“Angela!” He ran a hand through his hair. For a boozehound fresh from a binge, she looked stunning. “For a minute there, I thought you were my boss. I’m not feeling so hot today. But then, you probably know that. I didn’t think you’d ever wanted to see me again.”
“Why? Because you got sick? You shouldn’t have had the salad at the restaurant. Green stuff is bad for you. It just rots in your belly. Don’t you know that?”
“No, I … should read more, I guess.” He wiped his forehead with a tissue. Her rose perfume was making him ill. “God, I feel like crap. I was up most of the night. I almost threw up on my ouija board.”
Just then, his supervisor entered the room. Pete quickly turned on his computer. “Back to the salt mines,” he whispered. “Do you really want to see me tonight?”
Angela smiled vaguely. “I’m sorry. My mind was wandering. What did you say?”
Here we go again, he thought. “Ill pick you up at seven. Where do you live?”
Her brow furrowed for a moment. “Let’s just meet somewhere, like last night. How about Carl’s, that place with all the steaks?”
Looking at her, Pete thought about the strangest part of the latest ouija board message: SHEKEPSTHEMOLD. She keeps them old? Who or what could ‘them’ be? Did she have a lot of elderly boyfriends? But if that was the case, wouldn’t she be keeping them young…?
- - -
Carl’s All-You-Can-Eat Steakhouse was packed, so they had to wait twenty minutes to be seated. Still, the size and quality of their cuts of beef more than made up for the delay.
“Do you play with that ouija board every night?” Angela said, admiring a forkful of juicy, pink-centered steak.
“Well, yes, but I wouldn’t call it playing. I’m talking to the Other Side. Still, I always wonder if the messages I receive are from the spirit world or my own subconscious. Is it the other side of existence, or the other side of me?” Pete glanced toward the door of the restaurant’s kitchen. “Where’s our waiter? I didn’t get my baked potato.”
“If you must eat the awful things, just take mine.” She nudged the foil-wrapped bundle off her plate. “They’re not good for you, you know. Full of toxins, from being underground for so long.”
“Potatoes? Where did you hear that?”
“Oh, look! That guy who just came in. That’s my mailman!”
Their conversation was pleasant, but even so, it bumped along fitfully. He learned nothing about her personal life. She always managed to either change the topic or ignore it completely. Like before, she ate only meat and drank only wine.
“Aren’t you going to have a drink?” she asked.
“No, I’d better not. I had too much last night.”
“Oh?” An expression of – confusion? disappointment? – crossed her face. “What are we going to do next?”
“Maybe we could go to your place…” Pete stopped, since his comment made her drum her fingers on the table. “...unless you’d rather do something else?”
Angela finished her sixth glass of wine and rose from the table. “Let’s go to your place. I want to see that ouija board.”
- - -
Pete bit his lip as he carried the ouija board from his bedroom into the living room. It looked so old and cheap – but then, maybe that just gave it character. He set it on the coffee table in front of Angela, who was seated on the couch. He sat in a chair across from her.
“Nice place,” Angela said, looking around.
“If I’d known you were stopping by, I would’ve picked up my things. I have junk all over the place.”
“I like a home that looks lived-in,” she said with a shrug. “I hate rooms where everything is too perfect. They make me afraid to breathe.” She hugged one of the throw pillows on the couch. “Your place is cozy.”
He tapped the ouija board. “Do you want to ask it something?”
She shook her head. “No, that’s okay. Just show me what you do with it.”
Pete put his fingers on the planchette and began thinking about what to ask. Before anything came to mind, the pointer came to life, wheeling around the board.
LEAVEHERALONE
THEBITCHISDEATH
THEMOL
He pushed away the planchette before it could spell out any more. That wasn’t the type of message he wanted to see.
Angela stretched and yawned. Then she unbuttoned her pants and began to remove them. “I’m going to keep my blouse on, if you don’t mind.”
That was the type of message he wanted.
“So what did your board say?” she asked.
