Police immediately removed the posts, but once on the Internet, the damage was done. The number of estimated viewers was staggering. There was no way of telling how many had recorded the video file, stashing it away for posterity or to sell to local news agencies. Some of those viewers knew the Skelly brothers.
Detectives hopped the gate when there was no response from the intercom at Boone Skelly’s home. The front door stood wide open. A thin, weaving trail of blood drops led to the kitchen, where a housekeeper’s body had been peeled of its skin. Marks at the base of her neck were like nothing any of them had ever seen before.
The lead detective called out, signaling his men to search the house.
“Come out, Boone. Let’s you and I have a conversation about what happened.”
A deep voice startled them from the top of the stairs.
“What’s done is done. I’m sworn to the God of a Thousand Forms.”
High above them at the apex of a steampunk, metal staircase, stood a naked man that had once been Boone Skelly. His skin was the color of something long dead and submerged, bloated and wrinkled and disturbingly soft. His throat bore the same strange mark of feeding police had observed on the housekeeper. His eyes were still intact, but shone with the fever of madness. Nightmares swam in his pupils.
A hailstorm of bullets ripped him apart as easily as a rotten jack-o-lantern. Pulpy mess rained down. Bits of flesh and brain matter were supernaturally driven like remote controlled cars to form wet letters on the tile entryway.
NYARLATHOTEP
After the cops filed out, some carted away for the collection of possible human remains from their clothing and hair, CSI and the coroner’s unit took turns in the house. The same bizarre sigils found in the dead musician’s bathroom were rampant in Boone’s home. Some of the rooms were clean, without a single piece of furniture. Others, especially those in the sunken first floor, looked as though a commune of hoarders and mad scientists had joined forces. A Hazmat team was called in to dispose of frightening things not disclosed to the sea of reporters camping at the gate.
Darkness fell. Officers were stationed on guard duty once all evidence had been collected and admittance restricted with yellow tape. Stubborn paparazzi remained, hoping for a glimpse of insanity that would finance fame and retirement.
Gaunt creatures with membranous wings hovered in the shadows of Boone’s kitchen. When one of the cops stepped aside for a smoke they swarmed him, bringing the offering to their master. In a disturbing caricature of human form, Nyarlathotep appeared, grinning with silver shark’s teeth. Beetles scurried in his long locks of unwashed hair. His guise had been somewhat more refined when he had offered the briefcase of money to Boone. He had since found a suitable scholar for the ancient tome of Nicolescu. Nodding with a smile, he changed his guise once more to that of an ancient pharaoh.
With the subtle resonances of freshly devoured soul pulsing through him, the Crawling Chaos, messenger of The Outer Gods and servant of Azathoth known as Nyarlathotep, flicked on the remote to Boone’s big-screen television. Already the major news channels were beginning to air special reports on widespread power outages and nightmarish beasts of slime crawling out of the sea. Inexplicable crop circles and pulsing pods from the night sky would soon follow.
Dawn’s light shone through the lace curtains of the open bay windows onto the canopy bed. Birds chirped outside tempting her to rise from the comfortable mattress with their musical serenade. Aisling awoke with a frightening start as her head and stomach tried to trick her into believing that she was falling a great distance like a cartoon villainess.
It felt appropriate as she had always personally identified with the wicked stepmothers in the stories. She adored their beautiful ruby lips and style. Aisling decided that she’d much rather be the villainess doomed to tragedy than a victim once she started working at the House of Sleeping Beauties. Why had flowing black cloaks ever gone out of fashion?
Sometimes right before a gig, when her stomach rebelled from the stress and there were a hundred places that she would rather be, Aisling fantasied about pushing her House Mother out the window. Last year in European History, she learned that there was an entire word devoted exclusively to describing a murder via pushing them out a window: defenestration. It had become her favorite word, even if she struggled to find occasions to use it properly.
It seemed such a random, pointless way to die, romanticized in Technicolor cartoons as the honorable way to kill evil step-mothers. Heroines can’t get their hands dirty, she mused.
Aisling always resisted any malicious urges and simply smiled sweetly until the House Mother appeared to lead her to the bed chambers and then slowly drank the Cantarella-laced tea. Aisling disliked the thought of surrendering control, but she trusted in the House Mothers to keep the business running at a profit for everyone involved. This was a good gig for a college student. What other job would allow her to work only one night a month and still provide her with the cash to afford her own apartment?
She stuck out her tongue trying to moisten the inside of her mouth. Cantarella brought forth a temporary coma that Shakespeare dubbed the still-waking sleep of death. It dried her mouth and swelled her tongue. What was the warning issued to Juliet towards the end of play? I hear some noise, Lady, come from that nest of death, contagion, and unnatural sleep.
Aisling lay naked upon the bed, perfectly center, with her hands folded just above her stomach and her head raised slightly by a silk pillow. Her arms ached so she rubbed them gingerly trying to force the blood through her veins to remove the numbing sensation. It couldn’t be helped. Charmings paid well to be able to pose, position, and utilize the Beauties as desired within the limits of the agreed upon contract.
