That Which Should Not Be

by Talley, Brett J.

  “Those are people, Henry.”

  I saw the doubt in his eyes, but then those eyes could deny no longer. I pulled Henry's arm, and though his gaze never broke from the figure above, we made our way underneath into the tunnel beyond.

  The cavern was left behind now, replaced by a narrow but still descending tunnel. A strange smell began to waft up towards us, not strange to us, but certainly to that place. It was the salt-spray scent of the sea. As the descent continued, I began to question my bearings. Though we seemed to have traveled down an untold distance, the unmistakable roar of ocean waves reverberated down the tunnel from only a short distance beyond. The tunnel cut off sharply, opening up into yet another chamber. This one was much different than the one behind.

  The cyclopean images from before were gone, but the walls were not bare. Rather than the images of gods of old, they were covered in deep set runes, the words and symbols of a language long dead and, if my expertise has shown me anything over these many years, not of this Earth.

  But the cavern was not complete. Opposite of us, where there should have been a wall, was a great opening, as if a gaping mouth, drawing in the sea beyond. Waves crashed against the cavern's edge, sending jets of water up and into the expanse. These streams of water ran down and into the center of the cavern, pooling around the feet of Dr. Atley Thayerson. Or what used to be Atley Thayerson. What stood there, then, was no longer a man.

  The cavern was empty, save for a great stone altar in its center, flanked by two burning torches. A small skeleton lay on the rocky floor. The fate of Sara Quincy was no longer a mystery. The flickering light of the torches cast dancing shadows down on the body that had replaced hers. Even in the weak light, I knew his face, that of a murderer condemned to death not a month before.

  How Thayerson had acquired him would remain a mystery, but it was clear he had learned the lesson that pure blood was of no use in the doing of evil. And blood there was. Spilling off the altar and dripping from the curved blade Theyerson still clutched in his hands.

  For his part, Thayerson stood cloaked in a garment that matched the crimson skin of one of the books before him. The Incendium Maleficarum and the Necronomicon were both open, together, no doubt, for the first time in a millennium. His face was a snarl, and his eyes were filled with a hate that was not of this world. Henry spoke first.

  “God, Thayerson, what have you done?”

  The thing, dressed in Thayerson's skin, stood at the edge of the altar, glaring at us.

  “Your god does not hear you. But I do.”

  Henry continued, “Give us the book, Thayerson!” The words were stronger than his heart, bolstered by the pistol he had removed from his jacket.

  “I don't think he is Thayerson. Not anymore, at least.”

  As if in grim confirmation, the thing began to cackle.

  “You fools,” he said. “Thayerson is dead. As you two soon shall be. The Book is mine. It always has been, as it always will be.”

  “Who are you?” I asked boldly.

  “Yog-Sothoth is the Gate. The Book is the Key. Soon it shall open, and from its mouth shall pour the true rulers of this world. The waters will boil. The moon will turn to blood. The forests shall burn, and the Sun shall turn as black as the skies of Gehennasa-ru. Then will this world become as it was — a paradise for us, a hell for you.”

  “Are you Yog-Sothoth?” I asked.

  “Yog-Sothoth? Yes, that is my name. But we have many names. For we are Legion.”

  “Legion?” Henry stammered.

  “When the gate is opened and the Lord of the Seas has risen, our true form shall be seen by all. But not by you, for now you will die.”

  At that moment, I pulled from my coat the two wooden staves I had brought with me. Crossing them in front of me, I hoped Jack's story had been as true as I now believed. It was only for an instant, but in that instant, fear was in the beast's eyes. He covered it quickly, with a burning hatred that had grown within his trapped being for tens of millennia.

  “Do you truly believe your emblems, your sigils of a broken God, can stop he who bends time, he who sleeps beneath the waves ‘til death itself has perished, he who walks between the folds of space itself? No. For now, I shall spare you. But only so you can taste the bitter death that awaits!”

  With that, he turned and flung himself into the thunderous ocean below. Henry and I ran to the edge, but there was only blackness beyond. Where he had gone with the Book was a mystery, but he had left the Necronomicon behind. Whatever purpose it had served was finished.

