Shotguns v. Cthulhu

by Larry DiTillio

  “Nick. Do you have a marker here?” I asked him. He was done with his boxes just sitting on the floor with his shotgun across his lap.

  “What?”

  “A magic marker! I need to... do some math... to figure out how to... shut down its cloaking technology.”

  He had to know I was lying, but what could he do? Call me out? He just gave me a cold stare and pointed to a cabinet.

  I rushed over and looked inside. It had a mess of odds and ends and a few magic markers. I grabbed one and looked around in the kitchen for a space to make the circle and symbols. As I spun around looking for a suitable spot, the nurse stabbed me in the leg with a kitchen knife.

  “This is your fault. You did this!” she snarled to me through clenched teeth. I just remember thinking... you’ve got to be kidding me.

  “What the hell?” yelled Nick, picking up his shotgun and aiming it at the nurse.

  She dropped the knife and I went to the floor. She looked furious at Nick for a moment, then she realized what she had done. You could see her strength just give out and she dropped to her knees and sobbed.

  As I said before, people snap and lash out in very bizarre ways. I just wish she would have stabbed herself instead of me. Because, let me tell you, it hurt.

  “What is wrong with everyone?! You’re all crazy!” Nick was screaming and waving his gun around. I thought he was going to start shooting, infected by the madness that seemed to be filling up the place. But luckily, the police arrived.

  I heard the sirens pull up to the front and the back of the building. Nick moved to the service window, looking out into the dining area. I took a towel off the table near me to tie around my wound. It was fairly superficial. I stood up, keeping my eyes on the pile of sobbing nurse, and hobbled next to Nick to see what was going on.

  The police were already out of their squad cars with guns drawn. Bluthe’s corpse most likely tipped them off to the danger in the area. “Hell, yeah!” said Nick as he moved to climb through the service window to go out to greet them. I snagged his arm.

  “Nick. Stay here. The hound is still about,” I said coolly.

  “I know. We have to warn them!” He pulled his arm away from me.

  Nick climbed through the service window, put the gun down on the counter and walked to the front doors. His hands were up in the air. The police shouted at him to get on the ground. He tried to warn them of the danger, of the dog, but it was too late. One of the cops screamed. I couldn’t see what was going on. The scream led to one shot, then others. Nick ran back and climbed through the service window into the kitchen.

  “Oh, God...” Nick mumbled under his breath.

  “There is only one way to stop it. I know what we can do,” I said in the most comforting way I could manage.

  “There are more of them. I saw at least three of those things,” said Nick, all hope drained away from his voice.

  More of them? I thought. How could that be? As far as I knew, only one had been summoned, but perhaps more followed it. I didn’t know what to do. My spell would only hold one of the creatures. There was no way that I could manage more. I had to be sure Nick wasn’t mistaken.

  “Nick. Help me move these boxes.”

  I slipped out of the kitchen door on my belly amidst the screams and the shooting. As I scooted on the floor to the window, the shooting stopped. I was afraid to look out, but I had to. I slowly looked up to see a blood bath. Three of the creatures were eating the fallen police. I noticed that they all had the same scar on the side of their bodies—the scar from Nick’s shotgun blast. And then it dawned on me. There weren’t three different creatures. It was the same hound from different points in time! These Hounds of Tindalos exist outside of time and space. If it decides to go after someone or something, it can come from its own future. I really needed to do that spell.

  My shotgun wasn’t far from where I was and I scooted over to grab it. As I did, one of the hounds seemed to notice me. It stepped sideways and vanished. The others moved in different directions and vanished as well. That sick feeling swept over me again.

  “Nick! They’re coming!”

  I sprung up and ran to the back, though I was sure it wasn’t going to do me any good. I waved my shotgun around as I ran, anticipating the creatures to catch me unaware. Unfortunately, it was there in front of me and it pounced!

  I knew I had to try to redirect the attack as best I could. It had to weigh over 200lbs and it didn’t seem too intimidated by my gun, so I just rolled with it. As I did, I fell over on to a table and lost my shotgun. The hound rolled off the table and vanished. I heard a blast from the kitchen. Nick!

