The Dark Rites of Cthulhu (4 page)

"You sound disappointed." Warren shoved his hands in his pockets and leaned forward. "This particular rite involves a prepared body, often that of a sorcerer or a lama, and a sealed room. The undertaker of the ritual, whom I'm guessing was the fellow on the floor, and is almost always a wizard, gets on top of the body, repeating a certain formula to awaken the spirit slumbering in the corpse. The corpse gets frisky, tries to escape, and the wizard must hold it down until he can bite off its tongue."

Carter made a sound of disgust. "And if he fails?"

"The rolang kills him. As it will kill any other living thing that it gets its leathery paws on," Warren said serenely as he bent low over the withered features of the thing on the bed. "Nasty thing, a dead sorcerer. Ain't that right, Mr. Rolang?" Warren went on, as if speaking to the thing. Carter felt a thrill of horror as he saw its eyelids twitch. The LeMat bobbed up in his grip, almost of its own volition. Warren carefully pushed the barrel aside. "Whoa there, not yet Carter," he said.

"It moved!"

"That it did, but that ain't no call to plug it quite yet. Probably wouldn't do any good anyway," Warren said.

"If it can move, why didn't it leave?" Carter demanded.

"I did mention that the room was sealed, didn't I?" Warren said, gesturing to the doorframe.

"It was trapped," Carter said. He felt a sinking sensation in his gut.

"Yep," Warren said, still examining the thing.

"It was trapped and you brought us in here with it?" Carter nearly shrieked. The LeMat came up again, and again Warren gently pushed it aside.

"You're in no danger, Carter, now calm down!"

"Why would you do this?" Carter hissed, backing away from the bed. Warren's hand shot out and snapped closed on his wrist, trapping him. Carter tried to yank his arm free of Warren's grip, but to no avail. Warren was surprisingly strong when he put his mind to it.

He dragged Carter close and snapped, "I said calm down." His eyes flashed weirdly, and he let Carter go. "This thing will be dangerous now that it's been woken up. Sorcerers always are, alive, dead or otherwise. The ritual, once started, must be finished, or the rolang could escape to cause harm to any who cross its path." Warren looked back at the thing on the bed. "Can't have some poor policeman or other getting throttled by our guest here, now can we?"

"What--what are you going to do?"

“Just stay back, Carter. And don’t hold that gun like it’s a damn snake. It’s just a pistol, for God’s sake,” Warren said.

"What should I do if it gets up?" Carter asked hesitantly.

"Well...shoot it, obviously," Warren said, as he got onto the bed and straddled the corpse. "And try to avoid hitting me, if you can possibly help it."

"But you said that the gun wouldn't work," Carter said.

"No, I said it probably wouldn't do any good. But it couldn't hurt. Not much on this earth can take a face full of sixteen gauge buckshot and keep smiling." Warren smiled crookedly. "At the very least, it'll give you time to get out the room."

"Warren--Harley..." Carter began.

But Warren wasn't listening. As he positioned himself over the corpse, it began to heave and twitch, its limbs flailing flaccidly beneath Warren’s own. Warren pinned the corpse to the bed with his weight and held on for dear life. Carter tensed, ready to lend his meagre weight to the fight, regardless of Warren’s warning to the contrary.

The corpse heaved, and Warren was nearly thrown from it. It bucked and thrashed, and its spidery limbs uncoiled. Its jaws sagged open, and the air throbbed with a basso hum that made Carter's teeth itch. It sounded as if a hundred voices were speaking at once, and the things they were saying crawled on the air like flies on a screen. Strange shadows grew on the walls, cast by nothing visible to the human eye. The air felt damp and heavy, as if there were a thunderstorm brewing.

Warren cursed as thin fingers stabbed into his arms. The corpse made a sound like a punctured tire, and Warren was shoved up and back as the rolang began to sit up. He grabbed at it, struggling with it. Its fleshless jaws champed mindlessly as its fingers sought his throat. Carter cried out and raised the pistol, but he couldn't get a clear shot. Warren tumbled backwards, the rolang atop him. It had him by the throat. He clawed at its head, fighting to keep its jaws from his face.

"Warren, damn it, get away from it," Carter shouted.

