Southern Gods

by John Hornor Jacobs

  Yes, I know of your opinion of the Lemegeton. But I went ahead and acquired the volume just in case.

  That was the first week.

  The enormous amount of books to sort through and the private papers of Herr Kuester—a very successful engraver—have occupied my time almost constantly. I spent two weeks more rifling through them until I found the volume. Strangely, it’s not titled Necronomicon. The content is not the Arabic but a Greek translation so the Quanoon-e-Islam is somewhat of a misnomer. And slanderous to the noble Bedouin tribes. That old argument between us.

  It’s hand-lettered and illuminated, if you can call it that, illumination. It is a good stroke of fortune to have found a Greek translation of that vile treatise; I’ve arranged for an expatriated Macedonian scholar in Vienna to take a look at it and give me a quote for translation. I don’t know what I would have done if it had been in Arabic.

  I’m uncomfortable with the Quanoon in my room. I sleep poorly and have bad dreams. Last night, after beginning my translation of the Lemegeton, I fancied something was at the window, peering in at me. Of course, this was silly; I’ve taken rooms on the second floor. But the feeling persisted, all because of the book. The illustrations alone are like windows into the worst hells imaginable. Tomorrow I will take it to the Austrian National Bank and place it in a safety box there and maybe I can get some rest.

  I placed an advert in the Venice paper regarding the acquisition of old tomes of historical and occult bent, and I hope we can make some headway though I fear it might be expensive. I’ve found no other volumes, pamphlets, scrolls that might help us determine what happened to, or became of, our unknown murderous kin.

  I need more money, brother. Adverts don’t grow on trees, and everything here in Austria is getting more expensive now that the League of Nations have set up shop in Vienna. Send the funds to the Salzburg branch of the Austrian National Bank, where I’ll be storing the Quanoon. Five hundred dollars should suffice.

  I’ve been contacted by a priest, recently, who says he has some volumes of interest. I must travel to Florence next week to meet him. I have high hopes for the meeting. He tells me the work is called Opusculis Noctis. And another called the Book Eibon. I’ve never heard of either of these works before, so I am excited. Maybe it will hold a clue as to what happened to Wilhelm.

  I will write again soon. I should be home by the end of the summer, gods willing, just in time for harvest. Kiss young Baird and little Sar for me and tell them I’ll be bringing presents.

  Gregor

  Sarah put down the letter and walked over to the stack that held the Quanoon. She picked up the dense book, weighing it in her hand. A wisp of her hair crept into her mouth, and she began to chew.

  She opened the book to a random page, and her breath caught in her throat.

  She lurched over to the desk and set the book down, pages open to the illustration, a picture rendered in simple brush-strokes with the faintest of coloration: black outlines, red gore, brown background. The illustration depicted a woman or a girl—her age was indeterminate—lying spread eagle on a poorly drawn table while two men assaulted her, one ramming a disproportionate horned phallus in her mouth and the other ejaculating onto—no, into—the bloody expanse of what once might have been stomach but was now, in the rough yet expressive way the illustrator had with line, a mass of guts. They’d split the girl open like gutting a fish, splayed her across the table, spilling roughly drawn entrails and innards outward from her torso. The men possessed faces—illustrated in the same rudimentary yet detailed fashion—resembling wolves. And in the gaping wound of the woman’s stomach and chest, a demonic face and hands appeared. The hands held a scepter and a crown. Blocks of Greek text surrounded the picture.

  As she looked at the illustration she felt herself becoming divorced from the person she had been only moments before. The person she had been when she took down the sword.

  She shook her head. I don’t understand, she thought madly. I thought it was all just crazy people, crazy talk.

  I don’t even have to be able to read the Greek to understand what’s going on here. The knowledge of the image suffused her, possessed her.

  What other ways are there of making bargains? Opusculus Noctis said innocence and the will to do what was necessary was all you need to deal with …with… the Prodigium. If I took Fisk or Lenora and the sword down to the river…

  She shuddered, horrified at what she’d been thinking. She walked to the phone and picked it up.

