iFWG Dark Phases Titles
Peripheral Visions (Robert Hood, 2015)
The Grief Hole (Kaaron Warren, 2016)
Cthulhu Deep Down Under Vol 1 (2017)
Cthulhu Deep Down Under Vol 2 (2018)
Cthulhu: Land of the Long White Cloud (2018)
Cthulhu:
Land of the Long White Cloud
Edited by
Steve Proposch
Christopher Sequeira
Bryce Stevens
Introduction by
Kaaron Warren
A Dark Phases Title
This is a work of fiction. The events and characters portrayed herein are imaginary and are not intended to refer to specific places, events or living persons. The opinions expressed in this manuscript are solely the opinions of the author and do not necessarily represent the opinions of the publisher.
Cthulhu: Land of the Long White Clound
All Rights Reserved
ISBN-13: 978-1-925759-62-4
V1.0
All stories in this anthology are copyright ©2018, the authors of each story, with the following variations: Introduction copyright ©2018 by Kaaron Warren; ‘Ortensia and Osvaldo’ copyright ©2015, first published in Cthulhu: Deep Down Under limited run publication (Horror Australis, 2015) edited by Steve Proposch, Christopher Sequeira & Bryce Stevens.
This ebook may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by any means, including graphic, electronic, or mechanical without the express written consent of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Printed in Palatino Linotype and Bebas Neue.
IFWG Publishing International
Melbourne
www.ifwgaustralia.com
This anthology is dedicated to Rocky Wood.
Introduction
Kaaron Warren
If you have never witnessed IFWG Publishing’s Gerry Huntman experience an epiphany, you’ve missed out. I was there at the 2017 New Zealand National Science Fiction Convention in Lake Taupo. I can’t remember if we were talking about giant monsters, or we were talking about IFWG’s anthology series Cthulhu Deep Down Under, or we were talking about how many good writers there were in New Zealand, but it was like a golden spotlight shone on Gerry as he said, “What about if we publish a New Zealand edition of Cthulhu?”
Writers flocked to him. The thing that struck me was none of them were saying, great, a chance to be published. All of them were saying, here’s my chance to write that story I’ve wanted to write for ages.
What you hold in your hands is a testament to the excitement those writers exhibited in person, and that others displayed once word spread. These are writers who, in no particular order, love their country, love monsters, and love scaring the shit out of readers.
Jonathan Carroll in his book of essays, The Crow’s Dinner, says, “Sometimes memories are like those huge sea creatures that for mysterious reasons rise from the bottom of the ocean and wash up on beaches.” He’s saying that sometimes memories emerge when they have been hidden, unnoticed, forgotten. Perhaps this is one reason Lovecraft inspires fiction so easily. The primeval basics are there, of memory and monsters, of fear of loss and madness, and of the dark heart that lies within. All we have to do as readers is tap into our own submerged stories to easily find connections with the world he created.
The stories in this book are New Cthulhu, though, with a modern understanding of how the world works and of how each of us fits into that world. The writers have adopted the realms Lovecraft created but have not taken onboard his persona, something that is very important in any re-working of the Mythos. Additionally for this anthology, each story needed to not just embody the Cthulhu Mythos, or explore an element of it, but had to be identifiably of New Zealand at the same time.
Fittingly, New Zealanders are well placed to talk of sea creatures (both the Lovecraftian type and those that are metaphor for hidden memory). Their homeland is surrounded by ocean and has huge lakes within. So perhaps it’s not surprising that many of the authors have taken monsters of the deep as their jumping-off point, notably Lucy Sussex in Ortensia and Osvaldo and Marty Young in Masquerades.
Other stories explore a variety of Lovecraftian tropes, again, to modern effect. The journey into madness, a significant Lovecraft concept is used by Young, as well as by Grant Stone in A Brighter Future, Paul Mannering in Memories to Ashes, Dan Rabarts in The Silence at the Edge of the Sea, and David Kuraria in Kõpura Rising. In The Ward of Tindalos Debbie and Matt Cowan use growing madness plus the Hounds of Hell as inspiration. This story also explores the abyss, the depths of the ocean, as does Memories to Ashes. Jane Percival uses the ever-present Mythosian idea of caves, dark and unnavigable, in The Caverns of the Unnamed One. Percival also explores the wonderful Miskatonic University and the ‘discovered book’ concept in her story. Others who tap into the University are J.C. Hart in Te Ika, Tracie McBride in The Shadow over Tarehu Cove and Lee Murray in Edward’s Journal. Murray also uses the terrifying worms of Lovecraft to drive her story.
All of the authors weave their own country’s geographic attributes beautifully and seamlessly into their stories. Again, New Zealand has attributes that can reflect Lovecraftian ideas well in this regard, as this island nation is prone to earthquakes (most of the stories explore this), cracks in the earth, ancient landscapes, and age-old stories. The Ward of Tindalos and Ortensia and Osvaldo look at the violent earth, tremors and earthquakes, as do Masquerades, The Shadow over Tarehu Cove, Te Ika, The Silence at the Edge of the Sea, Kopura Rising and Edward’s Journal. They all place us very clearly in New Zealand, especially Masquerades (the lakes) and Memories to Ashes (the ocean).
