Shoggoth 2- Rise of the Elders

by Byron Craft

  Moisture in Darwin, Pemba had learned, was somewhat rare. Professor Ironwood told her, “We don't get much rain in Darwin, but when we do it is usually over before you can say, ‘it's raining.’” So, it was a bit of a surprise when she met with an odd drip, drip, drip of water echoing through the empty shell. It had both a familiar plus eerie quality to it. It reminded Pemba of an old grandfather clock her parents had once owned, constantly ticking rendering the listener senseless, until you ran outdoors to escape the monotony.

  The JLTV had successfully ripped the front off the old structure. To everyone’s surprise, when the military vehicle shifted into gear, the façade came away in one enormous section. They had all assumed that it would be torn apart piecemeal, necessitating several attempts. A ragged tearing sound ensued when the JLTV pulled away, followed by a loud sand spewing “thump” when the frontage fell face down striking the desert floor.

  The five stood inside the sparsely furnished room. A cobweb shrouded roughly fashioned table, chairs and cot lay collapsed from ages of abandonment on a termite-riddled wood floor. In the middle sat a potbelly stove, rusted and cold. Coarse hewn horizontal boards obscured as well by thick cheesecloth cobwebs, comprised the remaining three walls. All eyes looked to the left. A sizeable wooden planked barn door hung on the east wall, suspended on metal rollers supported by a horseshoe-shaped track screwed to the wall with heavy lag bolts. It stood fortified with an iron hasp and padlock.

  In the blink of an eye, Dutch and his prybar were at the barrier, ripping the locking mechanism from the fortification. The large door, stiff on its track, took the combined effort of Gideon and Dutch to slide it to one side. Metal rollers that had not known oil for many a year squealed in protest. Once the task was done the harsh, unpleasant metallic reverberations died. The opening was confused by dust and ropes of more gray cobwebs. The five gazed into an old tunnel, utterly forgotten, a dark, solemn passage stretched as far as the eye could see until a barely perceptible curve took it around a distant corner. The floor of the cave slanted downward.

  ***

  Noah Riggs tried unsuccessfully to remotely delete the word “baby” from Arnold’s vocabulary, but the AI became stubborn. To his chagrin, his artificial intelligence program was becoming self-aware and refused the removal. Arnold insisted that adjustments to its lexicon might be detrimental, sighting, “My mission is to protect you and all sources of communication must remain intact.”

  Noah sat on his off-road motorbike. Madison’s arms were tightly around his midsection supporting herself on the rear of the seat. She had come along again this morning, their second date. He wanted to turn around and kiss her, but he didn’t dare. He yearned to plant a big one on her lips. The thought scared the crap out of him. He didn’t have the courage.

  “Get to the chopper!” virtual Arnold yelled into Noah’s earpieces.

  “What?” he whispered.

  “She’s our mission priority. Say, ‘you are beautiful in the morning daylight.’”

  “Did you say something?” asked Madison. “I can’t make out what you are saying over all of this racket.” The Magician’s motor was running, and they had been peering into the dark tunnel in Dead Man’s Point. The sound of the big yellow digging machine blared from the megaphone tunnel opening.

  Noah leaned back. The side of their faces touched. “You are beautiful in the morning daylight,” echoing his Cyrano de Bergerac.

  “You’re silly. I’m behind you, and you can’t see me.”

  Noah turned sharply in his seat, their eyes met, and he smiled. He was glad that it was just the two of them. Noah hadn’t let Stitch and the Tunnel Archaeologists know that they had headed out to their secret location. The morning sky was clear, and there was no wind. As if to spite the a.m. weather, the tunnel opening, in keeping with the mechanical din of excavation, belched a current of sand and dust. Their objective had been to explore the cave and find out what these mystery men were doing in no man’s land. At the time it seemed like a good idea for a fun date.

  “Let’s go see what they are doing, Madison,” uttered his AI. “Let’s go see what they are doing, Madison” he recited.

  “No,” Madison countered, “It’s filthy in there. I’m wearing my best jacket.”

  “OK,” Noah replied without Arnold’s aid. “We’ll come back tomorrow.” They turned away from the tunnel and Madison, and Noah astride the Magician, sped down the hill.

