“I could see why the track ended the way it did. The terrain appeared to gradually slope upward into a number of sharp stony hills that went on for miles outside the city. In contrast to the rocky terrain further on, the small town of Palo was a virtual paradise of lush green jungle and heavenly scented flowers. I strolled past a number of adobe homes on my way into town, waving a greeting to the smiling faces I met along the way, and finally arrived at the only hotel. I went inside and inquired as to where I could rent the horse and supplies I would need. Because of the late hour, I decided to stay the night and get up early the next morning for a fresh start. After making all the arrangements for my trip, I had some hours to kill before nightfall, so I slipped into one of the local cantinas to cut the dust out of my throat.
“I stepped through a pair of double doors and walked up to a long wooden bar. The place was dark inside, the only light coming from what could be squeezed past the double doors and two oil-filled lamps. By the smell alone, it was probably a good thing a person couldn’t see inside too clearly. ‘Nice combination of grease and sweat,’ I thought to myself as I sat down. I was a little disappointed that there weren’t any senoritas around. There were only two men talking at the end of the bar and one disheveled figure draped over a round table in the corner, snoring away.
“’What can I get for you senor?’ came a voice, seemingly from out of nowhere. A second later, a bald old gentleman popped up from behind the bar.
“’Beer,’ I said.
“’You’re an American, are you not?’
“I nodded yes.
“’So what brings you to our little town of Palo?’ he asked, handing me the beer.
“’Just a bit of research,’ I said. ‘I’m a writer for a magazine back in the …’
“The old man quickly cut in. ‘What is the name of your magazine, senor?’ he asked, in an overly zealous way.
“’Weird Society,’ I replied.
“His eyes seemed to light up like the Fourth of July. He raised one of his fingers in the air, hesitated, then disappeared behind a curtain of beads. I didn’t know how to react to the old man’s sudden exit, so I just worked on my beer. Out the corner of my eye, I noticed the two men at the end of the bar staring at me and mumbling to each other.
“Within a minute or so, the old man returned, proudly carrying last month’s edition of Weird Society.
“’I’ll be damned!’ I said as I took hold of it and started leafing through its pages.
“’Where in the world did you get this?’ I asked. ‘I didn’t think that we were in circulation in this part of the world--at least not yet.’
“The old man smiled. ‘My brother lives in the States and he sends along many of the magazines that he has read. Weird Society is one of my very favorites!’
“I turned one more page and tapped my finger upon it. ‘This… this is one of my stories.’
“The old man was beside himself with joy and practically begged me to sign his copy. I was tickled by his enthusiasm.
“At that moment, the two men at the end of the bar got up and left without saying a word. For some reason, I felt uneasy. A few minutes later I was stepping through the double doors myself and onto the dirt road. I took a short cut through one of the alleyways that led directly to the hotel, but as I started through, I heard footsteps from behind. I turned to see who it was, but there came a sharp blow to the back of my head, then everything went black.
“After some indeterminate amount of time, I regained consciousness and found myself stretched out on a bed of hay in the back of a moving wagon. My hands were bound behind me and I could hear two men up front talking. My head throbbed terribly and I felt as though I was on the verge of panic. I struggled to get to my knees but before I could right myself, one of the men turned back and struck me across the face with a heavy wooden stick. I saw a momentary splash of blood as I was flung back into the bed of the wagon. I cursed the man who struck me but he turned and barked some words of warning. I could now see that the two men were the ones from the cantina, and they meant business.
“I decided it wise to lay silent for a while as I tried to figure a way out of the mess I was in. I watched the droopy vines and greenery overhead pass slowly by as the creaky old wagon labored it‘s way along. At some point during our journey, I could feel an incline to the wagon and the trees became less and less noticeable, gradually turning to sand-colored rock.
