The Lurker at the Threshold : A Horror Mystery

by Brandon Berntson

  It took him a second before he realized what was happening. The Necronomicon was an unfinished work. It would never be a finished work, because the knowledge of the black earth had no end. Capshaw was under the Mad Arab’s spell.

  “Dear God,” Macky said, widening his eyes.

  The blasphemous thing was still being written . . .

  He looked around. Capshaw hadn’t noticed him. Maybe that was a good thing.

  He grabbed a mug on the table and started banging it on the desk. “Hey! Yo! Don’t give into that chump, curator boy! What gives? Ahhhhhhhhhhh! Wake up, you old woolen socks, man!”

  He banged on the desk some more, the walls, yelling and carrying on. Capshaw continued to scribble.

  A dark, shadowy shape was in the room, and it took a step back.

  Macky looked toward the kitchen and moved toward it. He grabbed a pitcher from the cupboard, filled it with ice, and let the water run cold before putting the pitcher under.

  He walked into the study. Capshaw was on a mission, feverish, hunched over the pages, sweat pouring down his ashen gray cheeks. The figure took note of him and his eyes blazed.

  Capshaw chuckled.

  “Forgive me,” Macky said. “And may God help me, despite what I believe.”

  He grabbed the back of Creighton’s collar and pulled it back. He dumped ice water on the man’s head, spilling the rest of it down his back.

  “YYYEEEOOOOWWWWW!!!” Capshaw screamed, and stood bolt upright. For a second, Macky thought he heard the wail of a demon, the figure behind him wailing in the darkness.

  Capshaw was out of the chair, lifting his shirt, trying to get the ice cubes out.

  “Oh, cold! So cold. Freezing cold!”

  He held his arms out and shivered uncontrollably. He was jogging in place. Macky was relieved to see the blue had returned to the curator’s eyes. He looked confused and lost.

  “Sorry,” Macky said. “You didn’t give me much of a choice.”

  “What on earth—?” Capshaw said, and shivered again.

  “Look,” Macky said, indicating the pile of pages on the desk.

  Capshaw turned, frowned. “What on earth is that?”

  “We got trouble.”

  “Dev, what’s going on?”

  Macky shook his head. “You didn’t show up for work. I wanted to see how you were coming with the book. You weren’t at the museum. I’m glad I stopped by. There was something else here, Creighton. I don’t think it was inside you exactly, but it had you under its spell. Maybe that’s why the ice water worked.”

  Capshaw looked like he was trying to make sense of all this.

  “Let me get you a towel,” Macky said. He went to the bathroom down the hall. He came back with a towel and handed it to Capshaw.

  “This is serious,” Capshaw said, wiping his face. “And thanks. What a terrible thing to think . . . I can’t even remember how it happened. I . . .”

  A sudden gale whirled through the room. Some of the pages fluttered to the floor.

  Capshaw bent and picked them up. He looked them over and shivered again. “This is dreadful,” he said. “Do you know what this means?”

  “It means we’re in trouble. And I’d like to check on Millie. I haven’t seen her yet today. I had to leave the office early. Duke and Newt found another body. I want to make sure she’s all right.”

  Capshaw looked at Macky and nodded. “Good Lord,” he said. “This is more to add to The Necronomicon. Abdul Alhazred was using me, wasn’t he?”

  “So, it would seem. He doesn’t know how to hold a pencil in his current state, I guess. You don’t remember writing it?”

  “I remember leaving the museum. I stopped somewhere for a drink. And . . . then you splashed water on me.”

  “I don’t see the book. You don’t have it with you?”

  “No. I . . . No. I locked it in the bottom drawer of my desk at the museum.”

  “I was at your office. The door was open. The desk drawer, too. There was no book there.”

  “The bottom drawer?”

  Macky nodded.

  “Good heavens! Who else knows about it?”

  “I was hoping you could tell me.”

  “Let me get my coat,” Capshaw said, looking down at himself. “Perhaps I’ll change my clothes first.”

