“That’s not important,” Asenath said.
“Then why are you here?” Macky asked.
“I’m the messenger,” she said. “The Gatekeeper.”
“Gatekeeper?”
She smiled again, unnerving Macky. “Yes. You have just witnessed the opening of the Ninth Gate. Congratulations. Sefora thanks you.”
Chapter 16
“I’m really starting to hate that woman,” Macky said.
“You got my vote on that one, too, Dev,” Capshaw said.
Asenath moved off the chair. The blanket slipped from her lap and onto the floor. Mr. Kalabraise barked loudly. Armitage took a sharp intake of air. It sounded like a hiss. Millie gasped. Capshaw said, “God in heaven,” and his eyes went wide.
It didn’t faze Macky, but he took a step backwards.
From the waist down, Asenath was a spider. Long, segmented legs unfolded, settled gracefully onto the floor. She moved with fluid grace.
“This city needs to be purified,” Armitage said.
“Maybe that’s what we’re here for,” Capshaw told him.
Asenath continued toward the nearest wall. She was hissing as she moved. Her eyes turned a deep, smoldering red. Her nails were exposed on each hand, a shiny, glistening black. Macky wondered if it was something other than nail polish.
“Sefora thanks you for opening the gate,” she said. The grin never left her face. She was sticking to a wall of books. She was soon on the ceiling, hanging upside down in front of them.
“Who is Sefora anyway?” Armitage asked.
In answer, the room shifted, warping, a reality that bubbled the air. The bookstore was undergoing a metamorphosis. They were looking at a scene during the day, the light coming through the window, something that had taken place earlier. Macky saw the Mad Arab, the book in his hands. He was showing it to Amelia, reading something from it. Amelia was looking at it fascinated and somewhat repulsed.
“Dev, are you seeing . . ?” Millie asked.
“Uh-huh,” he said.
“The Mad Arab got to her. Just like he got to you.”
“Thanks for the reminder. I feel stupid enough as it is.”
“No, Dev. I’m just saying. It would’ve happened regardless.”
“I was certain my sure-fire wit, cunning, and supernatural ability to deduce beyond reason would’ve prevented all this. I guess it wasn’t to be, Mill.”
Millie raised her eyebrows. “Your confidence isn’t lacking, at least.”
“I’m a warrior of light in the darkness.”
“Whatever makes you feel better, slugger,” Millie said.
In the scene, Amelia was haggling with the Mad Arab. A villainous gleam was in his eyes. There was no sound, but their lips were moving. Abdul was doing his best to pitch a sale. Another portal materialized. Amelia didn’t notice the man approaching behind her, but Macky recognized him. He’d seen him on the farm with the coveralls and pitchfork, the man in the museum: Wilbur.
He moved like a cat. He put his hand over Amelia’s mouth, wrapped his other arm around her waist, picked her up off the floor, and dragged her back to the portal. Her eyes went wide. She tried to scream. She kicked and clawed, but Wilbur was too big. Abdul smiled and hurried into the portal after them. It closed and disappeared.
The spider thing that was Asenath appeared next. She settled into the chair, pulled the blanket off its back, and across her legs.
“Where did they take her?” Macky asked.
“Dunwich,” Asenath said. Her eyes were glowing.
Millie reached into her purse and pulled out the gun. She fired at Asenath. As she did, the spider woman turned into a puff of smoke and vanished, leaving the smell of brimstone.
—
Whatever was in the basement started banging on the door. Macky, Millie, Capshaw, and Armitage turned. Mr. Kalabraise ranted off a series of barks. The thing moved along the doorframe, trying to find a way out.
“Something tells me the world of guns and bullets won’t have any effect here,” Macky said.
“Why do you always have to look at the negative side of things?” Capshaw asked.
“It prepares me for the worst,” Macky told him.
