The Daughter of the Night

by Julian Porter

  'Oh bliss, oh rapture.' Unity, who had shut her eyes at his touch, smiled seraphically and said,

  'There, I feel we really connected there. If I have any time free from being a goddess, we must do it again.'

  'Yes,' said Cthulhu, wearing the mask, 'Let's.' He inspected his least favourite tentacle. Somewhat to his surprise, it seemed unharmed. In fact it even looked a little healthier than usual. Odd.

  'But anyway, daddy, I know that when I'm a goddess I won't have time to have sex quite so often as I do at the moment. But it won't matter, because apparently I'm going to be in a state of constant orgasm, so I won't need sex. Well, only every now and then, just to remind me what it's like. But just imagine how that'll feel: a state of constant ecstasy.' Cthulhu tried. He was a god himself, and all he felt constantly was dyspepsia and mild depression, so this was a bit of an imaginative leap. But if going along with it meant his daughter went away sooner, then he would go along with it. So he said,

  'I'm sure it would be splendid. So, er, what do you want me to do? I assume you do want me to do something?' Why else would she have called on him? She only ever called on him when she wanted something. Oh, what a dysfunctional family he had spawned. He sometimes felt it was more than a creature from the nether hells could bear and was almost tempted to take to religion, in spite of the fact that he knew God personally and was only too well aware that, far from being kind and loving, and caring for the well-being of all of his creation, since the catastrophe he was only really interested in shiny things that made interesting sounds when bitten. But Unity was giving him that look again, that 'I can't believe that a Great Old One like you could be so dense' look, so he put the inner lament on hold and tried to pay attention as she said,

  'Well isn't it obvious, daddy?' It wasn't. In fact, Cthulhu had forgotten, such was his grief, what it was she was talking about, so he did what he often did when conversing with his daughter, and looked blank. Unity sighed theatrically and said, 'I want you to gather together the remaining Great Old Ones and then the three of you can do the invocation to summon Nyarlathotep and Azathoth, so that they and I can be joined.' Cthulhu was dubious. Apart from the fact that he liked to keep the distance between himself and the boss as large as possible, summoning Azathoth was always tricky, what with his being mindless and all, which meant that you could never guarantee that he would turn up, or how he would turn up, or what he would do once he had turned up. It was like saying 'here boy' to an elderly labrador with an attitude problem: fraught with uncertainty and liable to end in extreme unpleasantness, or at the very least being forced to spend several hours listening to the smooth jazz that Azathoth liked so much. So, showing what a good civil servant he had become, Cthulhu tried to find a way of putting things off and said,

  'I'm not sure where we'd find the others, I mean, I don't even know where they live. They could be anywhere.'

  'Search the bars,' said Unity in a flat voice.

  And so they did. And to no-one's actual surprise, even if Cthulhu did a reasonable job of feigning it, there, propping up the bar of the Ancient Shoggoth, was Dagon, one glance at whom informed Cthulhu that the point at which Dagon had been half seas over was several hours ago, and he was now, as the saying would go, drunk as a small amphibian that was of little interest to him, inhabiting, as it did, fresh water. Which he didn't go anywhere near, because it made him come out in a rash. Dagon seemed pleased to see them.

  'Hey, look who it is, long time no see see see see see,' he said enthusiastically, then, on spotting Unity, somewhat less so, 'Oh, and you.' Then he saw the true love and his spirits seemed to rise again: he spilled some beer in his direction and added, 'Dinner?'

  'I'm afraid not,' said Cthulhu, managing to get in before Nina could so much as squeal. 'My daughter has something she wants us to do and . . .' But he got no further, for on hearing that Unity wanted to do something, Dagon had turned a lighter shade of pale grey and, incipient panic appearing on his face, said,

  'I won't do it.'

  'Do what?'

