The Children of Cthulhu

by John Pelan

  Oh, how I wished we might travel back in time, heed the warnings so apparent throughout the history of this hellish place and shun it. But we couldn't make such a journey. We were here for better or worse.

  Soon after the first gray light of approaching dawn showed in the cracks around the door, sleep overtook me.

  I have no recollection of my dreams, only that they horrified me and I woke up with a scream in my throat.

  Emily, on the floor beside me, took me in her arms and soothed me with gentle words and caresses. “It's all right, darling,” she murmured. “It was only a bad dream. You're fine now. Everything's fine.”

  “We … we must get away from here.”

  “We will,” said Emily, her warm fingers stroking my cheek. “We'll leave immediately. As soon as we've found Arthur.”

  “But Arthur… the creature took him.”

  “We don't know that.”

  “It took him, darling.”

  “Perhaps. But neither of us saw it go off with him. I saw nothing of the sort, did you? We were both blinded by the brightness of the gunshots. All we truly know is that the creature descended upon Arthur, and we were unable to find him afterward.”

  Looking my beloved wife in the eves, I said, “I believe it bore him away.”

  “Perhaps he ran off and hid in the woods.”

  “But he hasn't returned.”

  “Perhaps he's lost. Or injured. He may be in desperate need of our help.”

  Even now, I thought, he's likely dead in the stomach of the beast.

  “We can't simply abandon the area,” Emily said. “Not without doing all in our power to find him.”

  “Oh, darling,” I said.

  Seeing the anguish in my eyes, she kissed me gently. Then she said, “Arthur may very well have perished last night.”

  I was both glad and saddened to hear the words… confirmation that she hadn': lost touch with her common sense.

  “It's… very likely,” I told her.

  “If that is what befell him, we must find his body and take it away from this hideous place.”

  “We won't be able to…”

  “We cannot leave here without him.”

  Good God, I thought.

  7

  We unbarricaded the cabin door, removed it from its frame, and stepped outside into the sunlight. Having little knowledge of the nature of the winged beast, I couldn't be sure it was entirely nocturnal. Therefore, I stood with Arthur's shotgun, watching the skies and listening while we made a search of the immediate area.

  I neither heard nor saw any sign of the creature.

  As for Arthur, we studied the ground near his abandoned bedroll. We discovered nothing unusual there, not even any drops of blood.

  Narrowing her eyes. Emily gazed into the woods. “He's out there. I know he is.”

  “But the forest is … it's huge, darling. We might search it for days without…”

  “We'll find him,” she said. “I'm sure we will. We must.”

  “At the risk of our own lives?” I asked.

  “If need be.”

  “But, darling… Do you think for one moment that Arthur would want you to be… taken by the beast… for the sake of retrieving his body?”

  “I'm sure he would never choose to be left behind as carrion in this godforsaken wilderness.”

  Not wanting to incur her displeasure, I nodded in agreement.

  “Then find him we shall,” I said.

  8

  And find him we did.

  After our initial search of the area, I stood guard while Emily prepared our meal.

  We'd risen late. It was well past noon by the time we renewed our search for Arthur. Staying close together, we circled the cabin again and again in an ever-widening spiral outward.

  To me, the search seemed hopeless.

  It also seemed foolhardy. We should have been making our way toward safety, putting as much distance as possible between ourselves and the cabin before nightfall… not circling it in the hope of finding Arthur's remains.

  We came upon him late in the afternoon.

  I can hardly claim that we found him, however. On the contrary, he found us.

  Trudging through the dense forest, we kept our heads low. For the most part, we watched the ground and the areas in front of us, not only looking for Arthur's body but taking care not to bump into trees or trip over roots or stumble over fallen branches or injure ourselves in any other way.

  We didn't see Arthur at all.

  As if to confirm Emily's opinion that he preferred not to be left behind, Arthur's fingers had snagged her hair as she walked beneath him.

  “Oh, drat,” she muttered.

  A few paces in front of her, I looked back in time to watch her reach up with the intention of freeing her hair from a low-hanging limb.

  I saw that it was no tree limb, but the hooked fingers of a human hand.

  Before I could w;irn Emily, she touched the hand and screamed. She stumbled backward. A banner of her blond hair remained with the hand for a moment, then slipped free. She fell onto her back.

  We both gazed upward at the hand.

  It belonged to a muscular, hirsute arm that extended downward through the fork of a heavy branch some seven or eight feet above the forest iloor. The arm appeared to be as stiff as the branch itself.

  9

  Emily had been clutching onto the hope of finding her brother alive. Upon seeing his arm, however, the hope fled. Though she sat up, she remained on the ground and shuddered with sobs as tears spilled down her face. I went to her and held her for a while.

  At length, she recovered enough to speak. “Will you… will you bring him down? Will you?”

  “Of course.”

  And so, leaving Emily weeping on the ground, I climbed the tree.

  I averted my eyes from Arthur until I stood upon the heavy branch that bore him. To say that he lay facedown… No. His back, torn and draped by the shreds of his clothing, was skyward. He had no head whatsoever. The remainder of his body appeared to be intact though horribly torn and gouged.

