The Culverton Mine Disaster

By the time Watson made his way back up to 221, he found Holmes in his chair, with Kitty sitting across from him. “Ah, thank you,” Holmes said as Watson handed him his throwing knife, tucking it back into the sheath hidden in his sleeve. “The last salesman to come through was indeed one of Kitty’s customers. If you would kindly summarize what you’ve told me for the doctor?”
 

Kitty shrugged, “Mentioned he traveled a lot. Had some charms or something around his neck, came from the Caribbean. Tried to sell me his quack potion afterward! I laughed, of course. ‘I may be a whore, but I ain’t stupid,’ I said.”
 

“His reaction?” Holmes prompted.
 

“Well, he got a funny sort of smug grin on his face. Said he had something else, something special. Stole it in Haiti, or Barbados, one of them islands, I don’t know which. Supposed to be an ‘ee-lixir of immortality,’” she mocked, “though he never tried it. I laughed again, and told him he was supposed to pay me, not the other way around. Then he had a drink at the bar, and left.”
 

“I saw no such elixir in his wagon the next day,” Holmes said.
 

Watson shrugged. “Maybe it was well hidden.”
 

Holmes scoffed, “From me?”
 

“First time for everything,” Kitty muttered. “Can I get back to work, now?”
 

“Yes, thank you.” Holmes flipped the coin to her, “For your time, Miss Winter.”
 

She snatched it out of the air. “You know I hate it when you call me that.”
 

“You hate it when anyone else calls you that. When I do it, it is a sliver of respect for your continued skill at gathering information.”
 

“Oh hush,” her cheeks held the slightest blush as she left, “I just pay attention. Ain’t nothin’ special in that.”
 

“You’d be surprised,” Holmes called after her. “Rest up, Watson, we’re visiting the mine tonight.”
 

“Why?”
 

“Night will provide much needed cover, and time for you to be back to your peak physical abilities.”
 

“I meant why are we going back there? Surely by now the bodies have been taken away.”
 

“I want to see if there are any more of those bottles, or any other sign of foul play. I don’t imagine Mr. Culverton will take kindly to my having a look around his operation.”
 

*

The entrance of the mine was a spot of pitch in the moonlight. The bodies had been cleared away, the occasional dark stain on the dirt the only sign of the grizzly happenings of the daylight. Watson’s horse snorted in distress as they came to a stop, still a fair distance from the mine’s entrance.
 

“No need to take the horses closer,” Holmes said, his voice low as they dismounted, “as we’re trying to remain unnoticed.”
 

“Something’s got them spooked, besides,” Watson commented.
 

“So it seems.”
 

They quickly and quietly walked toward the mine, the clouded moon stretching strange shadows through the cool air. “The undertaker had no business today,” Holmes wondered aloud, surveying the area. “Where did the bodies go?”
 

“An unmarked pit in the ground,” Watson grumbled. “No doubt none of these men could have afforded the undertaker in the first place. Perhaps the bodies were distributed to families.”
 

Holmes shook his head, “Few had any, at least not in town. Something sinister is at work here...” Holmes froze, his head tilted to the side. He gestured for Watson remain still. Watson waited, trying to listen, but unable to hear whatever had caught his friend’s attention.
 

“Something is inside the mine,” Holmes said.
 

“Just a curious coyote.”
 

“No.”
 

Watson sighed, and followed Holmes as he crept over to the mine’s entrance. Now Watson could hear it, too, a strange, shuffling sound. They stood before the entrance, listening to the sound, accompanied by the occasional grunt or soft moan. “Well,” Watson said, “definitely not a coyote.”
 

Holmes smiled, and lit their lantern. Watson pulled his revolver. Together, they stepped into the dark.
 

A cold damp settled over them as they moved through the mine. The silence was immense, their footfalls the only disturbance to the mine’s stale atmosphere. They hadn’t gone far before coming to a junction of two tunnels.
 

Holmes spotted a crate full of empty amber bottles off to the side. He set the lantern down next to it as he knelt to examine the contents. All of the bottles had solid black labels. “We have found the stock of ‘elixir’ at least,” he said. “Culverton must have purchased it before I ran the seller out of town, though for what purpose I can’t quite determine.”
 

“The poison that killed his men?”
 

“That puts a rather darker aspect on the salesman’s character than I thought if he was hoping to sell it to his customers.”
 

“Kitty said he hadn’t tried it. Maybe he didn’t know it was poison.”
 

“Possibly, though I doubt it.”
 

“Holmes,” Watson looked down the mineshaft with a vague unease, “does it seem like those sounds are getting louder?”
 

Holmes listened, an expression of curious anticipation on his face. “Yes, Doctor, I’d say so. It’s coming closer.”
 

They watched as a dark shape was slowly illuminated by the lantern’s light. Arrows stuck out of its back, and its vacant face was stained with the blood that once dripped from its missing scalp. Its gait was rigid yet shambling, as if just recovered from rigor mortis and struggling to stay upright.
 