  'What she wants. I tell you, I'm not touching those, those, those, those things again. Never. You can't make me. I'm an important minor deity, I am. I can send you a very s-s-s-s-stern mememo. So there.' Dagon drank some more beer at them in a defiant kind of way. Cthulhu understood, and he did so agree, even if his least favourite tentacle was feeling unusually perky right now. But fortunately, what Unity wanted, though strange, probably deranged, and likely to end in any number of unpredictably bad ways, did not involve, at least in as far as Cthulhu was aware, either him or Dagon having to touch Unity's tumuli of terror. At least, not unless the summoning ritual had undergone some serious revision since he had last checked it out, which must have been that time when, as a result of a drunken bet with Shub Niggurath, he had persuaded Azathoth to manifest himself in front of a crowd of thousands of cultists at some place called, now what was it? Ah yes, that was it: Minima. Thinking of which – but first he had to reassure his old friend, who was gazing at Unity with unconcealed disquiet.

  'It's all right,' he said, but that didn't help, because Dagon said,

  'No it isn't. There's a l-l-left one too. Look,' and then he let out a little scream, because Unity, doubtless to remind them of what it was they were talking about, and with no malice at all, had exposed the offending organ. Appendage. Familiar. Whatever. Which explained her rather odd little smile: no doubt she was glad to be of service. Dagon had dropped his glass and had his hands in front of his face, moaning, 'My eyes, my precious eyes. What will I do without my eyes?'

  'Bump into things a lot,' said Unity, joining the conversation at last. 'But you needn't worry, I have bigger fish to fry, pardon the expression. Though, if you like,' the odd little smile became a wide smile, or at least something that showed all her teeth, 'I'll let you have me one last time before my transfiguration.' Dagon almost descended into coherence:

  'You wish. I'd rather be mortal. What, what, what's she talking about – transfiguration?' Cthulhu really didn't feel competent to speak on this topic, as he wished it to be known to all and sundry that it was entirely his daughter's idea and nothing to do with him, so he left it to Unity to explain.

  'I intend,' she said, 'To ask you and Daddy and Auntie Shubbie – where is she, by the way, no, please don't interrupt, and do pay attention, this is important – to summon Nyarlathotep and Azathoth. When they have manifested I shall join with them to reform the hypostatic union, taking my place as the embodiment of the unity that is Grandpa Yoggie. Hence, I shall be transfigured. You may bow down and worship me if you like. Or you can fondle my boobs. It's entirely up to you.' Dagon looked suddenly sober, which didn't surprise Cthulhu at all: the prospect of touching those – things - was enough to sober anyone. And neither did what he said next come as a surprise, that is:

  'Fuck.' Then, after a long pause, while he tried to avoid meeting Unity's gaze, 'I need a drink. D'you want one, old chap?' Cthulhu replied without thinking,

  'Oh no, I mustn't, my doctor is most clear that . . .' then his higher intellect kicked in and he realised that if this was not the time to ignore his doctor's dire warnings and hit the bottle in dead earnest, then what was? And what could it do? It wasn't as if it could kill him, and he felt lousy already. So he said, 'I don't mind if I do. Pint of Shining Trapezohedron.'

  'Make that two. No three, Shubb'll need a drink when she gets back from the ladies and indeterminate genders room.'

  Which she now did, with almost scripted timeliness, walking with a somewhat exaggerated precision, as if the exactitude with which she moved forward in a straight line was a matter of great significance to her. And she would very probably have reached the welcoming haven of the bar and the warm embrace of her drink had not Unity chosen to say,

  'Hello, Auntie Shubbie', at which Shub-Niggurath let out a startled bleat and made an attempt to bolt. But even the fabled nimbleness of the mountain goat was no match for the long-term effect of centuries of a sedentary office job, alcohol abuse and t
ake-away curry (always lamb, to, as she put it, show those bloody snooty sheep where they got off), not to mention twelve pints of Shining Trapezohedronthis evening. So instead of being free with one bound, she ended up in a heap on the floor with her legs apparently tied in a knot.

