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Title: The Graveyard Rats
Author: Henry Kuttner
Illustrator: Margaret Brundage
Release date: August 5, 2026 [eBook #79279]
Language: English
Original publication: Indianapolis, IN: Popular Fiction Publishing Company, 1936
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/79279
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GRAVEYARD RATS ***
The Graveyard Rats
By HENRY KUTTNER
_A gruesome fate befell the old caretaker of the cemetery in the
horrible burrows beneath the graves_
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Weird Tales, March 1936.]
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Old Masson, the caretaker of one of Salem’s oldest and most neglected
cemeteries, had a feud with the rats. Generations ago they had come up
from the wharves and settled in the graveyard, a colony of abnormally
large rats, and when Masson had taken charge after the inexplicable
disappearance of the former caretaker, he decided that they must go. At
first he set traps for them and put poisoned food by their burrows, and
later he tried to shoot them, but it did no good. The rats stayed,
multiplying and overrunning the graveyard with their ravenous hordes.
They were large, even for the _mus decumanus_, which sometimes measures
fifteen inches in length, exclusive of the naked pink and gray tail.
Masson had caught glimpses of some as large as good-sized cats, and
when, once or twice, the grave-diggers had uncovered their burrows, the
malodorous tunnels were large enough to enable a man to crawl into them
on his hands and knees. The ships that had come generations ago from
distant ports to the rotting Salem wharves had brought strange cargoes.
Masson wondered sometimes at the extraordinary size of these burrows. He
recalled certain vaguely disturbing legends he had heard since coming to
ancient, witch-haunted Salem—tales of a moribund, inhuman life that was
said to exist in forgotten burrows in the earth. The old days, when
Cotton Mather had hunted down the evil cults that worshipped Hecate and
the dark Magna Mater in frightful orgies, had passed; but dark gabled
houses still leaned perilously toward each other over narrow cobbled
streets, and blasphemous secrets and mysteries were said to be hidden in
subterranean cellars and caverns, where forgotten pagan rites were still
celebrated in defiance of law and sanity. Wagging their gray heads
wisely, the elders declared that there were worse things than rats and
maggots crawling in the unhallowed earth of the ancient Salem
cemeteries.
And then, too, there was this curious dread of the rats. Masson disliked
and respected the ferocious little rodents, for he knew the danger that
lurked in their flashing, needle-sharp fangs; but he could not
understand the inexplicable horror which the oldsters held for deserted,
rat-infested houses. He had heard vague rumors of ghoulish beings that
dwelt far underground, and that had the power of commanding the rats,
marshaling them like horrible armies. The rats, the old men whispered,
were messengers between this world and the grim and ancient caverns far
below Salem. Bodies had been stolen from graves for nocturnal
subterranean feasts, they said. The myth of the Pied Piper is a fable
that hides a blasphemous horror, and the black pits of Avernus have
brought forth hell-spawned monstrosities that never venture into the
light of day.
Masson paid little attention to these tales. He did not fraternize with
his neighbors, and, in fact, did all he could to hide the existence of
the rats from intruders. Investigation, he realized, would undoubtedly
mean the opening of many graves. And while some of the gnawed, empty
coffins could be attributed to the activities of the rats, Masson might
find it difficult to explain the mutilated bodies that lay in some of
the coffins.
The purest gold is used in filling teeth, and this gold is not removed
when a man is buried. Clothing, of course, is another matter; for
usually the undertaker provides a plain broadcloth suit that is cheap
and easily recognizable. But gold is another matter; and sometimes, too,
there were medical students and less reputable doctors who were in need
of cadavers, and not over-scrupulous as to where these were obtained.
So far Masson had successfully managed to discourage investigation. He
had fiercely denied the existence of the rats, even though they
sometimes robbed him of his prey. Masson did not care what happened to
the bodies after he had performed his gruesome thefts, but the rats
inevitably dragged away the whole cadaver through the hole they gnawed
in the coffin.
* * * * *
The size of these burrows occasionally worried Masson. Then, too, there
was the curious circumstance of the coffins always being gnawed open at
the end, never at the side or top. It was almost as though the rats were
working under the direction of some impossibly intelligent leader.
Now he stood in an open grave and threw a last sprinkling of wet earth
on the heap beside the pit. It was raining, a slow, cold drizzle that
for weeks had been descending from soggy black clouds. The graveyard was
a slough of yellow, sucking mud, from which the rain-washed tombstones
stood up in irregular battalions. The rats had retreated to their
burrows, and Masson had not seen one for days. But his gaunt, unshaved
face was set in frowning lines; the coffin on which he was standing was
a wooden one.