  I flung myself toward the kitchen, slamming through the door. Nick was standing there with brownish-pink ooze all over him and what seemed to be a dead hound. It looked skinny and frail and it had a massive hole in the side of its chest. The nurse was lying still on the floor next to the dead hound, quietly sobbing. The homeless man now had a fresh cup of coffee and a donut.

  “I got it,” Nick said with very little emotion.

  I knew this was the creature from the end of its life. It had the same scar, but it just seemed older than the others—skinny with loose skin. It came here to die. But that didn’t mean it wouldn’t take us as well. I had to act quickly.

  I ran and grabbed the marker and started making my symbols onto the kitchen floor. It was mostly a large circle, with markings along the outside.

  “I don’t think this is the time, man. We just have to get out of here.” Nick breathed out as he spoke. He was desperate. I wished I could just tell him everything was going to be alright. But I knew it wouldn’t.

  There was a banging at the back door.

  “Open up! This is the police!” screamed a disembodied voice from outside. Nick just stood there and looked at me. I ran over and opened the door.

  The cop stumbled in with his pistol drawn. In the fluorescent lights, I could see he had blood on his arms. I closed the door.

  He looked around the kitchen at Nick and I. He looked to be in his late twenties with short cropped black hair and a mustache. “Gomez” on his name tag. He looked around and saw the nurse crying, the quickly dissolving corpse of the hound, and the homeless guy. He looked at me and Nick.

  “Is everyone okay?” Gomez asked, though he could tell we weren’t.

  “Those things are killing everybody. What are we going to do?” Nick pleaded.

  “I’ve called for back-up. We just need to hang tight. Do you know what’s going on?”

  “My name is David Daniels. I’m a professor over at UCLA and I think these things are part of some bio weapon the government is trying to create. They escaped. I think...” I trailed off and tried to seem frightened and confused. Officer Gomez looked puzzled and horrified.

  “Are you serious?”

  “Forget back-up, call the National Guard!” I shouted. I knew we would all be dead or I would escape before anything like that happened, I just needed to buy some time with Gomez. He wasn’t going to go for my spell-casting plan.

  Gomez talked into his shoulder CB and repeated what I said in some kind of cop lingo. As he was talking, I looked through the kitchen window, past the dining area and out into the parking lot. There were some darkly dressed figures slowly moving towards the building.

  Oh no, not them, I thought. They were the cause of all this. Fanatics ruled by their insane worldview. Nut jobs who will steal, threaten or kill to get what they want. They’re the reason we were in that mess. They were the reason those things were on the loose.

  I ducked down hoping they didn’t see me.

  “Kid. Nick, is it?” asked Gomez. He was trying to keep Nick calm.

  “Yeah,” mumbled Nick. I crouched there and kept quiet.

  “Nick, it’s going to be okay. We’ve got a lot of help on the way. We’ve got SWAT and if that doesn’t work, the National Guard will be here to take these things down.”

  Nick seemed to perk up. “National Guard? You can do tha
t?”

  “Yeah. We just have to...” Gomez noticed the darkly dressed people walking up to the front of the shop. As he moved to the kitchen door, a wave of distorted space/time swept over me. The kitchen door flew off its hinges with a deafening bang. I think it was a grenade. Then there was a series of gun shots. I dove behind the boxes, lay flat on the floor and covered my ears. I didn’t know what was going on, I just knew it was bedlam.

  A few moments later it was quiet again, though my ears were ringing so loudly I couldn’t really hear. I looked over to see Nick balled up in the corner. The nurse seemed to be hurt, but still alive, and the homeless man was just gone.

  I scooted on my belly to peer through the opening where the door had once been. The place was a mess. No one was left standing. Officer Gomez was pinned under the door and apparently dead. The three darkly dressed men were all in pieces. From behind the counter a hound walked out with an arm in its mouth.

