Future Lovecraft

by Anthony Boulanger

  “We’ll go take a look in there. It could be interesting,” said the other man into his microphone.

  Maxim obeyed and followed the scientist, who had already descended into the cavity.

  It was necessary to take care not to slip on the stones, at the risk of falling down the hill to the bottom. The two men advanced with the greatest of prudence, then reached the edge of the hole.

  “Go in first and tell me what you see,” said Kelonen, holding the flashlight.

  Max wanted to protest, but a hateful glance from his interlocutor through the plexiglass of his helmet, and the severe air of the geologist, showed to what extent he was serious. The prisoner knew it was useless to argue. With the help of a rope, he entered the crevasse and was immediately engulfed.

  A few silent seconds passed before that silence was broken.

  “So, what do you see? Describe to me what you’re observing,” demanded Kelonen.

  “Ah...it’s necessary that you come see, Comrade...it’s...it’s incredible...I believe...I am not sure...It could be that I’m delirious....”

  “Wait. I’m coming. But I warn you, buddy. If you’re playing me a turn, I’ll freeze you, here and now.”

  And, removing the safety on his weapon, Kelonen descended for his turn in the grotto. Flooded with light by the grace of the torch that he had just unhooked, the cavern revealed was vaster than he could imagine. It made him think of a sort of natural cathedral. He went down the slope, four by four, and joined Maxim, who was standing there, some steps away from him.

  Before them stood a colossal door, carved into the Martian rock. They remained silent for a long time, mouths agape, totally absorbed by this thing that they found before them and which, normally, would not have been there.

  Max thought of the city of Petra in Jordan. Though less monumental, perhaps. Of course, he had never visited that architectural jewel—only some of the privileged could go abroad and, most of the time, only to neighbouring countries—but he remembered the photos of the site that he had seen in the pages of his geographical manual, laminated onto the school benches. All he had before his eyes was measured within the environ of fifteen meters high and inevitably evoked the antique style. Two pairs of enormous, crenelated columns guarded the entryway on each side. At their summits, the pyramidal heads bore a tablet decorated with a carved frieze. The convict remembered the fantastic animals that had haunted his dream, the monsters of his nightmare. It seemed to him that these creatures moved on the infinite steppes or on the grey ranges. He also noticed the suites of signs and of designs, recalling Egyptian hieroglyphs. Who? Who could do such a thing? If he had been on Earth, he might have thought of some Greek or Roman œuvre. But something didn’t work, a detail wrong, giving the impression of an edifice all askew. The top of this entrance constitutes a sort of circular crown, from which flowed, at regular intervals, a dozen pinnacles with roofs of scales. This gave a strange impression and resembled nothing that Maxim knew.

  It evoked a species of artistic melting pot, an architectural catchall where were mixed different styles and many epochs. Finally, there was no door, proper, to speak of. Nothing obstructed the entrance, but long, iridescent ribbons, constructed of an unknown material, floated in front of the opening. They undulated slightly, carried by mysterious currents of air, sometimes out of the eyesight of those who regarded them, to intrude on the other side.

  Max tried to see what was happening out there, while Kelonen prudently held back. The convict approached with small steps, overwhelmed by such majesty. As far as he advanced, he could perceive some of the colours as he traversed the forest of ribbons. Some green. Some blue. But all remained unclear.

  “Do you have any ideas concerning this stuff?” Kelonen asked him.

  This phrase, which resonated through the headphones of the prisoner, had the same effect as that of pulling him from a dream. Since the two men had discovered this strange building, no word had been pronounced. Too medusaed to be able to discuss what they saw. Once his stupor had passed, Max realised that his guard had spoken to him as if he were a normal being. No aggressiveness, no hate. This unexpected spectacle devastated all codes.

  “I don’t know a fucking thing!” he said. “We have put a finger on something that will revolutionise our knowledge of Mars.”

  The two men remained silent for several seconds. In their capsised spirits clashed curiosity and fear of the unknown. All their bearings on which they could draw seemed to crumble and fall into an unknown abyss.

  “The solution resides in here,” said Max, indicating a passage where the glittering curtain moved in arabesques.

  “It could well be. But I don’t want to take any risks. We’ll return to base and I’ll make a report to the captain. They’ll advise us what to do next. Hey, come back here! Let’s go!”

  “Wait. Look,” Maxim said, showing him the opening where the silver filaments fluttered. I see something on the other side.

  And he was not lying.

  “Stop! Stop, or I’ll shoot you down!” the other man cried, pointing his weapon at Max.

  Maxim hesitated and looked again toward that other place which he had at his fingertips. Through the shimmering stripes, he glimpsed green landscapes. He could not believe his eyes...On the other side, a savage nature, almost original, held out its arms.

  He temporised, clenching his fist before making an about face and turning back to the scientist. In a few seconds, he was level with the man who menaced him with his sidearm. He faced him down without flinching and it all went very quickly. In a flash, animated by a mad rage that increased his strength tenfold, the prisoner succeeded in disarming his attacker. In an ultimate gesture of despair, the other man tried to protect himself, but Max had already torn his hose that connected to his oxygen supply. The other man panicked and tried to replace it. It was already too late. His flushed face twisted in agony. He succumbed in only a few seconds, asphyxiated by the impure air of Mars.

  Abandoning the corpse, Maxim then turned his steps and walked cautiously to the door. Where are you going to take me? Toward the past? The future? Or another world? All these questions of course remained unanswered, but the convict had already made his decision. For him, there was no way to return to Marslag. In any case, his crime would send him right to the gallows.

