Atomic-Age Cthulhu: Tales of Mythos Terror in the 1950s

by Robert Price

  Inside were hundreds of 3-D glasses, banded together in bundles of 50. The blue and red cellophane lenses glowed in the fluorescent light of the snack bar, gleaming with the promise of worlds beyond imagining awaiting those brave enough to slip on a pair of those boss shades. How cool this would be, and Billy had a guaranteed front row seat for it!

  He carried the glasses out to the ticket booth and stacked them on a shelf so Cindy Potillo would be ready to roll when she showed up for work that night. Cindy was a real doll; kind of kooky but never stuck up like most of the other popular girls. He would never admit that he had a crush on her but it was there, and it was a struggle to keep it under control whenever she was around.

  He removed another bundle from the box and hesitated. There amidst the unpacked bundles lay a pair of completely different glasses. They were made of smooth, shiny plastic, the lenses nearly a quarter of an inch thick and both tinted a soft, rosy color. How they were supposed to work with 3-D was a mystery; one of the lenses had to be blue, he knew that much about the process. Maybe they were some kind of prototype, shipped to the Sundown by accident. Yeah, that must be it.

  There was enough work on his plate to keep him busy till the movie started, so he filed the weird glasses in his shirt pocket for future examination and got back to it.

  The first feature that night was a low-budget black-and-white flick that would satisfy the backseat bingo crowd until it was good and dark; then it was off to Dimension X! It was a good crowd, hipsters and their Sophies from three different high schools and a scattering of oldsters who’d come to actually watch the movies. Then there were the greasers; there were always greasers.

  They were the troublemakers, the bane of Billy’s existence. They were loud, rude and arrogant for no reason he could fathom, considering most had dropped out of school, didn’t have a job and were responsible for most of the town’s random acts of vandalism and petty crime. It fell to Billy to deal with these hoodlums; Mr. Blodgett would hide in his icebox office making excuses until Billy gave up and tried to do something about it himself. That usually got him laughed at and shoved around a lot, plus a couple of times he’d wound up with a bloody nose or a shiner that had given his mom a fit.

  But he never backed down and always came back. This unwise stubbornness was eventually rewarded with the grudging respect of Joey Spadona, who everyone knew was the greasers’ unofficial leader. Things rarely got out of hand, which pleased Mr. Blodgett because he wouldn’t have to suffer the personal or professional embarrassment of having the cops show up at his place of business.

  The first feature turned out to be kind of a snooze, so Billy pulled out the glasses for a better look. The stems felt rough against his fingers, and closer eyeballing revealed they were engraved with a line of weird symbols he’d never seen before. They looked like something out of one of those black magic flicks where a bunch of rejects call up some slimy demon to do their bidding and manage to screw it all up.

  Those peepers were more than just a passion pit novelty, and it was a sure thing they were intended for more than viewing The Creature from Dimension X, but what? Only one way to find out; he slipped the glasses onto his head.

  A flash of something washed through his brain and his eyes grew cold as though chilled by an arctic wind. Instinctively he moved to pull the glasses off, but the sensation abated before his fingers could reconnect with the plastic. That hadn’t been too bad, but what had been done to him?

  He focused on the movie screen; nothing there, the first feature wasn’t in 3-D, but it now had a rosy glow to it thanks to the tinting of the lenses. Scanning the field of cars ranked in a gentle arc facing the screen revealed that the glasses did make things more visible in the gathering darkness. Cool, night vision glasses!

  A figure passed the doorway in which he was standing, the motion drawing his eye. He froze, gripping the doorframe as a wave of sick fear coursed through his veins.

  What he saw was a twisted combination of lizard and snake, a scaly, iridescently green creature that walked upright but in no other way bore resemblance to anything human. An abnormally long neck supported the overlarge head of some giant serpent who’s forked tongue fluttered out to sample the night air as its yellow, ophidian eyes glared out on the world with cold cruelty and unutterably evil intent.

