The Cthulhu Cult: A Novel of Lovecraftian Obsession

by Rick Dakan

  I spent the next few days in a kind of haze, wandering around the house and looking for signs that I was under some sort of outside influence. I rented The Manchurian Candidate, both versions, which was not a good idea since it just put more paranoid ideas into my head. Online information about hypnosis and possession was a mess — conflicting accounts and descriptions of how it worked. Skeptics said it didn’t. Practitioners said it did. Lots of anecdotal evidence said it worked on some people but not on others. I didn’t get any work done at all that week, and started spending more and more time in bed, wondering what Conrad was up to. I gave up calling him after the second day.

  On the third day I woke up late in the morning and found an envelope taped to my door. My stomach lurched and I felt a momentary flash of light-headedness as fear coursed through me. A message from Shelby? No. It was from Conrad. The envelope contained five index cards with geometric designs on them incorporating different combinations of triangles, squares, and circles. The brief note inside said I should meditate on each card for ten minutes twice a day and that it would help. Since nothing else was helping, I decided to give it a try. It turns out, staring at a meaningless pattern for ten minutes is really boring, but I did it for all five cards. An hour later I had a headache and although I didn’t feel possessed or hypnotized, but still wasn’t sure I wasn’t. That’s the catch with treating a problem that has no symptoms. How do you know when you’re cured?

  Chapter 22

  The night of April twenty-eighth, there was a pounding on my door. I was in the living room, watching a three-day-old episode of Charlie Rose on my Tivo, and jumped up at the sound. I hadn’t left the house or talked to anyone who didn’t deliver pizza in four days. Unshaven, unwashed, and wearing the same clothes for the second day in a row, I peered through the peephole. It was Conrad.

  “Hey,” I said after I’d opened the door. “What’s up?”

  He brushed past me, talking a mile a minute. “The hearing’s tomorrow. It’s been moved up to 9:00 a.m. which is good, because we can jump right on it. I’ve called the press and told them what’s happening and I’m pretty sure that Locking guy from the Weekly Voice will be there and maybe someone from the Herald-Tribune as well, although maybe not. We’ll see. But we’ll have to be ready to move fast at that point because something big is brewing over there. Something real big and really awful.”

  “Hello to you too,” I said. “Does this mean you don’t think I’m possessed anymore?”

  “Have you been using those cards like I told you?” he asked, staring hard into my eyes.

  “Yes,” I said, although I hadn’t been very diligent about them since the first day.

  “Then you should be fine.”

  I sat down at the dining room table and motioned for him to do the same, but he stayed standing. “So, what the hell are you talking about?” I said.

  “You have to come with me right now,” he said. “I need you to be a witness too.”

  “Witness to what? Go where?” I was afraid that he wanted me to go with him over to the Cthulhu compound.

  “To meet with Ash. He’s been kicked out of the cult and he’s leaving town, but he contacted me to say he’d talk one last time before he disappeared for good.”

  “And you want me to come along?”

  Conrad drew in a deep breath and then let it out slowly. “I do. I want you to hear what he has to say, I think you’ll want to.”

  “And what if I’m possessed or whatever?” I asked again.

  “You used the cards right?” he asked, giving me an appraising eye.

  “Sure. And I feel great,” I said, lying to both of us.

  “You don’t look great,” he looked at his watch. “We have time for you to grab a quick shower and drag a razor over your face. We’re meeting him at 11:30.”

  “OK,” I said, finding myself happy at the prospect of getting out of the house. Less sure about how happy I was that Conrad had once again changed his attitude towards me 180 degrees. Still, I was glad to be in on things with Shelby again, no matter how strange Conrad was acting. “Give me ten minutes.”

  We met Ash at the bar at an Applebee’s out by the interstate. Not the kind of place you expect to meet with a defector from an alien cult, nor really the kind of place I like to go — ever. I was willing to bet that Shelby and his minions wouldn’t come looking for him here either. He was hunkered down in a corner booth with a baseball cap worn low over his eyes, all of which made him look more, not less, conspicuous. But the place was almost empty anyway, and the few other customers didn’t seem to be paying him any mind.

