watched the needles on the amber
lit dials jump as stored electricity was channelled into a mechanism that turned
metal wheels on the backs of the only doors that exited the room. Large bolts of
steel were pushed far into slots in the door's frames and an iron portcullis fell in
place in front of each doorway with a loud, echoing and final clang.

Still ignoring the guest's cries, Moramber turned and, with some effort, picked
up a grey canvas covered box that was on the floor resting against the consol. It
was large and oblong in shape with two leather straps such as might be seen on
a back-pack. Protruding from the box were a number of small dials and a large
copper coil that was mounted by either end. There were also two silver canisters
about the size of soda siphons that glistened with condensation; they were
mounted side-by-side on the bottom of the pack and each had a small pressure
gauge affixed to the end.

A thick, canvas bound cable connected the pack to the now loudly humming
consol by large ceramic connectors. Another two thick cables connected the
pack to a pair of devices that consisted of arrays of copper coils and long,
copper and steel prongs, each intricately etched and roughly three feet long.

26
 GOLGOATH

They were both finished with several sharpened points.

Moramber heaved the pack onto his back and adjusted the straps to hold it firm.
Then he slipped an arm inside each of the devices, gripped them by ceramic
handles concealed amongst the copper coils and flicked a small switch with his
thumb. The console redoubled its electronic humming and the back-pack joined
in with its own off-key whine. Snakes of blue electricity danced along the pack's
large, copper coil, along the hand-held device's smaller coils and finally down
the length of the prongs. Moramber looked to Jonah and nodded.

“Bejard'el groth mo'raan ci'emenorep” As Jonah completed this sentence he

removed the sacred coat from the statue and laid it over the still form of
Elizabeth. Then he stood back and placed both hands in the air, fingers spread
wide, threw his head back and yelled

“ERJSOL, DEMMORIZ’ONUG CALEF’DOTH!”

The room started to tremble and the restraining chairs shook, their captured
hosts yelling and screaming within. Then, as quickly as it started, it stopped.
The shaking stopped, the chanting stopped and the eight men's shouting
stopped. All that could be heard was the hum of the consol and it's extended
components. Jonah lowered his arms and his head and walked away to the side
of the arched door where he waited; his hands clasped together in front of him.

Lord Sumner, temporarily shocked into silence, shook his chair violently once
more and repeated his demand to be released. No-one replied to him.
“Yes, yes, good show. Well done Moramber, now let us out good chap” he said
without much conviction. Moramber's attention was elsewhere though.

The Grand Vizier had emerged from the corridor leading to the ante-chamber
and was walking towards the onyx dais and Elizabeth's still form. He walked
slowly, wearing an expression of deep concentration and as he approached he
drew into himself some of the additional Ecruos called forth by his assistant.

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 PHILIP E TINSLEY

When he reached the edge of the dais he stopped and looked down at the
woman. He slid his right hand under the sacred coat and placed it, palm down,
on her abdomen, just below her navel. Then he did the same with his left hand
and placed it on her chest between her breasts. The Grand Vizier allowed the
Ecruos within him to find its shape and form from his memory of the three
former virgins then he allowed it to flow through the channels he'd prepared in
his Chi and into the unguarded form before him.

The Grand Vizier was unprepared for what happened next. Elizabeth's body was
like a sponge to the river of Ecruos. It sucked it eagerly from the Grand Vizier's
hands and within a few moments it was being drawn at such a speed that it
began to burn his palms. He had been expecting some discomfort but this was
quickly approaching his pain threshold as his skin blistered and peeled from his
hands. He tried to stem the flow a little but it had no effect, the energy kept
pouring out of him into Elizabeth's eager body. He tried to withdraw his hands
but to no avail, it was as if they had been fixed to her body. He was about to cry
out in pain when a sudden backflow of Ecruos thrust his hands from her hot skin
and sent him stumbling backwards into the chair of Mr Weaver.

The Grand Vizier was visibly shaken and when he got a hold of himself he
walked unsteadily to the table with the Al Azif on. There he stood and caught his
breath for a few moments before hesitantly continuing with the ceremony to a
chorus of shouts and threats from the trapped guests. He opened the ancient
tome with his painfully charred hands to a marked page and, after another
moments pause, read out loud a short incantation to call forth the spirits and
begin the act of rebirth within Elizabeth.

He turned to face the dais and watched as the ancient names in the stone floor
began glowing with unnatural turquoise light. The luminance was almost solid
and ran along the grooves in the floor to the golden seats and their entrapped
guests. There it spread along the pure gold exoskeletons of the chairs and
entered the bodies of the captives through the many small cuts and lacerations
caused by their struggles against the cages.

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 GOLGOATH

The men fell silent and still.

The light was a conduit for the ancient ones to project their essence through to
the waiting hosts. The part of these entities that now resided in the eight guests
was but a small part, the part that could be called upon by mortal man and that
could act upon this whorl without damaging the Ecruos, a resource which was
needed for the rite to work. It was a fine balancing act but every detail had been
considered to ensure its success.

The ethereal presence of the ancient beings was necessary and they expected
to be rewarded for their attendance. Even before the rite was begun they were
preparing to harvest the souls of their hosts as payment. None of this mattered
to Moramber or Golgoath. Moramber just wanted his Elizabeth well again and
Golgoath was just here to guard the gate. The Grand Vizier, on the other hand,
intended to call upon these ancient demigods to give him wealth and power
after Elizabeth was healed, the addition of this request was known only to him.

