New Tales of the Old Ones

by Derwin, Theresa

  “Sister Agatha, can you get loose?’’

  She rustled and shifted with a grunt. “No. I’m handcuffed to the bed.” She gave out a weak, half-hearted chuckle. “I never thought I’d hear myself saying that again.”

  “Again?” I asked. “As in, having that happen a second time?”

  “It happened more than I care to admit.”

  I shook my arms, rattling the railings loudly but not accomplishing anything useful. “Well, I’m not going anywhere anytime soon. I think this is a story I want to hear.”

  “Well, I had an admittedly rough period during college. Dysfunctional family life. Chronic nymphomania combined with a bad case of ADD. It’s one of the reasons I joined the Order. I kept getting chafe marks on my wrists and ankles.”

  “Um, now my curiosity is piqued...”

  She sighed, “Serena Sparkle.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “I was a porno actress. I starred in bad movies. Really, really bad movies. My stage name was Serena Sparkle. Once I realized I’d never go mainstream, I got tired of the nonsense and bodily fluids and I gave it up. Quit movies, quit school, found God, et cetera.”

  I was handcuffed to a bed in the same room as a former porn star turned nun? Who wrote this stuff?

  “Anyways,” she continued, “Do you have a plan for what to do next? I have to find the Mother Superior and the rest of the Sisters. We have to get to Portsmouth, or else there are going to be some African orphans who are going to be very unhappy. The show must go on, and all that.”

  Great, now poor and starving African orphans were counting on me. That’s never a good thing to hear. I wasn’t even counting on me.

  “Well, what do we know?” I had to take stock and get my thoughts organized. “Unless we both got hit with some kind of debilitating sickness which would require us to be handcuffed to a hospital bed, we know we have been taken hostage in the backwoods of Massachusetts, which I didn’t even know had backwoods. Maybe you have a stalker, and this is an over-elaborate plan to ask you out on a date. I just got in the way.”

  Sister Agatha snorted. “Hardly. My movies were so bad, no one bought them. When the trench coat and hand lotion crowd wants nothing to do with you, that should tell you all you need to know. Besides, Eunice really didn’t look like the bondage or dirty-sanchez type.”

  I tried picturing Sister Eunice in a latex outfit getting whipped by a bored looking porno stud, and when I felt the bile rise and the urge to vomit increase significantly, I immediately changed the subject. “Alright, so it’s not the stalker theory. Maybe they have a thing against nuns?”

  “If that were true, where are the others? And why are you here? Nowhere in this reality or any other universe would anyone mistake you for a nun.” She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I’m under a lot of stress right now. I’m not enjoying this, I have a deep and vaguely irrational fear of hospitals, and I have to pee something fierce. I didn’t mean to get snippy.”

  We laid in silence for a while. Every couple of minutes one of us would try to pull on the cuffs, shaking the railings to no avail. I strained to hear any kind of ambient noises coming from outside our room, but with the exception of the gurgling made by the machines behind our bed, there were no other discernible sounds. The quiet and isolation afforded me the opportunity to study my hospital room a little more closely.

  From what I could see, the room was almost completely square, about twelve feet by twelve feet. It had no windows, and only one door, which was in the corner almost completely opposite from where I was. The walls were painted a surprisingly lovely seafoam green with white trim. All in all, it wasn’t a bad room to be trapped in. It was a lot like a psychologist’s office. It was just missing some out-of-date magazines.

  “Sssh!” Sister Agatha perked up suddenly. “I think I hear someone coming!”

  Sure enough, I could hear the soft footfalls of someone approaching the room. The doorknob turned, and in stepped Eunice, wearing an old fashioned white nurse’s outfit. She closed the door behind her, and turned around to find us staring at her. “Oh, you are awake. Delightful. I suppose you are hungry. Tonight is Meatloaf night.”

  “No, not hungry.” Sister Agatha said through gritted teeth. “Actually, I’m quite full. Full of rage and anger and I’m more than a little annoyed about being shackled to this bed, you fucking psycho! Where are my Sisters? What did you do with them?” She rattled the handcuffs as hard as she could.