  Several broken branches higher on the tree revealed the course of his descent.

  At the time, I considered the possibility that Arthur had scurried into the tree in an attempt to escape from the creature, and climbed to its uppermost regions before it took off his head and he fell.

  However, I later realized it hadn't happened that way at all.

  The winged creature, flying above the forest, had simply released its hold on Arthur's decapitated body and let it fall where it might.

  “It is Arthur?” Emily asked from the ground. Asked, though she knew full well.

  “I'm afraid so.”

  “And he's… dead?”

  “I'm… yes. I'll bring him down, but… perhaps you shouldn't watch. He's… much the worse for wear.”

  “I'll step away,” she said.

  She turned her back. As she slowly walked off, I called down, “Don't go far, darling.”

  I then made my way onto the limb with every intention of lowering Arthur to the ground. At first, I was loath to touch him. But Arthur himself, I realized, would have laughed at me, mocked my squeamishness. He would have relished the job, had our positions been reversed. This fortified me for the task (and gave me not a little satisfaction).

  Setting to work, I quickly succeeded in freeing Arthur: I tumbled him sideways and gravity did the rest of the job. A large man, he landed upon the ground with quite a wallop. I'm afraid I must've smiled, but the outcry from Emily tore the smile from my face.

  She hadn't gone off, at all; she'd hidden nearby and watched.

  Now she rushed forward, squealing, her arms outstretched. She seemed about to drop to her knees and wrap her arms around Arthur, but suddenly she halted. She stood above him, arms out, knees bent, back bent, head down, and made quick little gasping sounds.

  “Arthur?” she asked.

  She hunkered lower as if listening for an answer.


  “Arthur, where's your head?”

  My stomach twisted tight.

  “Arthur, what have you done with your head?”

  “Emily?” Though she didn't respond to my voice, I continued, saying, “I'm afraid the creature must've… taken it.”

  For a while, she continued to stand over Arthur, hunkered like a wrestler about to wage battle, hardly moving at all except for her back and shoulders and head rising and falling ever so slightly as she gasped for air.

  Then, as if speaking to Arthur, she said, “This simply won't do.”

  Finally, she straightened her back and lowered her arms and tilted back her head. She stared up at me in the tree and the look in her eyes chilled me to the bone.

  “We must find Arthur's head.”

  “But…” If the madness in her eyes was an indication, she would have us searching the woods forever. “We'll never find it, darling.”

  “We shall”

  “We'll never find it because … I have no doubt the creature ate it.”

  In a low, cold voice, Emily said, “Then we shall kill the creature and rip Arthur's head from its belly.”

  10

  Never before had i seen such furious, mad rage in Emily—or in anyone else. Trembling, I made my way down from the tree.

  Emily clutched my arm. Glaring into my eyes, she said, “We'll do it tonight. We'll lie in wait and…”

  “I think we should leave, darling.”

  Her grip tightened. Her fingernails dug into my flesh.

  “Leave if you must, Dexter, f leave when the monster that did this to my brother is slain and I hold Arthur's head in my two hands.”

  I simply gaped at her.

  “Are you with me?” she asked.

  “I really think…”

  And there I halted my words. Though I had no doubt that Emily's sanity had been knocked askew by her grief, I also knew this: I would lose her love forever if I chose not to stay with her and deal with the beast.

  “We'll stay,” I told her. “We'll kill it.”

  No sooner had the words escaped my lips than her mouth was planted there. She kissed me with a fierce and wild abandon, and embraced me, and soon, overwhelmed with passion, we found ourselves upon the ground not very far away at all from where Arthur lay sprawled.

  Utter madness, I thought.

  But utterly splendid, and Arthur made no complaint.

  11

  That night, Emily spread her bedroll on the ground in front of the cabin in the very same spot where Arthur had lain himself down the previous night. It was Emily's plan. To me, it seemed foolhardy. Though I'd gently urged her time and again to abandon such a coarse of action, she remained no less determined than ever.

  To my everlasting regret, I took no action to stop her.

  Though I'd feared the worst, I'd told myself that perhaps we would prevail. The alternative, subduing Emily by force and taking her away, would have cost me her love.

  Far better to have lost her love, however, than…

  Let me tell it as it occurred.

  Soon after the fall of darkness, I took my position and Emily took hers. She lay on her bedroll, a blanket over her body, a bowie knife clutched in her hand. I lay stretched out on the ground a few feet away from her, Arthur's shotgun resting on top of me, my entire body hidden beneath a scattering of leafy limbs—a method of concealment I'd discovered while reading accounts of the Apache chief Geronimo.

  I knew full well that Arthur's shotgun, fired at point-blank range into the winged monster, had failed to save him. However, a study of his two empty shells revealed that they'd been loaded with a light birdshot. Arthur had been well prepared for shooting ravens irom the sky, never guessing he would find himself attacked by a monster the size of an aeroplane.

  In his pack, I found other cartridges, many containing heavy loads of buckshot. Several were armed with solid lead slugs. I slipped two of the slug-bearing shells into the shotgun and filled my pockets with more ammunition.