He pulled off his shoes. “Nothing. Just gibberish. Must be out of order.”
- - -
During the next two weeks, Pete and Angela had eight dates. At her insistence, they always met in a restaurant. Each date ended in his bed. At no point while they were in bed together did she ever remove her blouse. He figured she probably had a weird birthmark or something like that. Each morning when he woke up, she was gone. To her credit, she always left a note explaining that she had taken a cab home.
One time, Pete pretended to be asleep. Soon, he heard her soft snore. He waited another half-hour before going to sleep, convinced that she was finally going to spend the night.
But in the morning, she was gone.
It was clear that Angela did not want him to know where she lived. Talking to her about the situation was useless – she was a pro at avoiding topics that displeased. He checked with a college buddy who worked in Personnel to confirm that she was single. Still, that didn’t rule out the possibility of a live-in lover.
Finally he decided that he was going to have to use strategy.
It was easy enough to learn her address from his friend in Personnel. She had a house on the edge of town. His friend also added that he took the same bus as Angela to work each morning – and that as far as he knew, she lived alone.
For three nights in a row, Pete put off seeing Angela. He claimed that he was looking for a new job, and had to work on his resume and some cover letters. Instead, he would park at the far end of her block and watch for – well, anything. Lovers. Strange goings-on. Something that might explain why she was keeping her home life a secret.
But there was nothing to see. Her lifestyle was fairly spartan. Each night, Angela arrived at home by bus around six. First the lights in what he supposed to be the living room went on, followed by those in the kitchen. He knew it was the kitchen because he could see a refrigerator through the window. The living room drapes were always drawn.
Each night, she made herself dinner in the kitchen and then spent the rest of the evening in the living room. The flickering lights behind her light-blue drapes had to be the glow from her TV screen. She went to bed around nine-fifteen.
On the first two nights, he just watched. On the third night, he took action.
As soon as Angela went to bed, Pete drove to a local pizzeria and bought two large meatball sandwiches. He then returned to her house and rang the doorbell. He’d even rehearsed what he was going to say, and how he’d answer any possible questions. Hi! I finished my work and thought I’d stop by, since it wasn’t all that late. In bed? Why, it’s not even ten o’clock yet! How’d I find out where you live? My ouija board told me!
In truth, he hadn’t consulted the board for days. The Other Side’s position on Angela had been grim – although hardly reason enough to give up a beautiful and eager lover. And yet, the last time he had touched the planchette, it had just spelled out two words: ROSESEX. That, he’d decided, was a good omen.
Angela answered the door on the fifth ring. She wore a faded pink housecoat and fuzzy slippers with plastic Cheshire cat grins across the toes. “Pete? What are you doing here?”
He was about to launch into his tale when a blast of strong rose scent hit him – along with a far less agreeable odor. He knew that if he opened his mouth, he would vomit.
She grabbed him by the arm. “Are you feeling okay? You’d better come inside.”
She guided him into the living room and seated him on her couch. She took the sack he’d brought from his grasp. She looked inside and sighed wearily. “Sandwiches? So much bread! Bread is so bad for you, I don’t know where to begin! Don’t you realize that?”
Pete looked around in disbelief. Long-stemmed red and white roses were crammed in wine bottles on top of shelves, tables and the TV. Bones were everywhere. The chicken, beef and pork bones were flung about at random. The human bones had been strung back together with wire. Seven complete skeletons lounged in beanbag chairs facing the TV. Strips of stained white cloth were wrapped around the bony remains. Rose blossoms had been placed in the empty eye sockets.
“Angela!” he cried. “What the hell is going on here? It looks like a butcher-shop in here! What’s up with these weird mummies?”
Angela grabbed an open wine bottle from beside the couch and finished what remained inside. “I’m sorry,” she said. “What did you say?” She drummed the nails of her free hand on top of the TV. Then she smashed the bottle over Pete’s head.