“Holmes,” Watson forced down the bile in his throat, “for the love of God, Holmes, explain that!”
 

“I... I can’t.” Holmes stared at the creature, confused, “It’s clearly one of the dead miners, but I can’t explain how he walks!”
 

“They were dead! All of them!”
 

“Apparently not.”
 

“Look at it, Holmes! It’s in the beginning stages of rot!” Watson shouted, trying not to panic at the wrongness of what he saw.
 

“I know, I see it, and yet... it can’t be!”

The thing lurched forward, swiping at them with a snarl. Instinct took over as Watson leaped back and fired into the creature’s chest, with no effect. Holmes grabbed hold of its arm and with a quick move of his body flipped the thing onto the ground, its arm held at an angle. It jerked in an odd, slow thrashing movement, its mouth snapping as if it might manage to reach Holmes's ankle.

Watson put a bullet in its skull, the sound of the shot echoing around them. The thing groaned, and lay still. Watson stared at it in disgust. “It was trying to bite you.”
 

“So it seems,” Holmes nodded, shaken but undeniably fascinated.
 

Watson breathed deep and holstered his gun. “How the hell did you get it onto the ground anyway?”
 

“One of the Chinese workers in town was good enough to demonstrate some of his country’s methods of defending oneself.” Holmes considered the corpse, “Whatever this is, it clearly doesn’t obey any natural law we’re familiar with.”
 

Watson looked skeptically at his friend, “Magic, Holmes?”
 

“I did not say that. That which we do not understand is not necessarily supernatural.”
 

“If you say so,” Watson shrugged. “Do you think there are more of them?”
 

Holmes sighed, “I’m afraid so, my friend. As much as I hope this was an isolated, bizarrely unique case, my instincts tell me such hope is in vain. If all the miners died of the same cause, then there is a real possibility that all of them now suffer this fate.”
 

“But what could cause it?”
 

Holmes pointed to the crate. “I suspect ‘immortality’ is a horrible mistranslation.”
 

“The elixir,” Watson was stunned.
 

“Culverton must have tested a bottle on a worker, either out of spite or on a whim, I don’t know or care which. The miners were dead when we saw them this morning, so it takes time to work. Culverton’s test subject would have died, and Culverton would have hid the body rather than risk discovery while disposing of it during the day. Once he saw the end result of the elixir’s effects, he decided to give it to the rest of his men, using the nearby natives as an excuse for the sudden death of his workers.”
 

“For what purpose?” Watson exclaimed, appalled. “What in Hell could he want with walking dead monstrosities?”
 

“Isn’t it obvious, Dr. Watson?” a voice called out in the dark. Holmes and Watson turned to see a familiar silhouette approaching, “Don’t draw that revolver, Doctor, unless you want to test your healing skills on your friend.”
 

“Mr. Culverton,” Holmes said, “how good of you to join us.”
 

“You’re trespassing, Mr. Holmes,” Culverton approached, gun in his hand. “I’d be in my rights if I shot you, and the doctor.”
 

“At least do me the courtesy of explaining the reason for this madness.”
 

“Madness?” Culverton’s eyes gained a frenzied light, “The Union, your Union, will fear the might of a new Confederacy of Territories. With an army of dead soldiers, The South will rise again!”
 

“In a slightly modified geographic location,” Holmes drawled.
 

“I don’t care about the opinion of some imitation Pinkerton,” Culverton spat. “With an unbeatable army on my side, there is nothing to stop me.”
 

“This one is rather beaten,” Holmes picked up the lantern to illuminate the corpse at his feet.
 

Culverton stared. “Where did you find him?”
 

“It attacked us,” Watson said, a hand discretely drifting to his gun.
 

“That’s impossible. I chained them up down the tunnel!”
 

An unearthly moan sounded from the depths of the mine. All three men faced the darkness, a shiver down their spines.
 

“They got out,” Culverton whispered, “God almighty, they got out.”
 

Guttural groans echoed all around them, born of throats never meant to utter sound.
 

“They don’t breathe,” Watson muttered, “where is the air to create sound coming from?”
 

“We have a more pressing concern, my friend,” Holmes licked his lips, suddenly parched. They were coming. He could hear the steps sliding closer, that odd, unnatural gait, bones somehow compelled to drag their skin across the dust. It was completely illogical, it defied everything he knew about how life and death were supposed to work. He could put it down to a strange disease, something to emulate the symptoms of death, to degrade the brain... Something inside him, whatever primal spirit still existed deep in his soul, screamed that he was lying.
 

The figures were visible now, slowly emerging from the black. Rattling metal sounded as more dead men came forth, lengths of chain still wrapped around their legs. One crawled, having abandoned its legs with the chain below.
 

Unblinking eyes stared from slack-jawed faces, stained with the dried blood that had dripped from their scalps. The smell of death smothered the stale underground air. Holmes swallowed his revulsion, forcing his mind to focus.
 

