Seven days ago I debuted a new story here on the website. It’s a mix of crime noir with some old EC comic feel blended with H.P. Lovecraft mythos. I’m calling this mashup CTHULHU THIS! Based on some emails I got, the comments on the site and on twitter and facebook, I’m going to keep going with this one. I’m having a hell of a lot of fun writing this and I think you guys are enjoying it. So if you’re new here and have no idea what the hell I’m talking about, or just missed it, go read the first part HERE, then come back to read the next part, which begins…now!

CTHULHU THIS! (Part II)

Not to get all CEO on your miserable existence, but do you ever notice that people don’t stop enough to examine their own lives? They’re too busy grabbing and groping, clawing and scratching, buying the latest fashions, seeing the newest movies, dishing on the current gossip like chickens with no eggs to lay. Self-made, self-help, self-righteous. Everyone’s too busy grasping for the brass ring. That brass cock ring that they think will solve all their problems, and when they get it, they always want more. No matter how much people have, there’s always another rung to climb on the never ending ladder that goes nowhere.

No one is exempt from this. Least of all, me. I’ve been guilty of not stopping to smell the roses on more than one or two occasions. After that encounter with money bags though, I thought. I thought  a lot.

I get back to my apartment, see, and I sit on the couch with a severed-finger of scotch, stroking Pepper whose motor is running like a remote control helicopter. I’m in a trance. Thinking. The envelope that bucks gave me sits on the coffee table. Unopened.

I think about my life. All the things I’ve done and the regrets I have. It all flashes before me double time. Some of it’s as clear as day, and the rest is like trying to watch porn through a scrambled signal. It’s one of those moments where you know that after it’s over, you’ll be a changed man. It’s a moment that everyone needs, but are too preoccupied with self-indulgence to take it. My childhood where I raised myself. My teen years where I masturbated my way to failing grades. Twenties, where I first had sex. The things I’ve done in my work. It’s amazing the details I recall in mere moments.

When it’s over and my metamorphosis is complete, I take the glass to pound back the rest of the scotch, only to realize that it’s already gone. Pepper is no longer humming, but rather she’s looking at me with black pearl pupils. I smile at her and she runs. So much for loyalty.

I eye the manila envelope. Everything I need to do the job is in there, he said. I pick it up and turn in over in my hands, feeling the fibers between my fingers like braille.

While I’ve already committed to doing the job, something tells me it’ll be my last for a while. After it’s over I’ll have to disappear. Become a ghost in a city that’s full of substance. A great shift is coming, perhaps one that will change the whole world, if not just my life. I know it. You know it, and Pepper sure as hell knows it. I can see it as clean as a teenage girl fresh out of the shower. It’s disturbing, but I welcome it. There’s nothing else to say.

When all these thoughts are gone, my day is done. I leave the envelope where it is, and head for the bedroom. My teeth can wait until morning. I kick off my puppies, drop my pants in the hallway, and throw my shirt in the hamper. Before I know it my head is resting on a pillow of peace and I’m out like a runner trying to steal home off a ground ball.

I’m standing in front of an ocean. Naked. It’s a body of water larger than any I’ve ever seen. It stretches as far as the eye can see on all sides. I’m on land. Not land. An island. I am a man. The sky is a mix of purple people eater and menstrual red. There are turkey vultures circling overhead. There’s wind, but nothing for it to rustle except the hair on my head. My penis is erect. Like a boy scout standing at attention. I open my mouth to scream but nothing comes out, or if it does, I can’t hear it. I can’t hear anything. I’m deaf. Some great distance out the water starts to bubble like someone is breathing below the surface. Not breathing. Rising. They’re coming up from the ocean. Hundreds. Thousands. Millions. Too many to count. They’re all around me, but too far away to see. I spin like the vultures above. Trying to scream. Nothing comes out. One of the birds dives. When it emerges, it is holding a head in its mouth. A severed head. My head. Its jaw hangs loose. I still can’t hear. The people are getting closer. Not people. Things. Creatures. Old Ones. How I know this, I don’t know. Spider-like, squid-like. Elephantiasis. Tentacles. Spikes. Slugs. Toads. Glowing. Entrails. They’re whispering. Chanting. Praying. I regain my hearing, but it is faint. Cthulhu fhtagn. Cthulhu fhtagn. Cthulhu fhtagn. Over and over and over. What does it mean? Death. Life. Knowing. Power. Nothing. Void of all sense. A second bird dives. It does not come back up. The Old Ones part and a woman appears. It’s always a woman. She’s formless. I can’t make her out. But I know she’s a she. Getting closer now. Chanting still. What do I do? Their sounds now fill my brain like memories brought on by scent. Flooding. Like water. It’s peaceful. Serene. Like it’s supposed to be this way. The woman gets closer. Closer. Closer. There’s something not right about her. She’s like a puzzle piece that doesn’t fit in its slot. Yet still I come. She’s ecstasy mixed with poison. I can’t help but drink. She smiles. Revealing teeth that are blade sharp. Then from behind her, from behind the Old Ones, from behind everything, it raises. The Master. The I Am. The Thing that was here before and that history has yet to find. Cthulhu fhtagn. Cthulhu fhtagn. Cthulhu fhtagn. I scream again. This time I hear everything…

…As I wake up it echos off the bedroom walls and back into my head like a boomerang. It takes me a few minutes to get my senses together. Like I’ve just been sucker punched at the end of the fifth. There’s no light seeping in through the blinds. Still night. Clock blinks 3:30 AM. I feel something wet and notice that my sheets are soaked in semen. I expect the woman to come through my door at any second. Not opening it, but passing through it like mist. She doesn’t. My heart is pounding. I need a drink.

I’ve had weird dreams before. The kind that after you wake up and shake the cobwebs away, you just chalk it up to two extra spicy burritos and your conscience being a bitch. Nothing even comes close to that monster though, and that’s exactly what it was. And I know where it came from.

I sit on the couch and clap-on a light. Pepper jumps up and laps the water from my glass before I can even catch a gulp. Guess I wasn’t the only one with bad dreams.

The envelope still rests unopened, and before I know it I’m tearing at the edges and spilling the contents out on the coffee table like a collage. I look at the one on top and I know that’s where it will end. No fear. No doubt about it.

The picture is of a town sign. The kind you see driving through the country on a Sunday afternoon after picking a batch of blueberries with the wife and kids. Maybe you wave to the boys on their bikes as you pass them. Or maybe you don’t. Either way, the sign up ahead still gets closer, and as the wind blows through your hair because the windows are down it welcomes you with down home cheeriness.

The difference is that my picture is in black and white. Not crisp but grainy. Like an old Universal horror flick. The sky in the background is a dark gray. Darker than the rest of the picture. A storm is coming as ominous clouds cluster together like a street gang.

I take a sip of water and just sit there, staring at the photo.

Welcome to Hull’s Landing.

…to be continued

Share on Facebook