Urban Temples of Cthulhu - Modern Mythos Anthology

by Khurt Khave

  “I have a pressie,” she said, “here.”

  In her hand rested a black stone, bigger then a hen's egg. In the dark shiny stone a toad’s head had been carved, sharp and sinister.

  Antique jade, classic cars, erotica, occult knickknacks, you name it and people collect it. And if you have collectors, you have dealers. The cheapest merchandise is sold from the trunk of a car or on street markets. The more expensive items are acquired in shops, by mailing lists, trusted go-betweens and such. The truly valuable pieces change hands in hotel lobbies or closed and secret auctions, yes even with by means of theft or robbery. A true connoisseur gets what he wants, and if money is not enough, he will use other means.

  The night was clear and sultry. Standing in the open kitchen door Leon smoked his after dinner cigarette. Quitting completely was impossible and Nathalie didn't mind if he smoked, but preferred not in the house. In the sky, thousands of stars were visible; little points of lights that were roaring fireballs immensely far away. Or maybe they were thousands of eyes, watching him?

  Leon let the cigarette smoke slowly escape. They were stars, of course he knew that, but since Nathalie's return from. . .from that other place, the universe was changed. He liked making things, with his hands, with his instincts. If he repaired an old stained glass window, or an antique trunk, then he was connected to the artisan that created the original all those ages ago. But the final result was always something tangible. Nathalie's brandings were like that, tangible. He could feel them under his fingers when at night they lay against each other. They were beautiful and made her into a unique work of art. Nathalie was totally proud of them, and so was he. And she finally had accepted her shaven head. She already owned a nice collection of wigs, and she actually liked to wear different ones in the daytime and outside the house; the redheaded nymphet getting groceries, or the black haired Miss Bitch serving dinner. All roles Nathalie loved to play.

  But because they used their imagination in their daily life, the difference between reality and nonsense had always been crystal clear. Everything used to be so normal and plain, until three days ago. Until Nathalie woke up with the carved gemstone in her hand. She had gone somewhere. As the old documents said, to a city underwater.

  And she came back. With a tiny piece of that city.

  From nothing, from dreams, she stole something tangible. Impossible, but it happened.

  That strange piece of rock which meant that the sunken city was real. This meant that the universe was endlessly bigger, crueler and more

  fearsome then he had ever imagined.

  Leon put out his cigarette on the broken saucer that they kept especially for that on the rain barrel. There was a lot to think about.

  An antiques dealer that sometimes handled dubious items gave him a name, a colleague that was specialized in dark antiques for an exclusive clientele. After a phone call there was a meet in a pub. Clearly the nasty toad’s head interested the dealer, a skinny man in an old fashioned checkered suit, with wild white hair and long yellow teeth. He immediately made an offer and after some haggling they agreed on a price with four figures, “I'm interested in anything you can find.”

  “We will see,” Leon had replied.

  Leon turned and went inside. Indeed they would see.

  Thousands of stars watched him go.

  He ignores us, He does not care. To Him we are less then insects or bacteria. Our whole notion of 'good' and 'evil' does not exist for Him. At best He is indifferent to us, in most cases He is ignorant about us. And for that we can be grateful.

  “Do you want to return to the city underwater? You are not afraid?” Leon asked. Again it was night. The candles were lit, the rack waited. But he hesitated.

  “Yes,” Nathalie replied. Of course she was not afraid. The Warm Red Sea was so. . .familiar. Yes, trusted. Of course she wanted to go back.

  Nodding, Leon chased away his doubts. There was another world, and his sweet could enter it. Last time had been a test, and if she succeeded tonight, they would have enough money for the rest of their lives.

  The Warm Red Sea. The path to it was never the same, but pain and pleasure were the two guides. He strapped her in, loved her, played with her. Step by step he pushed her forward until only one escape remained.

  The sunken city was spread out below her, huge, wide, tempting. Nathalie hesitated, she wanted to go down, to the shadows, where the water creatures were. She hadn't forgotten their touch, but there was more. They felt. . .familiar, like she and they were the same. In some way they were connected. It was her brandings, it must be, but she couldn't say why.