  The heavier ammo gave us a fighting chance. Or, more accurately perhaps, the frail hope of a fighting chance.

  Countless times as I lay on my back waiting, I told myself, Of course the birdshot didn't harm the damn beast. But the slugs certainly will. The slugs will knock it silly, blast it dead. They're bound to. Only a fool would throw birdshot at such a creature. What was Arthur thinking? If he'd had his shotgun properly loaded for the occasion, he'd still be with us.

  I told myself those words so many times, probably, because I hoped to make myself believe them.

  I hoped they were true, but doubted it.

  Time and again, as we lay there silent in the dark, I imagined myself leaping up, casting the foliage aside, and rushing over to Emily, grabbing her arm, pulling her up, blurting, Enough of this madness! We'll spend the night in the cabin and be away from this godforsaken place first thing in the morning! I imagined Emily trying to struggle free from my grip. I imagined shaking her roughly by the shoulders. Enough! I won't have us throwing our lives away for the sake of Arthur's damned head—a head that was of questionable worth even when it still resided atop his neck!

  But perhaps the slugs will stop it this time, I told myself.

  Or perhaps the monster is elsewhere tonight, somewhere far away, and we'll get through the night unscathed.

  I had little hope, however, for any such outcome.

  Finally, near the end of my tether, I was about to leap up and call a halt to the plan when I detected the faint whup… whup… whup of the monster's flapping wings.

  “Arthur?” Emily asked.

  “I hear it. There's still time. Shall we make for the cabin?”

  “Never,” said Emily.

  The flapping of the terrible wings grew louder, louder.

  In a gentle, coaxing voice, Emily said, “Come along, darling. Come to Emily.”

  I thought for a moment that the words were meant for me.

  Silence. Then came the noise of the beast smashing through the nearby treetops as it soared down at us. Then WHAP WHAP like boat sails snapping in a gale.

  I bolted upright, shouldered my weapon, thumbed back both the hammers, and swung the shotgun toward the sky—a sky obliterated by the black shape of the monster.

  I fired off both barrels.

  KRAWBOOM! KRAWBOOM! The muzzle flashes ripped the night like lightning bolts.

  In their glare, I glimpsed the beast—its red eyes, its horrid beak.

  Then darkness, utter blackness.

  Emily screamed.

  Oh, God! Does it have her?

  Blinded by the flashes, I broke open the shotgun. I flicked the spent shells from the chambers. With hands that quaked, I struggled to insert two fresh shells. One fell to my lap. But one went in and having no more time, I snapped the breach shut and thumbed back the hammer.

  I could tell by the sounds of Emily's voice that she was no longer on the ground where she'd spread her bedroll.

  And so I swung the barrels in the direction of her voice.

  Upward.

  And fired.

  In the sudden flash, I saw Emily in the talons of the beast, squirming and kicking—driving her bowie knife into its breast as it bore her into the night.

  After the flash, they both vanished in the black.

  But I still heard Emily's voice through the ringing in my ears and the squeals of the beast and the flapping sounds of its giant wings. She shouted, “There! Die! DIE!” She kept shouting those same words again and again as her voice faded in the distance and finally disappeared.

  12

  The next day, I searched the woods.

  I hoped against hope that Emily had stricken the beast with mortal wounds and had somehow escaped from it.

  I found no sign of the beast or Emily.

  13

  That night, I was the bait.

  I lay all by myself on Emily's bedroll in front of the cabin and waited, the shotgun resting along the length of my body but concealed by the blanket.


  That night, I had no illusions about the shotgun.

  But perhaps if I should strike the beast in just the right place.

  Late in the night, I heard the whup… whup… whup of its approach. My heart quickened. I cocked the shotgun.

  I'll either have my vengeance or the beast will have me!

  As the flapping sounds grew nearer, nearer, I expected to hear the beast come smashing down through the trees.

  But it didn't.

  High above the tops of the trees, it glided overhead, blocking out the moonlight.

  I led it, shut my eyes for an instant to save them from the night blindness, and fired a single barrel.

  Through the deafening explosion came an ear-splitting SCREEEK! I opened my eyes in time to see the beast flinch in the moonlight.

  Something fell from it.

  Fell from underneath it, making me suspect that perhaps my slug had indeed struck a sensitive region, causing the beast to drop whatever it was bearing away in its talons.

  Gazing upward, I watched two objects falling toward the ground.

  The monster ducked and whirled as if to retrieve them.

  I fired again.

  The second shot seemed to change its mind. It swooped upward and flapped off and vanished.

  14

  The next morning, I searched the woods near the cabin until I found both the objects lost by the monster.

  They stand side by side on the table as I sit alone in the cabin, penning this narrative of my hideous adventures.

  They are oblong cylinders, perhaps a foot in height, constructed of a strange, metallic substance unlike anything I've ever seen before. The cylinders are shiny like silver. They both have lids… lids that may be rather easily unscrewed and removed, but which will never again be removed by me.

  If and when I attempt my escape from this unholy region, I shall take both cylinders with me.

  I shall keep them both with me always, if I live. Emily would want it that way; God knows, she would not wish to be separated from her brother.