Curse of the Blood Fiends

By P J Thorndyke

When private detective Rosa Bridger took the case of tracking down a drug-addled starlet for her fiancé’s movie mogul father she thought it would be a simple missing person’s case. She needs the help of her ex-fling, Steve; the only honest cop she knows. This doesn’t go over so well with her fiancé, Flynn; Hollywood’s hottest swashbuckler. And Rosa has stumbled over the trail of something much more sinister than the hoodlums and hop pushers she is used to dealing with.

A military research project in the Amazon has gone horribly wrong spawning monstrous man-made creatures who kill all in their path. One man survives and makes the long journey home to Los Angeles. Henry Gross – game warden and tough-guy for hire – has been infected with the virus that makes him kill by night. And that virus threatens to turn the entire city into immortal creatures ravenous for human blood.

An action-packed mystery-horror novel inspired by Film Noir and the monster movies of the 1940s.

• Language: English
• Publisher: P J Thorndyke
• Release date: Nov 23, 2016

P J Thorndyke

P. J. Thorndyke is a writer of Steampunk, Fantasy and Adventure fiction inspired by the trashier side of pop culture like dime novels, pulp magazines, and grindhouse movies.

Book preview

By the same author

The Lazarus Longman Chronicles

Through Mines of Deception (novella)

On Rails of Gold (novella)

Golden Heart

Silver Tomb

Onyx City

Celluloid Terrors

Curse of the Blood Fiends

https://pjthorndyke.wordpress.com/

As Chris Thorndycroft

The Hengest and Horsa Trilogy

A Brother’s Oath

A Warlord’s Bargain

A King’s Legacy

The Rebel and the Runaway

Novellas

The Visitor at Anningley Hall – A prequel to M. R. James’s ‘The Mezzotint’

Old Town

https://christhorndycroft.wordpress.com/

Curse of the Blood Fiends

By P. J. Thorndyke

2016 by Copyright © P. J. Thorndyke

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

https://pjthorndyke.wordpress.com/

PROLOGUE

A Tributary of the Upper Amazon, 1942

The house was as unexpected as a telephone booth might have been given its surroundings. It was a simple wooden frame covered in palm thatch. Nothing unusual about that but it was its isolation that made it stand out. There were no other buildings for miles around; only the deep, dark jungle, oppressive in its darkness, darker than the sky which was clear and starlit. The great glowing disc of the moon was filtered through the towering assai palms that gently wavered in the breeze from the river.

Henry Gross adjusted the strap on his tranquilizer rifle and slid it around onto his back. His prey would not be loitering around any kind of habitation and he did not want to accidentally waste one of his valuable darts on a human. Instead, his hand dropped to the butt of his .357 Magnum Revolver.

Henry was a tall, thickly-muscled man dressed in khakis and a straw multi band hat. He had short blond hair and a square jaw. Friends joked that his type was all the rage in Nazi Germany right about now.

Nobody about, said Nilo behind him, a voice in the blackness, unaccompanied by the breaking of twigs underfoot. Nilo was a llanero, originally from Venezuela and one of Henry’s assistant game wardens back at the American base. He was also the finest tracker Henry had ever known. That was why he had brought him along on this trip. He trusted no other. Shall we head back to the boat?

No, Henry replied. It’s already night. I’m tired and I don’t want to spend precious zeds hacking our way back through the forest. Maybe this hut is deserted. If it is, we’re spared the effort of putting up a shelter.

"I don’t like it, señor."

Henry nodded and said nothing. The isolated hut unnerved him too. There were far too many strange goings on in this part of the Amazon Basin for his liking. What they hunted was no beast yet discovered by man. It was big. The remains of livestock near the village they had passed two days ago suggested something larger than a jaguar. And it was a man-eater too if the claims of the locals were to be believed. People had vanished they said, leaving nothing but an empty shoe or blood spattered on fern leaves.

And Henry Gross was determined to capture it. Not kill. Capture. His days of big game hunting were far behind him. Now he was paid handsomely to bring specimens in alive and to make sure they did not escape whatever containment his employers saw fit to supply. And the research station built on a bend of the Amazon River by the U.S. army was equipped unlike anything he had ever seen. It was a perfect containment center, no matter how powerful the animal.

