From Murky Depths

by Brett Williams

  But these people worshiped a being that brought about a blanket of water and bred an army of humanoids. They had built an entire county, an elevated territory specifically for It. Despite the muggy heat, a cold chill seeped into me, beginning with my sodden socks.

  We reached the top by moonlight. No, not marble. Concrete. Still, the overall effect remained: Although a population of farmers, of backwater nobodies, we worship It who is powerful, It who provides, It who is real.

  The ambient chanting contributed heavily to that impression.

  Twenty feet away I saw the others flank the temple to the right. Roger led us around left. Carefully we picked our way past ornately chiseled concrete walls featuring prominent narrow windows set high above, the temple walls reaching well over a dozen feet. The architecture had an overall Greek feel, albeit in a white trash, limited resources way. Somehow I doubted their god cared.

  Two tall oak trees stood before the temple, beyond them, the bonfire. We peered cautiously around the side of the temple at the gathered mass of people. They all faced the bonfire. Their chants rose and fell in an ancient-sounding tongue that resembled nothing I'd heard before. It followed a guttural cadence.

  The amassed group consisted of men and women wearing earth-toned robes, with the exception of several younger women wearing pristine white. They danced and swayed around the flames. As we watched, my mind barely able to process the surreal scene playing out before me, their unintelligible chants turned to repeated utterances of “Mauz-Gurloth! Mauz-Gurloth! Mauz-Gurloth!”

  An A/C D/C concert I'd attended years before flashed through my mind. As if these people were summoning It to the stage. I half-expected rumbling percussion, wailing guitars, and cannon explosions to begin.

  I jumped at a lightning bolt streaking down from the sky. It struck the far oak with a crack. A shower of sparks erupted into the night sky like pyrotechnics. Dry leaves burst into flame. That's when I noticed although the two oak trees appeared to have been planted symmetrically in relation to the entrance to the temple, they were obviously of different varieties. The one set aflame much larger, much older. Now it threatened to burn down, leaving the latter the sole guardian (or sentry) of the Temple of Mauz-Gurloth.

  The crowd roared joyously.

  “Mauz-Gurloth! Mauz-Gurloth!”

  Down from the heavens came pelting rain. Clouds must have sprung up in the night sky.

  “Let us fertilize our fields with your spawn,” a deep voice bellowed.

  Feminine voices swooned.

  “Mauz-Gurloth! “Mauz-Gurloth!”

  A rumble sounded all around us.

  The earth trembled. It shook until I feared falling.

  Flooded fields churned from what I believed to be the steady downpour, but then what I realized was moving earth.

  And then the earth settled. My knees felt weak. The gathered crowd of worshipers, temporarily silenced, began to murmur.

  A sound must have registered subconsciously because I didn't knowingly turn to look, but turn I did. What can only be described an large black droplets topped the hill, having climbed it like water running slowly in defiance of gravity. Yet not truly liquid, the droplets almost resembled leeches. At first I believed them to be merely dancing shadows.

  This slime, for lack of a better word, appeared at the three sides of the hill: the sides flanking the temple and the side facing the temple. The stuff defied logic, yet it enforced my growing belief in their god, Mauz-Gurloth. It slithered toward the crowd, which fell down reverently before the bonfire, all save the women in white, who stepped up onto an elevated area surrounding the bonfire. There they stood in a mixture of nervous energy.

  These droplets of black slime oozed across the rocky soil, cutting through the crowd.

  Shockingly, the young women raised their white robes, exposing their sex. Some had shaved in preparation, others stood au natural.

  Slime slithered across their feet. The women squirmed in excitement. The stuff, alive, began to crawl up their legs, swirling around and around their calves, up past their knees, to their thighs. To my horror, the women opened themselves, allowing the droplets to ooze up into them until every last drop on their legs had found its home.

  My stomach heaved and I longed to retch. Somehow I resisted the urge. Had my eyes deceived me? My Lord, these women had allowed the impregnation of some otherworldly spawn in their own bodies.