  He nodded to us from across the room, and managed to finish his beer in the time it took us to make it over to him and sit down.

  “I don’t have much time,” he said. “My ride’s coming soon.” His voice was rough and low, like he had a cold. “Do you have my money?”

  I looked over at Conrad, about to ask what money, when I saw him pull a wrinkled envelope from his front pocket and pass it across the table to Ash. When he opened it to count it, I saw a wad of twenties in there, at least a few hundred dollars’ worth.

  “Now, tell us everything,” Conrad said. “What’s going to happen?”

  “I told ya I didn’t know exactly,” Ash grumbled. “They’ve been keeping me in the dark for a few weeks now, and after the other night, they kicked me out for good. I was asking too many questions for Shelby’s taste. Fuck, any questions is too many for his fragile fucking ego.”

  “Just tell us what you do know then,” Conrad insisted, not trying to hide his impatience.

  “Fine, fine,” Ash said, then fixed his eyes on me. “You’re going to want to hear this especially.”

  “I am?” I asked, nervous about what that could mean. Was Shelby after me?

  “After whatever the hell happened between you and him the other night, things were batshit crazy. Shelby and Kym were both mad as fuck. They stormed around the house, dragged everyone out of their rooms and gave us this big talk about security and loyalty and that kind of shit. Cara was there too, but she was real quiet, you know. Upset. Kym and Shelby, they just ignored her that night.

  “But then over the next couple days things got to be kinda weird. I mean, really weird, even by Cthulhu standards. We were real busy preparing for some big ritual that’s coming up. But they kept me mostly out of the details. I was left doing yard work and bullshit like that. But I knew something big was happening. And I saw that Cara was kind of moping around a little, so I tried to talk to her one night and, you know, see what’s wrong. I’d heard from some of the others that she’d had some sort of fight with Kym and Shelby about something and that maybe she was on the outs with them. So like I said, she was on the outs and I was on the outs and so I thought we might be able to support each other, you know? And at first she seemed like she wanted to talk. We went over some stuff about how weird things were getting and she mentioned that her big day was coming up soon and she wasn’t sure how she felt about it now.”

  “Her big day?” I asked. “What does that mean?”

  “I’m not sure,” Ash said. “She wouldn’t say exactly, but it had something to do with the big ritual and how, like, at first she was going to do one thing but now another and she was bummed about it. But then Shelby walks in on us talking and breaks it up and sends me off to do some menial shit. And then I heard, like, yelling of some sort. Or maybe crying? I couldn’t tell exactly. All I know is, the next time I went to try and talk to Cara alone she, like, totally freaked out on me. Screaming at me and accusing me of being, you know, a traitor and stuff. And at that point I was like, ‘fuck it,’ and I got my shit together and walked out.”

  “And what do you know about this ritual that she’s supposed to play a key role in?” Conrad asked.

  “I told you on the phone, I’m not really for 100 percent sure on this,” Ash said.

  “Yeah, yeah, I understand, but you’ve got an idea?”

  “I think so.”

&nb
sp; “Tell us,” Conrad said.

  “OK, the whispers around the place is that before Cara was going to be, like, the celebrant. The one who oversees the ritual. But now since something happened, since she screwed up or whatever, now she’s going to play the role of the sacrifice, and that this time she’s going to have to really give something up, that it won’t all be just pretend.”

  “What the hell does that mean?” I asked. “What does ‘give something up’ mean?”

  “Listen, man, I don’t know for sure. That’s just what I heard. It’s what everybody in the house is saying. That it’s going to be really extreme this time. The biggest sacrifice they’ve ever done.”

  “Are they going to hurt her?” I asked, fighting the urge to reach out and shake some answers out of him.

  “Maybe, man. I wouldn’t put it past them at this point. Hurt her or worse.”