  Stifling an outcry, Billy fell back into the storeroom behind him, yanking the glasses from his face. What was that, and what was it doing prowling around the Sundown in plain sight? Billy inched back to the doorway and took a cautious peek outside.

  A figure was there, but it was only Mr. Harrington, who’d recently got a job as night janitor over at the nuclear power plant just outside town. A lot of people had been employed at the plant, and several new families had joined the community because of the place, so there were a lot of strangers around town these days, meaning more potential customers for the drive-in.

  Mr. Harrington wasn’t one of those; he’d been a resident for as long as Billy could remember. That was the thing about small towns; everyone knew everyone and, it seemed, everyone ended up knowing everyone else’s business.

  Billy stepped back outside, keeping his eyes locked on the now plain old Mr. Harrington as he strolled to his car, popcorn in one hand, tube steak in the other. What could be more normal on a Friday night at the drive-in? Reluctantly he raised the glasses to his eyes.

  The reptilian horror strolled unnoticed between the rows of parked cars, disappearing behind the fins of Tom Petri’s Cadillac. It had to be some trick; had to be.

  Billy swept his gaze around the lot, settling a moment later on Mr. Krupke, the high school principal, known to his students unaffectionately as Mr. Krupcake. Despite the glasses, he remained very Krupcake-like and entirely human, which came as a disappointment to Billy. So the glasses didn’t turn everyone into lizards, but why just certain ones?

  Next to fall under his enhanced vision was Mr. Hendricks, one of the newcomers. He was a lizard man. Billy continued his scan for the next twenty minutes, and by the time he’d had to switch reels he’d estimated that one out of every five of the Sundown’s patrons that night were lizard people.

  Billy’s hands shook so badly he almost botched the switch. None of the patrons noticed anything, but it had been close. Were the glasses showing him the truth? Were these creatures real and living among them undetected? Where had they come from and, more importantly, what were they doing here?

  He thought about all the people who weren’t people he’d seen, struggling to find a shared connection, something they all had in common. Of course it was simple; they all worked at the nuclear plant.

  If Billy hadn’t been scared before, that realization put him over the top. If these things were truly as they appeared to be, then the plant and the town were in serious danger.

  He knew he should tell someone but he couldn’t think of who. Even with the evidence of the glasses he wasn’t sure he’d be believed. Worse, the glasses might be taken from him and he would no longer be able to distinguish the real people from the lizards.

  “Hey Clyde, what’s with the shades?” The unexpected question threw an electrical jolt through Billy that made him jump nearly out of his socks. “If you’re trying to be hip, you’re still not making the scene.”

  By the time Billy recovered, Joey Spadona was strutting on towards the snack bar, a triumphant sneer on his mug. That sneer didn’t last long, not after Billy dragged him into the storeroom by the collar of his jacket. By then his expression was purely murderous.

  “You are dead Poindexter,” the switchblade appeared in Joey’s hand as if by magic, but Billy had better things to be afraid of.

  “Kill me later,” he said, thrusting the glasses at the outraged greaser. “After you take a look through these.”

  “I ain’t puttin’ on no lame shades, spaz, and get your dweeb hands off my threads.”

  “Put the glasses on, dammit!” Billy never swore; the fact that he had cut deep into Joey’s anger, made him t
ake notice of the fear in Billy’s voice.

  “All right, all right, just get off me!” He pushed Billy away as he plucked the glasses from his assailant’s hand. “You don’t have to flip out on me.” He slipped the glasses on. “This better be good or you’ll be eating a whole plate of knuckle sandwiches, and from what I’m seeing right now it’s gonna be a double helping.”

  “Look at the people,” Billy instructed. “Look at the people.”

  “Yeah, so what? I see a bunch of squares out on Friday night. It’ll take a lot more… What the hell!”

  Billy was relieved despite himself; he wasn’t the only one who saw the lizards.

  “You playing some kind of joke here, Poindexter?”

  “No joke, Joey; it’s the glasses. They make it so you can see the lizards. Question is…”

  “Is it real?” Joey finished as he yanked off the glasses. “And if it is, what do we do about it?” Joey studied the glasses. “Why not drop a thin one and get on the horn to these people?”

