The Mammoth Book of Cthulhu: New Lovecraftian Fiction

by Paula Guran

  Many times your husband’s job will be “classified” and the details available only to those who “need to know.” As a Navy wife, you do not “need to know” anything beyond what it takes to keep your husband satisfied and your household run efficiently here in the city of R’lyeh under the waves. Put aside your worries and focus your energy on activities such as church, scouting, and baking contests. You and your family will be happier if you keep busy and useful.

  Do remember, however, that effective security is the best way to protect our way of life and keep the Earth secure. This protection can only be as strong as the citizens who use common sense in their actions and speech.

  Therefore, never press your husband for details about his job. Do not gossip with the other wives about ship schedules or activities, even when taking tea with the captain’s wife. Do practice the good habit of saying “I don’t know” if asked unnecessary questions by strangers. Do not be curious.

  An important part of being a military wife is understanding that there are some things you can not know. Your life depends on it.

  Moving and Travel

  A military career requires many transfers and promotions. Details of your moving and transportation allowances will always be made available to you. Here is a word of advice from experienced wives: smile! We genuinely mean that. Your changes in station will be much less nerve-wracking if you keep your sense of humor and appreciate the uniqueness of each new location.

  For instance, when you first moved here to R’lyeh you were frustrated by the narrow streets and alleyways that fold back on themselves like the long slimy tentacles of a mammoth sea creature. The foul climate and frigid waters made you long for the days of your girlhood, when the sun still shone in skies still blue. The thick mud and foul ooze that cover the city made it difficult to keep your carpets clean, and the reverberant bells from broken church spires gave you headaches that took root deep in your skull and blossomed with thorns.

  Now, however, you drift through the city on currents of complacency, content to be pulled by forces beyond your control. You let the cold waters seep into you without struggle or concern. The ache in your head has faded to a dull throb that only flares when you think of those blue skies and lost sun. You beat the carpets with stones and soak in the gray-green sludge that fills your ceramic tub.

  We know you are happy here in R’lyeh under the waves. We watch you with our unblinking eyes.

  Yet one day your husband may come with news that you are transferring to Arkham or Innsmouth, or perhaps even Providence. Be flexible, as the move may be quite sudden. Set aside any grimoires or tinctures that you wish to carry yourselves. Cooperate with the movers and packers. They’ll appreciate some sweet iced tea or hot coffee while they work. Freshly baked cookies are always a nice treat.

  Be aware that throughout your husband’s career, the way you furnish your house or apartment will reflect on him and your decorating skills. Versatile furniture works best. For instance, chests of drawers inscribed with ancient runes can be used in living rooms as well as bedrooms. When shifting from one home to the next, keep in mind that a bucket of paint can cover wall glyphs to better blend with family furnishings passed from generation to generation. If you are renting, however, don’t even paint a shelf until the landlord (and your husband!) give permission.

  During your transfer between stations, you might find it practical to pack a small bag for your little ones to hold cards, paper, pencils, crayons, and sleep aids. A small suitcase can be useful to keep diapers and bibs for the baby as well as your own cosmetics for freshening up. Some families prefer to travel directly, while others make time to visit family or picturesque sites.

  Of course, there are no picturesque sites anymore, but that doesn’t stop puny humans from dreaming of them.

  Ceremony

  Upon occasion your husband’s captain may host a “dining-out.” This is a formal dinner to which all officers and wives will be invited. All members of the wardroom are expected to attend. A written request to be excused may be submitted, but will not be approved. The captain traditionally serves as president of the dining-out. As a junior officer, your husband may be asked to serve as “vice.” The vice is in charge of sending invitations, overseeing the menu, sounding the dinner chimes, making the toasts, and arranging all sacrifices.

  Your job is to support him as needed. If you have a steady hand, perhaps you can draw the seating chart that will be posted in the cocktail lounge. If your voice is clear and sweet, volunteer to sing the national anthem. If you are good at cleaning (and you should be!), you might ensure all flags and standards are free from any bloodstains from the last dining-out.

  During the weeks prior to the dining-out you may find yourself working closely with the captain’s wife on matters of protocol. Pay close attention to her speech and actions, especially in private. You may be asked later to recall conversations or facial expressions. Your close observations may be handsomely rewarded.

  Your husband’s uniform must be immaculate for the dining-out. Medals must be polished and appropriately placed, and his white sword-knot tight and carefully draped. Wives should wear long dinner gowns with tasteful jewelry. Women’s gloves are optional. During the dinner, refrain from smoking. After dessert is cleared and the wine glasses refilled, the president will authorize the smoking lamp to be lit. The president will also light the guest of honor’s cigar.

  The first toast will always be to Cthulhu, our Commander in Chief. Each officer must stand with raised glass. Remember not to drain your glass until the last toast, which is traditionally bottoms-up. Do not ask what liquid you have been served.

  During the bloodletting, remain attentively in your seat. The captain’s wife excused herself last time, setting a poor example for others and bringing her to our cold attention.