  Regretfully, Nathalie swam on, no time to play for now. She was here with a mission. A dreamer's mission. Determined, she swam on.

  The mountain dominated the city. Shapes were hard to decipher in the red sea, but there were curves and slopes. The strange thing was that the mountain seemed bare; no coral, no bed of waving sea weed. The mass in front of her was bare, unapproachable, not suited for any kind of life at all. Severe, Nathalie thought. Powerful. She felt like a speck of dirt, small and insignificant, without meaning. It was such a nice feeling.

  Time went by, but she couldn’t measure how much. Nathalie came nearer and nearer the sleeping mountain. Now she swam in the shadow of the enormous mount. There were lots of details but somehow she couldn’t describe what she perceived. Patterns and waves, but the moment she looked closer, an all obscuring fog filled her brain, like she could not understand what she saw. With her eyes almost totally closed she swam on. The water was still warm on her skin, but somehow there was coldness in her bones. If she'd had any hair left on her, it certainly would stand straight up.

  Now she was on the slope of the mountain. The strange patterns had disappeared. They still pulled at the corners of her eyes, but they didn’t bother her as long as she kept looking straight ahead. The stone of the mountain was not the same from which the city was built. That was dark and smooth, like black diamond. No, the mountain was. . .again the fog clouded her brain.

  Don’t think, do! Nathalie decided. If you started to over-think everything, in the end nothing remained. You only needed to feel.

  She chose a piece of rock, about as big as a child’s head. If she could dislodge that somehow. She touched the mountain.

  Lightning entered her body. The stone is alive! Unknown energy gushed through her body, not like a wave but a thundering waterfall as big as the ocean itself. Feelings never meant for simple Homo sapiens. It overwhelmed her soul. Alien sights, sounds, smells and stimuli filled her brain. For a few indivisible moments she knew the secrets of the universe, she was ONE with ALL. The lines of her brandings lit up, as if she again felt the iron on her skin, but a thousand times more intense. The water around her superheated, she screamed.

  She didn’t let go of the piece of rock. With all her puny might she hung on.

  Skin flakes, the strongest armor sometimes loses a speck of paint, little fishes clean the teeth of the most dangerous predators.

  The rock dislodged.

  Nathalie was blown away, away from the mountain, away from the Warm Red Sea.

  With a raw scream Nathalie returned.

  Instinctively Leon grabbed her.

  An enormous piece of alien gemstone hit the floor.

  “I love you,” said Leon. He caressed her bald head.

  In bed, Nathalie smiled. She didn’t feel weak at all, but Leon forbade her to get up. And actually it was really nice to be taken care of and pampered. Leon always looked after her, he was her safety net, her anchor. She loved him with all her heart.

  “Can I see it?” she asked. She had slept all night after losing consciousness. Leon hadn’t left her side.

  He got the steel money box. In it was a piece of black cloth, and on that was the gem she took back from her dreams. Now she could look at it normally. It was a wonderful jewel: shining, jaggy, a magical treasure found in a dream. How would it be to hold it? To look in the mirror to see how the jewel would comp
lete the silver lines of her brandings?

  “Tomorrow I will sell it. I just called the dealer.”

  “That quick?” Nathalie watched the stone some more. It came from her dreams, from the sunken city. How was it possible? She couldn’t explain it, but there it was.

  Leon nodded. “It is unhealthy to keep it around. These kinds of stones are cursed and it never ends well for those who are exposed to their influence for a long time.” The manuscripts had been very clear about that, and during his years of research he had heard enough stories. No, to keep something like this was asking for trouble. He closed the lid of the box with a definite clang and turned the key. “Cursed, but very valuable. Sweet, the money train has arrived!”

  Three days later they flew to Bangkok, first class. The start of their tour of the world.

  ‘They are not long, the weeping and the laughter, Love and desire and hate:

  I think they have no portion in us after

  We pass the gate.

