‘Not disturbing you Brad, am I?’ I asked as he appeared on screen.
‘Nope, wassup, Bryn?’ he replied and looked closer at his screen. ‘Where the hell are you?’
‘In a tent on Rhossili beach, on the Gower peninsula back home in Wales.’
‘What in the name of all the gods are you doing there?’ he asked. He was a believer of all manner of weird and wonderful supernatural beings.
‘You’re going to love this,’ I answered, ‘I’m on the trail of Lovecraft and perhaps the location where he could have got his idea of Cthulhu from.’
‘Have you been smoking wacky-baccy or something, mate?’ he said with a laugh. ‘You’re on the wrong continent to be trailing Lovecraft.’
I explained to him what Tom has said and about all the rumours surrounding the area and he listened intently as the tale unfolded.
‘I suppose it could be possible,’ Brad admitted. ‘He could have visited incognito. What’s the spot like?’
‘Creepy,’ I answered. ‘A lot of weird stuff’s gone on around here over the years. I’m lying in a stone circle on a rocky piece of ground that’s sticking into my arse.’ I fidgeted and moved my sleeping bag to discover I’d pitched the tent on a protuberance of rock. ‘Damn it, I’m going to have to move the bloody tent if I’m going to get any sleep tonight.’
‘I don’t know if I’d be able to sleep if I were there,’ Brad said. ‘Seems a bit of a scary place to me.’
‘Nah,’ I replied, ‘I was born and bred down this part of the world. I’ve never encountered anything weirder than English visitors wanting ketchup with their cockles and laver-bread.’
‘Yuck, how can you eat that? It’s just boiled seaweed,’ Brad replied.
‘It’s good for you, full of protein, iron and iodine.’
‘Oh, well then, that makes all the difference, you need the iodine to counteract the radiation in your Chernobyl-infected lambs,’ Brad suggested.
‘That’s a low blow,’ I answered, ‘I haven’t seen a glow-in-the-dark one for years.’
‘Take the iPad outside, let me have a look at the scenery,’ Brad said.
I did so and scanned the heath behind me, which was now quite dark, and then followed the coastline down onto the beach and finally to the waves and the foreboding sea which looked dark and unwelcoming.
‘Wait a sec, Bryn,’ Brad interrupted. ‘Did you see that? Go back to the sea,’ he said.
‘See what?’ I asked as I panned back and looked over the screen to the beach.
‘Just beyond the waves, I saw a light,’ he answered.
‘I didn’t see anything,’ I replied and lowered the iPad as it was ruining my night sight. ‘What did it look like?’
The answer was too quiet for me to hear properly and when I got Brad to repeat himself the blood chilled in my veins and it wasn’t because the night was that chilly.
‘It looked like a purplish light and seemed to be coming from beneath the waves,’ he repeated and then the iPad bleeped once and switched itself off. The battery was drained.
It took me quite some time to drop off to sleep and more than once I thought to just pack up and go back to the little flat I’d hired temporarily until I decided on whether or not I was staying in Gower. But I finally succumbed and exhaustion dragged me down to an uneasy and dream-filled slumber. Whether it was the low chanting or the smell that awoke me I can’t be quite sure but it only seemed I’d been sleeping for twenty minutes when my eyes flicked open and I checked the glowing dial on my watch. It was three a.m. and I’d been sleeping for almost four hours. I sniffed the air. The aroma was familiar. My mouth watered. I climbed out of my sleeping bag and unzipped the tent. The moon had risen and the circle of stones had turned to silver beneath its light. Beyond them shadows moved, and further out, a yellowish glow flickered. It looked like a camp-fire. I rubbed my tired eyes, groped for and found my boots and pulled them on. I started towards the yellow light as quietly as I could, the shadows seemed to flit around and follow me.
Whether it was my imagination or not, as I approached the fire, and the iron cauldron which was set upon it, the night appeared to grow darker. Even the shadows became more insidious as if they were trying to obliterate all traces of outside light and leave only the crackling flames as the single form of illumination in an otherwise void of nothingness. Finally all I could see was the dancing flames set within an infinity of black. Then something … or someone … stepped into the light.