- - -
When he awoke, Pete found himself hanging upside-down in a damp basement. He was tied by the ankles to a hook bolted into a support beam. His arms were tied together behind his back. The room stank of wine and decay. No roses down here. Next to him, a long-dead, bluish-white corpse swayed from another hook – a man in a suit with both his neck and his trouser legs slashed open. Large chunks of meat had been cut out of the thighs. Pete tried to cry out, but couldn’t – his mouth had been taped over.
About six feet away, Angela stood naked beside a work table, sipping Chablis as she inspected an array of knives, files, hammers and other tools. Behind her, he noticed that the small windows near the ceiling had been boarded up.
This was the first time he’d ever seen Angela’s naked chest, and he now saw that she sported a large, rough-edged scar between her breasts.
“You’re looking at my scar, aren’t you?” she said sadly. “Well then, you might as well see it all.” So saying, she gripped the edges of the scar and opened the wound, so that he could see into her body.
There in her chest cavity pulsed what appeared to be a heart-sized chunk of greenish-black mold.
“Thousands of years ago,” Angela said, “I used to be the consort of the great god Nyarlathotep in ancient Egypt. I was a priestess in his temple. He was so handsome, so strong … such a beautiful smile. Beautiful but cruel. He told me I wasn’t smart enough to love, but still, he did not want my loveliness to ever die. So he replaced my heart with an undying mold from a planet called Yuggoth. This pulsing mass that serves as my heart … I hate it. I hate it. But I don’t have the nerve to take it out. I don’t have the nerve to die.”
She walked toward Pete and pushed him by the shoulder, spinning him round and round. His head knocked against the shoulder of the taller man hanging next to him. That carved carcass was all that remained of a middle-aged businessman. There was a name tag on his lapel – Angela must have killed him shortly after a reception or some other meeting.
“So I like meat,” Angela said. “And wine. And the scent of roses. So does the mold. We know each other so well. We don’t mind if the meat isn’t so fresh. Aging improves the flavor! The same with wine. If I’m going to live forever, I might as well as indulge myself.”
She then gave voice to a high keening. At first Pete thought she was crying – but then he realized there was nothing of sadness in her tone. It was more like the sound a cat makes when its meal is disturbed. The sound of a ravenously hungry animal.
She grabbed a knife from the work table and lashed out. Searing pain ripped through his skull. With another push, she sent him spinning even faster. He saw a flash of Angela … the dead man’s shoulder … Angela gnawing on the ear she’d just sliced off of him … a square of plastic that read, HI! MY NAME IS ROSS ESSEX … Angela laughing madly, lips smeared with bright blood … ROSS ESSEX….
Trained by his ouija board, he pictured the words without the double letters and the space.
ROSESEX.
The Colossus In The Catacombs
by Mark McLaughlin & Michael Sheehan, Jr.
In the days when the Pharaohs ruled Egypt, it was not frowned upon for brother to marry sister in royal households. Such an alliance allowed power and riches to remain in the family. The fact that the children of such marriages were prone to curious deformities did not bother the royalty in the slightest. They believed that these afflictions were, in fact, gifts given to them by the gods to show that they were different from, and therefore better than, the common people. One does not question a gift from the gods. All that can be gained from such impertinence is death.
When the Pharaoh Akhenaten took his sister Beketaten as his bride, no one found fault in their union. Of all the children that Beketaten bore for her brother, their son Tutankhaten was by far the most pleasing to the eye. Tutankhaten was tall and fairly slender, although his hips were wide and womanly. His spine curved slightly to one side. His front teeth were large and his top lip was cleft, like that of a hare. He had large, dark eyes that conveyed his every emotion. His siblings, on the other hand, suffered from oddly shaped skulls and an excess of crooked teeth.
In the ninth summer of his life, Tutankhaten ascended to the throne, taking the royal name of Nebkheperure. But, he did not keep this new identity for long. In the third year of his reign, he ended the worship of the sun-god Aten and restored the supremacy of Amun, the ram-headed god of the winds whose worship had once been suppressed. He then changed his name to Tutankhamun, declaring himself to be the living image of Amun.
