The Lurker at the Threshold : A Horror Mystery

by Brandon Berntson

  Duke looked at him. “No?”

  They’d been following the beast for a while. The elusiveness of the creature was suddenly not so elusive.

  “We’re following a creature that took out a few people, some our own men,” Duke said.

  “Maybe it’s providing a sort of dark service,” Newt said.

  “Tell that to Muncie.”

  The city buildings began to fade. The clouds, moon, and stars pulled back revealing a deeper darkness, a shadow to the world that revealed a countryside. It had been showing itself for a while, a fabricated reality that warped the edges of Innsport. It had left them confused. They’d talked about it, but it was becoming normal. The farmland, the open country was more visible. There was no actual gate they passed through. Small hills and trees were in the distance to their left. The smell was stronger—thick, heavy, tarry stickiness. It was stronger than any place they’d been so far. It congealed and grew. It made Newt’s eyes water.

  “What I’m saying, Newt,” Duke continued. “Is that the sinful nature of humanity is the reason for evil. We are the cause. We have to take responsibility for it. Anything else, as far as I’m concerned, lets us off the hook, but we’re the guilty parties. People wonder why God doesn’t interfere. My question is, why should he? Why do we allow poverty when we have enough to house, enough resources to feed and clothe the homeless? Why do we, as a culture breed narcissistic, racist, homophobic, chauvinistic, sexist, morally bankrupt people? It’s a corrupt system. It’s the same throughout history. We have put a system in place that allows these people to want power, and we vote for them. We support them. We have no one to blame but ourselves. That’s the sadness of it. The finger we point and use to judge another, along with social issues, is the same finger pointing back at us.”

  “We need to be the change,” Newt said. “We need to lead by example. Is that what you’re saying?”

  “Something like that. Gandhi said the same thing.”

  “Ah, so you’re a Buddhist? Eastern religion?”

  “Hardly. I’m a realist living in a world populated by monsters and portals.”

  Newt nodded. “Thanks, Duke. I’m not sure I agree with all that, but it’s nice to have a bigger picture.”

  Duke shrugged. “Let’s just keep walking.”

  The land opened around them. Cows were visible. Something was wrong with their skin. The foliage was sparse, rotted, as if the very air were corrupt with some fatal contagion. Streams of bluish-green light came from the barn, the extension from the side of the house. It pulsed slightly.

  “Where are we, Duke?”’

  “Not in Innsport, I know that.”

  The evil in the air was so thick, it was palpable. It was everywhere. Something dense, heavy, and dark, lay like soot across everything around them. One part of the trees to their left had been mowed down by some gigantic force. It had torn up the ground in a large swath traveling to the extension of the house.

  “Heellp meeeee!” someone cried.

  Newt knew that voice, had listened to it a hundred times but had never heard it scream.

  “That was Amelia,” Newt said, eyes wide.

  Duke and Newt ran toward the farmhouse.

  —

  Nyarlathotep led the way inside. Macky was the first behind him. The others followed. Mr. Kalabraise was as smiling and ever-lovable as ever, even in the grimness of the situation. Millie, Capshaw, and Armitage came in afterwards.

  Macky looked around once they were inside. It was hard to process—a geometrically constructed labyrinth of lights, doorways, walls, staircases, pictures, scenes from various times and places, a mish-mashed amalgam of dreamscapes, space, and time. The interior was in complete opposition to the outer structure of the house, stretching for miles in every cosmic direction. Macky had a hard time wrapping his head around it. It made no physical, rational sense to the naked eye, yet he was seeing it. If this was the crux, the nexus to all things in the Mythos, anyplace in the Mythos could be accessed from the witch-house.

  The lights and electricity coming from unknown sources were brighter and more blinding. The place was shrouded in an alien, technological, sustainable energy that gave the witch-house its power. The interior was infinite. It had no end.

  Physical rules didn’t apply. Or so it seemed. The electrodes of currents sizzled, zapped, and arced across the interior in every mind-bending direction. The portals and doorways moved, circled, faded, came into sight, shortened and expanded, revolving around each other, exchanging places with other scenes and portals. Blue, pink, green, purple, red, orange, and yellow lights zig-zagged, came into being, and faded in a kaleidoscopic rhapsody of images and light. Under their feet, the floor was an ethereal, invisible solid. Macky felt like he was falling through space standing on it.

