A giant spider attempted to web the truck but ate grill as The Squid slammed it into the wall of the waffle house.
A Hunting Horror swooped down at the truck. The Squid flipped the switch on his truck lights and pulled the air-horn, the brightness melted the leviathan like a hot sidewalk meets a dropped popsicle. A pair of Mi-Go gyrated through the air and were hit by the top of the truck cab, disintegrating in a putrid explosion of muck.
Ogre shouted, “Yeah! Eat that, you flying slug!” he shot his .357 at a retreating Mi-Go.
The Squid pulled up to Ogre. “Get in, Man!”
Ogre clambered aboard. His hair was distinctly longer and greyer than when they had dropped him off.
“What happened to you?”
“Time,” answered Ogre.
The Squid circled the truck and went over the top of another Moon Beast.
The Mi-Go congregated in a swarm high above and after a brief buzzing congress, fled into the depths of the approaching twilight.
A bruise-colored collection of blood covered the truck, Gug bits and hair, Moon-Beast tentacles, spider’s legs and even a broken Hound wrapped up in a wheel well.
“Is it over?” asked Ogre. “That wasn’t so bad once you went all road rage on them.”
The Squid shook his head, turned on his windshield wipers again to wash away more gore. “I don’t see anything else coming at us. Seems like, you know, they learned their lesson.”
“It can’t be over,” said Shuarna. “There is no way he would give up so easily.”
“Easily? You thought we were toast but I turned all these monsters into road kill.”
She watched out the windows warily, then said, “It is the power of the Trapezohedron. It melded with your truck and gave it the power. I never would have believed you could wield it.”
“Is that so wrong?” asked The Squid, as he lit up. “I feel,” cough, cough, “pretty good about it.”
“Gimme a toke,” said Ogre.
Shuarna talked as much to herself as the two of them. “Its unheard of. A bare handful of mortals have ever been able to utilize the power of the Dreamlands. I underestimated you.”
“Will you look at yourself,” said The Squid, pointing at Ogre. “You look like you’re thirty years older!” His friend indeed had greyed considerably and sagged around the middle and jowls.
“I am Squid. Time got weird after you guys left me. I’ve spent 1990 thru 2016 in Moab, Utah. I shouldn’t have taken so long to think to call you up on the CB.”
“But we called you and that was just an hour or so after we last saw you.”
“Not to me, Dude.” He pointed at the waffle house. It said ‘Ogre’s’ in neon lights. “I decided to stay put and wait, just didn’t think it would take so long.”
The Squids’ smile dropped, “I’m sorry man.”
“No, no. I’ve made out all right. I own the waffle house and got myself a nice little woman named Dorothy. When tourist season hits we do real well.”
“Well, good, Man.”
“Please,” interrupted Shuarna. “He is here.”
“What? Who?”
“My father. Nyarlathotep.”
The Squid’s face was covered in surprise and he dropped his roach.
“Squid, who the funk is that?” asked Ogre, pointing at a tall dusky man in semi-Egyptian garb approaching the truck. A tall white crown, a Hedjet, was nearly the only color upon him save the black, and in his hand was a twisted long scepter or staff. “His hat looks like a bowling pin,” muttered Ogre.
“Shut up man. Shuarna, is he pissed? Like is he gonna think we kidnapped you or something?”
“No, he is angry I stole one of the Shining Trapezohedron’s for myself.”
Shuarna opened the door of the truck and stepped out. The Squid followed to stand by her. Ogre hung back.
Nyarlathotep glared at them with piercing yellow eyes. “Well?” His voice sounded like it came from a deep cavern, echoing and dark.
“You said I should experience their realm for myself. This seemed a natural way.”
“Thief,” he said, coldly.
“You limited my choices. I did what you would have done.”
“You will be punished.” His staff shot up and a crushing force swept Shuarna to her knees. She was strangled and smothered as if by a great invisible hand.
“Let her go!” The Squid broke in.