He didn’t know much about his government’s business here in the upper Amazon and from what he did know, he didn’t want to know much more. He was paid to stalk, trap and contain a certain specimen and he had done so. He considered his duties at an end right there. But this new beast that tore men limb from limb, this ferocious demon that had the natives quaking in their beds at night, this was something his employers had not mentioned.

It was not like the thing he had captured for them two weeks ago; the bloodsucking fiend that lay chained in a cage back at the base, subject to whatever experiments that bastard Dr. Aedelmann dreamed up. That creature did not tear flesh. It and its kind only punctured skin and drained a body until it was a corpse. This animal was something much more savage and, as far as Henry was concerned, it was his to stalk and his alone.

He would use the containment facilities back at the base to house it. As chief game warden that would be no problem. Aedelmann would no doubt be interested and so what? Let him do what he wanted to the creature, so long as Henry Gross’s name went down on paper as the one who had discovered it. He might even get the animal named after him. Get his picture in the National Geographic. That would be swell.

Might as well give them a courtesy call, he said to Nilo.

Nilo stood erect, cupped his hand to his mouth and yelled out a greeting in Tupi. They waited for a few seconds.

Nobody home, said Henry.

They edged around the building cautiously, keeping out of direct sight of the doorway. It was then that they noticed the stink. It was a God-awful sickly-sweet smell that had nothing of the candy store about it.

They followed their noses. At the back of the hut was a pit, many feet wide. If it was the work of one man then it must have taken him at least a week to dig it. An effort had been made to fill it in again but the job had been abandoned.

Damp, loose earth covered but a fraction of the pit’s contents. It looked like raw meat left to go bad. Flies hummed and crawled, bloated on their feast. Only the occasional limb ending in broken fingers, or the dark scrap of blood-soaked clothing hinted at the species.

"Dios!" hissed Nilo.

Yeah, Henry agreed. I knew there was something screwy about this place.

Now we must go back to the boat, yes?

Nope. Sorry, Nilo. I want to find out what kind of a loon lives out here like this and keeps a store of dead people in his back yard. Let’s check out the hut.

"Madre!" Nilo muttered.

The hut was unremarkable. A pallet of dried fern leaves served as a bed. Native style blankets were hung up to dry over a fire that was only a few hours cold. Red embers glowed beneath powdery white ash.

Whoever lives here will be coming back soon, said Henry, squatting down and stirring some life into the fire with a stick. He tossed on a log from the pile nearby and the flames began to crackle.

And you want to wait and meet this man? said Nilo.

Sure. He might be able to tell us something about our prey. They share the same hunting ground after all. As for the bodies out back, I’d like to ask him about those too. Maybe he clears up after the beast. If he does, then the number of people slain by it has been greatly underestimated.

Nilo was edgy but his hunger and fatigue overcame his fears and he sat down opposite Henry. They ate up the last of the food they had taken from the boat. Weariness descended upon them like a heavy cloud, pressing their eyelids down however hard they tried to keep them open.

You catch some zeds, pal, Henry said. I’ll take first watch.

"Are you sure, señor? I am quite able to stay awake with you. Nilo’s claim was betrayed by a yawn he desperately tried to stifle. Very well. I will sleep a little. But wake me immediately if our host should appear."

With Nilo’s soft snores taunting him, Henry tried to make himself comfortable. He propped his tranquilizer rifle up beside him and leaned back against the frame of the hut, his hand resting on his pistol.

He awoke suddenly, immediately cursing himself for falling asleep. The fire had burned out but it was still dark outside. He checked his watch. The luminous radium-painted hands showed that over four hours had passed. He sat up and rubbed his aching neck. Then he noticed the occupant in the bed.

It was a large man who slumbered under a heavy pelt that rose and fell with steady, slow breathing. He must have come home late and crawled into bed, not noticing the two strangers that had made themselves comfortable in his home.

Henry reached out his foot and nudged Nilo who awoke with a start but thankfully not a loud one. His eyes were white in the darkness and they followed Henry’s gaze to the slumbering form of their host.

Henry rose slowly. He considered waking the sleeping man but thought that as they had taken it upon themselves to intrude on his hospitality and fall asleep in his house, it may give him quite a start to shake him by the shoulder now. And it would not do to sleep here and let him wake up and find them slumbering, uninvited, inside his own home. The polite thing to do would be to go outside and wait for dawn before they approached him with their questions.