  Scenes unfolded: the farmhouse where Newt and Duke were. The streets of Innsport, the Mad Arab’s bookshop, an apartment Macky didn’t recognize, the police station, the museum, and the pit where Mike, the security guard, had died, a graveyard, an open casket, and something else beyond all this—the skies above Innsport, Yog-Sothoth coming through in a spherical mass. Something was churning in the sea. The water was roiling. Cyclones of bats, mi-gos in the air, rats by the thousands scampered over the tracks of the train station. Giant spiders clung to the sides of buildings. They waited in dark alleys. The city was buried in fog, a hound with red eyes and wings, a green amulet around its neck. The orbs of Yog-Sothoth were everywhere, illuminating random patches of the city, a grid of connect-the-dots. The tear in the night sky opened wider. The Lurker at the Threshold was waiting. Or was he slipping through?

  “What is that?” Macky asked, referring to the roiling deep.

  “The resident of the Thirteenth Gate,” Nyarlathotep said.

  In other areas: pictures of a nearby hospital, patients strapped to chairs, electrodes on their heads. The hallways and rooms were filled with madmen and women, the criminally insane. Macky could hear them screaming.

  “Cthulhu emerges,” Nyarlathotep said.

  “There’s that word again,” Macky said. “What does it mean?”

  “The son of Yog-Sothoth,” Armitage said. “Azathoth’s grandchild. Cthulhu, Macky. We’re in trouble.”

  “The naivete of mortals never ceases to amaze me,” Nyarlathotep said. “When dealing with something more superior than yourselves, you tend to buckle. Quite easily. I find it entertaining. Did you think you had what it took to outwit Yog-Sothoth, the Lurker at the Threshold?”

  “Why did you bring us here then?” Macky asked.

  “To watch you squirm,” the god said. “And to amuse myself. Believe it or not, there’s still a chance for you. I’ve given you that chance. I’m not as my reputation precedes. But Cthulhu is coming. And Yog-Sothoth. The mi-gos, bats, rats, spiders, hounds, fog, gates, all of it . . . unleashed.”

  “That’s my fault for giving you the benefit of the doubt, sure,” Macky said. “But think of Millie and Mr. Kalabraise.”

  “Don’t forget me, Dev,” Capshaw said.

  “Creighton. Sure. All of us.”

  “You forgot Henry,” Millie said.

  “I can take care of myself,” Armitage told them.

  “Who is Mr. Kalabraise?” Nyarlathotep asked.

  “The dog,” Macky said.

  In answer, Mr. Kalabraise barked.

  “Brown Jenkin will take care of him soon enough.”

  “Her,” Macky said.

  “Excuse me?” Nyarlathotep said.

  “Her. Mr. Kalabraise is a she. It’s Millie’s way of being cute.”

  “She doesn’t mind,” Millie said.

  Nyarlathotep stood staring at them, wondering if this was real. “As I said, Brown Jenkin will take of her soon enough.”

  “Who is Brown Jenkin?” Millie asked.

  “The haunter of the witch-house.”

  “I don’t like the sound of that,” Macky said.

  “You’re not supposed to,” Nyarlathotep said.


  “There’s that enigmatic talk again,” Macky said. “Look, help us. Please. Just tell us what to do.”

  “You’ve made it this far,” the Outer God said. “Look around, Mr. Macky. Certainly, you can see what you have to do.

  “I’ll say one thing,” Macky said. “That fact that you can be entertained by someone else’s misfortune says a lot about you. On the evolutionary scale, that’s pretty low. Purely selfish, narcissistic even.” He shook his head. “It says a lot about where you stand.”

  “Uh, Dev,” Armitage said. “That might not be a good idea. You know, to argue with an Outer God.”

  Nyarlathotep stared at Macky for a long time. There was no expression on his face. How could there be?