Culturally, the writers have reached into historical depths, too, in this book. Many of the stories talk about Māori myth, history and culture, including Ortensia and Osvaldo, The Caverns of the Unnamed One, A Brighter Future and The Silence at the Edge of the Sea.
All of these stories say to us: Be careful in the water. Be careful in the caves. Beware the person behind you, or the one you share a home with.
Take heed. And read.
TE IKA
J. C. Hart
IZZY
I did not want to go.
The black maw of the hole did not beckon to me. If anything, it urged me to run, to throw down my caving gear and get back in the car, to speed towards town and the safety of buildings and streets and lights and noise. It was too quiet here, too still, even with the occasional bird lifting its voice in song.
“Izzy,” Grace urged. “Come on. We don’t want to leave it too long. We’ve got to be home in time for the family dinner.” She hovered at the edge of the cave, helmet on and her harness in place. She looked better in the rig than I ever would, but then, she was the pro and I was just the tag-along. That summed up our whole life.
“Whose idea was this, anyway?” I asked, rolling my eyes.
“Mum wanted you to get out more. You said you’d give it a go.” Grace put her hands on her hips and gave me the same glare our mother had perfected.
I think that talent skipped me entirely.
“Okay,” I said, stepping towards the entrance. “You’re sure it’s safe?” I had to close my eyes and breathe out, long and slow. It was okay, it would all be okay. My sister was here and she would look after me. It was what sisters did.
It was what Grace did. Not so much what I did, though I wanted, so badly, not to be the
screw-up everyone thought I was. I could start by following through on this. If I just tried…
“Come on, I’ve been here before. It’s a good one to start on.” She grabbed my arm and squeezed it reassuringly when I reached her side. “So, in you go!” Grace grinned, her teeth white against pink lips. Why was she wearing lipstick? Why was I thinking about that?
I took one step into the mouth of that cave. It was as if the world had been left behind until Grace stepped in and nudged me with her elbow.
“Come on, slow-poke, you know Mum hates it when we’re late for dinner.”
Grace moved ahead with the easy confidence of someone who’d done this time and time again, so it was a relief to be behind her, to not have her gaze on me as I found my feet and stumbled against some rocks, the spare shoes she’d given me clunky on my feet despite us being the same size.
Grace stopped and waited for me to catch up. “You ready to go?”
I let out a breath and looked where she pointed. The path wasn’t too steep, winding down in a switchback fashion, littered with rocks of every size. Grace reached over and turned on my headlamp, grinning as the light splashed against her face.
“Come on. You’re going to love it when we get to the bottom. There are some amazing formations.”
She rambled on as we walked. Grace could speak for hours on her passions, and more than anything I think she was just pleased to be able to share this one with me, even if under duress. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to be there, specifically. I didn’t want to be anywhere, and I didn’t think any amount of beauty, or awe, would pull me from that feeling. Life was hard, my brain was my enemy, and I was too tired to fight anymore.
I almost walked straight into her back; she gave a small gasp and turned to glare at me.
I could see it there, sickly green and poisonous purple curling out of her mouth with her breath, with the word, “Watch—” She stopped. Exhaled. “Sorry, you gave me a fright, and didn’t I tell you to watch out?” She gripped my arm again, harder than before. “You have to be careful, I know I said it was safe, but it’s only safe if you pay attention all the time.”
“Okay,” I said, flinching back from the colours in the air between us. I didn’t need any of that in my body; it was toxic enough as it was. “Do we have to go down?”
She nodded, then unhooked her drink bottle and took a swig. She offered it to me, but I shook my head. “We have to abseil, do you remember how I showed you?”
I nodded again, wishing I’d had that water but too frozen now to get my bottle out. We’d practiced this before, but I wasn’t ready. Might not ever be ready.
“Izzy, it’s going to be okay. You were great at the climbing wall, you just need to do the same here. Pretend we’re back at the YMCA. You’re safe. We’re together. There’s a permanent anchor here, and we’re going to use that.”
Permanent. I looked down the cliff face. It wasn’t smooth, dotted with rocks of all shapes and sizes, thankfully not a straight drop.
“How do we get back up? I can’t climb this.” I stepped back from the edge, panic coming over me again, red and tight and twisting.
“Izzy,” Grace said sharply. She gripped my chin and made me look at her. So serene. She was always so much calmer than me, as if she’d got all those genes and I’d got…something else.
“The cave has another exit so you don’t have to climb up. It’s going to be okay, and I promise, everything you’re feeling now? It’s worth it.”
“Okay.”
“Trust me?”
I nodded and licked my lips, so dry they felt like they would split.
“Come on.” She got me hooked up and helped me to the edge. This time it was me who grabbed her hand.
“Thank you,” I said, hoping that by the meagre light of our torches she could see that I meant for more than this trip. “I owe you.”
She grinned as I assumed the right pose and dropped over the edge of the ledge.
“Nice form, Izzy. You’ve got this!” she called down to me.