  Chapter 9

  Capshaw turned to Macky as they were driving back to the museum, and said, “I should thank you.”

  “For what?” Macky said, one hand on the wheel. “Dumping ice water down your back? I thought the forces of darkness were stronger than that. I didn’t think it would work, to be quite honest.”

  “I’m feeling normal, at least.”

  Macky made a right on Lexington, where the museum was. “Do you remember anything else?”

  Capshaw thought for a second. He shook his head. “Not about the time in between, no. I do remember some things in the book. How it ties together with The Necronomicon. Not just what was written but some of the old legends tied to it, things and sources that didn’t come from The Necronomicon, so to speak. I found it particularly disturbing that whoever studies it succumbs not only to madness but terrible ends as well. I feel . . . evil inside, Dev.”

  “Maybe we should find a priest to bless you,” Macky said.

  “I appreciate the thought.” Capshaw smiled. The light returned to his eyes. It was good to see. “Regardless of how old The Necronomicon is, Abdul Alhazred isn’t dead. Perhaps he never was. He has some power, maybe from the Outer Gods, his own experiment—whatever it may be—that’s granted him a life outside the corporeal state. The book isn’t done. Maybe it was never meant to be. It all sounds pretty crazy.”

  Macky nodded. “Which is what you were scribbling so furiously. How did he possess you without actually inhabiting your body?”

  “There could be any number of reasons for that. A spell from the book itself would be my guess. Powers beyond. I think, though, that it played into my own love and fascination with ancient relics. I gave in, in other words.”

  “That’s a disturbing thought.”

  “Abdul was a disturbing individual. Thus, the Mad Arab.”

  They drove down the block. Macky parked the coupe

  “How did you get inside anyway?” Capshaw asked.

  “Lock-picking set. I haven’t used it for a while. I happen to be carrying it around lately. Sometimes there are other forces on your side.”

  “Yes. Thank God for that.”

  “So, let me ask you . . .”

  Capshaw turned and looked at Macky.

  “You want to know what else I can tell you about the book?”

  “Only if you’re comfortable with it.”

  Capshaw nodded. He looked straight ahead. “There are plenty of things that disturb me about this, Dev. Abdul worshipped the Outer Gods, things bound to time and space. The Outer Gods are a group of monsters. Enormous in power and size. Yog-Sothoth. Cthulhu. Azathoth. It’s a succession, a family. Azathoth is the grandfather. Yog-Sothoth is the next in line. Then Cthulhu. Impossible horrors with omniscient power. But they are bound, banished in some ways to the Outer Darkness—a place beyond time and space. They’re bent and long for the destruction of humankind. They long to break through.”

  “That’s lovely,” Macky said.

  “The book is a summoning device, a gateway to dimensions, which, if accessed correctly, could—”

  “Allow the Outer Gods to enter and wreak havoc on earth.”

  “Precisely.”

  “You said portals.”

  Capshaw nodded. “Yes.”

  “I believe one is already opened. We had an issue last night behind the office. A voice spoke through some gateway. We were tracking a hound. It said something about the Lurker at the Threshold, the first gate being opened. It called itself Gomory. I saw something come out of it. Like a thousand bats. We were chasing a hound that had killed someone the night before. There was another death today. A policeman.”

  Capshaw wid
ened his eyes. For a second, they no longer sparkled. They were dark. “Gomory is one of thirteen gates,” he said. “The Lurker at the Threshold is Yog-Sothoth himself. If Abdul is trying to open the gates . . . if Gomory is one of thirteen, there are twelve gates to go. Once that happens . . .”

  “Yog-Sothoth will be loosed on Innsport. And the rest of the world.”

  “Good heavens!” Capshaw said. “And this hound you talked about?”

  “It started the day I found the book. I’ve been hearing it throughout the city. There was a murder, the victim’s throat torn out. The same thing happened to the policemen. But it was . . . almost unnatural. We could hear it. I saw its shadow in the museum. A green glow. Not sure what that was.”

  Capshaw nodded.

  “So, what is this . . . Yog-Sothoth?” Macky said. “What does it look like? Do you have any idea?”

