“We should get out of here,” Megyn said.
“What?” Deak said. “Do you see that down there? Something’s still going on.”
“Yeah,” Aurora said, “more stuff they probably don’t want a lot of witnesses to, if you think about it.”
The women managed to talk him into leaving, but none of them got far. They stepped out from under the base of the evergreen to find themselves looking into the business ends of several ugly conventional weapons.
***
“You people were the only ones stupid enough to stay and watch,” General Wheatley said. “Lucky for you, we lost a few good soldiers on that mess and you’re all in pretty good shape.”
“What, are we being drafted?” Deak said.
“Other choice is an unmarked grave, son,” Wheatley said, looming tall over the seated trio. “I don’t have any say in the matter at all. Policies are in place.”
“I can’t go,” Megyn said. “I have a son.”
“No problem,” Wheatley said, his drawn and wrinkled brow hovering over one grim visage. “We’ll go get him too.”
“He’s ten.”
Wheatley shrugged, his medals jingling.
“We have a day care center. Top notch. In six years, he’ll be on the team right alongside you.”
“This is insane,” Deak said. “Just because we watched what went down? We won’t tell anyone.”
“Respectfully son, like hell you won’t.”
“Tell us what’s going on,” Aurora said, obviously more curious than concerned. “That will help us decide.”
“Fine. That damn band got their hands on some knowledge we thought—we HOPED—was long dead and they used light and sound to tear a rift in the fabric of what we call reality. Or rather they summoned that creature—called Cthugha, I believe—to feed and it tore the hole to get there. We drove it off…”
“With the aid of an evil god’s priestess?”
“I’ll get to that, little lady. Don’t interrupt. We drove it off before it went on a much worse rampage. Had we had better intel we might have saved a lot more lives here tonight. But either way we stopped it and sent it away.”
He pulled out a chair on his side of the long meeting table in the windowless underground room that Deak, Aurora and Megyn had been hustled off to via a second stealth helicopter—a chopper that apparently had been dispatched to the event scene just to haul them. He set a polished shoe on the seat and put a hand on the bent knee hovering over it to steady himself as he looked his potential new recruits right in their collective eyes.
“This is what we do. We stop Cthulhu’s idiot servants. Or more accurately I should say we try to stop them before they’ve done things like this. Usually we get there in time, but we were too late for this one. So in this case that means we’re left with a sort of permanent mess.”
“What do you mean?” Deak said.
“Son,” Wheatley said, “since you were up there snooping the whole time you probably noticed that we got rid of the monster…but not the hole it came through.”
“Oh shit,” Deak said. “I mean oh shit, sir,” he said when Wheatley scowled at him. “Are you saying there’s like a permanent hole in reality there now?”
“No, not ‘like’ one…there IS one. Goodbye City Park, hello huge new government laboratory enclosing rift in the universe. Because that’s how it’s gotta be.”
“All because of Lovecraft?”
“Maybe,” Wheatley said. “Although modern scientists typically pose more of a threat than searchers for arcane knowledge, as you’ve just seen firsthand both threats can strike equally hard.”
“Crap,” Deak said. “Go to see a concert, end up drafted into the secret military.”
Wheatley straightened and set his foot back down noiselessly on the short, dense carpeting.
“That’s about the size of it, I’m afraid. The folks who ran and kept running got off the hook. Curiosity got three of you though. Still I’m hoping you people survive. We don’t like losing people.”
Deak was still thinking about his strangest of evenings.
“Amazing. Monsters exist. Reality can have holes torn in it. I’m gonna need some time to figure this all out.”
“Right now I’m feeling kinda glad I’ve read a lot of Lovecraft,” Aurora said. “But I gotta say I always thought it was fiction.”
“Fiction, fact,” Wheatley said, an odd little smile flashing beneath his neat white mustache, “tell ya what: assume everything is real until proved otherwise from now on and you’ll do just fine.”