The body had been buried several days earlier, but Masson had not dared
to disinter it before. A relative of the dead man had been coming to the
grave at intervals, even in the drenching rain. But he would hardly come
at this late hour, no matter how much grief he might be suffering,
Masson thought, grinning wryly. He straightened and laid the shovel
aside.
From the hill on which the ancient graveyard lay he could see the lights
of Salem flickering dimly through the downpour. He drew a flashlight
from his pocket. He would need light now. Taking up the spade, he bent
and examined the fastenings of the coffin.
Abruptly he stiffened. Beneath his feet he sensed an unquiet stirring
and scratching, as though something were moving within the coffin. For a
moment a pang of superstitious fear shot through Masson, and then rage
replaced it as he realized the significance of the sound. The rats had
forestalled him again!
In a paroxysm of anger Masson wrenched at the fastenings of the coffin.
He got the sharp edge of the shovel under the lid and pried it up until
he could finish the job with his hands. Then he sent the flashlight’s
cold beam darting down into the coffin.
Rain spattered against the white satin lining; the coffin was empty.
Masson saw a flicker of movement at the head of the case, and darted the
light in that direction.
The end of the sarcophagus had been gnawed through, and a gaping hole
led into darkness. A black shoe, limp and dragging, was disappearing as
Masson watched, and abruptly he realized that the rats had forestalled
him by only a few minutes. He fell on his hands and knees and made a
hasty clutch at the shoe, and the flashlight incontinently fell into the
coffin and went out. The shoe was tugged from his grasp; he heard a
sharp, excited squealing, and then he had the flashlight again and was
darting its light into the burrow.
It was a large one. It had to be, or the corpse could not have been
dragged along it. Masson wondered at the size of the rats that could
carry away a man’s body, but the thought of the loaded revolver in his
pocket fortified him. Probably if the corpse had been an ordinary one
Masson would have left the rats with their spoils rather than venture
into the narrow burrow, but he remembered an especially fine set of
cuff-links he had observed, as well as a stickpin that was undoubtedly a
genuine pearl. With scarcely a pause he clipped the flashlight to his
belt and crept into the burrow.
It was a tight fit, but he managed to squeeze himself along. Ahead of
him in the flashlight’s glow he could see the shoes dragging along the
wet earth of the bottom of the tunnel. He crept along the burrow as
rapidly as he could, occasionally barely able to squeeze his lean body
through the narrow walls.
The air was overpowering with its musty stench of carrion. If he could
not reach the corpse in a minute, Masson decided, he would turn back.
Belated fears were beginning to crawl, maggot-like, within his mind, but
greed urged him on. He crawled forward, several times passing the mouths
of adjoining tunnels. The walls of the burrow were damp and slimy, and
twice lumps of dirt dropped behind him. The second time he paused and
screwed his head around to look back. He could see nothing, of course,
until he had unhooked the flashlight from his belt and reversed it.
Several clods lay on the ground behind him, and the danger of his
position suddenly became real and terrifying. With thoughts of a cave-in
making his pulse race, he decided to abandon the pursuit, even though he
had now almost overtaken the corpse and the invisible things that pulled
it. But he had overlooked one thing: the burrow was too narrow to allow
him to turn.
Panic touched him briefly, but he remembered a side tunnel he had just
passed, and backed awkwardly along the tunnel until he came to it. He
thrust his legs into it, backing until he found himself able to turn.
Then he hurriedly began to retrace his way, although his knees were
bruised and painful.
Agonizing pain shot through his leg. He felt sharp teeth sink into his
flesh, and kicked out frantically. There was a shrill squealing and the
scurry of many feet. Flashing the light behind him, Masson caught his
breath in a sob of fear as he saw a dozen great rats watching him
intently, their slitted eyes glittering in the light. They were great
misshapen things, as large as cats, and behind them he caught a glimpse
of a dark shape that stirred and moved swiftly aside into the shadow;
and he shuddered at the unbelievable size of the thing.
The light had held them for a moment, but they were edging closer, their
teeth dull orange in the pale light. Masson tugged at his pistol,
managed to extricate it from his pocket, and aimed carefully. It was an
awkward position, and he tried to press his feet into the soggy sides of
the burrow so that he should not inadvertently send a bullet into one of
them.
* * * * *
The rolling thunder of the shot deafened him, for a time, and the clouds
of smoke set him coughing. When he could hear again and the smoke had
cleared, he saw that the rats were gone. He put the pistol back and
began to creep swiftly along the tunnel, and then with a scurry and a
rush they were upon him again.
They swarmed over his legs, biting and squealing insanely, and Masson
shrieked horribly as he snatched for his gun. He fired without aiming,
and only luck saved him from blowing a foot off. This time the rats did
not retreat so far, but Masson was crawling as swiftly as he could along
the burrow, ready to fire again at the first sound of another attack.
