Darkness Wakes

By Todd Cinani, Charlie Chitty, Paul Worthington and 5 more

Sometimes it's best not to explore the road less taken. Darkness Wakes is an anthology written by eight authors. Each story explores what can happen when someone stumbles upon and wakes an old or ancient evil. 
A blend of cosmic and traditional horror. 
In the last days of WWII Hitler sends an expedition to find Hohlweltlehre as a means of escape to a hollow earth. They find something else.
A conflict between a girl & bullies leads to chaos as the dead rise & an old god is summoned. 
Ny-Lon's an assassin contracted to take out the Glitch Goddess, but the onlbeautifulre terrifying than her cult is what they're worshipping.
A rustic cabin, a beautiful lake and good friends are all the ingredients required to wake a forgotten evil.
An expedition to a remote island could lead to a new pandemic.
The ancestors will dine on Chaos and partake in the Blood of the spineless.
Something evil stirs under the town of Lochmere.
A family vacation to a famous amusement park turns into a Satanic massacre.
Are you brave enough to find out what happens when Darkness Wakes?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Todd Cinani
• Release date: Jun 26, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201006112

Book preview

Table of Contents

In The Caverns Of Madness

It Lays Screaming Under Lochmere

Bookworm

Glitch Goddess

Patient Zero

What Lies Beneath The Lake

Ollie The Otter Eats People

Original Thirst

March 1st 1945

A

s I write in my field notebook I am propped against a damp stone wall. With a broken leg and little water or food to sustain me, I expect this to be the last thing I do before the light that is my life fades and succumbs to darkness. I am leaving these words next to what will be my remains, with a hope and a plea. I hope with my dying heart that no one ever finds it. But if you do, I beg of you: leave immediately and seal the entry to this cave system shut! Do not let curiosity or thirst for adventure tempt you to remove the rocks ahead and explore deeper into the abyss. Your lives and the fate of humanity are forfeit if you do.

My name is Angela Roth. I am, or was, the assistant to the renowned Dr. Horst Schmid. In the pages previous to this entry you will find my noted hieroglyphs and their possible meanings. From this point forward, you will learn how I came to die at the far end of the world in these dark catacombs.

Horst, if you will allow me to take the familiar, was a great crypto archaeologist, seeking out and discovering ancient cultures, artifacts and ruins yet unknown to science or history. He specialized in analyzing and deciphering long-unread hieroglyphs, and his work was the archeological pride of the Fatherland. I became his assistant by happenstance. I was studying ancient language, my first passion, when we were forced upon each other by having to share a table in a café. Having such an unusual common interest sparked a friendship.  Eventually, he hired me as his assistant. Rumors in the academe suggested we were having an affair, but our relationship was built on trust, respect, and delight in our journeys into the past. We traveled from the far reaches of Tibet to the dark unpenetrated jungles of South America.

The fading days of April 1944 found us in Vienna at the Austrian Archaeological Institute, presenting discoveries made on a recent trip to Peru. There, we received a telegram that was of the utmost importance to the Fuhrer and the Reich that we proceed to a nearby airbase and board a flight to Argentina, where we were to report to a Schutzstaffel captain named Heinz Pfeiffer for further instruction. The prospect of engaging with the SS does set one on edge, and I voiced my concerns to Horst. He responded that not going would surely create trouble with the SS, and consoled me with visions of an expedition to an as-yet-unknown South American culture hidden by time. Hastily we packed up our clothing and equipment and left the luxury of Vienna for our mysterious final destination.

A long trip brought us to an improvised landing strip on the edge of the city of Ushuaia, at the southernmost edge of the Tierra Del Fuego. From there we traveled by buggy to a small port, where we met Captain Pfeiffer, as he strode out of the customs office, which had been commandeered for military use. The captain was tall, upright as a tree, his uniform immaculate and the SS insignia on his collar proudly polished to a glow. He wore no coat or jacket, yet seemed unaffected by the biting cold. I, myself. wondered if I could find better winter gear as my bones ached, organs retreating inward from the icy wind. We exchanged the salute Horst and I had sadly become accustomed to, but that Pfeiffer seemed to have instinctively adopted with relish. He shouted orders to have our luggage and equipment brought along and motioned for us to follow him towards the docks.