Stooping, for the hut was not large enough to accommodate a man standing, they trod softly towards the doorway. Henry realized that they would have to step over the slumbering man to exit the hut and he bade Nilo go first. Once the llanero was outside, Henry slung the strap of his tranquilizer gun over his shoulder and stepped gingerly, exaggerating the movement so he would not accidently trip over the sleeping man.

It may have been the sound of his foot falling on the ground outside the hut or it may have been some acute sixth sense that woke the man, but he started suddenly and found Henry standing with one foot on either side of him.

As the sleeper turned his head, Henry saw that their host was no man. Yellow eyes with black pupils rolled in red-rimmed sockets. The rest of the face could only be described as a snout; long, pointed and bristling with short, reddish fur. And that snout snarled, curling back pinkish lips to reveal a set of teeth the like of which Henry had never before seen on any carnivore. As for the body, Henry could see that it was no matted pelt that served as a blanket. The greasy, mud-encrusted fur was the outer layer of the beast.

Henry tried to complete his exit from the hut but with a sudden movement the animal lunged and fastened its jaws around his calf, the teeth sinking through the flesh right down to the bone.

Henry screamed and drew his revolver. At such close quarters all he could do was hammer the butt of the weapon down on the snout of the beast again and again. Eventually the animal released its grip and Henry sprang free.

He stumbled out of the hut. There was no sign of Nilo. He staggered down the slope, feeling the warm blood filling his boot, making it squelch with every footstep. He turned and saw the beast rise up, framed in the doorway of the hut, the moonlight highlighting every hair on its erect body.

It was larger than any man. Muscles rippled beneath coppery fur, fading to black as its limbs tapered to large paws. Its ears were prominent and erect giving it an appearance of a being fully alert and indulged by its senses. The overall appearance of the beast had something of the South American Maned Wolf about it. It dropped to all fours and advanced on Henry in great bounds. He raised his revolver and fired off shot after shot at it.

All his bullets hit his target for he was no mean marksman but the effect of the projectiles barely stunned the creature. It continued towards him like a machine; all slavering jaws and hungry breath.

Henry’s gun clicked empty. He tossed it aside and drew his hunting knife. The beast was upon him. His blade sunk into supple flesh, blood seeping through the fur. The weight of the animal knocked him to the ground. He squirmed beneath the mass of muscle, suffocating. The arm that wielded the knife was stuck fast and he could not get another thrust in. But either his bullets or his blade had struck something vital for he could feel the breathing slowing and the beast ceased to struggle.

He waited until he was sure it was dead before trying to roll it off his body. It was almost too heavy but his lungs screamed for air and he had no wish to die beneath this thing. Eventually he managed to get some leverage and, as one, they rolled over onto the soft grass. He stood up, gasping for breath. His arm was red to the elbow and his right calf throbbed terribly but he was alive.

He was aware of Nilo standing behind him. The llanero’s eyes were livid in the moonlight and his face frightened.

Why didn’t you help me? Henry demanded.

"You were bitten by El Lobizon, Nilo said somberly. There is no helping such as you."

Lobizon? What the hell is that? Do you mean to tell me that you knew what we were hunting all this time and you didn’t say anything?

"It is an old legend. I did not believe it was true; a superstition of the people in these parts, or so I thought until I saw it in the flesh. Now I know that El Lobizon is real and there is no helping you. I am sorry."

For Christ’s sake, Nilo, I need medical attention! Stitches too, about a dozen, and I need them quick! You gotta help me get back to the boat and back to base. I’m losing blood fast.

"I am sorry, señor. It is best that you remain here. I am sorry."

He began walking away. Henry stumbled trying to keep up with him and fell, crying out at the pain in his leg. Jesus, Nilo! I’m gonna die!

"No señor, said Nilo apologetically. You are already dead."

Chapter 1

Los Angeles

The agency was off Olympic Boulevard. It was a crummy building in the Spanish style; all cast iron railings and cracked rose stucco. The sleazy character who was asking the questions wasn’t much prettier. He had a sloping forehead with untidy tufts of black hair above each ear that he had gone to the effort of dying but not combing. His suit was shabby but he probably felt like he made up for it with his silk pistachio tie.