  “Phyllis?” She clicked the receiver twice. “Phyllis?”

  “Yeah, honey? That you, Sarah?”

  “Yes. Please connect me to Father Andrez in Stuttgart.”

  “Oh? You two hit it off? I guess you just got back.”

  Sarah looked down at the Quanoon, staring at the hideous illustration.

  Has it only been a few hours since I left Andrez?

  She ground her teeth and could feel the muscles in her cheek tightening, her jaw locking down. She growled, “Whatever I’ve done or said is none of your business. I would like to remind you that my father was a major shareholder in the Bell Corporation, who I believe is your employer. If I look around here hard enough, I might be able to find the schedule for the next shareholders meeting. From there it will be an easy matter to make sure you never pick up a call again. Do you understand, Phyllis? From this moment on, you will neither listen in, nor repeat anything that I say, or any other person on this circuit.”

  “Well, Sarah, I just can’t see why—”

  “Do you understand? I will make sure that you lose your job if I ever hear that you’ve repeated anything said on this party line.”

  “Sarah… I—”

  “All you need to say is, ‘I understand.’ And then connect me to Father Andrez.”

  “I… I understand.”

  Sarah breathed into the phone, staring at the gruesome rendering. She turned the page. And gasped again. Another illustration, this time of two toddlers, each one gouging out the eyes of the other. Men and women watched the gory combat, their faces like gargoyles. Blood ran from the children’s eyes, down their bodies, pooling on the floor. One gargoyle-faced man used the blood to draw an enormous picture of a clawed hand with thirty coins in the palm. Sarah turned another page. A woman standing at a bench, a knife in her fist and her own severed hand lying on the floor. A horrible silent O for a mouth, as if she was singing. Through the door, a field. On the field, a black figure, watching. Sarah turned the page. A gigantic face with a dog in its gaping mouth. The dog’s maw held a serpent, and the serpent’s tail punched a hole in the back of the face, curved around underneath and became a gigantic phallus with a miniature face at the tip. In the face’s mouth stood a dog. Sarah turned the page. A monstrous octopus-like creature looking up from the bottom of a well, eyes black and liquid. Around the rim of the well, tiny people hurled children into the abyss, to plummet to their deaths.

  Sarah felt uneasy on her feet, and the room began to distort and skew perspective. Her stomach tightened and her limbs ached as if she had a fever.

  The phone clicked twice and in the receiver, she could hear the buzzing to indicate a ring. After a long time, he came on the line.

  “Yes? This is Father Andrez.”

  Sarah remained silent, breathing heavy. Trembling, she reached forward—her limbs like lead—and slowly shut the book. She took a deep breath.

  “Sarah?” Andrez’s worried voice came through the receiver.

  She swallowed and pushed the book away from her.

  “Sarah? Are you all right? Please tell me you haven’t been translating any more of the Opusculis.”

  She nodded. Her body shook as if a tremor passed through it, and she gasped one last time.

  “Andrez. Andrez… I—” Sarah’s voice sounded raw, even to herself.

  “Sarah! Are you all right? What is the matter?”

  “I… I need your help. You were right… I believe you now. You must come—”

&
nbsp; “Sarah, listen to me. I don’t know what has happened, but I will come—somehow. One of my parishioners will give me a ride. But where are you?”

  “Gethsemane. Just get to Gethsemane and ask for me, or the Big House. Everybody knows where we are.”

  “Yes, I will. Don’t read or translate any more. Promise me.”

  She nodded again, then gave a rueful smile, realizing he couldn’t see her gestures through the telephone line.

  “I just… I looked into the Quanoon.”

  “What? What was the name?”

  “Quanoon-e-Islam. I looked into it and… I… What’s happening to me?”

  “Bodanstvo,” Andrez whispered under his breath. “Where in the world did you get that foul book? No. I am coming. Now. I will be there as soon as I can. Do not touch either of the books.”