  Eunice looked nonplussed. “Please, Sister. No need for vulgarity. That kind of language won’t do anybody any good. Your friends are fine. It took me a bit to subdue your leader. She was quite the spitter. Oh, and the mouth on her! Worse than a drunken sailor on leave, that one. No matter. They are in a room down the hall. Before you start in with the swearing again, they are fine. We are just making some last minute preparations before the ceremony.”

  “Ceremony?” I asked. “What Ceremony?”

  Eunice looked over at me. “The Old Ones will awaken soon, and they have big plans for all of you. I would tell you more, but...ah...ahhh...Cthulu! Cthulu!..”

  Eunice pulled a Kleenex out of a front pocket and blew her nose. “Excuse me. The hay fever is making me all sneezy. Anyway, I have others I have to tend to. I have to answer the call of catheters.” Stepping behind Agatha’s bed, Eunice pushed a couple of buttons, and then did the same thing behind my bed. Immediately, I heard a soft whirring noise, and I felt a warm sludge begin to fill my arms and chest.

  “The sedative will wear off in a couple of hours. When you come around, we can proceed.” I was out before she had a chance to close the door. I dreamt of Technicolor porno actresses dressed like Strawberry Shortcake, dry-humping to elevator music.

  Don’t ask.

  X

  Even before I opened my eyes, I knew I was in big trouble. It was the wintergreen – the smell of evil.

  When I was a kid, my parents had to take in my infirmed 92 year old great-grandfather after his insurance stopped paying for hospice care. I think I might have been twelve, maybe thirteen; old enough to understand that the smells coming from “Grandpa” were the stuff of nightmares. He was a nice enough man, but having a wheelchair-bound, wheezing colostomy bag with a fetish for Ferrante and Teicher in the room next to you during your formative years tends to have a negative impact on your emotional well-being. Add to that the fact the man ate wintergreen candies with the frequency of a junkie left alone in a heroin-filled warehouse, and it wasn’t long before I associated that stale wintergreen smell with messy bodily functions, old people, and death.

  I was straddling that fine line between deep, sedative-laced sleep and fuzzy wakefulness. In my delirium, images of my great-grandfather came rushing back to me, along with that moldy and offensive stench. Within my mind’s eye, he sat in his wheelchair, his favorite knit blanket strewn over his shoulders, sitting in front of the old Zenith console TV we had when I was a kid, watching The Golden Girls and oddly giggling every time Bea Arthur was onscreen. As I approached, he took his attention away from the TV, swiveling around to face me directly.

  What in the billy-blue blazes you doing here, boy?

  (I don’t know, sir. I think it was the smell of wintergreen)

  Well, numb nuts, considering I’ve been dead going on twenty-five odd years now, why don’t you wake up and smell the heap o’shit you’re in?

  (This is a dream?)

  Well, it’s obvious you haven’t gotten any damn smarter. Wake your ass up. You are in a whole heap of trouble.

  (If I can)

  Don’t tell me that. Get your ass up and moving. The Ceremony is about to start. The Old Ones are hungry and if you don’t wake your sleepy ass up, you are not going to like what is on the menu; namely, your ass! Don’t be a goddamn man of stone. Now, go! And don’t bother me anymore...

  I turned, and as I walked away, my great grandfather’s voice echoed hollowly in my ears.

  Oh yeah, come on Ms. Arthur...oh, baby, talk about your mo
untains of madness...

  Thankfully, at this point, I woke up.

  X

  I went from middling sleepiness to full-blown wide awake almost instantly. All at once, my senses came back online. The first thing I noticed, aside from the nauseating odor of wintergreen, was that I was no longer in the same room as I was. I was still strapped into the same bed, except now the bed had been moved into a large communal meeting hall.

  Someone decided to go completely crazy with the candles. There were so many candles lit, the room looked like a bad ‘80s music video. To my surprise, I could see the rest of the Sisters, who all appeared to be in pretty much the same predicament that I found myself in, as well as three people who I did not recognize; by their appearances I got the impression that they were travelers like us who were most likely caught off guard by the town’s bucolic laziness. Take a nice road trip through the northeast, stop for a quick bite off the beaten path, end up strapped to a gurney in some arcane ritual. Fun for the whole family.