In time, Tutankhamun married his half-sister, Ankhesenpaaten. As part of her new role as queen, her name was changed to Ankhesenamun. The young couple wished to have children, but their efforts only resulted in two stillborn daughters.
There came a day when Tutankhamun was visited by a wealthy merchant who traveled with a caravan. The merchant told the royal guards that he wished to present the young pharaoh with a marvelous gift. Tutankhamun was told of the traveler’s request and granted him an audience in the royal dining hall. He ordered a feast to be prepared for the merchant and his companions.
The merchant was a distinguished older man who wore a black silk robe and many gold rings. His deep, oddly hollow voice was reminiscent of the roar of distant thunder. “Recently, my caravan came across the ruins of the City of Night, once ruled by the Black Pharaoh, Nephren-Ka. We set up tents and stayed there for three days, so we could explore the buildings. On the third day, two of my men fell through the floor of a tunnel and landed in a chamber with scorched walls. The only thing they found in the chamber was this.”
The merchant in black opened a leather sack, from which he removed a small, strangely shaped box of yellow metal. The box was adorned with bas-reliefs depicting bizarre creatures with batlike wings and flailing tentacles. He opened the hinged lid and handed the box to Tutankhamun.
The young pharaoh looked inside. There he saw a shining, multifaceted gem, held in the center of the container with thin metal supports. “What manner of treasure is this?” he said.
“I am familiar with this gem from my studies,” said the merchant. “It is ancient beyond all human reckoning. It is called the Eye of Yuggoth, and it came from a realm more distant than you could ever imagine. Wondrous gods dwell in Yuggoth. If you stare into the gem, you can see that fabulous land, and others as well. This glorious gem is yours, oh mighty one.”
Tutankhamun stared into the shining crystal. In its depths, he saw a series of astounding images. A forest of trees with writhing purple tentacles instead of branches … a volcano filled with a dark-pink mass of writhing flesh, dotted with enormous yellow eyes … a palace of lustrous jade, built on a island of black stone in the middle of a bubbling silver lake … a swarm of gigantic, winged insects with the faces of sad children … and many more extravagant scenes.
“What did Nephren-Ka do with this clever toy?” the young pharaoh
asked.
“You have answered your own question,” the merchant said. “It is a toy, as you said. A device meant simply for amusement. Perhaps you would like to give it to your good wife … an entertaining trinket she can keep by her side.”
“A most delightful suggestion,” said Tutankhamun. “I cannot spend each day with her, and she is often lonely. This toy will make her smile when I am away.” He rewarded the merchant handsomely for the box, even though the black-robed man had not asked for payment.
The young pharaoh gave the Eye of Yuggoth as a gift to his queen that same evening. Ankhesenamun was instantly enthralled with her present and soon became obsessed with it. She had lost two daughters and needed a distraction to take her mind off her grief. She would gaze into the gem as she ate her meals … as she bathed in her private pool … as her servants applied fragrant oils to her gently shaved flesh. And each day, as she gazed deeply into the gem, she heard a low, beautiful voice that told her: By the grace of Nyarlathotep, you shall become the mother of a powerful man. A magick man. Someday your son shall be the leader of a great army.
At night, she would take the box into the bedchamber, where she would urge Tutankhamun to make love to her. When at last a new child was conceived, a great and terrible spirit came forth from the box, into the complete darkness, to shape the unborn child. Ankhesenamun knew that the gem would not lie. Her child would powerful. Magickal. The leader of a magnificent army.
Ankhesenamun’s cheeks took on a glorious rosiness. Her lips grew plump and red. Her belly swelled larger, larger. Truly, she never looked lovelier.
“Your skin glows with health,” Tutankhamun said to her one morning, shortly after they had risen from a night of fine sleep. “Our child shall live to see the sun. I am sure of it. I am also sure our child shall be a boy. A fine boy.” He looked around the bedchamber. “I do not see your toy. Is the box lost?”
Shoggoth Apocalypse & More Tales Of The Cthulhu Mythos Page 4