"No," Warren hissed, forcing the rolang's head back. His face was beginning to turn red as the thing's grip on his throat tightened. Carter hesitated, and then lunged forward. He hooked the rolang's neck with his arm and pulled it back, trying to force it to break its grip on Warren. He pounded on its skull with the butt of the LeMat. The dead thing twisted around bonelessly, and far faster than he was prepared for. It released Warren and grabbed for Carter, shoving him back. He staggered away from the bed, and the thing followed with rickety steps, jaws chattering.

"Warren, help me!" Carter yelped.

"I told you to stay back, Carter," Warren shouted, stumbling off of the bed. He wrapped his arm around the rolang's neck and tried to haul it away, to no avail. It forced Carter back against the wall. "Shoot the damn thing!"

Carter twisted his head away and shoved the barrel of the revolver up against the creature's sunken belly. He pulled the trigger and the roar of the pistol was followed by the sound of splintering bone and tearing flesh. Warren gave a triumphant yell and drove his foot up into the thing's back. It bent backwards. Warren jerked his arms and there was another, louder, crack and the thing's head came away in his hands.

The fallen body squirmed like a broken-backed snake, grabbing blindly for Carter's ankles as it slithered after him across the floor. Carter looked to Warren for help, and saw him raise its head in his hands. A black, swollen tongue protruded from between its jaws and Warren caught it between his teeth in a single, sinuous movement. As Carter looked on in horrified wonder, Warren jerked his head and tore the tongue from the rolang's head.

The body stiffened and fell still. Warren dropped the head and took the tongue from his mouth. "There we go," he wheezed, "Easy as pie."

"It almost killed you," Carter said. Then, "It almost killed me!" He looked around the room. The shadows had cleared, and every scrap of paper had fallen from the walls.

"But it didn't," Warren said, weighing the tongue on his palm. "No sir, it did not. And now the ritual is done, and our Mr. Rolang is safely over the River Styx."

They stared down at the body for long moments. Carter fought to catch his breath. He could hear the policemen on the stairs, talking loudly, but apparently making no move to investigate the gunshots.

"You never said what the ritual was for," Carter said, finally.

"Hmm?" Warren said, still examining the tongue. He hadn't taken his eyes off of it since he'd torn it free of the dead thing's head.              

"The ritual. Why would someone undergo such a hideous experience?"

Warren held up the withered lump of meat. Carter thought, for a moment, that he might drop it. Instead, he stuffed it into his pocket. 

"Why does anyone do anything, Carter?" Warren said, and smiled.

The Dark Horse

By John Goodrich

The dry, yellow wind off the Dominion of Manhattan brought a bitter scent to Laura’s nose. The building’s broken windows and splintered doors moaned in the acrid wind. She’d holed up in this apartment because the door was still on its hinges. Something skittered behind her. Laura whirled, spear at the ready. A filthy raccoon with one pus-filmed eye twice the size of the other glared at her from the doorway. She tensed, ready to pin it to the floor. The coon crouched. They considered each other, the wind’s low dirge the only sound for long moments.    

Laura reached behind her with one hand, and found a crinkly wrapper by feel. She tore it open with her teeth, and flung it at the coon. She didn’t like to waste food, especially something as good as a Twinkie, but she didn’t want trouble from the coon, either. With that eye, it wouldn’t be good to eat.

The coon sniffed her offering, then tore big bites out of the golden cake. She watched it gulp the yellow thing down, then lick the plastic wrapper clean, manipulating its treasure with humanlike front paws. It glared at her with its good eye, then limped out the doorway. 

She ought to follow it, find out if it knew where any food was. But she’d eaten well for days, and wasn’t feeling hard up. She could afford a little generosity. The apartment building had been good to her: a safe place to sleep, good forage, and no one else around. Eating from old cans was a lot easier than scrambling after rats and roaches. 

Laura threw some wood and paper on the coals of her small fire, and soon the flames leapt high. The night was cold, and the fire would be dead by the time she woke. She should have closed the door to keep the coons, cats, and dogs out. With the fire warming the concrete floor, she threw an old rug over herself and curled into a ball. She hoped she wouldn’t dream.   