  I froze. I didn’t breathe. I kept thinking, don’t look this way. Of course it did. The hound dropped the arm and looked right at me. Again, it didn't tense up or growl or move, it just looked at me with those dark, hollow eyes. I felt like I was looking into a void that was going to suck me into it. For a moment I thought I was going to fall. From the floor. Why wouldn’t it attack me? I was just laying there. Then it moved in a blur, but not at me. Back into space-time, as the side of the counter exploded from a blast that came from behind me. It was Nick with that gun.

  My ears were ringing so loudly by then, I was practically deaf. Nick said something to me, but all I saw were his lips moving. I stood up and walked over to him.

  “Can you hear me?” I screamed. He looked confused.

  “Yes!” he seemed to say.

  “We don’t have much time! I need you to stand over here by me and I need... I need to do... something. It will stop those things. I promise. Will you help me?”

  “What?!”

  “I said, ‘Will you help me!’” Nick looked confused. I gently grabbed him by the arm and took him to the circle I had drawn moments before.

  “Sit down!” I yelled in that monotone kinda way. Like when you’re trying to have a conversation in a loud bar. I began the incantation. I needed Nick, you understand. It took two people to make the spell work and fortunately he didn’t really need to do anything but be there. I yelled the chant out, knowing it wouldn’t take too long. Just as long as we weren’t interrupted.

  I was a minute into the chanting when It walked in through the kitchen doorway. The hound. Nick raised his gun and pulled the trigger, but it only clicked. Empty. Nick started to scramble across the floor and the hound leaped on his back and bit into his neck. Nick screamed for only a moment as his head came apart from his body. I just stood there. The thing looked at me again. Its eyes had no expression, almost like a bug’s. I swear it was almost smiling at me, like it was playing. It could have easily killed me a few times, but it didn’t. Perhaps the Hounds of Tindalos are smarter than I thought. So intelligent as to have a cruel sense of humor.

  I still had the pistol in my belt, but I’m not very quick on the draw. Then again, what choice did I have? I figured, “What the hell?” and I went for the gun. I would like to tell you I performed some slick, cowboy-esque maneuver. But no. I drew the pistol with such vigor and intensity, that I just threw it across the room. Very embarrassing.

  The hound tensed for a moment as I flailed about, trying to catch the gun. Then it relaxed and looked at me with its head slightly cocked. I laughed. It actually looked kind of cute! As I laughed, something else caught the creature’s attention. I couldn’t see what it saw or heard, but the hound ran back out towards the dining area and disappeared. I looked outside to see even more police had arrived.

  So what? The hound would still come after me, through time and space. I had to do the ritual. I moved, crouching, towards the dining area to get a better look at the police. The nurse stirred on the floor. I kept low and moved over to her.

  “Are you alright?” I asked.

  “My arm! My back... my leg...” she sobbed. She had some shrapnel in her arm.

  “I know how to stop this thing but I need your help.”

  “Oh, God...”

  “I just need you to sit in circle and I’m going to say some words and it should fix this whole problem. Will you help me?”

  She wasn’t reacting to me. She just cried and rocked. I didn’t really need her to do or say anything, and at this point, I didn’t care if she was willing or not. I grabbed her under her arms and dragged her to the circle. Her cries became screams as I moved her.

  I could see police outside moving around and then I heard shots. And screams. And flashes. I looked away and focused on getting the nurse and myself to the circle. When we reached it, I sat her up in the center. She screamed out in pain.

  “You have to sit up. Just sit here. I’m going to stand right behind you and say the words.”

  We were in position. I started the chant again. I tried not to focus on the second blood bath that was happening outside. I focused on my words and my energy. I channeled my thoughts and feelings into the circle. Time seemed to slow down. Perhaps it did. I had only a few more words to speak when the beast appeared. This time, it did not look amused. It looked furious.

  I knew it was going to attack, so I reached behind me and pulled out my dagger. As I said the last word, the beast charged at me and I plunged the dagger into the nurse’s chest.

  The hound stopped. It was done. I had completed the spell and the sacrifice. The hound was mine to command and I commanded it take me away from that time and place. And it did.