  “That was quick thinking,” a familiar voice said from behind.

  We spun on our heels, Henry still holding the pistol in his hand. To my shock, it was Captain Gray.

  “I was a fool to give you the Book, Carter. I know that now. It was a moment of weakness I won't soon repeat. I hoped I could arrive in time to prevent him from performing the ritual. Or at least stop you from trying anything foolish. In both, I see I failed.”

  “Captain Gray!” I exclaimed, pushing Henry's pistol down with my hand. “Why are you here?”

  The Captain chuckled. “Boy, have you learned nothing? There is fate in all this. For the last thirty years, I and those of my order have prepared for this day. The Rising has begun. But, although the night may be dark, it is not too late to bring back the light.”

  “To stop the Rising?” I said.

  “I have sent word to Newburyport. The Kadath will sail again. We will go together. I know where Thayerson, or should I say the thing he has become, is going.”

  “How can you know that?” Henry asked.

  “Because there's only one place he would go. To R'lyeh, the great city of the Old Ones. It rises even as we speak. That was the ritual performed tonight, that and the bringing forth of Yog-Sothoth. But there is one ritual yet remaining. Cthulhu still sleeps, his slumber uninterrupted. The rite must be said there, before his cyclopean tomb. Only then shall the work of evil be complete. If we can make it to the island before Yog-Sothoth, we can stop this where it stands.”

  “And if we don't?” Henry asked.

  Captain Gray's countenance grew dark, his mouth set, his eyes clear. “In that event, all is not yet lost. But the price to save this world will have grown much steeper and much dearer, indeed.”

  “Why do we wait?” I said.

  “That's the spirit, young man,” Gray said with a smile. “There is a reason fate chose you for this burden. The Kadath will arrive tomorrow in Arkham Harbor. We sail at dawn. From there we head south. Get sleep if you can. The journey will be long, and we will not rest again until it is completed.”

  With that we left that place of death, that den of evil, behind. Our journey up the winding stairs was arduous, but even upon returning to my room, I could not sleep. The purpose of my life had been revealed to me, as it seldom is to man. My only fear was I had not the strength to see it through.

  Chapter

  37

  To say I awoke early the next morning would be to misstate fact. In truth, I did not sleep. I lay in my bed, my mind racing across the events of the past few days. My rational mind rebelled, pleaded, cajoled, attempted to convince that all that came before was a hallucination, a feverish concoction of too much wine and too many dark tales.

  But it was of no effect. I had seen these things come to pass with my own eyes. And if we could not stop the evil which now danced in the darkness somewhere beyond the gates of Miskatonic University, then truly I was living in the last days. Of man, at least.

  When the first rays of the sun finally did peek through, I arose to find Henry sitting in the parlor, dressed and ready.

  “Slept well, I see.”

  “Like a rock,” he replied with a wry smile.

  We gathered our things; we had packed lightly. As I closed the door behind me, I wondered if I would ever see that place again.

  We made our way quickly to Arkham harbor, the sun's disk having barely cleared the horizon when we arrived. The Kadath stoo
d at anchor, Captain Gray leaning against the railing on her deck. He met us as we climbed aboard.

  “Gentlemen, our journey begins soon. You remember my crew?”

  With a wave he gestured to the three men behind him. William was the first to take my hand.

  “I had hoped we would not meet again,” he said, “but it would appear Arkham is as witch-haunted as ever.”

  “It would appear so.”

  Daniel and Jack were there, as well, and it felt good, even though I had met them only briefly, to see them again.

  “We will be traveling light,” Captain Gray said, “and I expect each of you, even you and Mr. Armitage here, to carry their weight. Mr. Weston, if I could speak to you for a second.”

  I followed Captain Gray into his study. He walked to his desk and picked up a sheet of paper.

  “I spoke to the harbor master earlier this morning. Thayerson, or what he has become, will soon possess untold powers. But not yet. His needs are not unlike our own.”