The first part of the ceremony had left the Vizier considerably weakened and he
decided he needed to return to his chamber and take the remains of the
reinforcing philtre he'd prepared in order to perform the rest of the rite. He
looked on as the ancient ones sent forth their tendrils of power along the
rivulets of blood towards the woman’s body. When they connected she became
animated, her body rolling sideways and shedding the coat before curling into a
ball

Chapter 8
Rebirth

Elizabeth's figure now lay in a foetal position as the energy wrapped and
caressed it. She'd pulled her knees into her chest and was hugging them with
her arms. With her head tucked in her shape was almost a ball. The ribbons of

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 PHILIP E TINSLEY

energy from the ancient ones were writhing around her like transparent snakes,
passing through her body in places and echoing her feminine curves in others.

As the onlookers watched she seemed to change, the fullness of her breasts was
leaving, the curve of her hips lessening. Her skin was becoming smooth and
loosing the lines age had given it. Her hair became fuller and seemed to gloss
more and her frame was visibly shrinking. Very quickly she began to resemble a
teenager and still her form changed, regressing further into it's past. Her hips
were now no wider than a young boys, her chest no longer filled the gap
between her knees and ribs. Her buttocks were small and tight and her thighs
slim enough to display her hairless pre-pubescent genitals. Further and further
down the track of biological history her body regressed. In a little less than two
minutes Elizabeth's physical form had gone from a forty-six year old woman into
a six year old girl and it wasn't slowing down. Her body was becoming baby-like
and loosing all signs of gender, her legs were still tucked into her body but no
longer reached her chest and her head held nothing more than a few wisps of
blonde hair.

The Grand Vizier dragged himself away from the spectacle and headed for the
ante-chamber to take his potion but Moramber stopped him and asked with a
worried expression what was wrong. The Grand Vizier showed Moramber his
scorched palms by way of answer and said he'd be back to complete the ritual.
Moramber let him go and turned his attention back to Elizabeth.

Four minutes into the transformation now and Elizabeth had become a barely
formed baby. Large, closed lidded eyes bulged from her bulbous head and her
body, growing smaller by the second, was pink and doll like. In comparison the
cocoon of the ancient's energy that wrapped her seemed to be expanding and
taking a different shape. It formed a bubble surrounding the shrinking foetus
which resembled a transparent womb but with feint smoke like runners curling
away and creating forms of their own. The smoky shapes started to solidify and
the bubble became more solid as details appeared on its surface. Veins and
arteries became apparent whilst the Smokey runners traced disjointed pieces of

30
 GOLGOATH

anatomy in the air. Slowly, from the now almost solid womb surrounding the
miniature Elizabeth, a new female form was being sketched into existence.
Organs were becoming solid around the slowly deflating bubble and sheets of
muscle appeared over growing bones before the upper part of the torso or the
calves were even sketched.

It had been six minutes since the Grand Vizier had called the ancient ones to the
task but in that time the prostate figure of Elizabeth had regressed into a foetus
and was being wrapped inside a newly grown female form.

The process seemed to loose momentum as the smoky tendrils began to

develop the outline of hands, feet and neck. Skin like porcelain now covered the
waist, stomach and buttocks; its surface shimmered like a pearl with the residue
of the transforming energy but the process was definitely slowing down as
Elizabeth’s new body became more and more complex.

Suddenly a shudder ran through the unfinished body and the energy streams
coming from the eight ancient ones began to flicker and fail. Moramber
anxiously looked to Jonah to see what was wrong and saw him staring at the
corridor that led to the ante-chamber.

A dark, violet, fluid-like light spilled out of the carved archway and spread like
ink on water across the walls, ceiling and floor. Everything in its wake became
shades of purple and grey edged with violet and dark light turning the scene
into an eerie negative of itself.

A noise began but it was felt before it was heard. Starting as an uneasy feeling
in the bowels it was followed by the hairs standing up on everyone's bodies
before their skin began to crawl. Eventually the sound reached a level audible
by humans ears. A deep, shifting drone that slipped in and out of the edge of
hearing and made the ears ache and the temples throb. Moramber raised both
arm devices and pointed them at the arched doorway.

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 PHILIP E TINSLEY

The drone grew more intense as the dark-light consumed the room. It's
occupants watched as people became shining beacons in the darkness, each
living form being surrounded by a brilliant halo of shifting light. Moramber's aura
was a wide spray of vivid green and brilliant yellow tipped with indigo and lilac
around the head. The trapped host's auras were chaotic and spiky with great
swathes of red, black and acid yellow throughout. The new Elizabeth's aura was
very feathery and pale and mostly a grey-blue colour except around the waist
where it had a putrid greenish tint. Her aura could only be seen around the
completed parts of her body and only then if you looked past the brilliance of
the coat which had a wash of blues and lilacs extending several feet around it
where it lay next to her.

Golgoath looked on as both Moramber and the Vizier's assistant turned to face
him and took a step forward. Curiously they seemed to be looking directly at
him. He turned to look about him to see if he could identify what they had seen.
There was nothing near him on the stairs and nothing beyond the crystal panes
behind him. Golgoath turned to face the two men once more and wondered
what could be holding their attention. He knew that his presence would be
undetected unless he decided otherwise and could not fathom why they stared
his way. He could see everything they saw and he saw nothing in his vicinity
that could interest the two men. The figures still stared and Moramber began
approaching so Golgoath decided to find out what the men were watching; he
needed to ensure that his presence was as invisible as it should be.

Golgoath turned to face Moramber and focussed on him. He pushed outwards

with his mind and then sent it along his line of sight and into the unprotected
human machine before him. He felt a slight resistance as he breached the man's
active surface thoughts and then set about seeking his conscious visions.

32