‘I warned you away Bryn Evans but you did not heed me.’
My eyes watered with the smoke from the fire, and the vision dressed in a dark purple robe was hard to discern, but the voice was unmistakable.
‘Cathy?’ I spluttered, ‘you scared the crap out of me!’
‘I warned you Bryn Evans,’ she said again and she pulled the hood away from her head. As she did so the shadows around her resolved into people, people who were not people.
‘Cathy, tell me this is some kind of bloody joke, you’re beginning to worry me now!’ I said and noted the tone of fear in my voice – and the horrendous damage to the people around her. Some were missing limbs; some had huge lumps of flesh torn from their mostly naked bodies. Yet all seemed to be surviving their wounds even as gore and blood oozed from them. All of them smiled at me which was perhaps the most frightening aspect of all.
‘This is no joke, Bryn and you have no need to worry for He has chosen you and henceforth you will never fear again and you will live forever,’ Cathy said and she produced a cleaver from beneath her robe. Its blade was stained dark red, almost black with old blood. ‘The price will be a portion of your flesh for the cawl. All who pay the price get to serve Him and achieve immortality in doing so.’
Although I feared I knew the answer I could not stop myself asking the question.
‘Him?’ I said and that single word fell from my lips like a lump of clotted blood.‘He who sleeps and dreams; He who is not dead which can eternal lie, and with strange aeons even death may die, Bryn. We all feed Him and He sleeps until the time is right, and we are worthy of opening the gate and keeping it open for Him and his kind to come through and bless us with His presence for eternity.’
‘Oh dear lord,’ I moaned, ‘Cathy, you’re talking about Cthulhu?’
She smiled and a madness gleamed purple in her eyes as she nodded and it took me a few moments to realise the purple was a reflection of something behind me.
‘These are all the poor souls that have disappeared from around here?’ I asked and waved a hand around the gathering. ‘They were killed and made into cawl by Mamgi?’
‘By my grandmother, yes Bryn. And I carry on the ritual. Now come, He awakens and your flesh must be prepared for Him.’
I stepped forward into the circle of light and she raised the cleaver high. My boot slammed into the cauldron and it tumbled towards Cathy spilling its sickly contents over her feet and she screamed and leapt back as the scalding liquid splashed. Vegetables, boiled limbs and lumps of flesh cascaded out to extinguish the flames. I turned and ran. The clearest path I had was directly onto the beach and that was the one I took. The huge beach of Rhossili is around three miles long and I was about halfway along it. The tide was in and waves were breaking nearby throwing phosphorous spume into the night. Behind me came the cries of anger from Cathy and her group of cadaverous followers, but overriding that sound was a muted rumble and finally a roar from out in the bay, and the sand before me began to reflect with a purplish glow. I lowered my head and put on a burst of speed just as something crashed into my back and I was lifted effortlessly into the air and pulled towards the water. As I turned my head I saw the monstrous thing rising from the breakers with enormous tentacles writhing in the air around it and with one great appendage attached to my back. I felt my clothing and skin begin to tear and I yelled out in pain and fear. The next moment I was plummeting towards the surf, and in a jumble of arms and legs I landed amidst the breakers. As something large crashed down next to m
e, groping and feeling for a purchase I managed to flounder onto the beach and sprinted inland. It was probably only minutes but it seemed like hours until I reached the road and managed to fumble the keys into my car and drive away at breakneck speed from the terror on the beach.
‘You have no broken bones,’ Doctor Ahmed said as he looked at my chart and then pulled up a chair next to my bed. I was in Singleton Hospital which was overlooking Swansea Bay and I had no idea how I got there.
‘Do you remember the accident?’ he asked.
‘Accident?’ I replied.
‘Obviously you don’t,’ he said. ‘Loss of memory is quite common after receiving a blow to the head such as the one you suffered.’