  “He needs a ship,” I said.

  “Precisely. And only one ship left last night. Not surprising, as the tide was at its height, and no sane sailor would have tried the passage at that time. But this ship did, and by some unholy miracle, it sailed against the tide to open sea. I thought you would be interested in the vessel's name.”

  He pushed the piece of paper towards me. I picked it up. I looked from it to the Captain.

  “It seems fate has a sense of humor.”

  As impossible as it would seem, the ship's name was unmistakably familiar.

  “The Lydia Lenore?” I said.

  “It would appear so.”

  “But you said she foundered?”

  “She did. But apparently whoever christened this ship did so unawares. She was launched not three months ago. Thayerson chose well. She's the fastest ship on the seas. Truth told, I do not know if we can overtake her. That's why each man will have to do his part, sailor or not. We will travel with a skeleton crew. Our supplies will be few. We need all the speed we can muster.”

  Time was not our ally, and I did not keep the Captain with idle chatter. In fact, the men had already sprung to work. Henry and I helped as best we could, but in truth, we were more of a liability than an asset. Before long, Henry had retired to his cabin, studying several works of arcane knowledge he had brought with him in lieu of his clothes. I stayed on the deck, watching the sea and the land as it slipped past our ship. Arkham harbor faded into the distance, the steeple of Christ's Church was the last memento of mankind to slip away. I had never known the sea, but I took to it immediately. Henry was less enthusiastic, and it wasn't long before a sickness had overtaken him.

  The ship sailed south as quickly as the winds would take us. In my naiveté, I suppose I had expected this would be a short voyage, a dash to some island just beyond Cape Cod. I had been wrong.

  “Our voyage will take us down the coastal seaboard, through the Caribbean and beyond the Equator. We will make the passage of the Horn, God willing. It is to the Pacific that our prey has flown.”

  It was to be a voyage of weeks, not days. If the whispered words of the more experienced men were any indication, the great Cape might end our journey before it even reached its destination.

  “The seas are filled with evil there, they are.”

  Phineas Drake was his father's son, and when that man — a sailor the Captain spoke as highly of as any man could — passed to the other side, Phineas had taken his place. The other sailors kept to themselves, speaking to us only rarely and only when necessary. They sensed a foreboding about us, and no man is more apt to surrender to the crushing hand of superstition than a seaman. But Drake feared little, if he feared at all.

  “It is a narrow river of water, crunched between the ice of Antarctica and the rocks of the Andes. There is no peace there, only a roiling cauldron of ice water so cold it will kill you faster than we could drag you out. If we could find you in the swells, that is.”

  It was a ghastly image, and one that no doubt would have terrified us all, were it not for the horror we had already faced. An icy death somehow sounded peaceful.

  * * *

  “We shall put in anchor at Charleston.”

  Gray pointed at a spot on the map he had spread on his desk.

  “Why not New York, Captain?” Drake asked. “She's closer, and we are running mighty low on supplies.”

  It was true. We had left the port of Arkham as soon as the tide would allow, and though the men had worked as quickly and efficiently as they could, we had been forced to ration.

  “Call it a hunch, Mr. Drake. The Lydia Lenore left in even more of a mad dash than we. Their supplies may have been more, they may have been less than our own. I believe they will press as far as they can, just as they pressed against the high tide. To go farther than Charleston, though, would be the ruin of them. Thayerson may not be human, but his crew still is, and they need food and drink as much as we do.”

  “You plan on making our stand there, then?”

  The Captain furrowed his brow and pursed his lips.

  “No, not quite, Mr. Drake. I do not believe we will catch them so easily. I am more interested in what the harbor master has to say about their coming. Intelligence is crucial in this endeavor.”

  “Then, Charleston it is, sir. I will mark our heading.”

  As Drake left, I asked Captain Gray, “What sort of intelligence do you hope to gather?”

  Gray threw his compass on his desk and walked around to where I stood. “Primarily,” he said, “how far ahead they presently are, what sort of speed they are making. They left port approximately eight hours before us. Not so much we can't overtake them, though their ship is faster. I have a feeling, however, perhaps they are not making as good a time as others might.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked. Gray held up his hand.