  They are not long, the days of wine and roses; Out of a misty dream

  Our path emerges for a while, then closes

  Within a dream.’

  Ernest Dowson, “Vitae Summa Brevis” Thailand, Australia, New Zealand, on to South America with a few stops inbetween on tropical islands. They visited many great cities, saw beautiful things, lived the life of the happy few. Finally they ended up in the south of France where they rented a villa near the sea.

  All the luxury they wanted, a wonderful climate, extravagant parties and a huge collection of toys. Leon had their old rack shipped in. It was the rack he specially made for her, and it still was the very best.

  She didn't mean to do it. Ever since she returned from the sunken city with the gem she hadn't swam in the Warm Red Sea. Yes, of course, she and her love played often enough. It was super and exciting and; it was just soooo good. Many hours they played and loved, but they never went that deep anymore. Until, it just happened. He had put her in bondage, covered her eyes with a satin blind fold. Her whole world was darkness and the lovely feeling to be tied up. Leon had teased her cruelly, soft caressing her with his hands, hot little kisses on her skin and every now and then scratching her with his fingernails, or pinching her on a tender spot. When she was weak in the knees, hot with desire and lust, he really started. Leon's experienced hands led Nathalie. She breathed heavily, moaned, begged, cried out. And Leon went on and on, without mercy. Nathalie shuddered feverishly, now she was on her knees and didn't know day from night. And suddenly. . .

  . . .

  Warm

  Red

  Sea

  . . .

  It was like she had never left. It felt so comfortable, like the womb of

  some Mother Goddess, a safe haven. She swam in the Warm Red Sea and directly below her was the sunken city with the sleeping mountain.

  Yes! Even from this distance she saw the familiar figures coming out of shadowy ravines. Graceful, big, inhuman. They greeted her with low croaks. Enthusiastically, Nathalie waved back.

  The city became their playground. Nathalie swam with the creatures through the dark, strange streets with their disorientating curves. They played hide and seek in the lazy forests of strangely colored seaweed. There were buildings with columns bigger then a house, gigantic stairs with uneven steps, randomly leading up or down. Statues seemed to try to escape from walls, but thick covers of slime and black sponges obscured most details.

  Finally, above a square somewhere in the sunken city, Nathalie floated lazily. She knew what was coming. The water creatures circled around her, playful and excited. One of them touched her casually. Nathalie moaned, a warm shock of energy shot through her brandings.

  Another touch, less casual, a new shock. And one more, and one more, and many more.

  In her dream, in the Warm Red Sea, Nathalie cried out. Superhuman pleasure shot through her body. She embraced it, reveled in it, let her self be carried away by the wild stream of ecstasy.

  Finally. Yes, after a long, long time, it ended. She was wrung out, lazy, empty, exhausted, satisfied. The familiar feeling of sleep snuck towards her.

  “Hey, how are you doing?” sounded the familiar voice that at the same time was so strange, so, inadequate. Leon, my love. In a millisecond her universe diminished back to the mundane.

  Nathalie sat on the floor, sweat covering her body. It dripped from her pores. What?

  “What day is it?” Leon asked. It was a control question, to see how far she was gone.

  “Day? Uh,” Days? The word meant something, but what. She couldn't remember.

  Okay. Leon cut Nathalie's ropes with a pair of bandage scissors. He lifted her from the ground and took her to bed. Water, sugar, keeping warm and holding her.

  The next morning Nathalie woke up, partly groggy, partly filled with a longing. The Warm Red Sea, the sunken city. They slept late, had a brunch on the terrace, and did basically nothing more than eat a little, drink, make love and lounge. But every time Nathalie looked at the Mediterranean Sea outside the villa, she felt a little twinge. Somewhere under the surface waited the sunken city for her. There is only one sea.

  The next night they went to that new night club, the following night there was a party they just could not miss, and the third night they played again. And again Nathalie swam in the Warm Red Sea.

  And also the next time.

  And the next.

  “You are not going back there again, are you? I mean that sea with that city,” Leon wanted to know. His sweet, going into trance deeper and quicker every time they had a session, even the times he was really sweet and soft. Now simple bondage and a small amount of spanking was enough to set her off.