They turned and hurried from the bookstore. The 9th Gate, Sefora, was outside—a swirling matter of mass releasing a nameless mist into the city. The tear in the night sky over Innsport grew wider. Mi-gos filled the sky, cyclones of what could only be bats screeching in a mad cacophony. In the distance, as if on cue, came the baying of the hound. The smell of tarry stickiness was stronger. The misty fog was growing. The insect-like drone rose in volume. The orbs of Yog-Sothoth appeared. They were on sidewalks, in windows, in front of buildings, and in cars parked along the street. All of them pulsed a greenish-blue color. Shadows darted back and forth behind the fog. Macky imagined they were the kangaroo monsters.
Beyond it, Yog-Sothoth, the Lurker at the Threshold, swelled to life under the stars. A discernible face was visible—teeth, obsidian eyes, an unnatural head, the side of one arm made entirely of spheres. The rest of the Outer God was out of sight. Yog-Sothoth was appearing and reappearing on both sides of the cosmos. When the 13th Gate opened, the Eradication would begin.
“How do we find these Elder Gods?” Macky asked.
The wind picked up, forcing him to talk over the din.
“I have no idea,” Armitage said.
“Doesn’t that book have any useful information?” Macky asked.
“I’ve given you a bunch of useful information,” Armitage said. “We have a direction.”
“But I don’t know which way to go,” Macky said.
“I do,” Capshaw said, staring at the thing in the sky, the multi-dimensional, Yog-Sothoth.
Everyone looked at him.
“Are we pausing for dramatic effect?” Macky asked.
“Perhaps,” Capshaw said. “There is a great deal of suspense in the air.”
“What are you talking about, Creighton?” Armitage asked.
“I’m talking about the Elder Scrolls,” the curator said.
“What are those again?” Macky asked.
“Scrolls that tell of the history, the prophecy of the Elder Gods, their origin, wants and dislikes. A gateway, you could say. A communicator.”
“How do we locate them?” Macky asked.
Capshaw grinned. “They’re on display. At the museum.”
“You’re kidding?”
“I’m not. I’m rather proud of myself at the moment.”
“What are we waiting for?” Macky said, running toward the coupe. “To the Detective Mobile!”
“You had to get him started,” Millie said.
—
Duke and Newt were on the trail of something wicked and elusive at the same time, a labyrinth of alleyways, streets, complexes, businesses, but it was toying with them. Duke could hear it laughing.
He paused, peering through the fog. The setting had changed. He saw a small church to the west. The moon was high above. The fog was moving. In front of them, the creature howled. The temperature dropped. Duke and Newt could see their breath as they moved along. Silhouettes were visible behind the fog, a robed cult of some kind.
“Do you see that, Duke?” Newt asked.
“Figures. Yes. I thought I saw . . .”
People. Figures. Monsters. They were robed—eating out of their hands, something that looked like human anatomy.
“Dear God,” Newt said. “Let’s get out of here.”
The fog continued. The chill. They followed the hound through the city, which was looking more and more like another graveyard. The jangle of the collar sounded. The jade flashed and disappeared.
“Chasing an unknown creature further into the unknown,” Newt said. “Is that what you signed up for, Duke?”
“Not in the slightest,” he said.
—
Frye W. Fields was busy typing up his latest article for the Innsport Gazette when a knock sounded at the door.
> “Who on earth could that be?” he said.
He sighed, pushing back his chair. Just as quickly, his imagination ran wild. Maybe it was a policeman. Maybe it was someone wanting to give him information, someone who’d stopped by with some credible news that would make his story fly.
He even entertained the thought of a girl . . .
Excited by the prospect, Fields opened the door.
The hallway was empty. He looked down.
A book lay on the doormat, something out of Medieval Europe. Fields frowned and picked it up. It was voluminous, weighty. The cover was made from some material he didn’t recognize. It wasn’t leather. Could it be . . . skin? He put it to his face and took a whiff. It stank. It smelled like decay and death.