  'Keep her away from me. Keep her away,' panicked the Great Goat of the Woods, for all the world as if Unity were advancing on her with amatory intent, and not standing apart with what might, Cthulhu thought, had it been anyone other than his daughter displaying it, have been said to be an enigmatic smile on her face. But in her case, he reflected, it was probably a trick of the light. That is, unless she was really taking this whole goddess thing seriously and trying to be inscrutable, in which case there'd be hell to pay when she realised that she did not, in fact, rule the entire universe – only those parts of it that went in for sexual reproduction. But he was distracted from these cheerful thoughts by the fact that Shub Niggurath, having determined that her virtue was not, in fact, in peril, had thought the time right to feel thoroughly sorry for herself. Indeed, she was extending one leg and saying, 'I hurt my hoof. She scared me and I hurt my hoof. It's her fault I hurt my hoof. She shouldn't have happened at me, but she did and I hurt my hoof. Ow. My hoof hurts. Did I say that my hoof hurts?' Cthulhu was starting to wonder how long it was since he had last eaten goat, and Dagon was clearly preparing the way for one of his withering put-downs (e.g. 'well if your hoof hurts, put it in your mouth; that's where it belongs' – they weren't clever or witty, only withering), when, just as Shub Niggurath was observing for approximately the forty-seventh time that she had hurt her hoof and it hurt, Unity made her move. With the stealthy grace of a linnet on the wing, she struck out in one instant and, as Shub Niggurath's wail of terror reached regions ultrasonic and Great Cthulhu put his tentacles over his eyes, for irritating though Shub Niggurath might be, she was a Great Old One, and one of his two remaining friends, and he could not bear to see such her suffer such a terrible fate, gently laid one hand on the aforementioned hoof - the one that hurt - which Shub Niggurath had been holding out, just in case any of her audience cared to verify that it was, indeed, slightly bruised. Shub Niggurath continued to squeal for a few moments, then stopped, and, after a rather puzzled silence, said, 'It doesn't hurt any more. I hurt my hoof, and it hurt, but now it doesn't, but it did, and she touched it and now it doesn't hurt.' Then more plaintively, 'What's going on?'

  'That,' said Dagon, 'Is what we'd all like to know.' He turned to Unity, 'Is this some new trick you've learned, 'cos if so, I know a man who knows a man who's big in the faith healing trade, and he could fix you up with a good deal. Of course, I'd take a percentage, but I'm sure we could come to an amicable . . .'

  'Hush,' said Unity in thrilling tones, thrilling, yet so commanding that Dagon was struck dumb, something rare at the best of times, and especially so when he saw the chance to make some money. 'What I have done,' continued Unity, 'Is but a small part of what I shall do once I have achieved my transfiguration. So now, let us proceed.'

  'Transfiguration. Transfiguration?' said Shub Niggurath, clambering to her feet, 'What's she going on about? What transfiguration? Who transfiguration? How? Ah – beer,' she spotted her pint of Shining Trapezohedron and drank deep. Dagon too was drinking deep, inevitably so, given that he was, after all, when all was said and done, a kind of fish, so Cthulhu realised that it was up to him to explain his daughter’s sudden access of religious fervour. So, in his best, ‘I don’t believe a word of this, you understand, I’m just repeating what I’ve been told’ tone of voice, he said,

  ‘You see, Shub, my daughter says she has found a way to have an orgasm.’

  ‘What’s an or-or-one of them?’

  ‘I have no idea, but she’s been going on about them for ages. Anyway, apparently she now knows how to find one.’

  ‘And good luck to her I say. Is it a kind of cat? I like cats. Go down a treat.’ Cthulhu sighed.

  ‘No, Shub, it isn’t a cat.’

  ‘Well a dog’ll do just as well, inna pinch.’

  ‘And it isn’t a dog either. Or any other kind of animal, before you ask. It’s, er,’ Cthulhu floundered, his knowledge of sexual reproduction being very definitely acquired at third-hand, and ventured, ‘Complex, er, numinous, er . . .’

  ‘I get you,’ said Shub Niggurath, staring owlishly at him over her glass. ‘Mystic.’

  ‘Precisely,’ said Cthulhu gratefully, ‘Mystic. And apparently the way for her to do it is to reform the hypostasis, with herself as the peak of the triad. I mean it sounds like total nonsense to me, but if she wants to waste her, my and your time then . . .’ but his deep thoughts on the likely consequences of Unity indulging in a spot of idle time-wasting were never to be known, for Shub Niggurath, whose eyes had gone round with horror, and whose gaze was fixed on something behind Cthulhu, said,

  ‘Don’t look, but those lumpy things your daughter wears on her front have started moving. I reckon they’re getting ready and then, when we’re not looking, pow, they’ll be on us. Oh. I spilled my drink. I’m thirsty and I spilled my drink. How can I have a drink now that I’ve spilled it?’