She woke with a start to see a man squatting before her fire. Before she was fully awake, she had rolled into a defensive crouch, spear in hand, ready to kill. He just raised his hands, showing her that he had no weapons. 

“I just want a can of your food, some time by your fire, and a little talking.”

“I got the clap and AIDS.” Her voice was gravelly and rough. She hadn’t spoken to anyone for more than a month. “Do me, and your cock’ll rot.”   

His eyes were sad. 

“I don’t want that.”

She’d heard that before. Looking him up and down, he didn’t look like the men from the Dominion. She noted a big knife in a belt sheath, and the way he kept his hands away from it.  An unkempt mane of white hair cascaded down his shoulders. A long-healed scar ran across his temple, just below the hair line. His skin was dark and weather-beaten, a flowing white beard covered much of his face. The long leather coat was only just more travel-stained than he. A heavy carry-bag was slung across one shoulder. 

“What’s your name?”

The rumbling undertones in his voice reminded her of her father, kind and strong. But that was no reason to trust him. She adjusted her grip on her spear. 

“What kind of food do you want?”

“A can of whatever you’re willing to spare.” He was still on his haunches, warming his hands over her little fire.   

“We’ll see. What did you want to talk about?”

“Can I at least know your name? Mine is Travis Dornier, and I’ve come a long way to see you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I want to know your name, so I can be sure you’re the right person.”

She eyed him warily. 

“Sheila.”

“That’s not it and you know it.”

“Mary.”

“I’m not going away until I learn your name. It’s important.” 

He didn’t seem like a sorcerer. They had people to do things for them. They didn’t go wandering around alone. She might not understand magic, she’d never heard that anyone needed your name to cast a spell on you.

That wasn’t enough reason to trust him, though. They were playing this stupid game about her name, and she could feel him trying to make her like him. She looked him over again.  He was lean, probably stronger than her, but she could outrun him no problem. She didn’t want to talk with him, but the need for company welled up in her.      

“Laura,” she conceded. 

“I wondered if it was.”

He reached for his bag, and her spear was at the alert again. With one hand, he made a placating gesture.  

“I’m not going to hurt you. I would never hurt you.”

He took a blue box from his bag. It was glossy and shiny, with a picture of a girl. Laura held her breath. She was beautiful, the way only people from Before could be. She had long yellow hair and fine, pale skin that hadn’t seen a lot of sun. And yet, there was something sad and perhaps lonely about her. Inside the box were the mirrored disks that told stories of the Before time.   

“What’s this?”

“Laura, I’ve waited more than ten years, and come more than three thousand miles to meet you. I’m so relieved to finally be in your presence.”

“Me? You’ve come to see me?” She tightened her grip on her spear. “What’s this about?”
             

“Do you see the girl on this box? She was the chosen one who would stand against the Masters
– ”

“Liar. No one knew about the Masters in the Before Time.”

He looked down at the fire before he spoke again. 

“Some of us did. Some even tried to warn everyone before the Corpse City rose, and the world went mad and the dead were piled as high as buildings.”

Laura shuddered. Though years gone, she remembered the nauseous, omnipresent stench of the corpse-piles, some half the size of city blocks. For a moment, there was no sound but the low dirge of the wind.   

“Maybe if we’d tried harder . . .” He didn’t finish the thought. “We failed. And a lot of people died. But now I have found you, the new chosen one. And you can put this right.”

There was a lump in the pit of her stomach. 

“Me?”

“You, Laura. If you cannot drive the Masters back under the ocean, no one can.”             

“What can I do? I’m just me.”

“You are more than you know, Laura. The girl on the box, her name was Laura, too. If I could, I would tell you all the stories on these disks. Stories of her bravery, how she did not give up when everyone around her had.”

Laura vaguely remembered the big windows that told the stories on the disks. She hadn’t thought about them for a long time. She glanced at the broad, dark window in the apartment, but it was just so much junk, like most
Before stuff.   

“And you are like her, Laura. You are chosen, the one that can, that will, defeat the Masters, drive them back to where they came from, and make the world like it was.”