As a former engineer and a lifelong student of physics, writer Kevin Candela is fascinated by the way the so-called parallel universes depicted in H.P. Lovecraft’s works have become a very popular viewpoint among modern theoretical physicists and mathematicians. “I don’t think it’s just coincidence,” Candela says, “and as far as I’m concerned it’s great that physicists respected by the mainstream have begun to embrace the idea that we live on one specific frequency, or in one frequency band, and there are quite possibly equally valid realities that most of us can’t perceive because they’re taking place at frequencies different from our own." His humor-tinged Lovecraft short story tribute “The Raise of Cthulhu” is featured in his sf/fantasy/horror collection entitled A Year in the Borderlands from J. Ellington Ashton Press. Candela’s core work is his Dragon’s Game Trilogy with Riot Forge Press, but he has two new novels coming out through Kent Hill Productions, Sinbad and the Argonauts and Weedeaters: The Complete Acropalypse. For a view of Candela’s quickly growing portfolio of novels and short story anthology contributions see his author page on Amazon.com.
THE THING IN THE TUB
ROY C. BOOTH AND WILLIAM HENRY TUCKER
Gerald Tetley Wilkins, Associate Professor of Metaphysical Research at the well-known and greatly respected Miskatonic University, had been smiling all day.
Up until just a moment ago, that is.
Gerald had been allowed the unrivaled opportunity of examining and utilizing one of the most incredible finds in the University’s long and illustrious history, truly the highlight of his academic career. He was smiling from ear to ear and had a great, burning curiosity to see what it would do out of the lab. Unfortunately, the University had given him short notice, and now he was in a little bit of trouble. Not only because he had brought it home and stashed it momentarily in the only place he could think of that was practical, but also, because he had let his mother-in-law in for a visit.
“Why did you let her in?” His usually understanding, beautiful wife seethed with venom, her eyes heavily hooded and darkened, her arms in the air; her face contorted into that almost-permanent look of anger she got whenever Lydia came to visit.
“Honestly, honey…” And that was the best he could come up with, trying to defend himself. He never could quite do himself justice with his wife, Cathy.
“Don’t honey me! Where is she?”
“In the living room, waiting for you,” he said, trying to reassure his wife of seven years. “Really, honey, she’s not too weird today.”
“Gerald.” She said his name with exasperation. He winced. “Seven years and you still don’t know my mother!” Cathy pushed aside her bespectacled husband, rushing into their apartment to see God-knows-what her mother may have done. Last time this happened, the drapes were on fire. Her mother was like that, and Gerald really did know it, but he couldn’t help taking pity on the poor woman. He liked his mother-in-law. Cathy said that liking Lydia was a character flaw, and he had to admit she was probably right.
He followed Cathy through the small entry hall into their apartment, opening out at once into a sunken living room and there, on the plastic-covered couch, in her fake mink coat and tight leather skirt, sat the aforementioned Lydia, his mother-in-law. She brandished a hypodermic needle from her purse upon seeing her daughter, jumped up and smiled, wrinkling her insipidly painted features grotesquely.
“Cat-Cat,” she said with enthusiasm; her
saccharine soprano voice filled the echo chamber that was Gerald and Cathy’s living room, rushing towards her daughter, needle in hand. “I have the most wonderful vitamin you just have to try!”
Cathy’s arms shot out from her sides fending off her deranged mother. “Gerald, you idiot!” she screamed.
Gerald stood behind his wife, mumbling something feeble about not realizing it was another seizure.
“She doesn’t have seizures,” Cathy said as she backed away from the needle. “I keep telling you, Mom’s just plain nuts!”
“Oh, piffle,” said Lydia dismissively. “I am not, Gerry.” She shuffled past her son-in-law. “I am not at all. This is going to help you and Gerry to have that baby you have been wanting, Cat-Cat.”
“Mom, please don’t call me that,” Cathy said, leaping over the sofa.
“Oh, don’t run!” Lydia wasn’t that old yet, but she was pudgy. Her agility was nothing short of stunning as she too leaped over the sofa.