As we approached I noticed a large U-Boat at dock with the gangway attached to its flat naked deck. The captain looked back at us, pointing to it. A XXI! he shouted proudly over the wind. We will take that to Antarctica.

Horst stopped in his tracks, and I with him. Why, pray tell, are we going to Antarctica? he shouted back.

Those are our orders, the captain replied as if that were explanation enough. That is where the find is.

What find? Horst was showing impatience as well. There must be a mistake! I study lost cultures and hieroglyphics. There are no cultures known to have ever inhabited Antarctica until now.

I know what you are known for, Herr Schmid, the captain snapped, irritation giving way to exhaustion. I’ll explain on the boat. We must embark as soon as possible.

With that, we found ourselves negotiating the gangway and the slippery slotted deck, descending a hatch and entering the belly of the beast via a cold steel ladder. Our equipment was scarcely loaded and the hatch closed when we left port. I could hear and feel the U-Boat move. It felt like a living thing, groaning and panting, the steel pulsing, engines flexing, unlike any experience I had had on a sea vessel. At the base of the ladders, a navy officer swept us up and led us aft as the captain headed to the fore unaccompanied. Shortly we were shown our quarters and told we could rest. Our bags arrived immediately thereafter. We were informed that our equipment would be stowed in the supply room.

Our quarters consisted of two bunks secured to the wall and two thin lockers. We stored our bags under the lower bunk, which Horst graciously offered to me. He would take the more precarious upper bunk.

Once settled in we decided a short nap was in order, but this was interrupted by a sudden brief alarm that set our nerves jittering. We asked a crewman as he passed our door in the narrow corridor what the frightful noise was about. He smiled, explaining that it was only the dive signal and that we were now submerged beneath the waves. He went about his business, leaving us wound taught with little chance of sleep. Everything had happened so fast since our landing, and in the surprise of traveling to Antarctica, we had not mentally prepared for moving through the dark depths of the sea. It gave us great unease.

Later that evening, our watches being the only indication of time, we met with the captain again in the officers’ mess. The mess was a narrow cabin with wood-paneled walls, bedecked with famous U-Boat photographs, as well as the obligatory image of Hitler staring with the angry, powerful eyes of a madman. There was a two-meter table with a bench on each side that barely fit within the room. We seated ourselves across from Pfeiffer, who made idle chat, asking about our journey as we waited for the meal to arrive.

The food was served and the meal began when Horst put down his fork and looked intently at our host. Why are we here? he asked boldly. The captain put his utensils down as well, after swallowing a piece of meat he had been chewing with gusto.

You’ve heard of Agartha, have you not? he asked, staring intently at Horst.

Yes, I have heard of that sad myth. Horst was unimpressed. The belief that the Earth is hollow and populated with a super-human civilization. Pure fantasy.

Myth? Fantasy? Pfeiffer was exasperated. The American Admiral Byrd found an opening to Agartha in 1926 on an expedition to the North Pole. He met a strange race of vastly intelligent persons who inhabit it.

Admiral Byrd is a pompous lunatic. It is thought by many that his navigation charts were altered and his air expedition to the pole was a failure rather than a success. What possessed him to claim he met a civilization of troglodytes is beyond me.

Your bias is irrelevant. The Fuhrer believes the account, and he believes Agartha is a reality, as do other scholars. Horst gave a snort of derision as Pfeiffer went on. Accounts tell of two openings to the world below. One at the North Pole, the other at the South.

Horst chuckled. Hitler is known...

Our Fuhrer! Captain Pfeifer cut him off with an angry glare.

Fine, the Fuhrer is known to believe in magic spears and a myriad of occult ideas. None have been proven, although there have been many attempts to do so.