It was a simple job. There were no dreams or memories just listless sleep. When she opened her eyes, the gig was over and then she immediately started checking her body for clues about what might have happened during the nap. This time her nails were manicured French style, painted with white tips on a field of pink. Aisling craned her neck to verify that her toes had been similarly marked and then sighed with relief. There was only one Charming that devoted such time and effort to her nails. He was a gentle asexual man that the Beauties secretly gave the les petits noms d'amour of the Doll-Maker from his habit of dressing them like Gibson Girl dolls.
The Beauties whispered to each other and jealously shared information. The House Mother never told the Beauties the identity of the Charming they were serving at any time. It was strictly against protocol in this delicate socioeconomic system. Knowledge was power and the Charmings paid the House a great deal to protect their privacy while they fed their secret cravings. The Beauties relied upon the House to watch over them while they slept, via the hidden camera, and protect them when they couldn’t protect themselves. The House served as the middleman, catering to both groups.
Cantarella always made it difficult at best to wake. She allowed her body to breathe enjoying the slow sensation of her limbs feeling refreshed from the numbness of the deep sleep.
Aisling always felt restless after a gig as though the night’s sleep hadn’t counted. She glanced around the room to discover dozens of white dresses and spools of pink ribbon littered the Persian carpet. Clearly, the Doll-Maker had been quite busy last night. She wished him well wherever he might go after such nights.
The House Mother entered silently through the secret side-door, carrying a silver tray of tea, milk, and butter filled croissants. She wore red stain robes embroidered with Chinese dragons. Aisling glanced over at the window wistfully and then remember she had yet to be paid for the gig.
“I trust that you slept well, Beauty.”
She resisted the urge to scowl, knowing that this moment was part of the ritual. Aisling often wondered if the Charmings watched this part to ensure that their privacy had been maintained. “Yes, House Mother. I slept so deeply that I remember nothing but warm and happy dreams.”
“Good.” The House Mot
her set the tray upon the nightstand and poured two cups of tea. Aisling accepted her cup gratefully and smelled it with pleasure. She waited, as was custom, for the House Mother the other Beauties referred to as Dragon Lady to take her cup. They drank together. The tea was bitter, but it helped cleanse the remaining toxins in her veins. “Thank you for your service to the House. I have an offering for you, but I was forgetful and left it in my office.”
The House Mother never forgot anything involving money. “Shall I wait here, then?” Aisling asked.
The Dragon Lady shook her head and smiled secretively. “Please take your time as usually preparing for the day. I shall return with your tribute and a bonus.”
Aisling cast her eyes downward. “Have I caused offense?”
It was like trying to read an emotion from a statue. “Not at all. I’d like to discuss your next assignment with you before you leave.”
Her heart-rate quickened fearfully. She rarely discussed an assignment ahead of time with the House Mother. Was there another reason? Some sort of compliment from a Charming? Aisling waited until the House Mother left and then rushed to the luxuriously decorated bathroom to check her pale, petite ballerina’s body carefully for any cuts or bruises in the 360 degree mirror. She understood logically that all Charmings had to undergo expensive medical screening by the House to be vetted as a Charming, but the creeping fear always roiled violently in her stomach just after a nap.
Aisling found the reflection of her oval face with a delightful set of dimples and smiled. Bright blue eyes blinked back at her without any bags under them. Her strawberry blond hair had been brushed and then braided perfectly by the Doll-Maker. Relieved, she showered quickly and slid into her Sunday’s best pink sweatsuit that proclaimed her bottom Juicy.
Sipping a steaming cup of tea, the Dragon Lady waited for her on the bed. Someone had already cleaned the room and removed the white dresses that had littered the floor. It was as though the previous night had never happened.
There was a plain white envelope resting on the nightstand. Aisling smiled gratefully and then slid it into her front pocket. She didn’t bother to open it, but noted that it was considerably thicker than normal. The House of Beauties clearly wanted something different from her. “Tell me about the nap. Why is it so special?”
“Our client list is quite exclusive. Those we welcome into our houses are amongst the elite in terms of wealth and power.” The Dragon Lady did not hide the sheer greed upon her face. “You have been selected for a nap for an extremely powerful and wealthy Charming that requires a special level of privacy.”
“I don’t understand.”
“The Charming is unknown to us. His intermediary is a man of extreme political power and wealth in his own right. He visited you himself several months ago.” The Dragon Lady sighed and then took another sip. “Would you care for a drink?”
“I think I might need it.”
The Dragon Lady poured a second cup of tea and continued. “The Charming has made an offer to engage your services next month. It is very generous.”
The eccentric rich could be crazy with their money, but they always expected more in return. “How generous?”
“You would be paid two hundred thousand for the night.”
That was enough for her to retire until she finished school without any student loans. She wasn’t entirely certain how much the House was paid for their services, but it had to be at least equal to her share. “What does the Charming expect for such generosity?”
“I am told by the intermediary that the Charming is quite concerned about his privacy with good reason. The House is not to have any information about this Charming in any fashion. The intermediary shall monitor your sleep in lieu of our people.”
Aisling gasped. “I’d be sleeping completely blind.”