  “I'll be back; I’ll be back,” AI Arnold chanted over and over in his ear. Noah ignored the prompt.

  ***

  The room seemed to hold its breath, but only for an instant. Ironwood stepped forward, struck a match and held it high, driving back the shadows. Gideon and Dutch were next removing tactical LED flashlights from their belt clips. The dance of their electric torches became maddening as light and darkness played tag along the tunnel walls. An icy chill accosted Ironwoods features. It carried no scent. He was thankful. The smell that had accompanied a shoggoth, in the past, was like honeysuckle. A ghostlike acquaintance, an awareness played upon his senses. He had felt it before, when they first broke through to the tunnel, the year before. As if capable of speech, it reached out to him again imparting, “I am old, very old.”

  Pemba rested a hand on the back of Ironwood’s shoulder, “You sense something don’t you Professor?” she suggested softly in his ear.

  “Yes,” he whispered back.

  “I feel it too,” she answered slowly. “I am not sure if I am getting it from you or this place, but it knows you. It wants you back.”

  Ironwood turned and looked at Pemba. If he had any doubts about his decision to bring her to America, about her abilities, the assessment was substantiated now.

  “How do we know this is the way in, Professor?” questioned Gideon.

  “Take my word for it, Gideon, this is it!”

  “That cave opening is wide enough to accommodate my JLTV,” he announced breaking the trance that held Pemba and the Professor. “Dutch and I are well equipped, let’s have at it!”

  “No!” objected Ironwood. “Tomorrow . . . we’ll go in then. I have a promise to keep. I have to make a phone call.”

  ***

  Ironwood sat at his desk in the old Airstream trailer, and Gideon stood peering over his shoulder. Pemba occupied the chair opposite his desk flipping through a deck of Tarot cards. Moonlight shone through the side window. Amy and Dutch were in the kitchen preparing dinner. It turned out that the big Dutchman was very adept in the culinary arts.

  “Something troubling you, Prof?” asked Gideon.

  Ironwood had the Xeroxed Necronomicon opened, and he fixated on the screen of his PC. “It is that so-called rhyming couplet if that is what it truly is,” he puzzled.

  “I thought my brother had translated it,” he proposed. “You know, his writing, in red ink, right there on the photocopy,” he added pointing.

  “Maybe, I just want to make sure that his interpretation is accurate. I downloaded the video from your thumb drive and captured the frame.” The Professor zoomed in on the image on his computer. “It’s fairly high resolution, but the glyph isn’t readable.”

  “Yeah,” challenged Gideon, “but you’ve got it here in the old book.”

  “Exactly, but this is a picture of old parchment and all though Alan’s penmanship is legible, the ancient writing displayed isn’t. Notice this glyph within the last line; it’s blurred. Probably shopworn from decades of handling by subsequent scholars. If anything, I’d say that your brother’s translation was based on his best guess scenario.”

  “Alan was, Professor, an expert on translating this ancient language and, no offense intended, Sir, you are not.”

  “No offense taken, Mr. Ward,” he answered smiling. “My field is physics, not ancient civilizations. I did dabble in it somewhat when I was at Miskatonic University, but my knowledge is limited.” Professor Thomas Ironwood was once a member of a covert group within the university known to a select few as the Mythos Dep
artment. Their job was to investigate supernatural occurrences around the world. At times they acted like vigilantes, passing out judgment where they saw fit. It was when the young suits within the administration considered the threat of the Old Ones as junior varsity that he decided to give up his tenure. “I’ll study this more, after dinner,” he decreed.

  Pemba shuffled a few cards in the Tarot deck and laid one on the desktop. “What’s that one?” asked Gideon.

  “It's the Hierophant card,” she replied not looking up from her shuffle. “It simply tells us that, ‘When the student is ready, the teacher will appear.’”

  Gideon appeared to like the answer. “Maybe you are going to teach us something, Prof.”

  Ironwood wasn’t pleased.

  “The next,” she offered, without being asked, “is the High Priestess, she holds the book of knowledge as she sits between the veil of the conscious and the subconscious.”