  “He’s made of thousands of globes. Orbs. Spheres. Whatever you want to call them. A sort of monstrous, empirical creature made of thousands of spheres.”

  “Like an organism, bluish-green?”

  “Have you seen him?”

  “In bits and pieces. I saw one in the office. We took it outside and threw it in the dumpster. I’ve seen them randomly, then they disappear. Millie saw one, so did Duke and Newt—a couple of prowl boys I know.”

  Capshaw nodded. He was thinking.

  “So what do we do?”

  “I have some ideas. But let’s go up to my office. I want to see for myself.”

  Macky nodded. “Suit yourself,” he said.

  Capshaw opened the door, and they stepped outside.

  —

  “It’s gone all right,” Capshaw said. He touched the drawer, looked inside, as if expecting it to materialize. “Who else knew it was here? Who else could’ve possibly broken in?”

  “Millie and the prowl boys knew, but they didn’t want anything to do with it.”

  “I understand.”

  The office was how Macky had left it, the door ajar, and the drawer open. There was no sign of The Necronomicon.

  “It doesn’t make sense,” Macky said. “If he wanted you to study it, add to it, why would he take it? Or have somebody else take it?”

  “I have no idea. Maybe he got what he needed. Maybe he’s using it with others.”

  Macky widened his eyes. “I think I’d better check on Millie,” he said.

  —

  Macky drove to the office first in case she was waiting for him. She wasn’t. The empty office made him nervous. He got back in the car with Capshaw and drove to Kensington Place. He parked in front, got out, and they took the elevator up. On the 6th floor, the doors opened, and Macky pulled the cage back. At 6C, he knocked loudly.

  “Millie! Are you in there?”

  Macky tried the knob. It was locked.

  “Lock-picking set,” Capshaw said.

  Macky nodded, took it out, grabbed one of the tools inside, and fiddled with the knob.

  “Using this thing a little more than I expected,” he told Capshaw.

  The door clicked. The knob turned. Macky pushed it open.

  Capshaw took a slow, intake of breath. Neither said a word.

  It was something from the pages of a children’s fantasy. The opulence, foliage, colors, and flowers were bright, verdant, and scintillating. The sun was high. It was a doorway to another world. Towers in the distance gleamed in the sunshine. A lake shimmered brightly to their right under the sloping hill they stood on.

  Its scope defied the confines of the apartment. The portal was Millie’s front door.

  They were standing on a hill overlooking the land. The mountains, the setting sun, and a dense forest was to the north.

  To the south was a city made of pale, marble towers.

  “Millie!” he shouted over the landscape. His voice echoed back.

  It had to be an illusion. Maybe it was like the hound, or what he saw coming out of the portal.

  He reached out and touched the stalk of a large plant. Most of Millie’s furnishings were visible under the growth. If it was an illusion, how come he could touch the plant?

  He called her name again. Faintly, he heard a dog barking.

  “Mr. Kalabraise,” Macky said.

  “Huh?”

  “Millie’s dog. Mr. Kalabraise.”

  “This place looks vaguely familiar, like something I’ve read about,” Capshaw said. “But I can’t remember where.”

  Macky turned. “It looks familiar?”

  “Yes.”

  “I can’t leave Millie here. We have to find her.”

  “Dev,” Capshaw said, putting a hand on his arm. “I know this sounds crazy, but I know someone who can help us. It’s a long shot, but I think it would be worth it.”

  “Does he live close by? I think we’re having an issue with time here, Creighton.”

  “To be honest, Dev, I think she’s safe.”

  “Safe? In case you didn’t notice, Millie’s apartment has turned into another world.”

  “I think she’s safe until the thirteenth gate is opened. I have my reasons for that.”

  “I’d feel a lot better if you told me what those reasons were.”

  “These things don’t have power yet, Dev. They’re in the early stages. On this side, for now, they’re illusions. They can’t harm her. Or us.”

  “Tell that to Muncie,” Macky said.

  “Who?”

