I was not at all displeased to discover that the caller was one Miss Avander, a charming young lady who dwelled alone—and vulnerably, I might add—in a small house a short distance down the avenue from my own. I was somewhat more than acquainted with Miss Avander, as in the past we had spent the long evenings in fascinating and intellectually stimulating conversations, and as these visits had been conducted in both of our homes, I was well familiar with her location.
“Ah, Miss Avander,” I enthused, letting the warmth I felt blend with the fine natural resonance of my voice, “it is indeed enchanting to hear your lovely voice—for indeed it remains lovely even through this awful electrical convenience: the telephone!”
“You are too kind, Mr. Leandro, to a poor, lonely maid such as myself,” Miss Avander argued. “Why, how lucky I am to have one such as yourself for a neighbor.”
“Indeed. And how lucky am I!”
“But, Mr. Leandro, I call to beg from you a favor.”
“Ah, and what might this favor be, madame?”
“Oh, in truth it is no more than an overloaded fuse. The poor thing was simply not strong enough to bear the energy being used by my many electrical appliances; so it burnt out, and I have been plunged into the utter eternal darkness of this place.”
“Miss Avander, you have a delightful way with words.”
“Yes, as you yourself have on occasion noted. But what of the tragically burnt-out fuse? Have you a spare?”
“Indeed yes, I believe I have, Miss Avander—and I shall be entirely delighted to deliver it—in person—to your very door.”
“You are a kind soul, Mr. Leandro.”
“Thank you, Miss Avander. I think I shall now pursue that half-fabled box of fuses which I know lurks somewhere within my house—most probably within a kitchen drawer! Now I shall bid you adieu—”
“But to appear soon at my door, of course!”
“Of course.”
“Adieu, then, Monsieur Leandro.”
“Madame,” I firmly but gently reprimanded, “I am not a Frenchman.”
When I had finally uncovered the rumored fuses—buried beneath a clutter of unused tacks and rubber bands—I packed them safely into my pocket, where they thumped reassuringly in that reassuring way in which fuses thump. As I was merely out for a short jaunt through the darkness of the Ruins, I did not tidy myself up in any great manner. But as I expected to be later entertained by Miss Avander—at the completion of my task, of course—I did give my hair a swift combing-through, and apply a bit of my best cologne to certain strategically-located areas of my enviable physique.
Though I had heard rumors that it was the Time of Spawning in the Ruins again, I did not bother to arm myself with anything other than a letter-opener—the same which had been given to me by Miss Avander only a few months before. Though there were possible dangers of being confronted in the Ruins by maniacal, rogue Zhodes or Lymmpospophae in their mating frenzies, it is generally considered against gentlemanly principles (and one must always concern one’s self with principles!) to venture even into dangerous areas armed with anything other than a sharp object which had been the gift of a lady. Pistols at night cannot even be discussed under such circumstances!
Flashlights, too, I find ungentlemanly—so instead I placed a lit candle into an ornate metal holder, and used this as my guiding light. The Ruins, which lie at the utmost bottom of the Subterranean Chasms, have probably never experienced a draught of any natural kind in all their uncounted aeons of existence, and so I feared not that the candle might be extinguished by a gust of wind while I ventured to Miss Avander’s house.
And, so equipped, I stepped out into the fathomless dark, and traced my way down the avenue.
My house was built precisely at the edge of the Ruins, but Miss Avander’s place of residence had been erected in the midst of the Ruins themselves. Thus I set along that antique avenue—through the unimaginable blacknesses of this subterranean world—with but a single candle to light my way. I wondered if I would go mad should my candle blow out, as so many others had done in these depths—and to my dismay I then discovered that I had neglected to bring a single match with me. However, I resolved not to let this hinder me, and I continued without a thought to my personal safety—knowing that Miss Avander sat patiently awaiting me within the Ruins, her home plunged momentarily into darkness. How brave she had sounded on the phone. Certainly I could strive to be half as brave as to walk a short distance without a spare match!
And now the Ruins rose about the ancient avenue, and disappeared into the darkness overhead that the candle’s feeble light could not illuminate. They were like row upon row of black dingy storefronts, leering over the avenue with empty yawning windows. The avenue, I noted, seemed much reduced in size when compared to those prehistoric Ruins. But I proceeded, undaunted, past those eternally dismal Ruins—being sure not to quicken my step—and came at last to the more ruinous Ruins. Those were jagged pillars—teeth, if you will—that were the remnants of structures more ancient than those of the blocky buildings. They sprang from the ground at irregular but frequent intervals, and the flickering candlelight caused them to leap and caper annoyingly.
Soon, I knew, I would come to Miss Avander’s house. But first, as you shall see, I was to have a not entirely pleasant adventure.
For as I walked through the more disordered Ruins, I looked above and within them, and thus did not see that which caused me to stumble a moment later, almost extinguishing my candle. I set my candle upon the ground, and turned to examine the obstacle in the avenue.
It was a human body, bent at awkward angles, and unpleasantly mangled beyond recognition. Dressed, it was, in a white uniform with black stripes—now dreadfully stained and discolored—which I recognized as the uniform of a newspaper boy. Indeed, as I looked closer, I found that the body was sprawled atop the bag of the carrier. Within this bag I found a single newspaper—mine, as I was the last customer on the boy’s route—bearing the blatant headline: SPAWNING SEASON BEGINS.
It was all very tragic, for the poor boy had died—recently, judging from the date on the paper—in delivering my newspaper. Perhaps if I had canceled my subscription this might never have occurred, for I rarely read the newspaper, and almost never even checked to see if it had been delivered. But then, things are always much simpler in retrospect.
As I rose from the awful lich, I noted the six-taloned claw marks on its arm, and realized the full unpleasantness of the situation. The boy had obviously been killed by a Zhode in its mating frenzy. He should have paid closer attention to the headlines he carried, for all parts of the Chasms—though particularly the Ruins—are exceedingly dangerous during the Time of Spawning.
And that latter thought brought me to immediate alertness, aware instantaneously of my surroundings. There was a low hooting in the Ruins before me… and I recognized that hooting as the mating call of the Lymmpospopha!
Instantly my letter-opener was in my hand—and I shivered as the hoot was answered, from behind me, with the high- pitched “Da-li! Da-li!” of the courting Zhode!
With my admirable presence of mind, I turned parallel to the avenue, so that I could watch the Ruins on either side. Shadows moved within, approaching the avenue—and, simultaneously, me. To my left there was a final shriek of “Da-li!” and a huge, swollen Zhode jumped onto the avenue beside me. Thankfully, it didn’t see me immediately, as it was looking for its mate, the Lymmpospopha. And, a moment later, that infamous creature too lumbered heavily onto the path beside me, hooting through the single orifice in its tiny, bulbous head.