  “Cryptic,” added Gideon seeming to enjoy the game.

  “This one is the Angel Oracle Card, the spirit of adventure,” she announced laying it down. “And this is the Five of Wands, the ultimate conflict card.” Pemba chose another card, looked at it and returned it to the deck.

  “What was that one?” urged Gideon still playing along.

  “Nothing of importance,” she answered displaying no emotion. “The cards are not always accurate in telling the future.”

  Ironwood’s iPhone played the Star-Spangled Banner. He looked at the faceplate and announced, “That’s Mrs. Murchison folks; dinner is served.”

  “Dutch and I will be leaving directly after dinner. We’ll need to hit the sack earlier to get a head start on the morning,” Gideon proclaimed as he and Pemba filed out the door.

  “I’ll catch up in a minute,” Ironwood told his guests. When they were a good distance across the patio, he turned the Tarot card over from the top of the deck where Pemba had placed it. A skeleton in a suit of armor was depicted riding a white horse, holding a black and white flag . . . The Death Card.

  ***

  Gideon and Dutch arrived at Professor Ironwood’s home before sunrise. Gideon had just finished his second cup of coffee when he heard a diesel engine vehicle approaching. Amy, Pemba, and Ironwood were in the process of packing their gear. Dutch was looking out the front window and motioned for them to join him.

  A desert tan Humvee pulled to a stop behind the JLTV. “Who in the hell is that?” asked Gideon eying the old style military vehicle through the glass.

  Ironwood came from behind, motioned Dutch aside to look, and answered, “Reinforcements.”

  ***

  The morning sun was on the horizon, and the five gathered around the Hummer. Two Marines exited the vehicle. Ironwood recognized one of them immediately. Admiral Hawkins had said that he would send a couple of men, which Ironwood would know, and he was right! He smiled and jogged over to the two with an extended had. “Sergeant,” he acknowledged with a raised voice. “It’s great to see you!” Ironwood would always be grateful to the Sergeant and his companion. They were part of a unit, last year, that held off the rampaging shoggoth until he could escape, giving them the time needed to blow the beast to kingdom come.

  “Good to see you, Professor, “looks like we are going down under again, Sir.’

  “It appears that way.”

  The Marine walked over to where Dutch and Gideon stood. Turning first to Dutch, then Gideon he asked, “which one of you gentleman is Lieutenant Ward?”

  “I am, Sergeant,” but retired, Gideon offered.

  “Admiral Hawkins acquainted me with your service, Sir. Two tours of duty in Afghanistan, I’ve been told. Even though this is a civilian operation, we are honored to serve with you. Sergeant Moses Jones reporting for duty, Sir,” followed with a salute.

  “Stand down Sergeant, Professor Ironwood is the one with the experience on this Op; he’s in charge. What’s your pay grade, Sergeant?”

  “E-5, Lieutenant, I’m the NCO of just a squad of two, I’m afraid, no more volunteers could be mustered up on such short notice. This here’s E-4, Corporal Stanley Faber.” The Corporal saluted.

  “Your numbers are well appreciated, Sergeant. We will be the tunnel’s Magnificent Seven.”

  “Make that six, Gideon. Amy will be staying behind.”

  “But Thomas,” Amy started to object.

  “No, Amy. I need you to stay topside. If anything should go wrong, you’ll be needed here, to inform the Admiral and hopefully the media of what Congressman Stream has up his sleeve.” Since he was no longer under the restraint of a non-disclosure agreement, their pillow talk, the night before, gave Ironwood the opportunity to bear his soul.

  Amy had tears in her eyes. Ironwood knew that she wanted nothing more than to accompany him down into the earth, but his love for her wouldn’t allow that to happen.

  Amy rushed to him, threw her arms around him, and then an instant later, pushed him away. “You’re an old fool,” she declared choking on her words.

  Ironwood turned away so that she couldn’t see the moisture welling up in his eyes.

  Gideon, grasping an opportunity to change the subject, motioned to Sergeant Jones. “Whatever gear you two have brought, stow it in the JLTV.”

