That Which Should Not Be

by Talley, Brett J.

  The mighty doors of the citadel stood open. In this we were lucky. Given their girth and height, we never would have been able to budge them alone. We stepped inside, and despite the high-vaulted ceiling — the top of which I could not see — and lack of windows, the entire corridor was illuminated by some preternatural light that had no source. And at the end of the corridor, standing in front of a sarcophagus in which the denizens of an entire city could be buried, was Thayerson.

  He was not a man, not anymore. His skin hung from his body like a loose rag. He was stretched and broken, with crude horns piercing his skull and claws where his hands once were. Those hands were raised above his head; words which I did not know poured from what was left of his mouth.

  “It's over, Thayerson!” Captain Gray yelled, raising his rifle. Thayerson froze. Then, he turned. His distorted face appeared to smile.

  “No, Captain. But it is finished.” His voice seemed to change, seemed to come from somewhere beyond this world as he said, “Ph'lna estraphar morte, Cth-ul-hu!”

  The Captain fired a shot, but the explosion of his gun was drowned out by the laughter from that which had been Thayerson. As the Earth began to shake, Thayerson's laughter seemed to surround us, bouncing off the walls and the far ceiling, covering us and pounding on our ears. The Captain didn't hesitate.

  “So, that's what it is, then,” he yelled above Thayerson's cackle. He removed the Necronomicon from the bag he had brought from the ship. “You must get the Incendium Maleficarum. It is the only thing that can save us now.”

  Thayerson faced the great stone box, his arms raised, babbling manically about the return of his master. Captain Gray was now reading from the Necronomicon, chanting yet more words I did not understand.

  “Thayerson!” I yelled. “Give us the Book!”

  He turned to me, and I watched the smile melt from his face as I pulled a large, golden cross from my coat. “The Book!” I commanded, taking a tentative step towards him. His grin returned.

  “The age of such icons is over.”

  He lifted a claw, and with a flick of his wrist, I felt the handle of the cross shatter in my hands, leaving nothing but a jagged rod. The golden cross clattered against the floor, and with that sound I felt my heart sink. But only for a moment. I did the only thing I could imagine — I threw myself at Thayerson.

  I felt my body collide with his, felt his cold, clammy-wet skin rub against my face. His balance was off, and we both tumbled to the ground. But it was the Book that concerned me the most. I saw it slam onto the stone floor beside me. With one swift movement, I slid the Book towards Captain Gray, watching as it spun its way to his feet. At that instant, I felt my body lifted into the air, felt a bizarre weightlessness for the split second before I was flung to the ground with as much violence as Thayerson could muster.

  “Insect! Foolish beast!” Thayerson spat, lifting himself by some unknown force until his feet seemed to float above the ground. “I would kill you now. But your fate will be different. You shall live to see his glory, and then you will die at his hands.”

  Thayerson turned his attention from me, and I saw as he stretched out one arm, the palm of his hand upturned. His mouth moved, and though I could not hear his words, I could see the ball of fire that began to grow in the middle of his claw. I looked from it to Captain Gray. The captain was so engrossed in whatever ritual was contained in the depths of the crimson-clad book in his hands he did not notice the swirling death about to envelope him. It was then I felt the lump beneath me.

  I pulled myself up on my knees, grasping the broken cross in one hand. I stood, though every fiber of my body screamed against it. Thayerson didn't even notice me, didn't notice as I staggered towards him, didn't notice as I lifted the cross over my head. With every remaining ounce of power I had, I thrust the jagged edge down and into the back of the beast before me. I smelled burning flesh before I heard the scream, a horrible screech followed by the explosion of the swirling fire in Thayerson's hand, an explosion that once again lifted me into the air and slung what had been Thayerson against the far wall.

  I fought against the blackness, knowing that succumbing now would be the end of me. I looked at Thayerson's body lying lifeless on the ground, the shining cross still jammed between his shoulder blades. Then my eyes went to the stone coffin. The Earth still shook, and as I watched, the slab that covered the tomb began to move. It slid, slowly but with purpose, across the top of that coffin, until it fell from its perch, slamming against the ground with such force I thought the whole building would collapse upon me. It was then I looked to Captain Gray.

  “Run, you fool!” he commanded, his eyes burning with a holy fire. Then he did something I didn't expect. He smiled. He winked. I don't know why, but there was something in that gesture that gave me the strength to pull myself up and run to the door. Yet even as I reached it, I couldn't help but turn around. What I saw then, it haunts me even now, even after a lifetime of seeing things no man should see.

  I will describe it as best I can, though I doubt the words of any human tongue can properly give it form. The slab had fallen, and the open coffin sat before us, the air empty above it. But it was not empty for long. A swarm of massive tentacles appeared from within, slapping and vibrating, undulating while searching for something to grasp. Then, two arms, muscular, massive, thick as steel beams and just as strong, with two great claws at the end of each appeared. These claws grasped the sides of the sarcophagus, lifting up the rest of that terrible beast. His head cannot be described, a combination of skull and dragon and Leviathan, with evil red eyes that seemed to possess the power of the basilisk to kill on sight.

  It was when the great, leathery wings spread wide to the ceiling that I ran. I ran down out the great doors, past the kneeling statues. I ran down the causeway, with no concern for what I might encounter. I ran, but I still heard the chant of the Captain behind me. Then I heard him pause. After that pause, I heard a word. What was that word? I cannot say, and I know if I could, I would not have lived to see the sunset. But I do know what I heard was as fire, a fire so hot it seemed to burn my ears. And, as one would expect from a fire, there was a burst of light. Had I been facing it, I have no doubt my eyes would have been roasted from my skull.

  As bizarre as it may sound, I felt in that fire, in that heat, in that light, and in that pain, an overwhelming sense of joy, of happiness, as if I was standing in the presence of the Lord Himself. But that moment was short-lived — the island began to sink.

