Cthulhu Fhtagn!

by Laird Barron

  “Captain Norrys, sir.”

  He stepped aside as my old friend Norrys entered, tugging on his dinner jacket to make sure it was in place. He had clearly rushed to change in time for dinner as soon as he had arrived at the house.

  “Piggy!” I exclaimed, hurrying to meet him.

  “Bridgy!” Norrys answered, shaking my hand warmly.

  Norrys was a plump and amiable fellow, which had been the source of his unfortunate nickname back at school. I realize now that it had been rather cruel of us, but Norrys had shouldered it all the same. Of course, he and I could never pass words without him at least once referring to me as “Stamford Bridge”, so I suppose it rather evened out.

  “How are you, old boy?” I asked. “Still up in Anchester?”

  “No better place in the world,” Norrys replied.

  “What are you doing these days?”

  “Funny story,” Norrys said. “You remember that friend of mine from the RFC? Delapore?”

  “Alfie Delapore? Rather!” I exclaimed. “How is he?”

  Norrys frowned for a moment. “Bought it, I’m afraid.”

  “Oh, what rotten luck,” I said. “Was it the…?” I motioned vaguely in the area of my head to indicate the late Delapore’s war wound.

  “Afraid so.” After another moment, Norrys brightened again. “Anyway, seems his father’s decided to move back into the old family seat at Exham Priory. Bought it from my uncle and everything.”

  “Good show,” I told him.

  “So I’m helping the chap with renovations and whatnot,” Norrys said. A thought came to him. “I say, you’ll have to come up and visit once it’s all done. I’ll introduce you.”

  “Jolly good of you, Piggy,” I said.

  Vos cleared his throat softly.

  “Oh, right. Piggy, this is my friend Hieronymus Vos.” I motioned from one to the other. “Vos, this is my old chum, Captain Norrys.”

  “Goedenavond,” Vos said, bowing his head to Norrys.

  “Oh, hello,” Norrys replied, looking a bit baffled.

  “He’s a detective,” I explained.

  “An antiquarian,” Vos corrected. “Detecting is merely a…. What is the word?” He thought a bit and then smiled. “Ah yes. A hobby.”

  Again Norrys looked somewhat baffled by Vos and simply said, “Good show.”

  I cleared my throat and looked across the room toward Susan. She was gazing in our direction, so I nudged Norrys to get his attention.

  “You know, Susan’s here,” I said.

  “Well, yes,” Norrys said, a little breathlessly.

  “You should go talk to her.”

  Norrys looked at Susan, but Susan, realizing she had been observed, quickly looked away. Norrys’s face fell.

  “I couldn’t,” he said.

  “Go on, old boy,” I insisted. “It’s the whole reason for the evening, you know.”

  “Really?” Norrys suddenly looked guilty. “I hadn’t realized….”

  “Yes, now go on,” I repeated. “The stars are right, Piggy, now go over there and talk to her.”

  Norrys nodded and smiled nervously. “Wish me luck.”

  He quickly squared his shoulders, held his head high, and went to talk to Susan like a man going over the top. I watched with growing distress as the two of them began speaking in awkward, hesitant half sentences.

  I sighed. “Well, we tried.”

  “As I told to you, mijn vriend,” Vos said, “they are like the two cats circling one another. Such are the timid in love.”

  “Better to be confident, I suppose.”

  “Nee,” Vos replied. “Then they are like two bulls colliding, until they dash themselves to pieces.”

  “What a gruesome thing to say!” It was Hazel who spoke, having joined us along with James. “Are you always so morbid, Mister Vos?” The way she asked, it sounded like a compliment.

  Vos shrugged a little and smiled.

  “Who can say?” he mused. “I enjoy the company of old books and dead things. If that is morbid—”

  “It is,” James interjected.

  “—then morbid I must be,” Vos finished. He raised one finger and gently brushed his moustache. “But let us rejoice. The night’s work is accomplished. The Miss Turnbridge and the Captain Norrys are in a room together making the awkward conversation. It is the blossoming of romance.”

  “I don’t think that’s quite the same thing, Vos,” I said.