  He held out the glasses so that Billy could see what he’d previously missed: what looked like a telephone number etched into the inside of one of the stems, only visible if you held it to the light at just the right angle.

  Billy thought about it. “We could use the phone in Mr. Blodgett’s office; he left for the night about twenty minutes ago.”

  “Coolness. Let’s go.”

  Billy did what little talking there was. “Won’t catch me talking to The Man,” Joey explained as he slouched into Mr. Blodgett’s office chair. So Billy dialed, and waited.

  Something was happening over the phone lines, but he wasn’t sure what. A series of clicks, beeps and bursts of static poured into his ear in no pattern he could make sense of, culminating in a dead silence that made him suspect that the line had gone dead.

  Then, into the silence: “Yes?”

  “Uh, yeah… I got this pair of weird 3-D glasses, and when I put them on I see some really strange stuff.”

  “Like?”

  “Well, like lizard people.”

  “Understood.”

  “What should I do?

  “Nothing.”

  “But someone ought to…”

  “Someone is being sent.”

  “Okay. I’m at…”

  “We know where you are.” There was a sharp click as the connection was broken.

  “They said we should…” Billy began as he turned, only to find he was alone in the office. Rushing to the office door, he arrived in time to see Joey stalking toward the exit, slouching posture warning of trouble ahead. “Joey!” He hissed, uncomfortably aware of the patrons crowding the snack bar.

  Joey of course ignored him, ducking through the doorway into the flickering gloom of the night. Billy scuttled after, catching up to the greaser just as he reached the door of the men’s room.

  “What are you doing? The guy on the phone said we should stay put.”

  “Forget him,” Joey sneered. “I saw another one of them lizard guys go in here, and I’m thinking we should have a little chat.”

  “Are you nuts? Those things look dangerous, and they sure don’t seem like the chatty type.”

  “I can be real persuasive. So cool it, or wait out here with the rest of the kiddies.” Joey pushed into the restroom; after a brief moment’s nervous hesitation Billy followed him in.

  Not being the one wearing the glasses, all he saw as he slipped into the restroom was some guy at the sink splashing water on his face. He was a newcomer, Billy had seen him around town but didn’t know his name. One thing he did know was that he’d moved into town because of his new job at the atomic plant.

  Joey sauntered over to the next sink over and made a big show of combing his hair. “So, slick, you enjoyin’ the show?”

  The guy regarded the greaser a moment before nodding and pulling down another length of towel from the dispenser to dry his face. That done, he turned to leave, bearing down on the terrified Billy, who was frozen to the spot right in the doorway.

  “Is that the kind of stuff you lizard guys watch at home, or do you even have movies?”

  Billy would later recall the gist of what happened next, but the exact details eluded him. His one clear memory was of the man’s face rippling, flesh sagging to accommodate a gaping mouth as it yawned wide, jaws distended far beyond human limitation. A forked tongue slithered from that maw as the lizard man whirled to face Joey. God alone knew what the greaser was seeing.

  Joey only gave up a single step back before his usual belligerent attitude reasserted itself. “What’s the matter, Daddy-O, cat got your forked tongue?”

  The thing lunged, hissing its cold rage. The switchblade once more made its magical appearance in Joey’s hand, arcing up in a lightning swing that embedded the blade to the hilt in the monster’s ear, or ear hole, as it had now become.

  A piercing squeal flooded the office as the lizard man vented its agony, malformed body spasming as the alien brain controlling it began to shut down. Billy clamped his hands over his own ears to shut out the sound, but just before the outcries were muffled he was certain he heard them answered from outside.

  The creature fell to the floor, writhing in a disturbing, boneless manner as it pawed at its injury, it’s cries choked to a thick gurgle by a stream of thick green bile oozing from its nose and mouth. With a final shudder it went rigid and still, ophidian eyes wide and fixed on infinity.