‘What happened?’ I asked.
‘Your car left the road on the common on Gower, it’s a write-off and you’re lucky to get away with just cuts and bruises.’
‘I don’t remember much after leaving Rhossili,’ I replied.
‘Rhossili?’ the doctor frowned. ‘Couldn’t have been Rhossili, perhaps you mean Port Eynon the one before it?’
‘No, it was Rhossili,’ I repeated. ‘Why?’
‘Oh, just that the BBC News said Rhossili was closed for a day or two because they’d found an unexploded mine on the beach and no-one has been allowed access.’
I laid in bed dropping in and out of sleep for the best part of the day and in the waking moments ran through what had happened that night. I began to doubt that it had ever happened at all and perhaps it had been the blow to my head. That evening Dr. Ahmed called in to see me again. I was sitting up in bed and looking at the evening sky over Swansea Bay. My thoughts were a million miles away.
‘How are you feeling this evening?’ he asked me as I turned to him.
‘Fine,’ I replied. ‘Can’t wait to get up and about. Lying in bed has made my back ache.’
‘You can sit in a chair, you know?’ he replied and he gave me a hand to get out of bed. We walked over to the window and I sat facing into the room. ‘Your back will improve in time; you’re bound to have it aching for a while though with bruises like that. I’ve certainly never seen anything like them.’
I suddenly felt chilly and I shivered involuntarily. ‘Bruises?’ I asked.
‘Of course,’ he replied with a nod. ‘You couldn’t have seen them. They’re almost circular, about six to eight inches across and the centre looks almost bite-like; you’ve lost a little flesh from those parts. It’s no wonder your back is aching.’
I suddenly felt queasy and was glad I was sitting down. I looked up at him but he was staring over my head out of the window. Behind him two hospital workers wheeled in a trolley with the evening meals upon it. Dr. Ahmed frowned, shook his head slightly and then smiled when he saw the food being served.
‘Ah, enjoy your tea Mr. Evans; this is one of the rare Welsh dishes that I particularly like too. It’s not as spicy as my Arabian Tabakh Rohoo lamb stew but your cawl is certainly an enjoyable dish.’
I swallowed so noisily I imagined the whole room heard it. He looked at me quizzically and then his attention was drawn to the window again and I felt sure I saw a flare of purple reflect in his eyes and although I was tempted to turn around and look out to sea myself I refrained from doing so and wondered if it was too late to catch the last train back to London.
PILGRIMAGE
Mark Howard Jones
“Here is a platform alteration. The 16.53 to Swansea will now leave from Platform Zero. Passengers for this service should make their way to the new platform.”
I could have kicked someone! Two heavy cases to be carried down one set of steps, along a corridor and up another set and all with just three minutes before the train was due to leave. And why Platform Zero? I was sure that was for local services only and didn't even connect to the main line. No doubt we'd be told it was an error as soon as we got there.
The train was already pulling in as I arrived at the top of the platform steps, sweating and panting. As the doors clunked open, disembarking passengers streamed past either side of me, almost pushing me back down the steps at one point.
I joined a group of people clustered around one door, waiting to climb aboard as soon as the stream of those getting off had ceased.
In the few seconds I was standing there, I became aware of a group gathered behind me. I glanced over my shoulder and saw four identically dressed men with pale skin. They were all quite short, almost stunted, and all seemed to be staring at the back of my head.
They made an odd giggling noise among themselves and, as soon as I turned away, I felt a finger poke the back of my head. I wheeled angrily. “You cheeky little f—,” I began, before noticing a mother with her young daughter standing behind the men.
My temper had been on a hair-trigger since my wife's 'disappearance' almost a year ago; I'd thought it was a struggle I was winning. So I contented myself with glaring at the odd group before picking up my cases and getting on the train. The giggling idiots followed me and, as soon as I'd stowed my cases and found my seat, they trotted past me, carrying on an excited conversation in an unrecognisable language.