  “Perhaps not,” Vos replied, “but we must wait and see the result.”

  He might have said more, but he was interrupted by a low, mournful howl that drifted in through one of the open windows. It was more peculiar than frightening, though in light of my earlier experience it did give me a bit of a turn.

  “Goodness, what was that?” I exclaimed.

  “Sounded like a hound,” James said.

  “Oh yes!” Hazel exclaimed. “A hound howling upon the moor like something out of Sherlock Holmes! How delightfully sinister!”

  “Darling,” James said, “the nearest moorland’s twenty miles away. I hardly think it’s that.”

  “That only makes it all the more peculiar,” I added.

  Vos looked thoughtful and said softly, “Ja, peculiar. It is the question most interesting.”

  “The question of why a dog is howling?” James asked. “Hardly needs a reason, does it?”

  “On the contrary, Mister Turnbridge,” Vos replied, “unlike man, a dog always does things for a reason.”

  The howl sounded again, closer this time. I suddenly felt unease brimming up inside me, which made me quite angry.

  “Well, whatever it is, it’ll spoil the evening,” I said.

  I marched straight across to the window in question and looked outside. I confess, I had actually expected to see some monstrous phosphorous-mouthed beast lumbering across the lawn toward us, but to my relief there was nothing to be seen. I pushed the window shut and latched it firmly.

  Then, as I prepared to turn away, I half fancied that I saw a shape flit across the grounds just at the edge of the woods. It looked vaguely man-like, though it scurried along on all fours, so it was hardly that. And it was gone in an instant. If not for my encounter in the wood, I’d have thought little of it. I waited a moment longer, but I saw nothing.

  Instead, I heard Gwen and Sir Arthur speaking softly nearby. I looked and saw that they had retired to one of the corners, where they might avoid being overheard, but in going to the window I had moved just into earshot.

  “Daddy, please!” Gwen insisted, her tone desperate.

  “Not a penny more,” Sir Arthur replied.

  “But Daddy, New York is expensive. Plays are expensive!”

  “Yes, and parties with your degenerate friends are also expensive,” came the reply. Sir Arthur frowned at her, looking very annoyed. “You have your allowance. Be grateful I don’t cut you off entirely.”

  “You wouldn’t—”

  “Oh, wouldn’t I?” Sir Arthur scowled at her. “You’re nearly twenty-four, Gwendolen. You should be married by now. Perhaps I should cut you off until you find yourself a husband!”

  Gwen’s eyes flashed with anger and she seemed about ready to shout something. Then she thought better of it and walked out of the room without another word.

  I quickly turned away before Sir Arthur could notice me listening. I looked out the window and in the growing darkness I saw the shape again. It had drawn closer now, and it stood just at the edge of the flower beds. I could discern little beyond its hideously elongated appearance, but its eyes shone in the dying sunlight, glinting like a cat’s. I tried desperately to close my eyes, to blot out that creeping thing as it slowly neared, step-by-step, but I couldn’t.

  And then, mercifully, the gong rang for dinner, and I almost jumped in fright. I looked away from the window and then back again. The creature was gone. Or rather, it had never been there, I told myself; and that lie comforted me until the events of the night.

  **
*

  Dinner was pleasant, enough so that it allowed me to push the strange sights of the day from my mind. Norrys and Susan were beginning to converse more freely, which I counted as a success for the evening. Hazel pestered Vos about his cases, while Professor Howard did likewise about his knowledge of archaeology. Vos seemed to enjoy both conversations at once, and every so often found cause to draw the one into the other. James and I chatted about his work in London, and Newbury eagerly told me more about his peculiar research regarding fairies living under the ground.

  Everyone seemed to be having a good time other than Sir Arthur and Gwen, who sullenly watched one another from across the table, even in the midst of other conversations. Recalling their words in the sitting room, I wasn’t at all surprised.

  As everyone made ready to retire after dinner, Sir Arthur approached me and Vos.

  “Mister Vos,” he said, “I wonder if I might drag you away for your opinion about my latest acquisition….”