It might be the thing he’d been hoping for, a clue, a window to another world. He didn’t know why this thought entered his brain, but it did.
Someone had left it for him.
Fields hugged it to his chest like a baby and carried it inside.
—
“What are we looking for again?” Macky asked.
“The Elder Scrolls,” Capshaw said.
“Never heard of ’em,” he said.
Mr. Kalabraise barked. It was a friendly bark. Millie scowled.
“I wonder how much time we have before the last gate opens?” Capshaw said.
“At the rate we’re going, it looks like three an hour,” Macky said. “Pretty fast. That being said, maybe we have an hour or more. Maybe none at all. Things happen, and then they don’t. Let us pray.”
Millie raised her eyebrows. “You’re so dramatic.”
“I thought you’d be happy?” he asked
“I’ve given up on you, Dev,” she said.
“That’s disappointing. Nothing is ever lost but becomes a thing of great beauty. I read that somewhere.”
“If only you read,” Millie said.
“Where is this thing anyway?” Macky said.
Capshaw lead them toward the main floor, a display illuminated by lights, staged upon a pillar with a flat surface. The pedestal was five-feet high.
“Oh, no,” Capshaw said, eyes going wide.
“Don’t tell me . . ?” Macky said.
“I’m assuming there was a book there at one time,” Armitage said. “And now it’s gone.”
“Yes,” Capshaw said. “The Elder Scrolls have been stolen.”
—
“She’s not here, Duke,” Newt said. His face was glistening with sweat. Duke could see the lapel of his suit bouncing where his heart was. The man was nervous and scared and with good reason. His eyes were wide.
“We’ll find her, Newt,” Duke said. “I promise.”
“Something feels weird. Do you smell that?”
“Yes, some kind of acrid stench in the air. Almost like . . .”
Newt raised his eyebrows.
“Someone’s been here,” Duke said.
“I don’t think she left willingly,” Newt said.
“There’s nothing willing about this entire night . . . except for the monsters.”
They were quiet for a second.
They turned toward the basement door.
“Did you hear something?” Duke asked.
Newt nodded and went to the door. A sloughing, heavy shifting sounded. Something much larger than a human being. He put his ear to the door and listened.
“What is it?” Duke asked, stepping closer.
Newt didn’t wait for an answer. He wrapped his fingers around the knob.
“Newt, I don’t think that’s a good—”
Newt opened the door.
“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Duke said, reaching for his gun.
All Newt could see was blackness. Another smell was coming from below, something that wasn’t brimstone. It was a fresh smell, amphibious, and rotting.
“Close the door, Newt,” Duke said. “She’s not down there.”
“How do you know that?”
“It’s a feeling but one I trust.”
“But . . . what is that?” Newt said, leaning over the staircase.
“Are you sure you want to find out?” Duke said.
Newt peered into the darkness. He wanted a better look.
“Newt?”
Something moved along the bottom steps. All he knew was that it was heavy and large.
Newt nodded. He closed the door and locked it.
“I think we should get down to the precinct,” Duke said. “We need to report this, make it official.”
Newt nodded. He was reluctant. “We have to find her, Duke. Promise me, okay?”
“I promise. You know I do. Now let’s get out of here.”
—
Macky saw the long, shadowy figure he’d been seeing all night, and for the first time, realized it wasn’t the Mad Arab. The creature was standing back from the pillar where the Elder Scrolls had been. It took Macky a second before he realized the thing was a shadow. He could see the white of its eyes, slightly illuminated. It was like looking at two dim candles in an amorphous black shape.
“Uh,” Macky said. “You guys see that . . . shadowy figure?”
They turned. Mr. Kalabraise refused to bark. She didn’t growl. The shape demanded a sort of reverence.
“You seek the Elder Scrolls,” it said.
“Who are you?” Macky asked. He stepped forward. Armitage put a hand on his arm.
“No, Dev, don’t,” the doctor said. “It’s a god.”