Glancing at The Squid and Ogre, Nyarlathotep spun the staff in their direction and knocked their feet out from under them.
The Squid caught a hand on his truck. He kept a hand on the truck’s handle above the running board and challenged again. “Let her go!
Nyarlathotep focused an invisible force, beating down upon him but The Squid crawled up the rig’s running board and managed to open the door. Once inside he started the engine.
His dark nemesis, Nyarlathotep, pulled Shuarna and Ogre to himself, their feet dragging across the pavement held by the invisible force. “Surrender to me,” demanded Nyarlathotep.
“Don’t think so,” sputtered The Squid, still fighting the force that churned his insides with every breath.
Nyarlathotep raged and cast both Shuarna and Ogre to the side. The Squid’s gaze met the Black Pharaoh’s and neither flinched. More monstrous creatures appeared in his peripheral vision and The Squid knew they were closing in on him.
Nyarlathotep stepped closer, sending shockwaves of power at The Squid. “Exit and kneel before me.”
The Squid made like he just might step out, but then he grinned and dropped the gear on the truck and stomped the pedal. The big black Mack smacked into the Crawling Chaos like the hammer of the gods. The crown was cracked and staff was shattered. The monsters vanished as bright noonday light suddenly appeared. Everything looked normal again.
Nyarlathotep slowly stood and took a step back from his human antagonist.
“That’s right man. I can focus some of the Dreamland’s power myself and you can’t ruin me.” Ogre got up and stumbled to be next to The Squid. Shuarna came and put her arms around The Squid.
“It seems I must respect your power here,” said Nyarlathotep.
“That’s right. And I need you to leave Shuarna alone. She did the wrong thing for the right reason. She told me all about it. Cut her some slack.”
Nyarlathotep looked to his daughter and narrowed his piercing gaze.
The Squid continued, “Hey man. For what it’s worth, no real harm was done. It’s all good.”
“Uh Squid,” broke in Ogre, as he kicked a broken Hound of Tindalos out of the wheel well.
“Well,” said The Squid, sheepishly. “Those things started it. I’m sorry if I killed your dog or whatever it was.”
Nyarlathotep looked about and took in the gruesome carnage and broken monstrous bodies of a dozen Gugs, Moon-Beasts, Hounds and more, and he laughed, a deep malevolent roar without mirth. It made The Squid and Ogre terribly uncomfortable.
“You have tread where no man has before and yet you do it with an ignorant impunity that has warmed my daughter in her own transgression. It would be a cosmic joke to punish you any further. So be it. Go your way.”
“So we’re cool?”
Nyarlathotep’s gaze narrowed as his eyes were but slivers of light that shone beneath a black door to the abyss. “Yes, we are . . . cool.”
“Am I free to continue?” asked Shuarna.
“Go thy way, daughter, tread the forbidden paths now that you have the key to cross the worlds without end. But do not cross me again.” With that, Nyarlathotep turned and his shade vanished like an invisible door shut.
“Does that mean we can keep on trucking?”
Shuarna smiled, “I’d like to. There are many more realms to see.”
“Then I’ll fire her up and we’ll get going.”
14. Space Truckin’
The two men clasped hands and hugged one last time. “You take care of yourself, Ogre man.”
“Will do, Squid.”
�
�We better get moving,” said Shuarna, from the cab window.
Ogre took off his aviators. “Where are you gonna go? What are you gonna do, Squid man?”
“I’m just gonna keep on trucking with her. This Earth here ain’t a time for me anymore.” He fired up the rig and rolled down the window.
“Seems awful dangerous man, you don’t know what other crazy shite is out there!”
“I know, but I’m gonna find out aren’t I?” He said, with a grin. Shuarna reached over and gave him a big kiss. “Living the dream brother! Take her easy,” said The Squid.
“Take her easy,” answered Ogre, as he stood watching. The rig pulled out onto the asphalt and went down the road toward the sunset vanishing into a midnight soaked blur.