  In that moment I regretted ever having trolled over to Clayton. Why couldn't I have lent a helping hand in my own hometown? Hell, why hadn't I left for St. Louis? Surely, with careful driving, my ol' Chevy would have got me out of town. Of that I had no doubt.

  Now this sight would be burned into my mind for all eternity.

  Most hellish, it made me doubt my own beliefs. The God I'd worshiped would never have allowed this. Would He? No, that's what faith meant. I could not believe in spawn, not believe in impregnating ooze. Of course it could happen, I'd just seen it take place. But what I refused to believe is that this should be happening.

  No. What I'd seen could never be His plan.

  And that is when I understood what my new friends were doing here tonight. We had to do what we could. Which, honestly, seemed almost futile. I turned to Roger looking for direction. He stood watching the ceremony continue.

  Two women, also in white, replaced the others before the bonfire. The mass of worshipers remained kneeling before them. Both women had small belly bulges. Obviously pregnant. Also raising their skirts up, both lay back spreading their legs.

  “Oh my God,” I whispered.

  “Shh...”

  Both began to push. The crowd urged them on, a revolting cult of Lamaze coaches. It sickened me when as deep oily blackness crowned in their vaginas. Even at this distance I could see their flesh parting, stretching to give way to whatever wanted out. An egg? One woman, a woman of about twenty years of age with long brown hair, pushed at her belly trying to help force the thing out.

  Younger women, perhaps already impregnated, perhaps envious of those chosen, rose to eagerly await the delivery of eggs.

  From the angle I stood made watching the delivery impossible; the would-be midwives blocked the view. Until the crowd collectively gasped and the midwives reverently stood turning, eggs raised to the sky. Rain washed over them, plastering their hair to their head. Long strands of hair dangled in thick ropes past their shoulders.

  “Mauz-Gurloth!” the crowd exclaimed, rising in unison.

  “What do we do?” I asked, wanting nothing more than to be told to return home, that Clayton would take care if its own. If only I could awake dry in my bed from such a nightmare, I could go on living in ignorance. However, I knew what must be done just before Maggie could speak.

  “We destroy the eggs.”

  Roger surprised me when he added, “And kill the women.”

  Murder resonated in my mind.

  Thou shall not kill.

  But also:

  Thou shall not have any other gods before Me.

  Confusion clouded my mind. Yet this abomination must not continue. If for no other reason than the breeding of some hybrid race.

  I caught myself reaching for my pistol, that had luckily not been lost during my earlier struggle. I prayed it still fired. Drawing the .45, I planned only to fire if I had to. Only if discovered.

  The eggs were lowered. The worshipers parted, allowing the eggs to be carried toward the stairs leading to the dock. Again they broke into their unintelligible chant, seemingly praising the impregnated women, who now danced around the bonfire.

  “Come,” Roger said. “We attack before they realize the boats are gone. Those eggs must not be buried.”

  He turned to run, Maggie and myself following behind. He shot into the dark, his ghostly image veering off around the corner of the temple. Within seconds we had joined Seth, Luke, and Leigh Ann on the opposite side. Shunning the stairs, which were much too close to the people, we scrambled back down the hill, mostly sliding until we sp
lashed water. Only a few boats remained pulled ashore up the hill on the other side of the dock, all the others had drifted out beyond the firelight.

  “Down,” Roger commanded, harsh but low.

  We ducked down beside the dock, using it to help shield our presence. The low lighting would also help. I prayed it worked, worried a hybrid would pop up beside me. Still clenching my pistol, I cringed at what was about to transpire.

  The two midwives, delayed by the excited crowd, appeared at the head of the stairs flanked by two robed men. Guards. If they were expecting hybrid escorts as well, they would quickly become alarmed.

  As they started down the steep flight of stairs, I noticed Roger readying his crossbow beside me. My heart began to drum. Palms grew sweaty. My proverbial trigger finger began to itch. I'd have to leave a stealthier attack to them. A feeling of uselessness descended upon me. The fiery glow, so bright above, seemed so weak in the shadows of the dock. As if the darkness lurking the the murky water shunned it.