  ‘Oh good grief,’ said Cthulhu, jumping in before Shub Niggurath managed to get into an infinite recursion, ‘Dagon - get her another drink. Shub - those things are not going to attack us.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘I’m quite sure. Apparently,’ he cast an agonised glance at Unity, who beamed at him like a queen condescending to a subject, and not at all like one of the younger races looking upon one who was (a) her father, and (b) a god, and said, ‘They do that to show that what we’re saying is true.’

  That piqued Dagon’s interest, the view through the bottom of his glass having proved less than riveting. Wobbling over from the bar to where Unity stood, he bent down as close as he dared to the oscillating organs and said, with the perfect enunciation of the very nearly drunk,

  ‘Will The Yawning Abyss win the three thirty at Dunwich? Ow,’ which last was his reaction to being forcefully batted across the head. ‘That hurt,’ he said, rubbing his head to prove it, and redirecting his attention to Unity. ‘You shouldn’t do things like that. I’m a god, you know.’

  ‘And I,’ said Unity, ‘Will be the goddess, once you three get on and stop nattering. Daddy, will you and your friends please start the invocation?’ Which might, or might not, have happened, for it was clear that Dagon had nearly as much to say about his sore head as had Shub Niggurath about her sore hoof, but lo, Shub Niggurath herself, after deep and searching consultation with a pint of peculiarly strong beer, had come to a conclusion, and had decided that she had a message for the world that she was going to share, no matter how unwilling it may be to hear. She was at that stage of drunkenness where incoherent rambling achieves meaning beyond gibberish and sense beyond nonsense. And, more to the point, as she was by now too drunk to notice any form of body language less subtle than a punch in the eye, she had acquired a massive unstoppability that would make glaciers feel jealous. And so, when Shub Niggurath put down her beer, straightened the glass until it was precisely centred on its beer-mat, and said, in tones so portentous that she might have been announcing that the world was going to end in ten minutes,

  ‘Well I think,’ everyone, even Unity, decided to put whatever it was they were planning to do or say (Dagon: ‘Oh yeah, well I haven’t seen the memo promoting you, your godliness, so pardon me if I don’t believe you’; Unity: determine whether her burgeoning powers yet extended to turning fish things into fish sticks; Cthulhu: wonder why exactly he had ever had the idea that fatherhood might be a good thing, while feeling considerable envy for those of the Elder Races who had the knack of dying, a skill he felt sorely in need of right now) on hold, because life would just be so much simpler if they let Shub do her thing and then go back to attacking one another afterwards, especially as the delay would only make their mutual recriminations that much more enjoyable. So Shub Niggurath’s words fell into a sudden silence, as sh
e said, ‘I think we should do what she says. Think about it,‘ she said, waving a hoof vaguely in the direction of Dagon and Cthulhu, then discovering that it had been one of the hooves she had been standing on and having a brief struggle with gravity, followed by: ‘Think about it,’ accompanied by more waving. This time of a less important hoof. Cthulhu thought about it. And he still thought his daughter was insane, but that this was probably just another fancy, like the time she had decided she was going to become a sculptor and had caused mayhem across half the galaxy before he had very firmly removed the Gorgon’s head from her possession, and next week she’d be back to being the nymphomaniac he knew and tolerated. So no, he really didn’t get Shub Niggurath’s drift, and he didn’t dare ask for explication in case it encouraged her. Fortunately, or not, encouragement was something she had no need of, for, hoof waving accomplished, she said, ‘If what she says is right and she’s going to reform the hypostasis, then what does that mean?‘ She looked aggressively at them, as if she suspected them of watering her beer. In fact, Dagon was so intimidated that he put his hand up in the air, for all he world as if he were a young sardine at school, and said,

  ‘Er, that she’s insane? Ow.‘ Unity had thumped him again. But before they could resume bickering, Shub Niggurath continued with the inevitability of the morning after following the night before, and said,