***
So that my friends, is how the man known as The Squid, started space trucking across the universe. I don’t know about you, but I’m kinda glad he’s out there, keeping an eye on things for all of us.
Take her easy.
Afterword:
This tale bleeds a number of influences together and its funny because I very nearly didn’t write it. When the call first came from my good friend Nathan Shumate (the driving force behind the Space Eldritch projects) and he wanted to break out of the Space side of the Eldritch books. We all of course still wanted to keep doing the Eldritch thing and we thought that the next project would be Western Eldritch – which if you’re familiar with my other books, you know I’m really down with that – but Shumate surprised us all by saying this go round would be Redneck Eldritch. Did I want in?
I initially didn’t want to write about Redneck’s, I wasn’t really interested and as I was in the midst of typing my reply (this was on Facebook) and before I hit send/post whatever, the idea for truckers dealing with Lovecraftian horrors came spiraling into my mind like a gift from Nyarlathotep himself.
I deleted my negative and replied with, ‘Yeah, I’ve got an idea.’
One of Shumate’s first decrees was he didn’t want the book to become a joke. He didn’t want all of our submissions to be comedies poking fun at Rednecks. I have to admit I was concerned my story would get rejected, I thought it might be too weird, too goofy. Before I was even done, I shared it with Shumate and he gave me his blessing.
I think the character reaction is the humor, it’s not jokes and it’s not even at the expense of Rednecks, it’s about the way people deal with a maddening situation in front of them. Because I didn’t think your salt of the earth hard working American man was going to freeze up at the sight of the Migo like maybe a stuffy Miskatonic professor might. Just my thought process but it is what it is.
The characters are of course highly inspired by some other laid back dudes but that’s just like my opinion man.
They are also inspired by people I have known. I have known truckers, cowboys, ranchers and rednecks, construction workers, cheaters and conspiracy theorists, gamblers, drunks and of course mysterious femme fatales.
And it is nearly impossible to refrain from my other inspirations = Rock & Roll and of course the lands I am so personally familiar with. I couldn’t begin to say how many times I have traversed the roads covered in this story. Oh, and I really do hate the Utah Tree and have dreamt of its destruction.
Hope you enjoyed it.
David J. West
Utah
April 2017
p.s
I’ve decided to add a couple more of my stories to bonus this one. Maybe they aren’t as funny but they follow the same weird theme.
Baptism By Fire
Green as absinthe, the recruit stepped off the 737 to a blistering Nevada tarmac hours from nowhere. He was ushered away from the other plain clothes passengers, lab workers and spook military types, toward a corrugated, steel Quonset hut with heat shimmying off it like an exotic dancer.
Inside a stern-faced captain with a buzz cut, sat on the corner of a table reassembling an M-4 assault rifle. He looked up for a moment, quickly finishing the task he had obviously done ten thousand times. “Only you? Well that’s fine as frog hair.”
“Yes, sir, I―”
“Save it. You’re an effing new guy. I asked for twenty more men for this shift alone and all I get is you?”
“Sorry, sir. My orders,” he said, handing over the forms.
“Uh huh, call me Cap. Look I gotta give you a crash course since we’re sorely understaffed thanks to that damn drone fiasco. Lit up the civilian boards like a Christmas tree on fire.”
“Ha, conspiracy.”
“Wipe that smirk off your face, peach fuzz. Yeah, conspiracy. You don’t believe the Brass are keeping stuff from even us―you gotta get a new line of work. Maybe that will be your name.”
“What?”
“Now we have a whole pack of Mulder’s children trying to stage a UFO convention down at the gates and I’ll be damned if we have a Y-12 vandalism incident here. No eighty-year-old Nun is getting in on my watch.”
“Mulder’s children?”
“No need to worry about them, I’ll send Danklander, Pampers, Speed Bump and Dumb Smith to shoo them off.”
“Who?”