“Within an hour or so, we arrived at our destination and I was forcibly pulled from the wagon. Before me stood a massive stone edifice, silhouetted against a grey and darkening sky. It rose to at least a hundred feet and had a round configuration, not unlike some great castle turret of days gone by. A dark foreboding seemed to emanate from the structure and a sudden fear ran through me like flame upon my very soul. I turned to one of my captors. ‘I’ll give you all the money I have, please just...’
“He laughed in my face and pulled my wallet from his shirt pocket. ‘We already have your money, Senor. The question is… How much are your magazine friends willing to pay to get you back in one piece?’
“He and his partner thought the remark very funny. It was clear now what they intended to do. I would be held for some type of ransom. My thoughts returned back to a lecture given to me on this very subject by my editor before I left for Peru. He said, ‘Wilson, folks in other countries don’t take kindly to foreigners. They’ll throw you in jail no sooner than look at you, so you best be on your guard at all times.’
“I can remember thinking that his warning, although well intentioned, was a bit over the top, so I didn‘t put much stock in it. Oh, how wrong I was! The more I thought about it, the more dejected I became. Not because I thought my company would in any way forsake me, but it was obvious that these two criminals were not the most sophisticated. It was questionable whether they could successfully carry out such a devious plot as this.
“’If they screw up,’ I thought, ‘I’ll probably either be killed or left to rot in this God-forsaken tower, never to be heard of again.’
“I was pushed to the wooden door at the base of the tower, then pushed once again into its dark interior. One of the desperados removed a torch from a bracket on the wall and lit it. The flame blazed brightly and my eye immediately caught sight of a number of dark figures on the floor scurrying off to find the comfort of shadow. The inside was dank and foul, smelling of rot and mold and things long dead. White streaks of cascading niter encrusted the walls on all sides and a gossamer curtain of spider-webs stretched across our path at every turn. The ghostly shrouds were quickly erased with a crackle and a hiss as we followed the torch bearer to the far wall. A winding staircase of stone ran its way up the inside circumference of the tower, spiraling to the top. The torch bearer gave a grunt and motioned to a bale of hay sitting by the bottom step. I must have hesitated too long, not understanding, because I received a sharp rap to the side of my head by his partner. ‘Pick up!‘ he yelled, but I shrugged at the absurdity of the command, for my hands were still bound behind me. Still, I received another rap on the head for my impertinence, and a moment later I heard the distinct click of a switchblade opening. The
man waved the knife inches from my face in a menacing way, taking delight in my nervous reaction, then reached down and cut the rope. I breathed a sigh of relief and rubbed at my sore wrists. ‘Pick up!’ he barked once again. I did as he wanted.
“We slowly made our way up the dusty steps and every so often I would hear the squeal of a terrified rat being kicked over the side into darkness, followed by a muffled thud. Along our way, we passed by numerous barred rooms. I couldn’t see inside because of the poor lighting, but I could sense something none the less. I shuddered at the thought of what evil things might lay within those darkened confines.
“I was struggling now with my burden and much relieved when we finally reached the top of the steps. The door to the room was pushed open, making a most unnerving sound as it moved upon its rusty hinges.
“We now entered the upper-most part of the tower. The room contained four iron-barred cells that looked to me like old-time western jail cells. Two were on one side of the room while the others were directly opposite. The room itself was rank smelling like the rest of the building and draped in the same ubiquitous spider webbing. I was thrust into one of the cells and told to stand against the opposite wall. I heard the switchblade click open again and the twine from the hay bale was cut.
“’This is for your bed,’ said the one holding the torch. ‘You may be here a long time, Senor, so be very careful about using up your supplies too quickly.’ With that, the man nodded to his partner, who in turn took off a small back-pack that he was carrying and dropped it to the floor.
“They started to leave, but at that moment, I couldn’t contain myself. Panic overwhelmed me and I lunged forward. I made a desperate attempt to slip past them and run for my life, but they must have expected this because I saw a flash of the same wooden stick the man hit me with earlier and I was knocked senseless once again. Coming to, a short time later, I could hear the door at the bottom of the tower slam shut and I realized that I was now all alone in that filthy dark tomb.