  “I mean, honestly,” Macky said. “What’s the point? Meaningless, fleeting, momentary pleasure? Is that the reward? Self-gratification? Self-aggrandizement? Stroking the ego? It’s an endless cycle. You realize that, right? It never ends. Once you get what you want, it won’t be enough. You’ll always want more. Always. It’s inevitable. It’s human nature. You’re a god, for crying out loud! You have the petty needs and wants of a child. What does that say about you? You have this power, and yet you use it for something so frivolous, selfish, and empty. Soulless. God, you’re a sociopath. Doesn’t that bother you?”

  “Uh, Dev . . .” Armitage pleaded.

  Nyarlathotep didn’t say anything.

  “You’ve actually defined yourself through pride,” Macky continued. “The fall of the devil. It goes back centuries, thousands of years. What does that make you? Base. Shallow. There’s nothing there, Nyar-baby. Through all of history, the unending, cosmic unfolding of time and space, gods, monsters, humankind, and progress, you’re right there at the bottom of the dung heap. You and Yog-Sothoth both. You’re no better than Hitler, Stalin, or Napoleon. We don’t look back on those people with admiration, you know? They were idiots. Stupid. Dumb goals, lofty ideals, men who wanted to put themselves on the plateau with gods. But they fell, Nyarlathotep. They fell hard. And now they’re looked on with nothing more than pity. And that’s if they’re lucky. Is that the legacy you want to leave? You’re fighting for the losing side. You can’t win. You’re a hamster on a wheel, buddy. Once the light touches the darkness, you’re finished. You’ve evaporated. Disappeared. You cease to exist. You need the darkness to survive, but you’re destroyed by light. Love kills you, and those things will never die. They’re immortal. Timeless. Infinite. Eternal. You see where I’m going, don’t you? You, my friend, are a product of your own inept weakness. In the bigger picture, you’re nothing, mean nothing, and will continue to mean nothing until it’s all said and done. That’s your fate. You might have a little fun in the meantime, but that’s the end result. Your purpose is to thwart the ultimate good, but in the end, you’ll lose. You always will. The irony is quite beautiful. You’re seeking the wrong thing, Nyar-baby. Your motivation stinks. It’s backwards.”

  Everyone held their breath. Macky thought he saw the god smile.

  “I admire your courage,” Nyarlathotep said. “It is foolish courage but courage nonetheless. And it was a good speech. From a mortal perspective. I knew it was right to lay this at your feet. I knew it would amuse me. You have not let me down, Mr. Macky.”

  Armitage let out a deep breath. Millie stood with wide eyes. Capshaw was speechless.

  “Talking to Outer Gods is a new thing for me,” Macky said. “I’m not all that experienced. But I’m trying to learn, like a good P.I. I believe in fighting for what’s right, and not just for myself. I believe in a brighter future with new tomorrows and fewer monsters. You know, life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. You and these cosmic thugs are getting in the way. I don’t like that.”

  “I took you to the nexus of the gates,” Nyarlathotep said. “This is where you’ll find the way. In that, I provided you a service, which goes with your philosophy. Good luck to you.”

  “You call this a favor?”

  “We are operating on different levels,” Nyarlathotep said. “You don’t see it the way I do.”

  “Maybe it’s not wise to keep arguing with him, Dev,” Capshaw said.

  “Wisdom among mortals is always in short supply,” Nyarlathotep said, looking at Capshaw. “You, however, possess more than most, old man.”

  Capshaw took a gulp. “Was I just insulted or complimented?”

  “A little of both, I think,” Armitage said.

  “Cthulhu is on his way,” Nyarlathotep said. “He rises from the sea.”

  “What is that, like a leviathan?” Macky asked. “Haven’t we had enough of that?”

  “Your vocabulary is improving, Dev,” Millie said.

  “You didn’t give me any credit for when I used ‘self-aggrandizement’ earlier.”

  “Let’s practice humility first,” she said.

  “Dev, I think we’re running out of time,” Armitage said.

  “How did I get elected for this detail?” Macky asked.

  “We’ve already been through that,” Millie said.

  “You’re the Supernatural Sleuth of Innsport, Dev,” Capshaw said. “You were made for this.”

  “Thanks, Creighton. I’m glad I’m appreciated in some light.” Macky looked at Millie.

  “Are you going to get started or not?” Millie said.

  “I’m thinking, toots,” Macky said.