  “The officer who had his throat torn out.”

  “I see. Yes. That’s puzzling. But didn’t the hound appear before you found The Necronomicon?”

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “It doesn’t.”

  Macky stood staring at him for a long time. “Are you sure the Mad Arab isn’t still in your head somewhere, because you’re not making any sense.”

  “I know. I don’t think the hound is related to the gates. I don’t how that’s possible, but that’s what I believe. As far as the gates go, I think Millie is okay. For now. I think it’s a risk we have to take.”

  “I can’t. You go. I’ll stay here. I’ll find Millie while you collect your friend.”

  “Macky, I need you to trust me. These portals are legends. They’re stories playing themselves out. They won’t finish until the Thirteenth Gate is opened.”

  “You want me to leave her here? I can’t. Here, you take the keys. Go track down your friend.”

  “Dev, it’s what the Mad Arab wants. He wants you distracted. He doesn’t want you to do what needs to be done. That’s our advantage. We need knowledge. We need to get the better of him. This is how we do it.”

  “You’re asking quite a lot, you know that?”

  “Yog-Sothoth wants you to stay here. He wants you preoccupied.”

  “That’s ridiculous!”

  “Is it? I don’t think separating, Dev, is a good idea. Trust me, please.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Macky. I know someone who can help us. I know someone who is more familiar with what’s happening here. Who knows more about these things. He knows what it is, what it means. He can help us.”

  “No. You take the coupe. I’ll stay here. I have to look for Millie.”

  “Dev, are you really going to make me say it?”

  “Say what?”

  “Confess something that’s very embarrassing?”

  Macky frowned. “What’s that?”

  Capshaw blushed bright red. He coughed into his hand.

  “Come on,” Macky said. “It can’t be that bad.”

  “Well, no, for an aging old man, it’s pretty normal. It’s why I take the bus to work, a cab.”

  “You mean—?”

  “Right. I don’t know how to drive.”

  Chapter 10

  “We have a long way to go,” Capshaw said. “Unfortunately. It’s not so close.”

  Macky, behind the wheel of the coupe, turned and looked at Creighton. “Where are we going exactly?”

  “On the outskirts of
Innsport. Head northwest. You’ll want to take Highway One-seventeen.”

  “We’re going toward Arkham?”

  “We’re going to Arkham.”

  Macky turned and looked at Capshaw again. He pulled the car over and put it in park. “You can’t be serious? Look . . . I don’t have fond memories of Arkham. If it’s all the same to you, you go ahead. There’s plenty of daylight left. You can see the road just fine. It’s the perfect day for learning how to drive.”

  “I’m aware of what happened in Arkham last spring and that you were a part of it, Dev. But you have to trust me on this. For Millie’s sake.”

  Macky let out a sigh. “For Millie,” he said, as if to himself.

  “Right.”

  “If she wouldn’t keep getting into these hair-brained schemes—”

  “Schemes that happen to coincide with your own rash behavior.”

  “My motives were completely pure. It was a gift!”

  Capshaw raised his eyebrows.

  “Do me a favor, will you?” Macky said. “Check in the glove-box and see if there’s some hooch in there. If this is going to turn into a monster-filled adventure of mayhem, I want to get us off on the right foot.”

  Capshaw leaned forward, opened the glove-box, and looked inside. “No hooch.”

  “So much for divine intervention.”

  “I wouldn’t let you drink anyway, Dev. Maybe just a snort, but you shouldn’t be drinking and driving.”

  Macky looked at the curator and raised his eyebrows. “You sound like Millie.”

  “I knew I liked her for a reason,” Capshaw said. “Come on. We’re wasting time.”

  —

  He couldn’t help feeling anxious about Millie. His palms were sweating. He wished he could have a drink to quiet his nerves. If she were in any danger (which seemed a stupid thing to say with her apartment turning into another world), he wanted to get back as fast as possible. Shub-Niggurath, the tomb legions, Eric Moorland, the headless trio—it was too fresh in his mind. It seemed a long way to go while portals and doorways were opening around Innsport.