  “Let us see what we find in Charleston.”

  With that, I knew the conversation was at an end. Whatever mystery Charleston held would have to wait to be revealed.

  * * *

  Three days later, we arrived in Charleston harbor.

  “The air is foul,” Drake whispered as he peered out into the landing. I had never been to Charleston, but I could not imagine the scene that lay before me was anything but unnatural. Not a soul stirred on the docks. A mist seemed to rise from the depths, covering all it touched in its icy grip. As it crept up the side of the ship, I found myself raising my hands from the railing, lest the mist's skeletal fingers drain the very life from my body.

  “Mr. Drake,” the Captain said, “Mr. Weston and I will go ashore. Once we have determined the harbor is safe, we quickly procure supplies — enough to take us to the Caribbean, but not so much we can do so without hardship. Remember, speed is the key.”

  “But Captain, I don't think . . .”

  The Captain held up his hand to stop him. It was a habit of his, a man used to command who knew the thoughts of his subordinates before they did.

  “Mr. Drake, you are fully capable of sailing the ship. Should anything happen, my three compatriots and Mr. Armitage here will direct your path.”

  Drake frowned. He was not pleased, but neither did he argue.

  Only a few minutes later, we were in a yawl, the Captain moving us closer to the harbor with every stroke of his powerful arms. He had lost little vitality with age.

  “Do you believe,” I asked quietly, “the others can stop Thayerson if something should happen to us?”

  That thoughtful look I had now come to expect returned to the Captain's face.

  “If I thought,” he began, “anything would happen to us, I never would have left the ship. Believing in fate has its benefits. We are not scheduled to die here today,” he said with a wink.

  As I looked toward that desolate harbor, the only sound meeting my ears being the inky-black waves lapping against our oars, I wondered at his faith. We pulled our boat up to the jetty, and Captain Gray pulled me up onto solid ground. An
y other time, I probably would have remarked on the strange feeling of solidity after days of rocking ocean, but my mind was elsewhere.

  If you haven't heard it, you cannot comprehend the roar of the silence, the overpowering thunder of the absence of sound. I heard it that day. There is madness there, and it was with a touch of relief the bitter soundlessness was finally broken by our own footsteps. Captain Gray reached into his coat and pulled out a pistol. I wondered for a moment if that bit about fate had been solely for my benefit. I doubted anything we would meet feared the bullet.

  The harbor was as we had thought — deserted. The master's office was empty, the only movement was of the door as it swung lazily on its hinges.

  “Where did they all go?”

  Gray frowned. “At least there can be no doubt. Thayerson was here, and he has left his mark.”

  It was then we heard the creak of a door opening. Gray spun on his heel, pointing his pistol in the direction of the sound. An old man with scared eyes threw up his hands.

  “Don't shoot!” he begged.

  Gray lowered his pistol. “I'm sorry, sir, but we thought the harbor deserted.”

  “No need. With what passed through this place, I can understand going armed.”

  I stepped forward. “Can you tell us where everyone has gone?”

  “They fled after the coming of those . . . things. I know not how else to describe them. The men will return soon, no doubt, for the evil has finally deserted us.”

  The Captain excused himself and walked quickly to the dock. He fired a single shot into the air, the preordained signal it was safe to come ashore. He, then, returned to where we stood.

  “Tell us,” the Captain commanded.

  The man looked from him to me for a moment. With a gesture he bid us join him in the room beyond. It was a tavern, and after pouring three drinks, one to fortify himself in the telling and the others to give us strength in the listening, he began to speak.

  * * *

  “It fell upon us not seven hours before you arrived. There were signs of its coming. I heard them before I saw them, the terrified screeching, the almost demonic squeals. When I looked out my window, the sky was hidden. At first, I didn't know what my eyes beheld. Great, white, undulating masses of clouds. But no, not clouds — birds. Every bird in the sea and sky it seemed. And I knew whatever they fled was coming for us.