  “Oh no, I don't go there anymore,” Nathalie lied. She didn't even think about it when she spoke those words, but it felt like she suddenly slammed a door closed. It was the very first time she outright lied to Leon. Did she blush? Did she hesitate? Did he sense it?

  He didn't say a thing, he just nodded. Good, sweet.

  Traitor! Nathalie called out in her mind, but she wasn't sure if she meant herself or Leon. She was his love, he should have seen she was lying!

  Later, when she rested in his arms and felt his heart beating, she knew she was unreasonable. But still, somehow things had changed. She had kept a secret from him, and he didn't see through her.

  She kept returning to the city, she couldn't stop, even if she had wanted to. It called to her, in her dreams, but also when she was awake. The clear blue sky, the sunshine, the laughing people, the hotels, the villas and cars; it all seemed so, unreal, like painted, one-dimensional stage pieces obscuring the view on the real universe.

  It was evening, they were alone. All the lights in the villa were turned off, only the light of the dozen candles chased away the darkness. She was bent over the massive antique table, only wearing stockings and heels. Sexy for him, and herself. He stood behind her, his hands caressed her back and the rubbery scars, going down to her buttocks. She shivered, full of anticipation. “Mmmm.”

  Fingers, hands, skin on skin. Ordering, demanding, punishing. And she was enjoying it all.

  Nice.

  Leon continued, they loved each other. She wriggled under his touch. She was so wonderful, his sweet.

  He took both her arms and bit her on the neck. A deep moan rose from her throat. She went.

  . . .

  Warm

  Red

  Sea

  The sunken city.

  The sleeping mountain.

  The elegant sea creatures.

  They welcomed her back as one of them, which she was. This world of red twilight, dark shadows and stone memories was her world.

  Her decision wasn't anything conscious.

  This was her home.

  She would stay here.

  Ph’nglui mglw’nafh Cthulhu R’lyeh wgah’nagl fhtagn

  The Berlin Mistress was a tall woman with long black hair and Asian features. Her expressionless face with penetrating dark eyes an
d blood red lips promised controlled cruelty. All in black leather she sat on her throne like an empress. The studio was a mix between an S&M dungeon, a workshop and the house of a witch. Above, rows of whips and floggers, Bali demon masks and wicked curved knives were mounted. On one side was a bench with hammers, pliers and piercing tools. Strange smells escaped from open skulls. For Miss Soror Lux, pain and pleasure were just simple elements of her very intense art.

  Leon knelt before her, broken, his face feverish, his hands trembling. A lost man, a man on the run, a searching man. He looked up, begging.

  “Miss Soror Lux, I want my love back. Will you brand me?”

  Jaap Boekestein (1968) is an award winning Dutch writer of science fiction, fantasy, horror, thrillers and whatever takes his fancy. Five novels and almost three hundred of his stories have been published. He has made a living as a bouncer, working for a detective agency, and as an editor.

  Jaapboekestein.com moordenmysterie.eu wonderwaan.info

  Can you find the 5 Hidden Howies?

  Table of Contents

  Sects and the Single Girl Steven A. Roman

  The Kings in Rebel Yellow Khurt Khave

  The Face of God Within Brian H. Seitzman

  The Black Metal of Derek Zann Aaron Besson

  Cosmic Cavity; or, the Mouth of Man Carl R. Jennings

  Along the Shore of Old Ridge Stuart Conover

  Sleep Talking Jeff C. Stevenson

  Matriarch of Skid Row M. C. Bluhm

  Uncle Lovecraft: The Complete Oral History David Acord

  Strange Communion Allen Griffin

  Death in the Sunset Guy Riessen

  The Abomination of St. Jude David F. Gray

  Doorstepping Kelda Crich

  Saturday Night at the Esoteric Order of Dagon Jill Hand

  City of Our Lady, Queen of the Angels, Virgin Mother of a Thousand Young Kevin Wetmore

  Warm Red Sea Jaap Boekestein