Laura’s goals were simple: find untainted food, locate shelter, stay away from the Dominion of Manhattan. Now, there was an unfamiliar feeling inside her, almost a hunger of the soul. She pondered her two-fingered right hand, maimed long ago when some dogs had chased her down. She had other scars, too. A large pucker where a cat had torn a chunk out of her shoulder, three thick lines across her breast where a dog had scratched her. She had a short line across her belly, and two on her left forearm from men with knives.

“It won’t be as it was, not for a long time. But if you listen to me, and do as I say, you can kill the Masters, kill them all. And then, peace.”

“The Dominion’s tower for women?”

“No more tower.”

“The Lord of Manhattan?”

“Destroyed utterly.”

“Impossible. The Masters are as big as buildings. What can I possibly do against them?”

“Do you know any magic, Laura?” He said it slow and long. She shook her head, resisting his enticing tone.

“Magic is only for the Masters and the people they favor.”

“There is more than that. I have a spell that I want to teach you.”

The thought thrilled through her. To have that power, to be a sorcerer, like the Lord of Manhattan. 

The noises he made were an unintelligible jumble of mixed sounds.

“Repeat it.”

She did her best. 

“No. Say it again.” 

She did. 

“No. Do it again.”

“How will I know?”

“You will know. Say the words again.”

She did.

“Did I get it right?”

His sour look did not indicate success. He repeated the words, and then she did. She tried to hear the difference between what they were saying, but she ended up randomly emphasizing this word or that. And then, after ten minutes, a hot spark flew from her mouth, and she tasted tin. Her hands flew to her mouth. Her teeth were hot, her breath scorching. And she saw the triumph in his eyes.   

“Now, say the words again.”             

She did, and got it wrong.

“Again.”

The taste of tin returned. Her mouth dried out with the heat of it. 

“Once more.”

She got it right instantly. Her tongue felt like it had been left in the sun for days. 

“You must say it to yourself every morning, and every night before you go to sleep.”

“Will it kill the Masters if I say it to them?”

“It’s not that kind of spell. But if enough people say it, chanting it at the same time, it will kill all the Masters.”

An awe mixed with fear welled up in her. 

“How many?”

“It has to be at the right time, said by thousands of people. As many as you can teach.  And when the time is right, we will destroy them all.” A fire lit in his eyes as he said it.  

“How long will I have?” She was disappointed that she wouldn’t be able to simply point her finger and destroy the Masters or their servants. In the wake of the ruined fantasy, hope remained. 

“Laura, tell nobody that you are the chosen one. If the Masters or their slaves catch wind of it, they will stop at nothing to kill you. For your own safety, say nothing to anyone.”

“I won’t.”

His hand shot out, and he grasped her with painful strength. 

“You must promise me. Promise you won’t tell anyone.” She tried to yank her hand away, but his grip was hard, and his fingers sank into her flesh. 

“All right, I promise.”

He let her go. 

“I didn’t want to hurt you. But you have to understand how important it is that no one else knows.” 

It didn’t feel right, but he’d given her the key to the world, shown her who she truly was.  He looked away from her, his mouth set in a deep frown, eyes down as if searching for something on the floor. She wanted to say something so he wouldn’t feel bad. 

“When will the time be right?”

“Not for a while.” 

“But you’ll tell me.”

He shook his head. 

“I won’t be here.” She felt a stab of fear. “I have a lot of research and preparation to do.”

“You’ll be staying at least a little while?” She felt lost. How would she know what to do as the chosen one if he didn’t guide her? A part of her wondered how she’d come to need him so much. She regarded him again. Only her small fire held back the darkness. He looked strange and sinister with flickering shadows thrown against his face.

“I cannot. I have spent years finding you, Laura, perhaps too many. If it isn’t too late, I can proceed with the next stage of my plan.”

“But what do I do?” She sounded desperate in her own ears. 

“Teach. Travel, find other people who have escaped the Masters. Teach them that peace is coming, and that if we all act together, Cthulhu and his spawn will be destroyed.” 

She shuddered at the dread name. 

“When?”

“If I am not with you, I will send green lights into the sky that you will not be able to miss, no matter where you are.”     

“You can do that?”

For the first time, he smiled. It made his face warm, and she felt herself liking him even more.