From Murky Depths

by Brett Williams

  Rumbling grew louder still as dawn broke, casting light across the land. Water tugged harder at my legs. Enough so that I turned away from the town and looked out across the expanse of water before me. A whirlpool forty, fifty, sixty yards wide and growing swirled. Its outer expanse reached closer every second. The water rose higher up my chest while the center of the vortex dropped lower. I stood stunned. I'd be sucked in, drowned. Then the water level stopped rising. The whirlpool stopped growing. It simply continued its motion. I stood in awe. I'd never seen anything so powerfully beautiful or intense in all my life. When I returned to my senses I noticed the water level receding, yet the whirlpool had not weakened.

  I watched as it sucked down water like a giant drain. As water disappeared all around me I finally understood why houses only lined one side of Main Street. A river ran through downtown, right alongside Main Street. Prime riverfront property. It made sense. A primary tenet of their religion being water and flooding, this location allowed the river to become a constant reminder of their god.

  “Screw you, Mauz-Gurloth,” I hollered, water washing away from my feet.

  The whirlpool slowly died away. It took half an hour, maybe longer. Time held little meaning during such a cataclysmic event. When it died out, it left behind their underground river, which sprang up along the road out of Clayton, ran beside Main Street, only to retreat again into a cavern in the distance.

  Shaking earth fell still. The rushing water of the underground river reversed direction, as if to follow its original path out of town. All around what had once been covered in water lay a decimation of muddy proportions. A fissure lay open in what had undoubtedly been a field just days before.

  Then another quake hit, knocking me down to the gravel road. Scrambling to my feet I saw the river reverse direction again. It flowed furiously. And then from the fissure shot water. The geyser, high and wide, rained down all around. When the blast ended it left the most horrendous sight I'd ever seen.

  Reaching nearly a hundred yards in the air, the same splotchy green color as the hybrids, thrashed what could only be described as a tentacle.

  I felt my heart seize. I gasped for breath. Tears welled in my eyes.

  “Good Lord help us all,” I prayed.

  In the distance I saw three more waving appendages. I didn't doubt more thrashed behind me farther out in the woods and all around Clayton. Definitely out near Its temple.

  I started inching away down the road, still watching the whipping protrusions. Behind me cheering and applause broke out. If I remained I'd be killed. I might be killed anyway. I saw the chainsaw laying there in the road but knew it wouldn't start now, even if I tried. What good would it do anyway?

  Then, surprisingly, the quaking lessened, the appendages retreated into the earth. When the quake stopped completely I saw scores of “people” rise up from the edges of the field. Hybrids. An army lying in wait sunk down in the mud.

  “Oh fuck.” I took off at a sprint down the road. I left Clayton afraid to look back. I feared more hybrids out in the fields between here and my home. I'd have to take the long way home. I ran until I thought my heart would explode. When I reached the highway, which was washed out in sections, I slowed to a quick stride.

  Never once did I look back. It wouldn't do any good; I'd seen all I needed to. The fact that I remained alive provided enough proof to me that Mauz-Gurloth saw me as no true threat. As for the townspeople, I had no clue. Given the chance I'm sure they'd kill me. But to see their god spring up before them... Well, I'm sure they had worshiping to do, clean up to take care of, more eggs to bury in the mud, more damn hybrids to breed.

  I reached my house hours later, totally give out. I had long-since peeled off the hot, heavy waders. I no longer needed them. Without hesitation, up into my Chevy I climbed. The keys were still in my pocket. I fished them out, started the truck, backed out of the driveway.

  I almost doubted my own religion. Almost. I was still alive. I only had the good Lord to thank for that.

  I headed to St. Louis. I could barely wait the four hours it would take to see my family. Missy'd be pissed as hell when she saw the shit-of-a-shape I was in. Maybe if I drove with the windows down my clothes would be dry when I got there.

  As I pulled out onto the road my body shuddered. Reality settled in. I passed Sikeston before the tears stopped falling.

  Also a part of the Mauz-Gurloth mythos:

  THIRD EYE HIGH

  "What happens when you mash-up a Manson-style hippie commune, Lovecraftian otherworldly creatures of chaos, magic mushrooms, strippers and lots and lots of sex and blood? You get the crazy Helter Skelter ride of Third Eye High!" --John Everson, Bram Stoker Award-winning author of The 13th and NightWhere

  Summer, along with the other flower children in the Stoker commune, want to spread peace and love across Mother Earth. Now, with the discovery of special magic mushrooms and the help of an eons-distant god, they have the ability to bring their goal to fruition. First they must pay homage to the god with chaos, blood, and murder, while protecting their karma by wearing the skin of the dead.

  SOUND OF MADNESS

  When a sound calls to Carl Stanton, it demands attention with its intoxicating melody, its seductive undertones. Music violent in nature, otherworldly in origin.

  The tone promises him escape from a rural, unsatisfying existence that alcoholism and adultery can’t. But this music, as beautiful as it may be, demands a steep price. A price Carl Stanton may not be prepared to pay.