The rope was strong in my hand, the fibres digging gently into my gloves, assuring me I had a good grip. I held my breath as I lowered myself, feet braced against the rocks, back leaning into the abyss. Darkness embraced me as I swung my head down so that the torch beam swept below.
“I can’t see the bottom.” My voice quavered.
“It’s there. Trust me.” Her voice was strong, steady as always. Was she ever afraid? “I’ve done this before, hundreds of times.”
“Okay.” I sent the word up like a prayer to Grace, my new goddess as I dropped into the cave. I lowered myself another few metres and looked again, but still no sign of the ground. An ache was gnawing at my chest. I was about to call up again when the rope moved in my hand. No, not the rope, the world.
Rocks clattered beside me, stumble-tripping their way to the floor.
“Grace!”
“I’m here. Just hang tight. It’s a little quake.” But there was a thread of fear in her voice now, it slithered down the rope and took up residence in my brain.
There was a sharp jolt and I cracked against the cliff face. My helmet protected my head, but my elbow and knees jarred against the rocks. I cried out and I knew there would be blood.
“Izzy!” Grace yelled. I looked up. Saw the light from her torch as I spun and crashed against the wall of the cliff, bright in the darkness.
“Don’t fall. Help me.” I didn’t know if the two things could be done in tandem. Her light disappeared, but I felt a tug on the rope and I held my breath, closed my eyes. I could try to climb, but then I’d be pulling on the rope too, and that wouldn’t help, would it? I didn’t know. I didn’t know anything. I gripped the rock face, finding crevices to dig my feet into.
The thudding of my heart was there, loud but alone. No more clatter of rocks, just my breath hitting the wall.
“I’m going to get you up,” Grace’s voice was comforting.
“Okay,” I said.
She tugged on the rope and I shifted my foot, trying to gain some height, to help.
“Wait,” she said, her voice frantic. “Don’t move.”
“Grace? You’re freaking me out.”
“I just—”
There was a rumble. The wall rippled and rolled. The sound of the rope breaking seemed loud over the roar of the earthquake and I fell and fell and fell.
I knew I wasn’t dead because everything hurt. I tried to move my hand but couldn’t. I realised I was stuck in mud so thick it felt like drying cement.
“Grace!” I yelled, but the only response was my voice ricocheting off the walls.
I couldn’t see a thing. Were my eyes even open? Did it matter? I was stuck at the bottom of a hole with no way out. I hadn’t realised until then that I actually did want to live, that despite my strange quirks and inability to hold down a job or succeed in the way normal people did, I wanted life.
A low hum filled the space. I held my breath, waiting for rocks to crash down and crush me. Tears leaked out the corners of my closed eyes, a high pitched squeal stole out of my lungs. Something tickled along my spine and I shuddered. This was fear, I told myself, fear making me feel things that couldn’t be there, but then a tendril of something seemed to curl around my ankle, to tug my foot deeper into the mud. My squeal turned into a scream, which sparked like tiny glow worms expelled into the darkness.
I struggled, fighting to free myself from the mud, but my violent attempts to move only seemed to make it clamp down on me harder.
“No! No! I don’t want to die in here. I don’t want to die.” I sobbed, sank, my chest heavy.
If I free you, will you free me?
The voice trickled into my brain with the sensation of warm honey, of melted butter, the scent of toast in my nostrils, of comfort, of home. I relaxed. I couldn’t help it, it was so soothing.
Sure, I thought to the figment of my imagination. No idea how to do that, but if it gets me out of here… Wait. What are you?
It was an invitation. Something thin and sharp pierced my neck and I screamed again, light blooming behind my eyes, and then I could see…something large as it soared through the sky, its wings—no not wings, fins?—large and wide and trailing, trailing. I couldn’t fathom it. It was too big, too much. Stars burst from the night sky, swimming past me so quickly, and then I could see other great beasts, wondrous, ponderous creatures moving through space, through time and infinity. They were deep blue, sparkling, shining. I didn’t know. I couldn’t comprehend. It was…
When Māui caught this fish I was not in the sea but in the sky and he pinned me down beneath these rocks, grew an island on me.
It unfolded in the style of the books of legends from my youth, Māui, strong and brave, half god, half mortal, his feet planted firmly on the ground, but instead of capturing the sun he was capturing this beast, tearing it from the sky with brute force. Everything collapsed back to darkness, the weight of it crushing me the same way the weight of all these rocks weighed down the beast.
“Have you been here all this time?” I asked.
So long. But I still remember.
Another flash of the stars and some ineffable, indescribable sensation that pressed my brain so hard I almost passed out. And grief. It crushed me, made me want to curl into a little ball, and then my arms were loose, my legs too, and I was folded in on myself. The images in my head of the things that were lost overwhelmed me, threatening to tip me into oblivion.
The creature pulled back, but I held my ball tight, eyes pressed shut, still seeing stars.
“Make it stop!”
Make me free.
I’d have gone crazy—Hell, I was halfway there and I’d not suffered anything like this creature had; suffering inflicted by one of my kind. That thought sped through my brain, bouncing off the pieces of me that I kept locked in boxes, stirring up anxiety.
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