And your girls are all clean? he said. I don’t mean to be…uh, crude, but there’s a lot that goes on on these movie sets and I can’t be held responsible for what they get up to and who they do it with, but I do insist on hiring good, clean girls. I have my reputation at stake.

Rosa Bridger lit her cigarette, took a long drag and exhaled, affecting a smile. I can assure you that I insist on nothing but the highest standard of cleanliness and personal hygiene in my girls. She shifted in her seat so that her dress rode up, revealing the edge of the garter on her left thigh. It was a glitzy dress; black with sequins. Ludicrous at this time of day.

Right, right, said Eddie Dawkins, manager of the Ligeia Casting Agency. His eyeballs rolled all over Rosa’s exposed legs. Of course, I expect nothing less from the proprietor of, uh, he glanced at the card she had given him, the South Burbank Finishing School for Young Ladies. He stifled a smirk. Rosa’s face remained rigid. And your, uh, young ladies, can turn up for work at a phone call? I got studios that want girls on the spot within the hour. There’s a lot of background to fill in this town.

That’s not a problem, Mr. Dawkins, said Rosa. You give me a call, and I’ll have a girl, or two, or ten on your doorstep at the price of a cab fare.

You’ll be paying your own cab fares, of course.

Of course.

Well, then, Miss Bridger, I think we have an arrangement. A partnership between our two businesses could be very mutually beneficial. The salaries of the young starlets will be paid in cash to you, I assume?

I’ll send my boy to your agency to collect our fee when it is due, said Rosa. Do not misunderstand, Mr. Dawkins, I am not unaccustomed to hiring out the services of my girls to various agencies – it is how I make a living – and I will not be duped.

Duped? said Eddie Dawkins. What duped? We’re a respectable agency. We had Hayworth on our books before she signed on with Fox.

I’m sure. May I use your telephone? I’d like to give my girls the good news right away.

Sure, there’s one in the main office. Buddy’ll show you. I got some work to do, so you won’t mind if I let him show you out?

Not at all. I look forward to hearing from you, Mr. Dawkins.

Yeah, sure.

She left him to examine the resumes and studio portraits of the ten girls she had given him and followed Buddy – a lean fellow in pinstripe slacks with white suspenders – into the office.

It was a poky place filled with untidy piles of paper yellowing under green shaded lamps. Two desks nearly filled the room. Both were unoccupied. Ligeia Casting seemed to be a skeleton operation that afternoon.

Rosa picked up the black Bakelite receiver and her finger hovered over the rotary dial. She threw a glance at Buddy who was leaning against the doorframe watching her. Do you mind? she said, I’d like to make a private call.

Buddy shrugged as if to say that he wasn’t much interested in what she had to say to her girls anyway and slunk off. Rosa looked down at the dial as the sound of his footsteps in the hallway diminished. She could put in the call now. She should, but did she have enough evidence? She had established a verbal agreement with Mr. Dawkins but it had all been very fudgy and she didn’t think a search warrant could rest on a couple of innuendos.

She carefully replaced the receiver and moved over to the door. There was no sign of Buddy. Several doors led off from the hallway. She tried them. One was locked. Another opened onto a broom cupboard that stank of bleach and moldy mops. The other led to a small studio set up with camera equipment and a couple of chairs. A thick curtain of green velvet covered one wall and served as a backdrop for whatever went on in front of the camera.

Rosa narrowed her eyes as she scanned the room. There had to be something here that would pin the place as a smut joint. She would end up looking pretty foolish otherwise. She looked inside the camera. There was no film and she knew that these guys wouldn’t be so careless as to leave a blue movie in the gate. The viewfinder was squared on the velvet drapes. She straightened and walked over to them.

Peeking behind, she saw that they screened more than a stucco wall. There was a whole room back there, shrouded in shadows. She slipped behind the curtain and moved towards the silhouette of a side table with a lamp on it. She fumbled at the switch and illuminated the room in a soft glow.

Red silk and gold tassels dazzled her. Arabesque lattices and carved teak provided a dark contrast to the exotic and sensuous colors of the east. A Moorish screen stood to one side of a circular bed with silk sheets. At a first glance it was a palatial bedchamber straight out of the Arabian Nights. At a second glance it was