  I left the 21st Century and went back to Paris in 1922, to my grandfather. You see, Yog-Sothoth had a plan for me. That’s why I didn’t die that night. That’s why the hound didn’t kill me. It was part of the plan. If those investigators in black hadn’t interrupted my followers as we performed the first ritual, things wouldn’t have gotten so messy. They think they’re protecting humanity? They have no idea what humanity’s purpose is. Not that I do either. But Yog-Sothoth knows and that’s all that matters.

  The Host from the Hill

  Dan Harms

  December 19, 1828

  Alsace Township, near Reading, Berks County, Pennsylvania

  As he began his journey to the mountain of witches, Johann Georg Hohman heard hoof beats ahead on the hard-packed snow. Was it the fever, or a trick of the wind? No, it was real enough. He had scarcely left Rose Valley, but he could not be certain of his safety. He reined in his sway-backed horse and pulled out powder, ramrod, and shot. As he loaded with shaking hands, he peered into the pre-dawn glow.

  Behind him, Hohman knew Anna, his wife, was waiting for him in the small log cabin that, if only for a few days, still belonged to them. Scant minutes ago, she had quietly checked his forehead, giving him a stern, loving, and yet accepting look. She would be fine; she knew enough brauch to keep herself and their homestead safe. He knew that she would hold together the strands of his life, as she had done a hundred times before, even if he did not return.

  The snow whispered past Hohman’s ears. Behind him, he could catch voices raised in a carol, likely from the hotel by the spring, but the wind and snow soon silenced it. Tiny crystals of ice struck his face, but his mind drifted.

  Something jingled up ahead. Hohman stared at nothing for moment. Shaking himself, he pressed the flintlock’s stock against his chest. His hands shook; the end of the barrel weaved.

  Emerging from the curtain of snow was a man astride a fine bay horse and wearing an expensive frock coat and hat.

  “Good evening, Mr. Hohman. I was on my way to meet a buyer for my shop for breakfast. I hope you are not trying to shoot me.”

  Jacob Boyer was one of Reading’s most prominent merchants. In a happier time, Hohman had cured a sore on the leg of Jacob’s son. He later borrowed money from Boyer to pay for his farm. Hard times came, and the sheriff would sell his property on Christmas Eve to meet the deb
t.

  Hohman lowered the musket. “Good evening to you, Mr. Boyer.” Holding open his satchel, he displayed brightly-colored pages covered with paintings of birds and hearts, with lettering in ornate Fraktur script. “Taufscheins. I paint them myself. I hope to make a little money for my family before the auction.”

  Boyer regarded the beautiful hand-colored birth certificates with suspicion. “Not many births in the winter, but I’ll still want to see my fifty-two dollars and fifty cents. You may keep the proceeds from your sales— consider it Christmas charity.” He smiled too broadly.

  “Not charity enough to reschedule the auction, sir. A man’s life should not be for sale on Christmas Eve. In our country—”

  Boyer raised a hand. “I don’t set the schedule, Johann. The sheriff does. And money is money, and a debt is a debt. If perhaps, you spent less time gallivanting about selling whispered prayers and worthless ballads, and more on your crops and—”

  Hohman nodded curtly and rode past him. “Good day, sir.” It was better to let Boyer speak and not regret his own words later. Time was short. Behind him, Boyer cursed quietly and rode toward the inn.

  The merchant would have been surprised at Hohman’s accoutrements that morning. The flintlock was strapped on his back once more—he had little powder or shot, but he would have no opportunity to reload. The metal of another weapon, specially prepared, was cold against his stomach, below the pouch with his rosary of well-worn wooden beads. In his satchel, beneath the Taufscheins, were a few days’ provisions, a flask of holy water, his tattered family Bible, the letter from his professor, and a copy of his own book, Der Lange Verborgene Freund—the Long-Hidden Friend. Hohman could quote the statement at the end of the book verbatim:

  Whoever carries this book with him, is safe from all his enemies, visible or invisible; and whoever has this book with him, cannot die without the holy corpse of Jesus Christ, nor drowned in any water, nor burn up in any fire, nor can any unjust sentence be passed upon him.