  “What is happening? I don’t understand. I feel like I’m going crazy.”

  “Sarah, how you could possess two evil books in one place, it amazes me. But evil calls to itself. And it can change you, just by knowing it exists. Believe me.”

  She nodded involuntarily, then said, “Yes.” She took another deep breath.

  “I will be there as soon as possible, but it might not be until morning. Stay put and don’t think too much on the things you might have seen or read in the books. Keep your mind away from those subjects.”

  “Okay. I’ll try.”

  “Dovidenja, Sarah. I will see you soon.” He hung up, and Sarah replaced the receiver on its cradle.

  She moved to the chair by the desk and slumped down in it, pulling open the drawer. From inside, she withdrew a pack of Pall Malls and lit one from a match. She took a huge draught from the cigarette and kept the smoke deep in her lungs, holding it in, then exhaled violently, blowing smoke toward the paneled ceiling. Opusculis Noctis and the Quanoon kept drawing her eyes back. When she shut her eyes, her mind painted lurid pictures of eviscerated girls and strange gargoyle-faced men. When she looked up, Alice was at the door showing the whites of her eyes. If Sarah had known any better, she’d think Alice was afraid. But that was just silly. Alice feared nothing.

  “He’s awake. The giant,” she said, and turned to go back upstairs.

  Chapter 14

  He didn’t bother to cover up as she entered the room. His heavy body, thick with muscles and scar tissue, lay in an easy repose that she’d only seen in children. He watched her intently as she walked in the room, eyes flicking over her hips, breasts, hands, face. He smiled when he saw the handcuffs.

  “You gonna lock me up?”

  Well, he doesn’t look lost anymore.

  “Hi, Lewis. I’m Sarah Rheinhart.” Alice looked at her sharply. “And that’s Alice. We found you at the river, in a boat.”

  “Bull,” he said.

  “We did… we found you by—”

  “No, that’s what everyone calls me.” He motioned down to his body as if to say, this. “Since I was a kid.”

  He opened his mouth as if to say more, then shut it.

  “Bull, you been messed up real bad,” Alice said, moving near the bedside table. “Been out for a coupla days now. We been taking care of you.” A pitcher sat on the bedside table near a glass. Alice picked up the pitcher and filled the glass with water.

  There was a long silence.

  “What’re you gonna do with those handcuffs?”

  Sarah tossed them into his lap.

  “I want you to lock yourself to the bed.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

  “Everyone tells me you’re dangerous. I haven’t seen anything to disprove that.”

  “What if I say no?”

  “We’ll call the sheriff, and he’ll be here in minutes.” Sarah glanced at Alice. “Alice here will get the shotgun and blow your head off before you can get to the door.”

  His expression didn’t change. There was no anger, no surprise, no shame. He snapped the handcuff on one of his thick wrists, lifted his arm over his head, and tried to snap the other cuff around one of the wooden struts of the headboard. His mangled, gauze-wrapped hand couldn’t work them shut.

  “I’m gonna need help.”

  Sarah approached him, slowly.

  “Sarah, don’t,” Alice said. Her voice was tense. “Wait till I can get the shotgun.”

  Sarah ignored her and approached the bed. She paused when she was in his arm reach. He remained still.

  She snapped the cuff shut, locking him to the bed.

  Alice sighed, explosively.

  “Damnation, girl. Get away from him.”

  Sarah ignored her.

  “What happened?” Sarah said. “What happened to you?” She pointed to his bandaged hand.

  He smiled, a painful thing for Sarah to watch. She could see the lost boy again.

  “I’m much obliged to you both for fixing me up but I don’t know what to tell you ladies. I don’t want you to call the police or carry me off to the nuthouse.”

  Sarah and Alice looked at each other.

  “Bull, the police have already been here, not long ago. We’re supposed to call them the moment you wake up.”

  He blinked. Sarah saw his jaw tighten.

  “You got me locked up already. Go ahead and call them.”