  “The Sogdian text?” Vos asked. “Ja, I would be delighted. May Major Stamford join us? I should like to broaden his horizons.”

  “Steady on,” I protested.

  “Yes, why not?” Sir Arthur replied. “No harm to be done. Just keep your hands to yourself, Major.”

  “Look, I say—”

  But they had both stopped listening, so I gave up talking. Sir Arthur led us to his study, which was large and furnished with more attention to modernity than I would have expected. Perhaps it was simply Sir Arthur’s way of combating the creeping hand of age, by surrounding himself with things that were new and young, like his second wife.

  Sir Arthur unlocked a wall safe and removed a bundle of old papers and bits of parchment held together in a sheaf. He set the bundle down on his desk and began gently sorting through the manuscripts until he came to the one in question. Vos peered over his shoulder, studying the other papers as they were sorted.

  “Goodness me,” he said. “Is this Philetas’s translation of the Kitab al-Azif?”

  Sir Arthur looked up with great surprise and asked, “You’re familiar with the Al-Azif, Mister Vos? You are full of surprises.”

  Vos made a great show of modesty and smiled.

  “Only by reputation, I assure you,” he said. “But I am intrigued to see a copy in person. May I…?” He motioned to one of the pages. “With the utmost care, of course.”

  “Look but do not touch,” Sir Arthur said. He grumbled a little. “It’s not even a copy, I fear. A transcription of a copy, and not a complete one at that.”

  “Still, such a marvelous acquisition for a scholar of ancient things, ja?” Vos mused.

  I glanced at the manuscript in question, but I could make neither heads nor tails of it.

  “It’s all Greek to me,” I joked.

  Vos looked at me sternly, but it was Sir Arthur who replied:

  “It is Greek.”

  “Oh, right,” I said.

  Presently, Sir Arthur found the document he wanted and showed it to Vos. It was a large rectangle of vellum marked with both pictures and script. I took a look too, but I couldn’t understand any of the writing. Only a few associated images had any sort of meaning to me, and one particular depiction of a queer sort of dog-thing gave me a turn, so I quickly turned away and found something else in the study to occupy myself with.

  “Ja,” Vos said softly, studying the document through his gilded pince-nez. “Ja, Sogdian indeed.”

  “What is it?” Sir Arthur asked, his tone betraying a hint of excitement. “Can you translate it?”

  “Well… ja,” Vos told him, “but it will take some time. Perhaps tomorrow I could examine it properly.”

  “But you must have some idea of what it says!” Sir Arthur insisted.

  “Of course, of course,” Vos reassured him. “It is… let me see….Some manner of alchemical formula, I believe. There is something about a ghûl and long life, but….” He sighed. “Alas, it is late and my eyes, they are tired. Tomorrow, as I say, I shall give it my utmost attention.”

  As they spoke, I had occasion to pass the open safe. It held the usual contents one would expect—some money, important documents, and the like—but in addition, it was filled with scrolls and papers and some assorted trinkets of no apparent value. Most intriguing, I saw, sitting atop the pile, a little amulet made of green jade and carved in the shape of a sphinx, or something near to it; though in truth, it was rather more hound-like than feline in its appearance.

  “I say,” I said, “what an odd little thing—”

  “Don’t touch that!” Sir Arthur shouted, making me jump back in alarm.

  “I…I didn’t—” I began.

  Sir Arthur hurried to the safe and pushed it shut. Looking at me angrily, he said, “Gads, man, you’re as bad as Howard, poking and prodding in my private things!”

  “Look here,” I protested, “I’d no idea—”

  “I think perhaps you’d better go for the evening, Major,” Sir Arthur told me, taking a deep breath to calm down. “I’m certain James would like to see you for billiards or something.”

  I frowned a bit, embarrassed at having offended my host without meaning to, but I nodded my agreement.

  “Yes, alright,” I said.

  “I also shall retire,” Vos said brightly. “But tomorrow I shall assist with the translation, ja?”

  “Yes, good,” Sir Arthur said. “Good night.”

  As we left the study, I saw him open the safe again and reassure himself that I hadn’t damaged any of the contents—the idea! In the hallway, we passed Professor Howard, who exchanged a friendly nod on his way, before he vanished into the study.