“You mean the baby you’ve wanted me to have. Gerald, help!”
Gerald stood there, blinking. It was his method of dealing with any situation. Ultimately, it was his doom. He analyzed and observed. Before Gerald could even begin to formulate any kind of plan to help, Cathy turned and ran into the bathroom.
Gerald gasped slightly. The bathroom!? That’s where...He raised his brow. “Uh, uh...Hon?” His mouth slanted sideways on his open face, his glasses slipping from the bridge of his nose down to the point of almost falling off. He had wanted to keep his little secret a little longer, especially with Lydia present, but now. . .
Lydia skipped after her daughter into the bathroom before Cathy could shut the door. Gerald’s shoulders sank in abject resignation. Why didn’t these things ever turn out they way he wanted? There was a study to be made here, of that he was certain; the causal analysis of this unwanted mystic effect in his life, this so-called “weirdness magnet.” He would have to write it all up and submit it to Professor Cline for a laugh some day. He was sure Cline would get the joke. No one else at the University would. They were all rather dour and sedate and never saw their duties surrounding the mystic as something to be kidded.
Cathy had rounded the apartment, now rushing past Gerald. He barely had time to register that she had obviously gone through the bathroom, into their bedroom, and back out into the living room. Now she was shutting the door in the bathroom with her mother inside.
She turned her head, tousling her shoulder length blond hair over her eyes. “I locked the other door. She should be safe in here until I can get hold of Doctor Carter.” She closed the door in triumph.
“I am not going back to him, Cat-Cat,” said Lydia from behind the door.
“Give me something to prop the door shut,” stated Cathy, nodding to a dining room chair.
“Uhm...sweetie, I have a surprise.”
“Gerald, surprise me later. Mother was one surprise too many today.” She paused. “Now get a chair!” she commanded with a sharp tongue and a smile.
Gerald obeyed.
Within twenty seconds, Cathy had propped the chair under the doorknob of their little bathroom, trapping her mother inside. Gerald had turned white when she finally confronted him.
“Oh, for God’s sake, Gerald, I’ve locked her in bathrooms before.” Cathy crossed in front of him. “You should know how she is by now. Stop looking so silly, stop underestimating her, and go and pour me a strong Manhattan.”
“But Cath, honey...”
“Yesss, dear?”
“I have something in the bathtub.”
He couldn’t keep it from her—especially now. He had to tell her. He was hoping it would have been good news. The University didn’t just let any professor have one for study, and he was hoping to have a quiet conversation with his adorable, but demanding wife before he told her.
Right now, though, he didn’t know how he had talked himself into possibly thinking that it was going to be anything but what it was: a disaster. But, as always, he was forever hopeful.
Cathy called him hopeless.
“Really, honey, we really need to talk about this.”
She rolled her eyes. “Manhattan first, Gerald, and make it a double, please.” Cathy said it in that honey-dripped tone of hers, and he wasn’t sure it was going to be so bad anyway, so he went to the bar on the far side of the living room and began to mix. After all, he had yet to hear any screams from Lydia in the bathroom.
Some whiskey, some vermouth, and a dash of bitters later, he paused beside his wife. She took the full glass and kissed him gently.
“I’m sorry,” he offered.
“The drink makes up for it...a little bit,” she said softly. She accepted the drink and his apology. “What a day!” She took a sip. “This is not why I married you, Gerald,” she said, as she wiggled the glass between them, “But you do make a very mean Manhattan.”
He looked at her with genuine curiosity. “Why did you marry me?”
She lowered her head and then looked up at him, smiling wickedly. “You know,” she purred, and then giggled, “someday, I should probably tell you.”
He knew she never would. She was tall, leggy, buxom, and oh so brassy. She did treat him a little rough sometimes, but on the whole, it was a great marriage, or so he thought. But why had she married him? He knew he’d never find out. It was, after all, part of the great mystery that kept them together. They both knew that, so he kept asking, and she never gave an answer.