  I ran faster now, so fast I almost stumbled over the body of one of Thayerson's sailors. Even with the Earth sinking below me, I took the moment to survey a scene as macabre as any I have ever come upon. Thayerson's crew was all dead, each of them lying where they fell. But there were no bodies, not really. Instead there were only masses of flesh. It was as if they had been dead for some months, moldering in the open sun. I didn't look long, as another quake woke me from my amazement.

  I could barely stand, as the shaking beneath me grew so violent I didn't know where my foot would land from one step to the next. It seemed an eternity before I reached the sea. My prayers were answered — one boat still waited. The men within — Drake, Henry, Jack, William, and Daniel — were yelling for me to run. This I did, veritably leaping into the boat as I reached it.

  “Captain Gray?” Drake yelled. It was all I could do to shake my head. Drake had expected it. He screamed orders to the others, and before I knew it, we were moving away from the island. I looked down at Henry. He was clutching a bloody cloth against his side.

  “A flesh wound,” he said with a weak smile.

  I watched as R’lyeh disappeared again beneath the waves, watched as it sank back to the depths. And I prayed neither I nor any man would ever see the likes of it again.

  We did not speak as we rowed away, back to The Kadath. We did not speak as we reached the ship. We didn't even speak as Drake pointed to the object that floated with unnatural speed toward us. Nobody said a word as we lifte
d it into the longboat, placing it into the center of us all. We didn't speak. We didn't have to. It spoke for us . . . though there was only one of us who heard its song.

  Chapter

  39

  Forty-five years it has been. Forty-five years since I heard the Book's song once more, the song that told me I had been chosen yet again. From that moment, somewhere in the unknown seas of the South Pacific, I knew the day would come when the Book would sing no more. I knew when that day came, it would mean the end of me. For I would never relinquish that dark tome, not again. The Book seeks its own. It seeks those through which it can do the most evil. And in me, it expected to find an owner who could return it once more to R’lyeh. It had been so close before.

  I have dedicated these past forty-five years to understanding the evil that lies beyond man's imagining, that lurks in the crevices between space, that haunts man's dreams. There have been times when Henry and I have suspected the Rising was upon us, that evil was poised to return. But the stars have never been quite right, not as they were that day, four decades ago. And despite the events of Dunwich and Innsmouth and the insane ravings of a certain Norwegian sailor, the danger has never risen to such a fever pitch again. But then, three days ago, the Book ceased to sing.

  I knew it was coming. I felt it. I can't say how, but I did. It was a warm December day, incredibly unusual for Arkham. I was sitting in my office, reading Mather's Wonders of the Invisible World for the first time in a long time, when there was a knock on my door.

  A young man in an expensive suit entered. He wore a hat and small, wire-rimmed glasses, a leather briefcase in his hands.

  “Dr. Weston,” he said in a thick German accent, bowing slightly. “I am Dr. Erich Zann of the University of Berlin. We understand you may be in possession of an artifact of some antiquity. We would like to have access to that object.” Then, he smiled. “We are, of course, willing to make a substantial donation to the University in exchange for borrowing it.”

  I had kept the Book with me every moment of every day for the last four decades. Its song had become so ever-present I barely noticed it. And so, in that moment, when that song finally ceased, the silence was deafening.

  “I must say, Dr. Zann,” I replied, “I have no idea what you may be speaking of. I assure you our library has many interesting objects, and I am sure you can work out an arrangement to share some of those artifacts with your University.”

  Zann smiled, but it covered a snarl.

  “No, Dr. Weston. I do not believe your library can help me here. I believe you have a tome in your possession. It is bound in crimson leather. It is a spell-book, as ancient as it is valuable. The people I represent,” he said, pausing. He had said more than he intended. “They would appreciate having access to this artifact. We would return it post-haste, of course.”

  “Dr. Zann,” I said sharply, “I assure you I have no such artifact. I am afraid you have been misled. If you have no other requests, I am sorry to say that I have work to do, and I will have to ask you to leave.”

  This time Zann didn't smile. He simply said, “I am staying at the Miskatonic Inn. I will be there for the next seven days. I suggest you re-examine your collection. If you should locate the object I seek, you know where to find me. Seven days, Dr. Weston.”

  As the door closed behind him, and as silence surrounded me for the first time in decades, I knew I must write this testament. Dark forces are moving in the world again. I will do my best to protect the Book. I shall give my very life to do so. But in the end, I fear the fate of the world will be in others' hands. How many will suffer to save it? How many will die? I cannot say. But if men are not so willing to sacrifice for the truth, then that which should not be, which must not be, which cannot be, shall be again. But it is my faith that, in the end, good will defeat evil, light will outshine the darkness, and justice will prevail. God let it be so.

  Epilogue

  January 31, 1933

  Mr. Ashton,

  You have our utmost thanks for your discretion in relation to what is apparently the final testament of Dr. Weston. We fear you are correct — Dr. Weston's advancing age had apparently robbed him of his sanity.

  In an abundance of caution, we have endeavored to investigate the events described by Dr. Weston. While most of the names and incredible happenings described within the testament appear to have been fabricated, we have discovered a Dr. Zann, though his position as Reich Minister of Cultural History in the newly formed German government casts serious doubt on Dr. Weston's characterization of him as a vicious person.

  We have determined your initial assessment is correct. This document is dangerous both to Dr. Weston's legacy and to his heirs. We have, therefore, determined we will destroy the copy of the testament you have provided us. We suggest you do the same. We are convinced Dr. Weston, in his more lucid days, would have been most appreciative.

  Sincerely,

  Stansbury Charles

  Charles & Frankfurt

  Table of Contents

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Epilogue