We believe we have found the southern entry, the captain stated in a raised voice.

What? You can’t be serious! Horst exclaimed.

I am. In 1938 we sent an expedition to Antarctica under the command of naval Captain Alfred Ritscher, Pfeiffer continued sternly.

Yes, I am aware. The expedition was to find a new source of whale oil and margarine if I remember correctly. It was also considered a failure, Horst replied with narrowing brows.

Now, the captain smiled. "That was what the masses were told. In truth, its purpose was two-fold: a scientific mission and a mission to claim a region of Antarctica for the Fatherland. Neu-Schwabenland is controlled by the Reich. The scientific mission charted the area, recorded weather and seismic data, and used radar to penetrate the earth. They found a hollow place in the mountain ranges to the southwest."

Fascinating. I admit my curiosity has been piqued. Horst leaned forward. But a hollow space could mean anything. A cavern system created by glacial tides, for example.

"A forward camp, the Hohlweltlehre, was established to research a dig into the mountains. They found what appears to be a hand-hewn cave system."

Cave systems can be created by geology and appear man-made, Horst countered.

We found hieroglyphs no one on the research team can identify. Captain Pfeiffer smiled. Horst dropped his jaw in disbelief.

Our journey to the southern continent was relatively uneventful. There was the odd hair-raising alarm as the U-Boat had to dodge ice sheets and bergs, but mostly there was boredom. I spent my time reading a tale about a medic in the last war. It was dark and brooding but a welcome escape. Horst and Captain Pfeifer continued their discussions and arguments about the hidden world we were sent to investigate.

Eventually, we reached our destination. We disembarked the U-Boat via a precarious and heart-pounding raft ride to the small ice cliff with the forward base at its edge looking down on us. At the cliff was yet another ordeal, as we had to climb a rope ladder in the freezing wind. I did not feel the cold until the summit, so great was my fear of plunging to an icy death. As Horst summited behind me I saw that he was visibly shaken as well, which gave me some degree of comfort in not being the only one with a weak constitution. Once settled at the base, I learned that a gruppe of soldiers had been assigned to our expedition. They had also been on the U-Boat, unseen by myself or Horst. Their Unteroffizier, Christoph Möller, reported directly to Captain Pfeifer. Möller had once been an attractive man, but the weight of war had beaten his face into somber hopelessness. We stayed in the camp long enough to lay in a supply of food and sleep. During this time, we were issued seal-skin pants and jackets, as well as boots and other heavy winter clothing. Our own winter clothes, not quite up to the duty of shielding us from the Antarctic cold, were left behind, as well as all equipment that did not relate directly to the deciphering of hieroglyphs. Horst protested having little more than notepads and pencils, but grudgingly acquiesced when we were told we would have to carry all supplies through the tunnels ourselves. While Horst was stubborn enough to do just that, I believe he surrendered the equipment for my benefit. Although I did not express it, this angered me. I, not being weak or frail, could carry my share. Horst, however, was used to hiring baggage carriers and had not considered the need for us to carry the heavy load. In the end, we settled on notebooks, a set of pencils, our camera, film, and little else. All other equipment and regular clothing would be left behind in our tent.

That next morning, we mounted a half-track with large skis instead of front wheels. A roof had been added to the troop area to shield us from the wind. We piled into the back, Captain Pfeiffer took the front cab with the driver. The machine rumbled with the steady vibration of the treads below us and we were off across the snowy wasteland. There wasn’t much to look at inside the armored transport but each other. We introduced ourselves to the soldier gruppe. They identified themselves: Unteroffizier Christoph Möller; Deputy Unteroffizier Olaf Günther; machine gunners Matthias Becker, Niels Mayer, and Sascha Schubert; and soldiers Holger Huber, Niklas Schreiber, Marcel Vogel, Florian Schulte, and Jannik Goudier.

After introductions were made, the gruppe asked us who we were. Horst explained our history, and when asked why we were here in Antarctica, replied under his breath, a fool’s errand.

Seeing