Lydia suddenly pounded on the bathroom door, interrupting their moment. “Cat-Cat,” she called out. “Cat-Cat, sweetie,” Lydia said in that sickly sweet tone of hers but tinged ever so slightly now with a note of panic in her booming voice. “Mom needs to come out now.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Yes, I do.”
“No, no you don’t.”
“There’s something in the bathtub and it’s very disgusting. Mommy doesn’t like it in here, she really doesn’t.”
“The tub is just a little dirty, Mom! Get over it!” Cathy rolled her eyes, sighed, and took another sip from her Manhattan. “And stop referring to yourself in the third person!”
“This dirt is...is it dirt? I can’t really tell...is bubbling and...crawling up the wall, Cat Cat.”
“Mother!” Cathy barked. “Don't be so darn dramatic! Just because we don’t have a maid like you...” she shouted at the bathroom door. The rest of the Manhattan went down in one gulp. Cathy spun on her heels to her husband, placing her delicate hand on his steady shoulder. She tipped the now empty glass back and forth between her thumb and forefinger, indicating, Gerald, I am going to need more of these.
“Cat -Cat! I brought you up better than this!” The pounding became frantic. “Let Mommy out, NOW!”
Cathy lowered her eyebrows. “Mommy can get stuffed!”
Gerald laid his palms on his tipsy wife's shoulders, preparing himself with a long breath. He looked over his shoulder, as Lydia's shouts became blood-curdling screams.
“Oh, Mother, knock it off already.”
A bead of sweat slowly trickled down Gerald’s forehead. “Uhm, Cath, I'll have to insist on agreeing with your mother. We should probably take her out of the bathroom now.”
“Why?”
“My shoggoth is in the tub.”
Cathy tilted back on her heels, cocking her head slightly to the right. “Schmoo...goth?”
“Shoggoth,” he corrected her slight malapropism even as he smirked slightly, returning his attention to the bathroom door. He tossed aside the chair and put his hand on the knob.
It was cold to the touch. Very cold.
Cathy hiccupped behind him, giggling at herself. Cathy didn't hold her liquor well and the first Manhattan was usually enough, especially as he tended to favor the whiskey in his mix, which was very often. And now she had slammed most of it. Unfortunately, he knew from then on she would prove to be of no help.
“Don't worry,” he said somewhat oblivious to the fact that she was
not in any way worried about anything. “It's small.” Gerald tugged at the door. It was stuck or something was holding it shut. And he silently prayed against that thought.
“Is it a baby?”
“What?”
“Is it a baby? I can’t imagine them giving you an adult—whatever-it-is. Is it a cute one?” Cathy asked.
“No. I mean, well, yes, but...we don't know. They don't come from here. I put it in the tub because the case I used to bring it home was too small.” But he didn't think it was when he put it into the container at the University. Had it grown?
“None of us come from New England, dear,” Cathy said with a sardonic smile. “It’s a blessing.” And then she glanced down at her drink, frowning. “My glass is empty.”
Gerald tried to pull the door open to the bathroom, but the door had jammed, completely. Lydia was now screaming incessantly, but she had stopped pounding. Gerald backed up, turned his right shoulder toward the door, speaking up to it: “Stand back, Lydia. I'm coming in!” He ran toward the door as fast as he could before coming to a complete and total stop.
Thud!
“Ow.”
The door shuddered but otherwise did not budge.
“Damn it, damn it,” he said under his breath. His mind was whirring. Had it grown? How had it grown? Why had it grown? He swore again. He was beginning to suspect that he shouldn't have taken it out of the University labs after all. There were conditions for study, he had been told. He was reasonably sure he shouldn't have brought it home, and he was absolutely certain as he took another running crash at the bathroom door that he shouldn't have decided it looked dehydrated. As he careened into the remarkably well-constructed and expensive, door of their bathroom, he cursed himself for turning on a trickle of water.
Gerald fell back onto the floor with another resounding thud. He looked up at the door and heard his wife laughing at him.
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