The sight of the oncoming hoard of monsters was too much for Culverton. He fired a panicked shot, immediately covering his ears as the sound reverberated through the tunnels. Holmes tackled him, wrenching the gun from his hand as Watson fired a shot into the head of the nearest creature. It fell, its fellow creatures paying it no heed as the doctor and detective ran.
 

“Hurry, Culverton!” Holmes shouted over his shoulder. “You can try to kill me once we’re out of here!” A strangled cry stopped him in his tracks. Culverton was on the ground, the legless abomination trying to chew through his boot. He kicked at it, smashing its face, but still the thing chewed.
 

More creatures closed in around him.
 

Watson couldn’t get a clear shot at the one attacking Culverton, but he could hit the next closest as Holmes fired at the one behind that. Culverton managed to get his foot free of his boot as the corpses fell, nearly on top of him. “Run!!!” Watson shouted, but Culverton was too panicked. Dead hands grabbed at him as he struggled to his feet. They caught his coat as he stumbled, pulling him down once more. Culverton screamed as one of them bit into his shoulder and tore, releasing a spray of blood across the wall.
 

Holmes held Watson back, “There’s nothing we can do for him!”
 

“Like Hell there’s not,” Watson said, and took aim. Culverton stopped screaming as the bullet struck.
 

Holmes grimaced. “Let’s get out of here.”
 

They hurried out of the mine, hearts pounding as the echoing groans and rattling of chains followed them through the dark. Watson gasped as he stepped out into the night, gulping down the fresh air.
 

A blast of sound behind him sent him to the ground, his hands over his head. He forced himself to sit up. The entrance of the mine was collapsed.
 

“Holmes!”
 

Holmes blinked, his sight clearing. He was lying on the ground. He couldn’t hear anything except an incessant ringing. He looked around as the dust cloud slowly cleared, revealing the collapsed mine just behind him. Movement from the corner of his eye caught his attention. His dazed gaze focused on Watson, worried, limping, but running to him nonetheless. His voice was muffled, seeming miles away.
 

Sound returned with a distressing suddenness.
 

“Holmes!” Watson shouted. “Are you alright?”
 

“I’m fine,” Holmes groaned.
 

“What the devil did you do?”
 

“A box of dynamite was sitting by a support beam, so I shot it.”
 

“While you were still in the mine?”
 

“I was out.”
 

“Barely!”
 

“It was necessary,” Holmes coughed. “I couldn’t risk one of those... things, getting out.”
 

Watson sighed as he helped Holmes to his feet. “Can you walk?”
 

“I was going to ask you the same question.”
 

“I’m fine.”
 

“You’re not, but I’ll permit the lie,” Holmes coughed again.
 

*

Watson finished off his glass of whiskey, and reflected that there were unknown dimensions to Mrs. Hudson. She’d taken one look at them as they returned to 221, and personally brought up a bottle of her best. She hadn’t even lectured Holmes for playing his violin during business hours. The melancholic music seemed to have helped settle his mind, and now he sat in his chair across from Watson, his own glass in one hand, pipe in the other, a look of perturbed contemplation on his face.
 

“Do you think they could still be alive?” Watson asked.
 

“They weren’t alive to begin with, but if they are still functional, they are miles below ground. Eventually, natural decomposition will lead to there being nothing left to function. Presuming they continue to decompose, of course.”
 

“They would have to, wouldn’t they?”
 

“Not knowing the mechanism of their not-life, I wouldn’t want to make any promises. You’re the man of medicine, doctor. Could what we witnessed be caused by some sort of disease, or a chemical reaction in the blood?”
 

Watson shook his head. “They were dead, Holmes. The appearance of death may be a symptom of a medical condition, but I would stake my reputation, small though it may be, on those men being dead when we saw them in the afternoon.”
 

“You’re the best doctor in town, Watson, everyone knows that. Best one I’ve had the pleasure of knowing for that matter, even if you are a Yankee.”
 

“Not everyone shares your opinion, and I don’t believe you’ve actually known many doctors,” Watson smiled. “We may just have to face up to never knowing how the elixir worked. And, honestly, does it matter? Whatever was in those bottles is gone now.”
 

A quick grin pulled at Holmes's mouth, fading with the smoke from his pipe. “Assuming every sample was in that mine.”
 

“Holmes. Even if there were another bottle hidden somewhere, what sort of person could find any appeal in a potion that raises the dead?”
 

“Culverton did. A man with a perverse desire for profit, or power, or both.”
 

Holmes released a great cloud of smoke as he sighed, his words soft. “They were hungry, Watson. They descended on Culverton’s body like vultures.”
 

“We have to make sure they were all destroyed.”
 

“How? The mine collapsed. If we tell anyone about what happened tonight, they’ll think we’ve gone mad.” He finished his glass and poured them both another, “No, my friend. I’m afraid all we can do is keep one eye constantly on the surrounding land, and if anyone starts digging, we’ll be ready.”