  “Dev, so help me—”

  “I know. I know. Pet names. I forgot. There’s no end, is there? It’s all part of the restlessness of the human race. Or their irrelevance. Eradication. Whatever. It’s all the same.”

  “You’re stalling,” Millie said.

  “You sound like you’re trying to get rid of me.”

  “I want to get this over with.”

  “Well, I’m scared. I never jumped into another dimension before. It’s got me edgy.”

  “Would you like me to go with you?”

  “Who would look after Mr. Kalabraise?”

  There was silence for a while. Macky looked around at all the moving electric lights, portals, doorways, and scenes.

  “No one’s gonna miss me, huh?” he asked.

  “We won’t know that until you’re gone,” Armitage said.

  “I’m with Henry,” Millie said.

  “I’ll miss you, Dev,” Capshaw said.

  “I can always count on you, Creighton,” Macky said.

  Mr. Kalabraise barked.

  “And the dog,” Macky said.

  Without thinking, he turned and leapt into a random portal.

  Mr. Kalabraise jumped in after him.

  Chapter 19

  “I think it came from over there.”

  “No. It came from over there.”

  “Are you sure? I’m pretty sure it came from over there.”

  Duke and Newt were hearing two things at once. Duke thought the screams were coming from the far east of the farmhouse. Newt insisted they were coming from the far west, toward the extension. Duke admitted that made more sense.

  After hearing Amelia scream, they ran toward the farmhouse. The city of Innsport was gone—just a couple of city-slicker flatfoots in redneck country on the other side of the universe.

  The addition to the farmhouse was glowing a bright blue/green. Every crack and opening emanated streams of light. The wind was blowing. Clouds moved above with preternatural speed. Lightning flashed. A crack of thunder sounded so loud, the ground shook. To their left, a hundred yards away, a figure stood on a small hillock, a turban on his head, screaming incantations from an open book in his hand.

  “Holy Beelzebub, Duke! That’s the Mad Arab!” Newt said. He stopped and pointed.

  “Come on! We’ll deal with him later. We gotta find Amelia.”

  “Heelllp meeee! Someooone, pleeeeaase!”

  Newt bolted into a dead run toward the house.

  “Newt! Newt! Hey, wait for me!” Duke cried, holding his hat with one hand, trying to keep his pants up with the other, and doing everythin
g he could to stay in step with his partner.

  Lightning flashed again. The clouds swirled. The Mad Arab was like a magician, invoking the powers of darkness swirling to life in the countryside.

  “Newt!” Duke shouted. “Hey! Hold on! Blasted, wet-behind-the-ears, starry-eyed, love-struck detective . . .”

  Duke tripped and fell, hitting the ground face-first.

  —

  “Mr. Kalabraise!” Millie screamed. She launched herself toward the portal, but Capshaw grabbed her arm, holding her back.

  “No, Millie!” he said. “It’s too dangerous! You have no idea where she went!”

  “But that’s my dog! She needs help! I can’t leave her!”

  “I’ll go!” Capshaw said.

  Armitage stood watching this, amused, the book in hand. Nyarlathotep looked like he was smiling.

  “No, you can’t!” Capshaw insisted. “I won’t let you!” He managed to get in front of her.

  “I have to!” Millie said. “I’ve been standing around useless the whole time. It’s driving me crazy!”

  Capshaw launched himself into the portal before she could say anything more, disappearing in a flash of pink light.

  “Good heavens!” Armitage said, putting a hand to his face.

  Millie gasped, staring wide-eyed.

  Even Nyarlathotep couldn’t believe it.

  —

  Macky looked behind him. He was all alone. The place was dead quiet. He thought he could hear Mr. Kalabraise barking after he’d made the leap, but he couldn’t see the dog anywhere.

  The landscape was a vast, rolling, countryside. The grass was pinkish rose. The verdure was alien, bushes and trees with strange configurations, flowers (were they flowers?) he’d never imagined before. The sky was a fleece of orange light, interwoven with yellow and pale blue. The place owned a surreal aspect of moving in and out of time, a bubbling mass of optical illusion. It toyed with all five senses. He was here, yet it looked like a dream.

  “That’s why Nyar-baby called it a dreamscape, Dev,” he said to himself. “My deductive genius has never been more acute. That means ‘sharp.’”