The Curse of Medusa

“Hey — don’t mess with it, Max,” Laurie said quietly. “We don’t know what’s in it, and… and I’m pretty sure it’s not our place to find out.”

Henriksen didn’t agree. He was a government man, and more than that he was in the NSA. As far as he was concerned, whatever was inside this chest could represent some kind of national security threat to the United States.

“Martinez — get me a hammer and chisel.”

“You got it, boss.”

The tall New Yorker returned a moment later with the tools and handed them to Henriksen.

The station commander concentrated hard on the chest as he lined up the cutting edge of the chisel, rested it gently on the top of one of the hasps and tapped the handle of the chisel with the hammer’s face.

He’d expected some resistance, but all that time in the ice had weakened the metal and it fell apart immediately, crumbling into black dust on the table top at the base of the chest.

“One down, one to go,” Henriksen said.

Laurie looked at the other two men and took another step back from the table.

“I’m not sure about this at all…” he said, his voice drifting into the chilly air of the cabin.

“Just calm down, kid,” Martinez said, “It’s just a chest.”

Henriksen’s concentration didn’t break as he raised the chisel to the second hasp and repeated the exercise, popping it open and leaving another small pile of degraded metal on the table top.

“Well… that should just about do it,” he said, laying the tools beside the ancient black box.

He raised his hands to the chest and began to open the lid.

“Listen, Max…” Laurie said, his voice wobbling. “Whoever put that thing down there did it for a reason, and I bet it was a real good one, too. Maybe we should call the government or something?”

Martinez laughed and ignored the growing anxiety in the younger man’s voice.

“We are the government, son,” Henriksen said, without lifting his eyes from the chest. Then he opened the lid and stared inside. A look of confusion crossed his face.

“What the hell..?”

Martinez joined him and looked inside. “Excuse my high-school French, but what the fuck is that?”

“I have no idea.”

Henriksen put his arms inside the chest and pulled out a strange, black box covered in more writing and secured with a leather strap. He pulled on the strap and it broke in his hands — another example of the deterioration caused by the extreme cold over such a long period of time.

“Max, please…”

Henriksen opened the box and a look of horror spread over his face. “Oh my God…”

Martinez’s eyes narrowed and he covered his mouth to stop himself throwing up. “God damn it, Max!”

Laurie watched Henriksen slam the box shut and close the chest. Then both he and Martinez took a few steps back from the box.

“What the hell did you see, Max?”

“I…I don’t… I…can’t…”

Laurie saw something in Henriksen’s face change as he looked at him. His eyes began to cloud over and his voice grew hoarse.

“Laurie…it was….inside the box…”

Martinez started to look the same as his boss, only now the skin on their faces looked like it was going a gray color and beginning to harden.

“What the hell is going on here, Max?” Laurie said, moving back to the door and grabbing the handle. Outside the wind had risen and was howling like a pack of hungry wolves.

Henriksen strained to speak. “Get out, Laurie! Get somewhere safe…”

Laurie watched in horror as Max Henriksen seemed almost to solidify right in front of him as he spoke. His skin went silver in complexion and turned into a strange matte texture before going completely rock-hard. A second later, the same happened to Martinez, who had tried to run away to the door but was now frozen in place with cold, dead eyes.

Laurie panicked and opened the door. He ran out into the night, and strained for some fresh air in the icy wind-chill. The storm had passed now and the moon was full and low in the sky. As he stared at it he noticed it was growing darker and getting blurry. Then he felt his chest grow heavy and it became harder to breathe.

He turned to run inside to get to the radio but found his legs were frozen to the ground. He felt it creep up his body like ice, only it was much colder and when he looked down at his hands he saw they had turned a strange silver color. Then he was rock-solid, unable to move, blink, breathe. Slowly the moon dimmed completely, and then, a second later, he was gone forever and the Arctic night wind howled around him as if he were nothing more than a piece of granite.

CHAPTER ONE

Present Day

The Englishman sprinted toward the edge of the cliff with all his might and leaped into the void without a second thought. Instantly he felt the air rush up and flow over him. It was a little colder at this altitude. Joe Hawke liked cold air. It brought back memories of home. Sometimes, he thought, memories are the best part of life.