  I tried to move my legs again, noting with dismay the utter lack of feeling I had down there. In frustration, I pulled on the chains holding my arms. They rattled and made a sufficiently loud noise, but did not yield any more than they did before. Hearing my attempts, the Mother Superior rolled her head towards me. She looked pale and quite haggard. “Glad to see you.”

  “Likewise. Never thought I’d be quite so happy to see a nun. What the hell happened to you?”

  Mother Superior licked her lips and was about to start speaking when a loud gong reverberated throughout the room. As though they were on cue, the candles flickered theatrically. Two heavy oak doors swung open, and Eunice entered the room. This broad really got around. Gas station attendant, kidnapper, nursemaid, master of ceremonies. My guess is she was probably on the town council, or at the very minimum, head lunch lady at the elementary school. The thing that I wanted to know was, honestly, who uses a gong anymore?

  Following Eunice, nurses in crisp white uniforms wheeled in twelve extremely shriveled and wrinkled people in wheelchairs. For a moment, flashbacks of my odd great-grandfather dream ran unchecked through my head. These must be the Old Ones, I thought to myself. Upon further inspection, they were aptly named. Mummies exhumed in the Valley of the Kings had more hitch in their giddy-up than these people. They weren’t so much people as they were large hunks of beef jerky with eyes.

  As they were rolled in, the sudden movement caused the other nuns to wake. Sister Helene looked as though she was going to be sick. As to confirm my suspicion, she rolled her head to the side and vomited weakly. She paused, burped, and vomited again. Seeing the concerned look on the face of the Mother Superior, Helene smiled wanly. “I have never had the stomach for I.V.s.”

  Mother Superior spoke softly. “That makes two of us, child.”

  The travelers awoke as the wheelchairs took positions at the foot of every bed. The three I did not know became agitated, speaking in a language that sounded like they were gargling with liquid cheese. I’m no linguist, but even I could tell they were none too happy. They yanked hard on their handcuffs, and didn’t understand why they couldn’t get free. I thought about saying something, but I was too busy looking for my chance to escape and run far, far away. I glanced to the foot of the bed, at the wrinkled prune of humanity in the wheelchair that stared back at me. He was an angular fellow, all crooked angles and slumped shoulders. He had enough tubes coming out of him to choke a flock of seagulls. As I was mostly immobile, and I knew struggling was a pointless endeavor, all I could do was stare at the guy. That seemed to work, because all he did was stare at me. His eyes were an amazingly clear cobalt blue that just bored a hole right through me. He flicked a worm-like tongue over his aged lips. That’s when it hit me. This man reminded me of my Great- Grandfather. He stared at me the same way my grandfather stared at Bea Arthur.

  “Why don’t you come visit me anymore? It’s Parcheesi night tomorrow.” He spoke softly but quite clearly.

  “I... I don’t know. I don’t want to be here.” I was surprised at how weak my voice sounded. Something about the way he carried himself seemed hypnotic. In these surroundings, and with everything that has happened, the fact I was sitting here talking with a senior citizen while handcuffed to a hospital bed really didn’t seem all that strange. “Eunice said it was meatloaf night.”

  Why the hell did I just bring that up?

  The old man gave me a little half-smile. “What is your name?”

  “Dave. Dave Zahn”

  “Guess what, Dave Zahn? They give us those little applesauce cups. My favorite is the cinnamon.”

  “That’s delightful. Are you gonna let me go?”

  Another bang of the gong gave me the answer to my question. The ceremony was underway.

  X

  Eunice moved to the center of the room, holding a weathered scroll. She opened it dramatically and began to read.

  “Now is the time we gather to reclaim that which we lost, and that which was lost to us. By the black wings of the Joy Behar, bring forth the power I ask of you!”

  What happened next can only be described as “seriously fucked up”. A pale blue light seemed to erupt from the walls, as well from underneath the wheelchairs. This caused Sister Agatha to start shrieking hysterically. From somewhere I could not see, a stiff wind blew into the room, causing the candles to dance maniacally.

  Eunice continued to read. “These Old Ones before you beseech your blessings. Bring them the youth so they so desperately need. Karada, Bicto, Nerua!”