  “What’s worse, kill her?” I demanded, appalled.

  “I’m not saying that. I don’t know. But… No. I just don’t know, man.”

  “Well, how do we find out?” I asked, anxiety taking hold. “What do we do to stop them?”

  Ash stood up. “I got no idea, man. That’s for you guys to figure out. I’ve done my part and told you what I know. I gotta go.”

  “I was hoping you’d change your mind and at least come to the hearing tomorrow and testify,” Conrad said.

  Ash shook his head. “Not going to happen. I’m not going anywhere near Shelby again. Or a courthouse. I’ve told you what I saw, but I’m not telling anyone else.”

  He left without another word, and I turned to Conrad, who was sitting on the outside seat of the booth, blocking me from leaving. “We’ve got to stop him, make him go to the cops!” I said.

  “I tried that already,” Conrad said. “Twice now. He refused before and you heard what he just said. He doesn’t want to talk to the police. He wants to get as far away from Shelby and Kym as possible, as quickly as possible. I think he’s scared of them.”

  “Them or the police for some reason,” I said, although I could sympathize. I too was scared of Shelby and Kym. “But we need to help Cara.”

  “And we will,” Conrad said. “At tomorrow’s hearing we’ll have him backed into a corner. He won’t be able to have his ritual at his house and then where will he do it? Nowhere.”

  “Maybe, but what if that doesn’t stop him? What happens to Cara then? Assuming what Ash said is true and there really is some big ritual. But we don’t even know when it’s supposed to be, or if it’s even at his house.”

  “Oh, I think I know when it’s going to be. The day after tomorrow.”

  “Jesus, really? That soon? How do you know?”

  “I talked to Sinclair. It’s Walpurgisnacht, the witch’s night. April thirtieth. It’s apparently a huge deal in the Lovecraft stories. Lots of important stuff happens then. Sinclair can tell you when he gets here.”

  “Sinclair’s coming here?” I asked, surprised. “Why?”

  “He wanted to,” Conrad said. “Plus, like you said, he’s our expert. I thought it would be better to have him on hand to help out however he can. Plus he’s got that letter. We stop the ritual with the court order and then we confront Shelby and Cara with the Sonia Greene letter.”

  “You’ve got a lot of faith in the power of this letter.” I had my doubts that anything in a letter could possible alter Shelby’s mind at this point.

  “Sinclair found something in the letter that he’s pretty sure can help us crack Kym’s spell. You’ll see. It’s like the cards he helped me draw up for you. Those seemed to help you, right?”

  I didn’t know if the cards had done anything, but then I wasn’t sure there was anything wrong with me in the first place. But I knew Conrad believed in the power of the cards and I didn’t want to give him cause for concern now that he’d finally started trusting me again. “Yeah, they helped.”

  “Sinclair thinks he can draw up something similar based on what’s in the letter. And once it works and he sees Kym for what she really is, the whole thing will come apart at the seams.” There was a glint in Conrad’s eye and he looked past me or through me rather than at me, like he was envisioning exactly how it would all play out.

  “You’re sure about this?” I asked.

  “Certain,” Conrad affirmed. “Tomorrow morning at 9:00 a.m. at the courthouse, the end begins.” He looked around then, as if suddenly aware of where we were for the first time. “Oh, do you want to get a drink or something?” he asked.

  I felt sick to my stomach again. “No, I’m fine. Just take me home. I need to rest up for tomorrow.”

  The newish Sarasota County Courthouse stands across the street from the smaller, classic version that was built in the 1920s and is about as old as anything standing in the city. The Mediterranean stylings of the original, with its useless but attractive tower and garden courtyard, has always appealed to me, but it had grown cramped and then unsafe over the years. The new structure looked massive from a distance with just a hint of art deco sensibilities to its lines, but up close it seemed smaller. It was like someone had taken a design for an imposing edifice and then shrunk it down by one third, taking more than 33 percent of the impressiveness with it. I met Conrad out front and we passed in through the busy foyer, the metal detectors at the security checkpoint, and on up the escalators to our assigned courtroom.