  How Ships are Named

  A standard naming convention applies to ships of the fleet. Destroyers and frigates are named after deceased academics and scholars, such as Angell, Webb, and Pabodie. Cruisers are named for cities and towns, such as Dunwich, Pawtuxet, and Salem. Aircraft carriers are named for famous individuals including Wilbur Whateley, Barnabus Marsh, and Charles Dexter Ward. Spaceships are named for the Old Ones whose names you cannot pronounce. Submarines honor the Deep Ones, who extend their slimy, webbed hands in an invitation to breed with them.

  Wives’ Clubs

  At most stations, there are wives’ clubs for the spouses of enlisted men, Chief Petty Officers, and commissioned officers. These clubs offer a ready-made social group and greatly contribute to the civic health of the community. You may also find clubs for squadron wives, Supply Corps wives, medical staff wives, and wives who are Prisoners of War/Missing in Action. Membership is always open except for the POW/MIA Club. That group is special invitation only.

  Although there is no rank among wives, a junior officer’s wife should always show courteous deference to older women and senior officers’ wives. When you are in doubt about etiquette or procedure, a senior officer’s wife will offer sage advice. After all, they had to learn these hard lessons, too, at one time.

  While your husband is away, you will find the support of these wives invaluable. They can share helpful tips about the traditionally male domains of paying bills, repairing appliances, and disciplining children. Your leisure time is important, too! Recreational activities you can partake in through your local club include bridge, mah-jongg, gardening, antiques, chorus, and gourmet cooking. Hobby groups will be plentiful for crochet, knitting, macramé, embroidery, and ceramics.

  You might even find classes for watercolor or oil painting. Remember those dreams you once had of being an artist? In high school you painted a ballerina’s feet en pointe, her satiny slippers pale pink on the canvas. The painting is long gone but sometimes surfaces in your restless dreams. You run and run through the dark halls of a dead museum, frantic with dread as you search for the girl who painted it.

  You mentioned that dream last week to the c
aptain’s wife. You’d both drunk an extra glass of wine at a Hail and Farewell function at the officer’s club. You were standing on the back deck sharing an illicit cigarette while the cold wind whipped against you and the oily waves crashed on the pilings underneath. You don’t like tobacco, but you liked the upsweep of her blond hair and the sly look in her dark blue eyes.

  “I have the same nightmare every night,” she said, lifting her wine glass to the steel-colored sky. “I’m stuck in a city under the sea, and there’s no more sun anywhere.”

  You laughed, although there’s nothing funny about the truth. If your life had been very different, you might have reached out to touch her smooth face. You might have been tempted to kiss her red lips. She might have kissed you back, filling that void inside that your husband has never been able to satisfy.

  But you didn’t touch and you didn’t kiss. Instead, she fixed her gaze on you for a long moment and then turned toward the gray horizon. She said, “Sometimes I dream of changing things.”

  Inside the club, music and conversation and too many bodies made the air thick. Standing with her, you felt like you could think more clearly. You felt a glimmer of something that might have even been hope. But that was just the wine, and in the morning you made a telephone call.

  Religion

  We do not actually consider ourselves gods, but it may be useful for you to regard us as such.

  Certainly our age, wisdom, and power far outmatch any of the frail system of idols and myths that mankind has invented for itself. We rule the stars. We transcend time. We are more than capable of delivering the “miracles” you ascribe to your religious saviors, but we don’t perform on command. We grant life and death on the basis of our own whims and reasons, and only some of us are swayed by silly prayers or slaughtered innocents. Do not make the mistake of believing that in our ancient genes we carry any traits resembling compassion or pity.

  The military supports the free exercise of religion, no matter how feeble it may be. Here in R’lyeh under the waves you may attend Protestant, Catholic, Jewish, Muslim, and Buddhist services. As a guest at a meal or special event, you may be called on to participate in a simple religious observance such as a blessing. If asked to pray while in a home of a differing religious affiliation, be sincere with your own favorite grace or stay respectfully silent.

  The base chaplain is available to all service members regardless of faith. You may call upon him with questions or concerns, and in many cases your conversations will be kept confidential. The chaplain’s aide is a young woman named Petty Officer Windstern. Females in the military service are rare these days, but they serve with the same patriotism, enthusiasm, and devotion as their male counterparts. They are accorded the same respect as their peers, more or less.

  Order of Precedence

  Precedence is the logical order of rank when dealing with matters of protocol at an official function. All military personnel understand the importance of rank, but matters may become complicated when civilians are present. In brief, any Old One automatically assumes highest precedence and must be accorded every traditional honor. They also receive head-of-line privileges while shopping for groceries at the base commissary and get the best reserved-parking spaces.

  The traditional descending order of precedence is Old Ones, supernatural creatures, half-breed supernatural creatures, creatures with just one gray drop of supernatural blood, male humans, male humans with aberrant tendencies, humans made male through surgery or other modification, male children, and female humans.