  Joey, visibly shaken but struggling to cover it, bent to retrieve his knife, wiping the green gore off on the lizard man’s shirt. “Uncool,” was his only comment, most likely because he didn’t trust his voice to any lengthy speech.

  He needn’t have worried. Billy ignored him, more concerned with the sounds he’d heard coming from outside the snack bar. Easing the restroom door open, he risked a cautious peek into the lot.

  People were getting out of their cars; a lot of them, and all were converging on the snack bar.

  “Joey, we got problems.”

  The greaser came to the door and checked out the view. “Whoa; they’re all lizards.”

  “We can’t stay here; we’ll be trapped.”

  “We can take my chariot; she’s packing a bent-eight that’ll leave just about any other rod in the dust. We’ll agitate the gravel before they can even get back to their own machines. Then we’re home free.”

  “But they can see who we are. Won’t they just hunt us down at home?”

  “Cut the gas, will ya? First we get to the car, then we figure out the next step.” Joey left no room for argument, bursting out of the restroom and laying tracks for his hot rod and leaving Billy with the choice of following or remaining to face a gang of lizard men on his own. He opted for the first choice.

  The lizard men charged the moment Joey had taken off, and they were only steps behind Billy when the greaser fired up his glossy black hot rod and slammed it into reverse.

  “Jump for it!” He shouted as he approached, forcing Billy to launch himself at the rod or be left behind. He landed face down in the passenger seat, struggling to get vertical as the car spun and lurched forward.

  They were bearing down on the exit at almost forty miles an hour when Billy finally regained an upright position. Foster Road and safety were in sight when Joey suddenly pounded the brakes, skating the hot rod to a dusty halt.

  “What are you doing?” Billy screamed. “They’ll get to their cars and come after us!”

  “Cool your jets, I’m thinking.”

  Billy wanted to comment that Joey had picked a fine time to start thinking, he really did. But just as his mouth opened to utter those potentially fatal words Joey arrived at a decision. Popping the clutch, he sent the rod down Foster Road at a pretty good clip, but not nearly as fast as the vehicle could have gone.

  Billy was puzzled, and more than a little scared. The cars now pursuing them were gaining ground, though Joey didn’t appear concerned. In fact, he seemed pretty satisfied with the situation. This was definitely not the way
chase scenes played out in the movies, where the pursued actually made some attempt to get away.

  He could just about read the license plate of the lead vehicle when Joey pulled up in front of Keller’s service station out at the edge of town. The place was closed up and dark, Mr. Keller having left an hour before, most likely to pick up his family and take them to the drive in, as was his habit every Friday night in the summer.

  While they were in front of the station they were also a long way from the pumps, so they couldn’t have fueled up the rod even if the place had been open. Billy’s curiosity finally got the upper hand.

  “Why are you stopping here? They’re gonna catch us.”

  “Less gab, more action, Poindexter. Follow me.” Joey leapt from the rod and raced for the front office of the station. Alone and exposed, Bill elected to participate in whatever insane plan Joey had concocted.

  The greaser paused briefly at one of the pumps to yank out the nozzle and toss it to the ground. A pool of odorous Hi-Test quickly formed and spread; Billy was forced to waste a few precious steps in a detour around the spill.

  He caught up to Joey just as his leather-jacketed elbow smashed through a glass pane in the station’s door, allowing him to reach in and trip the lock. He dove inside, Billy on his heels.

  “We’re gonna be caught in here for sure!” Billy protested, his sentiment emphasized by the slamming of multiple car doors out front.

  “Only if we hang around, which we are not. C’mon.”

  Joey led Billy to the station’s back door. No need to bust this one; it opened easily from the inside. Back out in the night, Joey turned right and slunk off around the side of the building, keeping low and taking advantage of the plentiful cover provided by the half dozen cars awaiting Mr. Keller’s attention.

  Crouched behind the front fender of a Studebaker, he whispered, “When I give you the go, beat feet to the rod. I’ll be right behind you, so don’t get in my way.” Before Billy could ask any questions Joey hissed, “Okay, go!”