  When the entourage reached a quarter way down, a double snap of crossbows firing in stereo sounded in my ears.

  The leading pair fell back against the others, causing them stumble and grasp for flimsy handrails. A dropped egg began to bounce down the steps while its two guardians, knees buckling, toppled down behind it.

  In unison my friends stood. Luke climbed onto the dock, as did Maggie and Roger. Seth and Leigh Ann started scrambling back up the hill, Seth, injured, lagged behind. Out of my element, yet determined to see this through despite confusion and fear, I managed to climb onto the dock without dropping my pistol. The woman clutching the egg safely against the handrail shrieked in terror. Her cry, joining the cacophony of roaring fires and chanting lunatics, threatened to draw attention to us.

  We charged up the stairs past the bouncing egg. Maggie viciously speared the man. His opened robe displayed a gory wash of crimson surrounding the protruding crossbow bold and gig. Removing her gig, Maggie jabbed it in again. A gurgle of bloody bubbles overflowed the man's mouth.

  I'd seen men, mostly city folk stirring up trouble, get beat to a pulp. But I had never seen anybody killed before. Even in movies, death was usually dealt in self-defense by handgun, a bullet leaving an impersonal seeping hole. Here, I'd participated in a physical attack of other human beings with deadly hand-held weapons. We had murdered defenseless people. Tossing my head over the handrails, I blew the remaining contents of my stomach out across the water. I could taste cheeseburger, Budweiser, and stomach acid. The bitter aftertaste of murder coated my tongue.

  Quickly gathering my wits, I resumed our attack – no turning back now.

  Roger stepped over the dying woman, who lie sprawled on the stairs.

  The other robed man, younger and more fit, brandished a large hunting knife. The midwife, still shrieking, turned to escape. Her protector moved to head off my friends. He managed to avoid a jab from Leigh Ann's spear with a quick twist. His left hand shot out to grab the handle of her weapon. He yanked her closer as she precariously stepped in. He slashed his blade. Leigh Ann released her weapon. She jumped back to avoid getting cut. Then she slipped, fell, started to slide. Seth rushed in with his own gig. The man blocked his jab haphazardly by swinging Leigh Ann's spear.

  For the moment it appeared to be a standoff with the remaining guardian. Leigh Ann, trying to regain her footing, no longer threatened him. Seth, however, did – until he, too, slipped. The guarding drove his knife to the hilt into Seth. Seth fell back clutching his chest. His body landed like a cannonball in the water.

  “Seth!” Leigh Ann cried.

  “She's getting away,” yelled Maggie.

  Roger raced along behind the retreating cult member. He trailed behind far enough that her feet were level with his head. From my angle riding the railing I could easily see her.

  She's getting away echoed through my head. Chanting shook my bones. Rain beat down on me. Knowledge of an unholy race being bred shook my faith.

  “God damn you,” I muttered, as I raised my pistol. I drew a bead on the woman's back. “Lord help us.” I squeezed the trigger.

  The .45's blast cracked loud. The sound pierced the night as surely as its bullet pierced the midwife. She collapsed dead at the top of the stairs. My ears rang from the blast. The raging chaos fell silent, as it had when I fought the hybrid under the water. I watched as Roger reached the body, rolled it over. Either the bullet had cut clean through the body to hit the egg, or her body had smashed it. Perhaps both. Nothing much remained of it except a reminder of the inky slime used to create it.

  At the fringe of the ringing in my ears came the crackling fire.

  The chanting had stopped.

  First, heads emerged over the top of the hill. Confused, angry faces. Murderous eyes. Worshipers of a god I dared not question the existence of.

  “Run, Rog, run!” Maggie sang.

  The angered crowd didn't hesitate. They rushed toward the stairs. Terror gripped me as I watched them closing in. Roger, already heading down the stairs, adeptly leaped over the handrail, hitting the incline in a slide, the quickest way down.