“I have had a good business relationship with the intermediary for almost twenty years,” the Dragon Lady countered. “He has assured me that the Charming is quite reasonable and respectful of limits. The potential for scandal is simply too great to risk.”
“What about his medical records? How can we be certain that he’s clean?”
“I have been assured with a personal bond of one million dollars that the Charming is in perfect health,” the Dragon Lady answered quietly. “The intermediary has assured me that you shall not have any reason to be unhappy with the assignment and that he would personally pay for any unforeseen circumstances that might arise.”
Aisling scowled. If it felt too good to be true, it usually was. “Thank you for the offer, but I’m sure one of the other Beauties will take this nap.”
“The Charming specified that this deal was solely for you.” The kind façade of the House Mother had completely faded from the Dragon Lady’s face. “This job will be for a single night and could greatly benefit the House of Beauties in the future. I’d be very disappointed if you simply rejected the offer.”
Disappointed in this context was just a discrete way of saying angry. Aisling shivered. She had seen the Dragon Lady angry, and it was clear that if she simply said no that she’d have to find employment elsewhere. “I’ll do it for five hundred thousand with half in advance.”
The Dragon Lady simply nodded without giving the matter a second thought. “Agreed. I will have a cashier’s check delivered to your apartment this evening. As usual, the company will mark this down as a bonus in our business division and pay the taxes to avoid legal issues.”
“Simple as that?” Aisling asked. “Don’t you need to verify that the Charming will pay?”
The Dragon Lady drank her tea never turning her eyes away from Aisling. “I am aware of the limits available in this mediation. The Charming has reserved the night of the 16th. Two Saturdays from now. I know that we usually try to keep at least a month between jobs, but I think we can afford to be a little more relaxed.”
Aisling checked her calendar on her phone. That was roughly a week before per period. “That should be fine.” She felt dizzy. Who could afford such a thing? What had she gotten herself into? “I need some air. Is there anything else?”
“Please remember that discretion is our shield as always.”
___
A solemn courier in a black suit with a red tie arrived at the apartment later that night as promised. He opened his silver briefcase and presented to Aisling a certified cashier’s check for two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. The courier tipped his hat and then quietly departed without ever having said a word.
Who was this Charming to cause such fear? Who could afford to spend such money on a single night? She lived in Ithaca near the University. The House of Beauties was hidden near Lake Beebe on a small vineyard. Important Charmings commuted by helicopter from the Big Apple and all of the large cities in the area.
She tried googling the date of the gig, but found nothing interesting except that it was the night of the full moon during a strange alignment with the cyclical passing of Peltier’s comet. If her Charming were interested in the stars, then surely he would have better things to do that night. The United Nations planned a series of G8 summits the week after. Did one of the leaders need a vacation beforehand? Wouldn’t it be strange if it were the President, she thought with a bit of exhilaration.
Aisling called the Beauties she felt closest to and was confident would keep her inquiries discrete. There was much speculation, but little actual insight. She went to her classes, wrote her term papers, and slowly ticked off the days to her next and hopefully last nap.
When she arrived at the House of Beauties, the Dragon Lady took her to the bathhouse that had been prepared for her arrival. The facilities had been transformed and decorated to a bright festival celebrating the two-faced god Janus. A comfortable altar had been assembled from a legion of silk pillows at the edge of the steaming baths. “Is this safe? Sleeping near the water?”
“I have been given certain assurances that lead me to believe your safety is vital to them,” the Dragon Lady promised. She s
miled like a proper House Mother and presented her with strange gossamer robes that did little to hide the curves of her body. “A death would bring scandal, after all.”
Aisling drank the offered Canterella and laid down peacefully upon the pillow altar and closed her eyes.
___
A hot and humid wind swept through the winding back allies of the strange city, billowing her gossamer robes about her legs. Aisling felt the wall. It was a finely polished rock. She once went to the Ape Caves near Mount St. Helens, and the dead lava tunnels had this exact feel to it. What was the word the professor had used? Basalt. Where was she that had such walls?
She stepped out into the cobblestone street amongst the strangely garbed strangers with thick beards and questioning eyes and glanced down at the shimmering infinite sea. Grim galleys with black sails and impossibly heavy oars littered the harbor. “Where am I?”
The strange language the people spoke felt harsh somehow and alien to her sensitive ears. Veiled woman with bright green eyes pushed past her with indifference. The people of this dark city moved with great alacrity, carrying large trays covered with lush delicacies as though they were preparing for a vast celebration. “Can anyone understand me?”
The only answer was a soft meow. She searched the alley until her found a ragged, lost kitten that looked as helpless as she felt. She picked it up and cradled it in her arms. “There, there, no one will hurt you.”
“No man or women will hurt a cat of Ulthar, not even in Dylath-Leen, where the moon beasts rule.” It was then that she noticed the twin girls of blond hair and eyes of blue. They laughed in unison. “Cats are the keeper of secrets and the moon is their patron.”
“Who are you?”
The twins took turns finishing each other’s sentences. “A dream of the future in that last free city in the realm. They celebrate all that ever was and a life that will never be again.”
“Free from what?”
A Mythos Grimmly Page 32