There was a patter of feet and he sent the light stabbing back of him. A
great gray rat paused and watched him. Its long ragged whiskers
twitched, and its scabrous, naked tail was moving slowly from side to
side. Masson shouted and the rat retreated.
He crawled on, pausing briefly, the black gap of a side tunnel at his
elbow, as he made out a shapeless huddle on the damp clay a few yards
ahead. For a second he thought it was a mass of earth that had been
dislodged from the roof, and then he recognized it as a human body.
It was a brown and shriveled mummy, and with a dreadful unbelieving
shock Masson realized that it was moving.
It was crawling toward him, and in the pale glow of the flashlight the
man saw a frightful gargoyle face thrust into his own. It was the
passionless, death’s-head skull of a long-dead corpse, instinct with
hellish life; and the glazed eyes swollen and bulbous betrayed the
thing’s blindness. It made a faint groaning sound at it crawled toward
Masson, stretching its ragged and granulated lips in a grin of dreadful
hunger. And Masson was frozen with abysmal fear and loathing.
Just before the Horror touched him, Masson flung himself frantically
into the burrow at his side. He heard a scrambling noise at his heels,
and the thing groaned dully as it came after him. Masson, glancing over
his shoulder, screamed and propelled himself desperately through the
narrow burrow. He crawled along awkwardly, sharp stones cutting his
hands and knees. Dirt showered into his eyes, but he dared not pause
even for a moment. He scrambled on, gasping, cursing, and praying
hysterically.
Squealing triumphantly, the rats came at him, horrible hunger in their
eyes. Masson almost succumbed to their vicious teeth before he succeeded
in beating them off. The passage was narrowing, and in a frenzy of
terror he kicked and screamed and fired until the hammer clicked on an
empty shell. But he had driven them off.
He found himself crawling under a great stone, embedded in the roof,
that dug cruelly into his back. It moved a little as his weight struck
it, and an idea flashed into Masson’s fright-crazed mind. If he could
bring down the stone so that it blocked the tunnel!
The earth was wet and soggy from the rains, and he hunched himself half
upright and dug away at the dirt around the stone. The rats were coming
closer. He saw their eyes glowing in the reflection of the flashlight’s
beam. Still he clawed frantically at the earth. The stone was giving. He
tugged at it and it rocked in its foundation.
* * * * *
A rat was approaching—the monster he had already glimpsed. Gray and
leprous and hideous it crept forward with its orange teeth bared, and in
its wake came the blind dead thing, groaning as it crawled. Masson gave
a last frantic tug at the stone. He felt it slide downward, and then he
went scrambling along the tunnel.
Behind him the stone crashed down, and he heard a sudden frightful
shriek of agony. Clods showered upon his legs. A heavy weight fell on
his feet and he dragged them free with difficulty. The entire tunnel was
collapsing!
Gasping with fear, Masson threw himself forward as the soggy earth
collapsed at his heels. The tunnel narrowed until he could barely use
his hands and legs to propel himself; he wriggled forward like an eel
and suddenly felt satin tearing beneath his clawing fingers, and then
his head crashed against something that barred his path. He moved his
legs, discovering that they were not pinned under the collapsed earth.
He was lying flat on his stomach, and when he tried to raise himself he
found that the roof was only a few inches from his back. Panic shot
through him.
When the blind horror had blocked his path, he had flung himself
desperately into a side tunnel, a tunnel that had no outlet. He was _in
a coffin_, an empty coffin into which he had crept through the hole the
rats had gnawed in its end!
He tried to turn on his back and found that he could not. The lid of the
coffin pinned him down inexorably. Then he braced himself and strained
at the coffin lid. It was immovable, and even if he could escape from
the sarcophagus, how could he claw his way up through five feet of
hard-packed earth?
He found himself gasping. It was dreadfully fetid, unbearably hot. In a
paroxysm of terror he ripped and clawed at the satin until it was
shredded. He made a futile attempt to dig with his feet at the earth
from the collapsed burrow that blocked his retreat. If he were only able
to reverse his position he might be able to claw his way through to
air... air....
White-hot agony lanced through his breast, throbbed in his eyeballs. His
head seemed to be swelling, growing larger and larger; and suddenly he
heard the exultant squealing of the rats. He began to scream insanely
but could not drown them out. For a moment he thrashed about
hysterically within his narrow prison, and then he was quiet, gasping
for air. His eyelids closed, his blackened tongue protruded, and he sank
down into the blackness of death with the mad squealing of the rats
dinning in his ears.
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