  “Most interesting,” Vos mused.

  “What is?” I asked.

  “Did you notice anything peculiar about the amulet in the safe? The one that Sir Arthur was so insistent you not touch?”

  “Well, yes,” I said. “Come to think of it, it looked rather like one of the pictures on that Soggy-Dinny manuscript.”

  Vos winced slightly as I spoke this last bit, but he nodded and said, “I do believe that Sir Arthur Turnbridge is playing a great trick on all of us. He clearly believes that I do not understand what he has laid before me…or perhaps he is desperate enough that he does not care. It is most interesting.”

  “What are you talking about, Vos? What trick?”

  “Why, mijn vriend,” Vos answered, “the greatest trick of all. The trick of eternity.”

  ***

  Vos retired for the night without explaining any more of his cryptic statement to me. I won’t bore you with the details of the rest of my evening. Suffice to say that James, Norrys, Newbury, and I spent a couple of hours smoking and playing billiards. Newbury was the first to retire, then Norrys, and finally James and myself went our separate ways.

  As I went along the upstairs passage toward my room, I happened to pass by Newbury’s door. I saw that his light was on, which surprised me enough to stop, and then I heard voices speaking. One was Newbury’s, while the other one was soft and raspy, and I could not place it.

  “Tonight?” Newbury asked. “I can’t! I need more time!”

  “No time,” said his companion. “Tonight or never.”

  I wondered if it was Newbury talking to himself, perhaps pantomiming from a story or something. I raised my hand to knock, to see what was going on, but something stopped me. Instead, I resolved to ask him about it in the morning.

  And I think it was well that I did so, for my own sake if not for Sir Arthur’s.

  ***

  I awoke in darkness for a reason I could not remember. I had vague recollections of some infernal howling, and of the misshapen things that I had seen on the grounds, but any memory of my dreams vanished in the time it took to turn on my lamp. But as I sat there, I heard the faint sound of breaking glass. Alarmed, I jumped to my feet. I found an electric torch in the bedside drawer and, switching it on, I hurried into the hallway to investigate.

  The noise had come from do
wnstairs, so that was where I went. Just above the stairs, I almost collided with Norrys as he hurried out of his room.

  “Good Lord, man!” I cried softly. “You gave me a dreadful fright!”

  “I gave you a fright?” Norrys answered, putting a hand to his chest. “Did you hear it as well?”

  I nodded. “Sounded like glass. Could be a window.”

  “Robbers, do you think?” Norrys asked, as we descended the stairs.

  “Could be,” I said. “Someone else might have heard it too, but we should investigate before we rouse the whole house.”

  “Agreed,” said Norrys, as we reached the foyer. He pointed down one hallway. “I’ll go this way, you go that way, and we’ll meet at the back?”

  “Sensible enough,” I replied.

  Having parted company from Norrys, I suddenly was given cause to regret it. As I crept along the main corridor, I felt my hair standing on end with anticipation. The very thought of burglars in such remote country was far-fetched, but what troubled me the most were the vague and insubstantial memories of my recent dreams.

  Then I turned a corner and what I saw made me freeze in place with fear.

  I cannot quite explain how dreadful it is to see such a thing clearly in the light. Ghosts are always the most frightening when they are vague and unseen, but material horrors only grow with clarity. In that instant I knew that the things I had seen in the forest and on the grounds were not tricks of the light or phantoms of the imagination.

  The thing in the corridor was hideous and elongated, bony, as if its rubbery skin had been pulled too tightly over its half-human form. Indeed, half-human was the only way to describe it, for while the form was in essence that of a man, it was hunched over and contorted in ways that even an ape might balk at. And worse, its head, its hideous, twisted head, was more dog than man, yet it still carried with it some semblance of lingering humanity that distorted its canine visage into a parody of Nature.

  Mercifully, many of the details still elude me, blocked from my mind by some instinct of self-preservation. But I remember the eyes, those glowing, bestial, human eyes; and the blood that dripped from its gore-covered hands.