“Mulder's children. That’s what we call those damn UFO kids who were conceived during X-Files station breaks.”
"Who is going?”
“Listen up Nimrod, I said Danklander, Pampers, Speed Bump and Dumb Smith.”
“Uh. My name is―”
“Whoa, listen don’t try and tell me who you are just yet. I don’t know how you did things in the―wherever you’re from. But around here you cannot just pick your own name.”
“But my name is―”
“Nope,” Cap said, holding his cap over his heart. “We have traditions. We’re like the noble Native American warriors of old Mexico. Your name is given to you judging off of something you did.”
“Uh?”
“Usually something stupid,” he said, nodding.
“I see.”
“Trying to pick your own name is just asking for it. Look at Danklefson. He wanted to be called Highlander, now he is Danklander. It could be worse. Pampers asked to be called Viper, that became Diaper. You can see the rhythm to it.”
“And Dumb Smith?”
“I always felt bad that Dumb Smith was called Dumb Smith. Then I worked with him. Now Speed Bump is very good at hiding, maybe too good. During training maneuvers, he laid down in the road to avoid being seen.”
“And?”
“He was run over by a jeep―twice.”
“Twice?”
“Yes, first time broke five ribs and a leg. But that man, what a trooper. He didn’t cry out, not even once.”
“Why not?”
“Well because they would have seen him, the bastards. Come on, in here, I’ll show you the secret bunker elevator.”
“Secret?”
They ducked inside a spacious hangar with a number of experimental aircraft looking half-finished spread about in the rear.
“This is one of the Research and Development wings. Remember everything you see is classified. Especially the TAV’s.”
“TAV's?”
“Trans-Atmospheric-Vehicles. They are in various stages of reverse engineering.”
“What?”
“Only the lab people that work down in the bunker labs know exactly what is going on down there. But don’t let them ever get uppity with you. Smug bastards. We at least have an idea what is going on in every office and lab, they only ever know what is happening in theirs. That and I’ll let you in on another secret, lab people are pretty much like the people of Wal-Mart. Make ‘em do YMCA once in awhile before you unlock the doors and let them up the elevator. That’ll keep ‘em off their high horses.”
“I see.”
“Do you? Listen, lab people are jumpy, they are usually afraid of Base Patrol, we carry guns and actually know the difference between common sense and theirs.”
“Theirs?”
“I have seen them walk through caution tape and fall rig
ht into twelve-foot-deep holes. There is a difference between what they have figuring out rockets and such and pure common sense.”
“What if someone causes problems?”
“No problem. If you have to kill someone, just say over the secure link that you have to fill out a 5.56 form,” the captain patted his 5.56 caliber M-4 rifle, “and we got your back buddy.”
“Uh thanks, but I never said kill.”
“You didn't have to.”
“So I’m staying here?”
“No. You’re going down there,” said Cap, pointing at the floor elevator.
“OK?"
“Here is your equipment. I know you are trained on using these. Everything is loaded with secret body shock rounds. Hits harder, less over penetration and collateral damage,” he said, handing the recruit the M-4 rifle, a belt with a half dozen loaded magazines and a .40 caliber sidearm also with several magazines loaded and ready. “You good?”
“By myself?"
“What? Aren’t you especially trained for this kind of thing? Didn’t you put in a request to be stationed here at the base that does not exist? Doesn’t doing this for God, country and the United States Air Force give you an effing hard on? Answer me damn you!”
“Yes sir. I'm just not sure about my duties yet. What am I supposed to do down there?”
“You guard the perimeter. You do not let anything pass that should not pass.”
“Anything?”
“Don’t let your imagination run away with you. You probably won’t see anything but those damn lab people . . . but.”
“But?”
“Stop worrying, get down there and do your job.”
“Yes sir, Cap.”
He shoved the recruit onto the open elevator platform and hit the descent button.
The recruit looked up sullenly as he strapped his belt on and slung the rifle.
At the Highways of Madness Page 8