  Remember that social niceties are important from the first moment you follow your husband’s footsteps to a new duty station. Social calls must be made and accepted. Respond promptly to RSVPs by note or telephone. Formal receptions celebrating promotions, retirements, and other special occasions will allow your husband to make important political connections, and you should make every effort to be pleasing to the eye. Cocktail parties are more informal, but it is important to dress appropriately. Avoid awkwardness by paying close attention to the difference between casual wear (coat and tie for men, afternoon dress for women) and informal attire (sports shirt for your husband, blouse and skirt for you).

  When hosting an event, spend considerable time with menu selection. Never try out a new dish on guests, for something will invariably go wrong. Learn the different grades and cuts of meat. Keep your pantry well stocked with staples. For hors d’oeuvres, keep them simple. Men like good, filling appetizers, such as shrimp with piquant sauce, small knobs of cauliflower, or potato chips to be dipped in Roquefort dressing. Do as much planning and preparing as you can in the morning after sending your husband off with a good breakfast. When he returns, he will appreciate your wanting to be in the living room with him, even if it is only to sit by and watch him read the newspaper.

  An important tradition in the officer corps is celebrating the promotion of an officer with a dinner party or other event called a “wetting-down.” Soon your husband will put on his lieutenant’s bars, so definitely share his success with your friends and neighbors. Guests should include his captain. To avoid unpleasantness, do not comment on the absence of his wife. He may not wish to reflect upon the day the military police took her away and certainly can’t answer any questions as to her current whereabouts. He has no “need to know,” and neither do you.

  What is a Navy Wife?

  A Navy wife must clean the house, wash clothes, cook meals, tend to the children, and provide for the needs and comfort of her husband. He has the right to good reading lamps, clean ashtrays, and peace and quiet at the end of the day. A Navy wife learns to find satisfaction and happiness in a job well done. She accepts the challenges of the military life with enthusiasm and optimism, and values the traditions and customs passed down to her from earlier generations.

  A Navy wife does not dwell on her mistakes. She does not stand on the rocky shore with her coat wrapped tight, contemplating drowning herself in the unforgiving waves. She does not close her eyes and remember dark blue eyes and upswept hair. She does not dream of helpless screams in the city under the sea.

  A Navy wife knows that freedom is a fragile thing and must be closely defended.

  A Navy wife serves the Old Ones, as does all mankind.

  “One of the great appeals of the Mythos – intuitive to those of us who can so easily google the inhuman forces that dominate the twenty-first century – is the idea that knowledge is both irresistibly tempting and overwhelmingly dangerous,” according to Ruthanna Emrys. Her story, “Those Who Watch,” is, she says, “a love letter to the Necronomicon, the Pnakotic Manuscripts, and all those remarkably well-preserved books buried in cyclopean archives beneath the Australian desert.”

  Emrys lives in a mysterious manor house in the outskirts of Washington DC, with her wife and their large, strange family. She makes homemade vanilla, obsesses about game design, gives unsolicited advice, occasionally attempts to save the world, and blogs sporadically about these things on LiveJournal and Twitter. Her stories have appeared in a number of venues including Tor.com, Strange Horizons, and Analog.

  Those Who Watch

  Ruthanna Emrys

  ——

  On my third full day, the library marked me. I should have been holding down the desk – I’d been hired for reference – but instead I was shelving. After a year with an MLIS and no prospects, you don’t whine. Deep in the narrow aisles of the back stacks, the air conditioning struggled against the sticky Louisiana heat outside. I gave up on my itchy suit jacket, draped it over the cart, and tucked Cults and Sects of Eastern Bavaria under my arm while I hooked a rolling stool with my ankle. And felt a piercing sting against the inside of my elbow.

  I screamed, almost dropped the book, caught it but lost my balance. My ass is pretty well padded, but now I felt a nasty bruise start up to go along with whatever mutant mosquito had snuck in from the swamps to assault me. I set Cults and Sects gently on floor and examined my arm. The skin swelled, red and inflamed, around
a tiny spiral galaxy of indigo and scarlet flame.

  I’ve never so much as pierced my ears. I hate pain. A lot of days I hate my body, too, but it’s mine and I don’t expect it’d improve anything to ink it up or poke extra holes in it. But I’ve got braver friends, so I could tell this was unmistakably a tattoo, right about the point some people take off the Band-Aid – a little too early – and send you close-up selfies to make you wince in sympathy. I touched it and shrieked again, a little muffled because I expected the pain this time.

  I prodded the book, turned it carefully with the tip of my finger. No needles hidden between pages by urban legend psychopaths, or protruding from the spine like some literary assassin’s poison ring. An ordinary book, cloth bound and stamped along the page ends with “Crique Foudre Community College.”

  “Elaine! Are you all right?” My boss hurried around the end of the row. I scrambled to my feet, nearly tripping again, left hand clapped over the evidence of whatever screw-up I’d managed.

  “Sorry, Sherise,” I managed. Sherise, she’d made clear when I started, not Sherry or Miss Nichols or any of the other variants people had tried – she liked her name and she used it.

  “Let me see,” she said. When I didn’t move, she pried my fingers away from the off ending spot. She hummed as she traced the swollen area. “Better get the first aid kit to be safe. Come on.”