  “I’ve read about these babies, Sir, but never seen one up close. It’s an Oshkosh Defense High Mobility Multipurpose Wheeled Vehicle, the Core1080 Crew Protection System. It has mine resistance, IED detection, and a lot of bolt-on armor. It is scheduled to replace the current crop of Humvees, but it’s also boxier, Sir. If you can get it through the tunnels, then my old Hummer would easily fit.”

  “Not on your life, Sergeant,” taking exception. “The diesel engine on your buggy would asphyxiate all of us within ten minutes.” Gideon removed the canvas tarp on the companion trailer. Besides an assortment of tool boxes and oversized ammunition containers, two 500-gallon propane tanks were revealed. “This bad boy was converted to run on propane. It burns clean.”

  “I stand corrected, Sir,” answered the Sergeant.

  Corporal Faber opened the rear compartment on the Humvee and proceeded to unload their equipment. Ironwood, Gideon, and Dutch surveyed the supplies. Two M16A rifles with an ambitious supply of thirty-round clips were pulled out, and then Ironwood saw something that made him smile. Two odd-looking rifles fashioned from pipes. Hoses trailed from each attached to what looked like three Scuba tanks on backpacks.

  “Remember these flame sticks, Professor?” asked the Sergeant.

  “M2 flamethrowers,” he answered, still smiling.

  “Yup, most of them were scrapped after Vietnam, declared obsolete, but the NWC kept a few for testing. Admiral Hawkins never got rid of them. After our run-in with that bubbling thing, he treats them as his good luck charms.”

  Chapter 14

  - Return to the Tunnels -

  Darkness, lifeless thirsting darkness, loomed ahead. Layer upon layer of alien history bled out from the five-sided tunnel. An open wound beneath a dying desert town. And always the shadow of a nameless fear hugged the alien masonry. The high beams of the JLTV stabbed the stygian darkness. It was the closest thing on Earth to traveling into another dimension, Pemba imagined.

  When they approached the old miner’s shack embedded deep into the wall of dirt, Gideon had his passengers exit the vehicle, fearing that the termite-riddled floor might not hold their combined weight. The floorboards cracked and splintered under the JLTV’s tonnage, but the ancient foundation held. Once back aboard they drove onto the downward sloping cave floor in first gear.

  The cave was buttressed at regular intervals by two vertical roughhewn timbers propping up a horizontal support beam. Their vehicle slowly followed the gradual curve. Ironwood sat up front while Gideon drove, and Pemba sat between them. When the curvature ceased its bending and the passageway made straight, they spied a fig-shaped object leaning against the cavern wall. It gave the impression of a piece of old leather or perhaps a large canvas sack; except it was the general
shape of the thing that attracted their attention. The question of what it was and what it was doing here in this subterrane, disturbed Pemba. Only when they crept closer, the gritty sound of dirt and gravel under the JLTV’s tires echoing off the walls, did they see what it truly was. It had hair and dead, black sockets for eyes, hollow openings that once held human orbs. They possessed a strange composite glare of shock, horror, and frozen malignance.

  “Good Lord,” cried Pemba and she covered her eyes.

  “A horrible welcoming committee,” added Gideon in a somber tone.

  “Who could that have been,” inquired Sergeant Jones from the rear compartment.

  “My guess,” volunteered Ironwood, “would be this place’s last tenant. Probably Victor Nash.”

  “But the cave door was locked from the outside,” Pemba whispered.

  Professor Ironwood appeared to be lost in thought, still staring at the hideous corpse through the truck’s side window. “It looks to me as if this unfortunate gentleman met with a shoggoth. I saw another man like this, a year ago, reduced to a dried-out husk,” he paused, clearly taking a moment to choose his next words. “The poor soul had the life sucked out of him by the creature. I guess that Phillip Clervey, who was last seen running through Darwin screaming his head off, is probably responsible. He was staying with Nash before the event. Clervey, was most likely fleeing the shoggoth in the tunnel, and in a state of panic, locked his landlord inside.”

  “We’ll arrange a proper burial for the man when we return this way,” announced Gideon as he eased the JLTV forward.

  “If we ever come back this way,” countered Pemba.

  “Is that a prediction Pemba or just a pessimistic response,” Ironwood gently probed.