Only when I ran my hand over the back of my head did I discover the source of their mirth. I made a disgusted noise to myself and visited the toilet to remove the pigeon's gift from my hair. Two paper towels later, the job was done. At least my hair is still thick enough that I didn't feel it, I mused, then got my comb out to repair any stylistic damage.
I settled back down into my seat and fished around in my pocket for the scrap of a paper on which I'd written the train times. A 55-minute journey to Swansea, several minutes of which had already been used up, lay ahead of me. Then a tedious half-hour wait for my connection to Milford Haven. I should still have enough time to pop out for a beer or two after settling into the guest house I'd booked.
I'd have to turn my attention to finding somewhere more permanent to stay in the evenings, after my shift at the refinery was over.
I felt guilty about leaving Rose with my sister but I needed this job; I didn't want a life that was just memories. And I couldn't look after a five-year-old at the same time. Once I was established in my new place, I'd come and fetch her. Besides, Rose was settled in school now and Bethan was more than happy to look after her.
Cardiff was left behind as the rural scenery of the Vale of Glamorgan rushed past the train window in a green blur and I closed my eyes, hoping to doze off for a bit.
I was jolted awake at Bridgend when, despite its smoothness, the inertia of the train stopping tugged at my inner ear. The bustle of people finding their seats subsided after a few minutes and the train pulled out again.
I managed to doze once more and only woke as the train passed the uneven sunlit hillocks of Kenfig Burrows. I imagined walking across them to the unseen sea beyond, and closed my eyes as the train sped past the huge steelworks just before Port Talbot station.
There weren't that many people waiting to get on at the station. One figure hung back from the others as they crowded around the train doors. The man with dark skin had the air of someone who rarely hurried, as if that was something for lesser mortals. He had no cases or luggage of any kind with him. My eyes were drawn to him because he stood very erect; something that is unusual these days.
Suddenly, he raised his hand and held it out towards the train. Something sat on the palm of his hand. The object was a dull golden colour. He was several yards away and, from this distance, it was difficult to make out exactly what it was – it looked at one moment like the discoloured heart of a large animal, then a second or so later it seemed like an obscure abstract sculpture. No, no ... it was some sort of squat animal perching on his palm as if about to leap at me. Presently I had to look away as the effort began to give me a pain behind my eyes.
The man pocketed the odd object as he approached the train, walking past my window in his progress towards the First Class carriages. He was very well dressed and from a distance I'd assumed from his skin colour that he was either
African or from the Caribbean. But now I could see he had more Caucasian features. Yet his skin was the blackest I'd ever seen on a man, more like carved stone than flesh, while his eyes had a peculiar amber hue more common to domestic cats than people. As he passed out of sight, I puzzled at his origins.
The sounds of doors slamming along the length of the train signalled our readiness to depart. I was sure that something within the train had changed; maybe it was that the temperature had crept up slightly but it felt more to me as if the air itself had thickened, becoming less fluid than before.
It was more difficult to move my head, it seemed to me. I wondered for a second or two if I was having a stroke. Finally I did manage to turn my head and gazed out of the window at my side as the train left the platform behind.
Against the grey sky, the steel plant had been transformed into something remarkable and unfamiliar. I'd passed it hundreds of times but it had never looked like this before.
I had paid no attention to it as the train had pulled into the station, in fact I'd closed my eyes, but now I couldn't tear my gaze away from it. The towers were now impossibly tall and had taken several huge steps toward the station, threatening to crash down onto it. The entire plant had been transformed into a single building of enormous proportions. Parts of it hung in the air, seemingly not attached to anything else, while other sections of the building seemed to fold in upon themselves before opening out again, like impossible flowers blossoming.
The industrial grey of the steelworks had become a livid orange that was interspersed with a bronze pouring down its surface in a waterfall of bright fire before the ground swallowed it up, becoming tainted with the darkening hue. Strange things appeared to be moving around the building. I struggled to see what they might be but the train sped away too quickly, for which I should have been grateful.
Cthulhu Cymraeg Page 6