  The hoses and tubes that were connected to the Old Ones suddenly disconnected from old and shriveled arms and hovered in the air briefly, like cobras watching a dancing flute. There were so many disembodied tubes in the air that it looked like the tentacles of a multi-armed creature had invaded the room. The tubes swayed and danced to an invisible tune. They were under Eunice’s control now.

  “Now, I shall read as it is written in this, the Grand Scroll of Things. These Old Ones have been taking the youth and vitality of the selected chosen for time immemorial. Youth, such as it is, is wasted on the young. Having lived many lifetimes and garnered the experience necessary to handle the chores of Life, only the old can truly appreciate what it is to be young. Thus, we take the youth from the young.”

  The hovering tubes immediately shot forward, straight into the bodies lying helpless on the bed. I looked down to see several tubes burrowing into my arms, legs and torso. Strangely enough, it didn’t hurt, but I was certainly aware of the feeling. I began to get lightheaded, and my vision started flickering along the periphery. I looked over, and saw Sister Mary, the Fire Eater, shrinking down to a broken husk. The Old One at the foot of her bed, a frumpy Grandma type, leaned her head back, gasping orgasmically. I could see the Old One’s arms and legs fill out as though she were a balloon being blown up right before my eyes. It looked like a real neat Hollywood effect. She was getting younger as I watched. Sister Mary’s arms and legs shriveled up, twisting into uncomfortable looking shapes. She looked like a human shrinky-dink. The same could be said for the Mother Superior. She was almost completely drained now. She was no longer moving, all her life energy having been transferred to the Old One at her feet. He was now walking around, as spry as someone half his age.

  Eunice watched the ceremony with a passive expression. “Don’t forget, you haven’t used these muscles in some time, my friends. You need to take it easy at first. Mr. Jenkins, this means your croquet game is going to have to wait, and please stop peeping in the ladies’ windows. Dinner will still be at six sharp. I expect everyone to be in attendance.”

  She glanced over at the three foreign travelers. They had been sucked dry and were no longer moving. “Well, maybe not them.”

  I was almost done. I was getting older and crankier by the minute. I could see the muscle tone in my arms and legs disappear before my very eyes. Age spots appeared on my forearms and hands. The hair on my arms and legs turned grayish white. My vision, which wasn
’t real swift to start with, was getting worse. My toenails yellowed and began to crack. I suddenly had the overwhelming urge to sit on the sofa and watch Matlock reruns. I managed to turn my head, wincing as the muscles in my neck complained about the sudden movement. The Mother Superior was gone. So was Sister Helene, the no-longer-overly flexible. Her days of amazing gymnastic feats would be done in the next life. The unknown travelers looked like freshly excavated mummies. The Old Ones were up and about, shaking hands with each other, laughing like they were long lost friends. The tubes and hoses lay limp on the hospital beds, their usefulness gone. Eunice nodded to the nurses, who began to pack everything away. “The ceremony is over. Who among you nice folks survived?”

  Sister Agatha muttered something unintelligible.

  Eunice looked at me, marking something on a clipboard. She began to unlock our cuffs. “Two of you? Very well. You will notice you are much older than what you started out. I know this will take some getting used to. Not many survive the Ceremony, so well done on that. You are welcome to reside here at Arkham Acres Rest Home. As a matter of fact, I highly recommend it. You’ll find living here to be very restful and relaxing. There isn’t anything here to upset or confuse you. No computers. No phones. Nothing complicated at all. We take good care of you. Now, dinner is at six and it’s homemade meatloaf night...”

  X

  And here is where my story ends. I don’t know how much more time I have left. These old bones can feel the end coming. I’m not as young as I once was. I spend all my time now listening to Perry Como records, watching Donna Reed, and cursing the general state of society. Sister Agatha comes over every day, and we play Parcheesi and talk about the good old days. About how Old Age just sort of sneaks up on you when you least expect it. I told her I wished I could have known her in her porno days. She just blushes, which in my golden years might be the prettiest thing I see all day. She tells me she’s just happy to be. For the first time, I think she is truly enjoying life. It turns out Agatha has a talent for cooking that she didn’t know she had. She bakes a mean bran muffin.