Dreams of Eschaton
Page 7
Chapter 6
The Black Goat of the Woods
“They carry me with them, always. My line bears my mark and my blood; I flow through their veins and course through their lives until the very last. I am Petir, fleeing in the blackness of night. I can taste my terror. I am Andrei, mourning my sweet Elena, raging against the loss of my love. I am Dmitry, departing the Báthory Castle for the last time. I am Alexander, butchering the whores in Whitechapel. I am Roger, listening to the screaming child as I die in the hall. I am The Marked One. The Last Son, gazing up at a screaming sky. I have run the length of the chain, the ribbon of blood stringing us along. The things I’ve seen through their eyes, tasted on their tongues.”
-Gregori Weder
The moon-less sky was black except for the scattered points of light. Burfict was shocked how bright they looked beyond the light pollution from local Gatherstown. One could just make out the sweeping glow of the Milky Way, lightening the opaque blackness like a thin watercolor stripe. The night air was warm and muggy, heavy with humidity. The highway was miles away, and the only sound was the soft rustle of the warm breeze through the overgrown weeds, and the incessant chirp of crickets.
Ahead, Burfict could see a figure moving into the dilapidated barn. Wordlessly, he followed the shadow inside the structure, stopping just within the door as it noisily swung shut behind him – its rusted hinges squealing in protest. He waited for his eyes adjust to the pitch blackness of the barn’s interior, while he stood patiently in the inky darkness. The room was silent aside from the soft rustle of fabric and Burfict’s own breathing. Suddenly, there was a flare of light, as the figure before him lit a candle and placed it on the ground. The soft glow of the tiny flame reminded Burfict of the stars outside, fluttering silently in the blackness of this place. Sullivan’s nude body stood before him, lighting additional candles, glowing softly in the orange hue. He was scrawny, his back looking like nothing more than webbing between his jutting ribs. Sullivan’s scraggly black hair was greasy and unkempt, kept short to avoid upkeep.
Sullivan moved quickly and purposefully, lighting the five candles and then standing in the center of the pentagram, facing the back wall of the structure. He arched his back and shouted, his voice booming in the stillness of the night “Iä! Iä! Shub-Niggurath! The Black Goat of the Woods! She with a Thousand Young! The stars are right! Hear this f’thagh; I have for you, grunsntch’tak! Rend this veil, and make this place yours!” Burfict was amazed such a voice could be issued from such a pathetic creature. It hung in the air, and then the Earth grew silent. The wind ceased blowing through the bare-timber walls, and the insects were suddenly soundless. All of existence collectively held its breath in terrible anticipation.
Then he felt it – a ripple through the air, distances and times were distorting. The very fabric of creation stretched and Burfict could feel something slide across our existence, as a water spider may feel the ripple of a fish. Though distances between things remained the same, Burfict felt the room contract and contort, like a camera zooming in a Hitchcock film. He felt a wave of nausea take him as his world rocked wildly on the ocean of beyond. A point on the wall in front of Sullivan seemed to fall away, as if it was retreating to a horizon, and then with a crack, the world tore asunder. The wall was replaced with a hole, unfathomably black, perfectly round, and approximately the size of a man. The air felt cool, and a soft breeze seemed to be flowing from behind Burfict towards the rift, as reality tried to fill its emptiness.
Burfict stared into the torn existence, utterly fascinated. It was impenetrably dark, almost as if it were opaque. Perfect darkness. The pentagram of candles surrounding Sullivan continued to burn, casting an orange pallor over everything in the barn but the hole in the world – it swallowed the light. As he stared transfixed into the abyss, he suddenly felt movement through the opening. He still couldn’t see anything, but he could feel a form beyond the mouth of the hole – something ravenous and insatiable. His heart raced, and he felt an unnamable dread grip his belly as long-buried instincts sensed a predator. “Stop this,” he whispered. “Stop this before it’s too late.” But Sullivan could not hear him. Something began straining against the inky blackness of the abyss, stretching it into the room, like a face against a sheet.
“Shub-Niggurath,” whispered Sullivan, still standing in awe of the form strained against the nothingness in the air. The blackness finally gave way and something heavy fell to the floor, flopping on the earthen ground like a freshly caught fish in a boat. In an instant, the hole was gone, the wall replaced as if it had never been missing. Burfict strained his eyes in the darkness to make out the now still form on the floor, and then gasped. It was a person, crouched into a fetal position, their back to the two men, just visible in the soft reddish glow of the five candles. And then the figure moved, slowly rising to its feet.
It was a woman, and her movements were elegant, almost graceful. She was still standing in the shadows, the small flames of the candles barely silhouetting her form against the dark walls. She took a step into the light, and the golden glow of the flames slowly crawled up her long, lithe leg. Burfict was reminded of a ballerina – her movements carried with them a certain perfection unseen in nature. Wide, curved hips swayed effortlessly into the light next, her smooth, creamy skin almost radiant in the soft orange light. There was no sound as she moved, as if everything waited on her. Her breasts were large and firm, rising slowly with her gait, as she purposely strode towards Sullivan. It wasn’t until her head came into view of the flame that Burfict realized in horror what he was looking at. The head of a large goat rested upon her shoulders, with massive, curved horns thrusting from the crown of its head. Thick, coarse black fur came to a small beard under her chin, and continued down to her shoulders where it stopped abruptly. Slitted eyes stared out at Sullivan, inhuman and unfathomable. Sullivan said nothing for a moment as the two regarded each other in utter silence, until he finally shouted again “Iä! Iä! Shub-Niggurath!”
The beast pushed Sullivan onto his back and straddled him, mounting his prostrate form, and brayed loudly at it lowered itself onto him. Sullivan continued chanting “Iä! Iä! Shub-Niggurath!” as the two began thrusting into one another. For a moment, they moved slowly, warming to one another. The only sound was Sullivan’s chanting and the horrible panting of the goat woman. Soon, they sped up, almost into frenzy, and the goat-woman leaned close to Sullivan’s face, seeming to lock her inhuman eyes with the man beneath her. Slowly, the goat’s head turned to the side, and her mouth met that of Sullivan’s. It could almost be mistaken for a passionate kiss until the goat’s head pulled away, dragging chunks of sinew and flesh with it. The scent of blood hung heavy in the air, as Sullivan’s chant gave way to a scream of surprise and pain. His body stiffened, and the woman ground into him, blood dripping from the flesh hanging from her mouth, and dribbling down her body. She breathed heavily now, a cloud of hot breath and blood escaping her mouth as she pinned the thrashing body under herself, her movements slowing to a stop.
Sullivan screamed again, and began twisting in agony on the ground, his hands contorting into claws as he grabbed at his chest. The woman rose off of him slowly and strode past Burfict towards the door of the barn, not looking back to see the now still body of Sullivan. The man’s last breath gurgled through the blood pouring out of his mouth and he was still.
Burfict turned to follow the thing, and watched as she silently exited the barn. He looked for foot-prints, but she left none, even in the soft earthen ground. She moved without a trace, like the whisper of a departed lover. He followed her outside and watched as she gazed into the night sky. Appearing to see something, she then set out in a southerly direction, striding slowly and inexorably, her nude form barely a penumbra against the black featureless shadows of the moonless night. Burfict awoke as a wave of nausea took him.