Macky frowned and looked at him. “An Elder God?”
“Outer God,” the figure said.
“Do you have the scrolls?” Macky asked.
The figure performed a sort of magic trick. It held its hand out, the scroll within. It put its hand behind its back, brought its hand in front of him, and now its hand was empty.
Macky raised his eyebrows. “Parlor tricks? Is that the best you can do?”
“It’s not in my nature to intercede with mortals,” the figure said. “I find your species tiresome. But I despise someone else even more.”
“Who’s that?”
“The Mad Arab, author of The Necronomicon. This is his doing. Very clever on some levels. Not so clever on others. His perseverance has paid off. His sacrifices. He’s been awarded a darker wisdom. That’s to be expected. Something only the Outer Gods share with one another. Many of us aren’t happy about it.”
“They don’t seem like a very joyful bunch as it is,” Macky said.
“You are not mistaken.”
“What do you want from us?” Macky asked.
“Abdul Alhazred has forced the book into innocent hands. They are used as a conduit to the other side. The power obtained in The Necronomicon must come into contact with an innocent. By doing so, it allows a gate to open. If an innocent reads from its pages, a dimension will reveal itself. The book only has to come in contact with someone. Anyone. In some cases, all one has to do is hold it. The Mad Arab longs to hurry the process.”
“What process?” Armitage said. “For what purpose?”
“It depends on your perspective,” the creature said. “Pride for some. Arrogance. He longs to be in the good graces of Yog-Sothoth. Higher standing. Thus . . . more power. He’s a sycophant.”
“That tired old cliché?” Macky said. “Don’t you guys long for anything with deeper meaning and more substance? You’re no different than anybody else. You chase an elusive goal. It’s in all the history books.”
“The same can be said of your own kind,” the figure said. “Longings, shallow needs. Immature in your faith. Worse than children.”
“Evolving doesn’t come easy,” Macky said.
“You learn nothing. The Mad Arab is filled with knowledge. He has experience. He has seen things no mortal ever will. But it comes with a price.”
“And what is that?” Millie asked.
“Insanity.”
“Are you here to help us or not?” Capshaw said.
“The way to the Elder Go
ds is through the dreamscapes,” the figure said. “Kadath will get you there. It is not certain. But Kadath is the only way.”
“And how do we get there?” Macky asked.
“Through the witch-house, which is its own gateway. A nexus. The crux.”
“I don’t understand,” Millie said.
“That means the center of it all,” Macky said.
“I know that, Dev,” Millie said.
“Then why did you ask?”
“The Thirteenth Gate will open,” the creature said. “The Lurker at the Threshold will be free to roam. The eradication of the human race will begin. It is called, Nye’l’a, the celebration of extinction. All things long for freedom, do they not? But another is also on the way.”
“Another?”
“Cthulhu.”
“There’s that word again,” Macky said. “I don’t know what it means.”
“There will be death. That is only the beginning. Beware of the Thirteenth Gate.”
“You still haven’t told us how to get to the witch-house, or what we’re supposed to do once we get there,” Macky said “Do we bargain with them? Do we have to offer something? Is Mr. Kalabraise willing to sacrifice herself?”
“Dev!” Millie said.
“I was joking.”
“They cannot be bargained with,” the black god said.
“But they’re . . . what’s that word again, Mill?”
“Benevolent.”
“Yeah,” Macky said, turning toward the creature. “Benevolent.”
“That depends on who they come into contact with. And the context of the meeting.”
“Are we going to keep talking in circles?”
“I wasn’t aware we were.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake!”
“If you’re lucky,” the thing said. “They can be summoned.”
“What’s your name, anyway?” Capshaw said.
“I am one of the Outer Gods,” the creature said. “My name is Nyarlathotep.”
Chapter 17
“What do we got here, boys! A couple of gumshoes looking fer trouble? Is that what yer saying?”
The Lurker at the Threshold : A Horror Mystery Page 14