  Aiming my pistol at the head of the stairs, I fired into the crowd, once, twice, three times. Bodies dropped. People scattered. Most disappeared, temporarily, I knew, over the hill.

  I turned and ran, taking stairs two at a time. I skipped the last three to the dock. Roger shoved a jon boat into the water. He quickly climbed in, started its engine on the second pull. Luke followed suit. Leigh Ann raced to join him. Maggie leaped from the dock into the her boyfriend's boat. I knew if I joined my friends a third person would only slow their boat. Plus I'd be leaving behind another boat for our pursuers. So, I jumped from the dock to the incline, nearly twisting my ankle in the process. There I got a boat of my own.

  I shoved off, turned the boat toward the great expanse of water-filled night, and jumped in. It took three furious pulls of the starter rope for the god-forsaken thing to kick over. A sigh of relief passed my lips as I trolled out of the firelight.

  My heart raced. I gulped air. I hadn't moved like that in a decade. For a moment I feared I might have a heart attack. Keep my eyes on the others, I told myself. The last thing I needed now was to separate from my friends. Already one had died. I could be lost for days out here, if I didn't get myself killed first.

  Shit. I squinted my eyes and throttled the little engine as high as it would go. I navigated left, correcting my angle to rejoin them before I lost them.

  “Damn, that was close,” I huffed as I looked back over a shoulder. Cult members filed down the stairs reaching the dock. Other fumed near the blazing tree.

  We had left several boats behind, but not nearly enough for everyone. I fully expected many of the men to give chase. I prayed we had gained enough of a lead to lose them.

  “Shit.” I turned back to train my sights on the lead boats. With only me in this boat I didn't fear losing them. I followed in their wake.

  “What's that?” It looked like a rock right in the middle of my path. If so, Luke's boat should have struck it.

  It rose. Glowing eyes caught the firelight. A wide head surfaced. Shoulders, arms, barrel chest. A hybrid!

  My heart stopped.

  Then I realized I still held my pistol, albeit in my left hand, having switched to pull-start the motor. I quickly switched it back and began blasting, not stopping to consider the consequences if I missed.

  Before the thing could leap at me, it splashed back into the water just before my boat could bump into it. I half-expected the body to drag the bottom of the boat in that shallow water. My boat would stop and the hybrid – or one of the others – would attack. Holding my breath, I listened intently, as if I might hear the splash of an attacking creature over the loud engine. I waved the .45 left and right, ready to fire again, yet doubting any bullets remained. Damn, how many had I fired?

  But the boat kept on trolling. Nothing else attacked. And for the time being it was as safe as it was going to get. I kept tro
lling along behind my friends.

  An immediate urge to piss hit me but I dared not stop.

  Toward Safety

  The rain let up before I had to bail the boat. Maggie and Roger found their boat and switched to it. I kept the boat I was in, expressing the need for increased speed. Roger said that was fine so long as I ditched it before we reached their house. I agreed. We parted ways with Luke and Leigh Ann, leaving the distraught pair to mourn their loss on their return home. My nerves, too, still jangled. All I wanted was to return home myself, maybe get a few hours of shuteye. I'd head out at first light. Not that I'd be able to sleep, but I'd try. If sleep didn't take hold I'd take the Chevy and get the hell out of Dodge. With its row of lights on the roll bar, I figured I'd be able to see okay.

  I knew, however, that returning home tonight wasn't in the cards. I'd crash on the couch at Maggie and Roger's – they wouldn't mind – then head home in the morning. I would politely refuse breakfast so as not to delay my trip.

  Hell, I'd stop for a breakfast sandwich on the way, shower once I got to St. Louis. Missy would be pissed as hell when I showed up smelling ripe, muddy as all get-out. A tear formed in the corner of my eye just thinking about it. I wanted to hug my kids so hard, even tell Missy what an ass I'd been. Although we'd both been at fault I'd accept responsibility just to get us working again. As much as I hated the city, being a country boy and all, I thought maybe we might start over in St. Louis. Or some smaller town just outside the metro.