  “They said it was related to that fire at Ruby’s. They want to question you.”

  He nodded and took a sip of water. Then his eyes went to the door.

  Both women turned to find Franny and Lenora standing there, eyes wide. Fisk peeked around the door jamb.

  Franny said, “Mommy? Is the dead man better now?”

  Alice drew in a sharp breath, and Sarah said, “Yes, baby. It looks like it.”

  Franny took two steps into the room, Fisk and Lenora behind her. She looked at Ingram. “It took six men to carry you. On a board. They dropped you once.”

  He laughed, a big rumble coming from deep in his chest. The sound filled the room, reminding Sarah of her Uncle Gregor. He was always tickled by the absurd.

  Ingram smiled at the little girl. “It sure feels like I got dropped. I think they might’ve bumped my head.”

  Franny beamed.

  “Naw. You was already all ripped up before they dropped you,” Fisk said. “Anyways, you hit the leaves and mud—hey! Why are you handcuffed to the—”

  “Fisk!” Alice barked. “Get yourself downstairs! I’ll be down in a second to put you to bed. You girls go too. Go on!”

  Ingram looked at his gauzed hand, then raised it to paw at his temple. He closed his eyes. “Wait.” He rubbed the sides of his head. “Did you say Fisk?”

  He pointed his wounded hand at Lenora like a club. “Is your name Lenora?”

  Her jaw dropped. She took a step back. “Momma, how’d he know that?”

  Alice turned to Ingram, anger filling her face. “Mister, you best not be messing around with my children. You ain’t never gonna walk out that door.”

  Franny moved closer to the bed. “What’s my name, mister? Do you know my name?”

  He shook his head, a sad smile touching his eyes. “I’m sorry, sugar. I don’t. Just these two.”

  “How the hell do you know my children’s names, and why shouldn’t we call the police right now?”

  Sarah put a hand on Alice’s arm. But the man only stared at her with the same cool gaze as before, eyebrows raised as if to say, Okay, what are you going to do?

  Alice blanched. No one reacted to her like this.

  “Maggie Washington,” Ingram said slowly. “Call her and ask about me.”

  “You… you telling me you know my momma?”

  He nodded.

  Alice walked to the door. “Kids, come with me.” She marched out, whisking down the hall in her slippers. With one glance back, Franny followed Fisk and Lenora. She waved at Ingram, and he waved back, his mittened hand awkward in the air.

  “How do you know Maggie?”

  “She’s the housekeeper where I keep a room. Boarding house.”

  Sarah took that in.
There were gunshot wounds on the hard ridges of his stomach, on the left side. Old wounds, silver. For a moment, the images in the Quanoon flashed behind her eyes. And she remembered the person she had been before gaining that knowledge. Sarah retrieved the sheets wadded at his feet and threw them over him. She walked to the corner of the room, grabbed a chair, and returned to his bedside. She sat facing him, eyes serious.

  “Give me one reason we shouldn’t call the cops right now.”

  He blinked again. “I didn’t do anything wrong. I’m trying… I was trying to find a man.”

  “You found him?”

  He was silent for a moment. “Yes.”

  “Did you kill him?”

  He shook his head, eyes narrowing. “No. Hell no. He was already dead.”

  “You have anything to do with the fire at Ruby’s?”

  He didn’t say anything.

  “So you did. Sixty people died there, you know.” She stood, smoothing her dress. “I can’t have you in this house if you’re dangerous.”

  Alice bustled into the room.

  “Momma said you’re okay, I guess. She got upset that you were hurt. Said you were a good boy. But messy. Told me to make sure you get better.”

  He nodded, expecting it.

  Alice moved behind Sarah, placing her big hands on Sarah’s shoulders. They both looked at Ingram expectantly.

  He sighed, his chest rising and falling.

  “I’ll tell you everything, but you have to listen to me fairly. And even if you don’t believe me… well… at least get me something to eat before you call the police.”

  Sarah smiled thinly, not letting it touch her eyes.