  Conrad was at his dapper best in suit and tie, looking more together and polished than I’d seen him in a long time. I had on wrinkled slacks, but had managed to find time to iron my shirt and so didn’t feel out of place, especially once I saw Shelby’s neighbor, Mr. Malinowski. The retired dentist had on tennis shorts, docksiders, and a teal polo shirt. Standard-issue uniform for a certain type of Sarasota rich retiree who considers that to be proper dress for any daytime business. He greeted us with a businesslike handshake and introduced his lawyer, Benjamin Wallace, before we all went into the courtroom.

  My pulse started to rise as we stepped in, but the small chamber was empty except for a clerk and a security guard — no sign of Shelby at all. Malinowski and his attorney took seats at a table before the raised dais where the judge would sit, and Conrad and I sat in the general seating area behind them. The courtroom was quiet, staid, and cold under the fluorescent lights, despite the blond wood paneling and soothing tan carpet. It seemed efficient, businesslike, and a world away from anything to do with Cthulhu or the Necronomicon or Shelby. Every time I heard the rising hall noise from outside that signaled that someone had opened the noiseless door, I swung around to see who it might be. Most of the time it was other lawyers and other clients (we were the first but not the only hearing on the docket). I’d grown accustomed enough to the parade of men and women in suits that when Shelby and his lawyer walked through the doorway I had already started to turn back toward the front before my mind processed what I’d seen.

  I don’t know what I’d been expecting — cult robes, Cthulhu masks, or nudity were all ridiculous of course, but that was how I pictured Shelby now. So when he walked in with slicked-back hair and a casual yet fashionable cream suit that perfectly suited spring in Florida, I didn’t think it could possibly be him. I pulled on Conrad’s sleeve and we both stared as Shelby walked right by us without sparing a glance in our direction. I thought I caught a hint of an upturned mouth as he drew even with us, maybe a sneer or possibly a smile. He and his lawyer took seats behind their table across the aisle from Mr. Malinowski.

  “He cleans up well,” I whispered in Conrad’s ear, but he ignored me. He was too busy trying to bore holes in the back of Shelby’s head with his eyes.

  After about ten minutes of uncomfortable silence, we all rose as the clerk commanded when Judge Carl Haggard came into court and took his seat on the bench. The silver-haired judge was busy and professional, obviously ready to move through the morning’s hearings at as brisk a pace as possible. Looking around, I saw what I guessed to be at least four other cases’ worth of lawyers waiting for his judgment
as well.

  Malinowski’s attorney went first, asking for a temporary injunction against Shelby Tyree and all residents of his home under Florida Statute 60.05, Abatement of Nuisances. The lawyer read out the relevant definition of a nuisance under Florida law, his monotone voice working the words slowly as he read them from the print out in front of him, “Whoever shall erect, establish, continue, or maintain, own or lease any building, booth, tent, or place which tends to annoy the community or injure the health of the community, or become manifestly injurious to the morals or manners of the people. We ask your honor that you issue an injunction against Mr. Tyree having any sorts of gatherings, events, rituals, or other meetings at his home address until such time as this matter can be decided at trial.”

  “And what is the nature of these alleged nuisances?” the judge asked, his tone even and inscrutable.

  “Your honor, with your permission, my client, Mr. Malinowski, would like to address the court on this matter.”

  The judge ordered Malinowski sworn in and asked him to relate his complaints in some detail. I’d expected he would take the witness chair, but in fact he spoke from the podium between the two opposing sides’ tables. “Your honor, you might have seen something about this man in the papers lately,” Malinowski began. He waited for the judge to acknowledge that he had, but got no response. “Anyway, he’s a well-known troublemaker. Last year he got into all sorts of trouble with his parties. We all read about those in the paper. And now with this weirdo church of his, I just don’t feel safe in my own home.”