  He thought back to the mine, to his family, to his comrades, to Fyodor and his legends. At last, you were right, old friend...Then he passed his gloved hands through the filaments of silver. He sensed a delicate flux, as if a liquid cotton surrounded him. Something warm and padded. On the other side, he thought he could see a prairie, which undulated in gusts under an unknown wind. He smiled as would a child.

  And then, in an instant, everything tilted. In a fraction of a second, a tentacle haloed in suckers wrapped around him, crushing his arms against his abdomen. The cyclopean limb almost immediately threw him into an enormous mouth that emerged from the shadows. Maxim did not have time to wonder from which monster this foul mouth had appeared because, already, ferocious teeth slashed him; implacable mandibles crushed him. His ordeal lasted no more than a brief moment.

  Natiusha, Alex, where are you?

  TRANSMIGRATION

  By Lee Clark Zumpe

  Lee Clark Zumpe, an entertainment columnist with Tampa Bay Newspapers, earned his Bachelors in English at the University of South Florida. His nights are consumed with the invocation of ancient nightmares, dutifully bound in fiction and poetry. His work has been seen in magazines such as Weird Tales, Space and Time and Dark Wisdom, and in anthologies including Horrors Beyond, Corpse Blossoms, High Seas Cthulhu, and Cthulhu Unbound Vol. 1. Lee lives on the west coast of Florida with his wife and daughter. Visit: http://muted-mutterings-of-a-mad-poet.blogspot.com.

  On that blistering October evening—

  in the days of smoldering skies

  when pale little ghosts foraged for food

  in junkyards on the city’s fringes—

  I enlisted with the mult
itudes

  seeking out the supposed prophet.

  We disfigured pilgrims quit our dwellings

  amidst the fallen monuments

  and, in sewer dungeons fouled

  by fetid darkness and ageless filth,

  climbing the dizzy stairways

  of some crumbling old cathedral

  whose long-dead worshippers

  had doubtless found an apathetic god.

  He spoke of the sanctity of technology

  and of salvation through transformation—

  the sparks of his divine machinery

  danced above the roofless temple

  beneath the swarming, callous stars.

  I saw inappropriate shadows

  congregating in the midnight streets below,

  the moon sporadically glinting against

  gold-anodized, aluminum alloy casings.

  Sickened by the ghastly prospect

  of forfeiting the residue of my humanity,

  I recoiled in horror when his metal minions

  began to harvest reluctant volunteers

  to undergo radical reconstruction—

  I fled as their appeals for clemency

  drifted, unreciprocated, to the pallid twilight.

  The prophet drives his drones, still,

  amidst the ruins of this charred world.

  CONCERNING THE LAST DAYS OF THE COLONY AT NEW ROANOKE

  By Tucker Cummings

  Tucker Cummings has been writing strange stories since the day she developed sufficient hand-eye coordination to hold a crayon. Sadly, her handwriting hasn’t improved much since then. She is the author of a 365-part microfiction serial about parallel universes, which can be found at MargeryJones.com Her work has won prizes in fiction contests sponsored by HiLoBrow.com and MassTwitFic. Her stories have been seen frequently on OneFortyFiction.com and she is one of the contributors to The Thackery T. Lambshead Cabinet of Curiosities (HarperCollins, 2011). Her upcoming publications include Grim Fairy Tales (Static Movement, 2012) and Stories from the Ether (Nevermet Press, 2012).

  ACCORDING TO THE BUREAU of Colonial Records, the abandoned remains of the New Roanoke settlement were discovered on Independence Day, 3916 (Year 475 under the revised Imperial Calendar). The settlement was located on the northwest coast of Idris, the largest island on the surface of the planet Iranon.

  Founded just 18 months prior to the tragic event (or so it was estimated), the colony of New Roanoke was the 5th colony to be established on the planet. The location of New Roanoke was selected because of proximity to both fertile soil and rich mineral deposits.

  The proposed location of the colony had been contested by the regional governors, at first, as the site earmarked for the settlement was over eighty kilometers from the nearest sister colony. Ultimately, however, the board of governors gave Osiris Smith the charter and groundbreaking at the colony commenced in February of 3915.

  The following items were removed from the site and catalogued by a team led by DCI Shane Yang and Lieutenant Colonel John Chastewick (assisted by Arianna Armitage, Professor Emerita of the Oread Theological College), and are currently housed in the Colonial History Collection at the college.

  Our entire understanding of the New Roanoke Event is based on these 17 items.

  ***

  Exhibit 01: Child’s stuffed bear, brown-and-white fur. Approximately one-third of the animal has been burned away, with the remaining portion of the toy covered in heavy smoke stains. The button eyes have been removed. Examination of the remaining threads under magnification showed a clean cut, indicating the eyes were deliberated removed from the bear, rather than lost due to normal wear and tear.

  ***

  Exhibit 02: Cracked ceramic serving platter, blue-willow pattern. Stamped marking on the back reads: “Bell & Dobson 6871.”

  ***

  Exhibit 03: Twisted lengths of metal (6). Believed to be the wheelchair of Dr. Thurston. Five of the fragments appear to be from the frame of the chair, with the last piece of debris resembling a modified tread-style wheel. Thurston had been paralysed from the waist down since her mid-thirties, and had preferred to use a wheelchair with tank-like treads, which allowed her greater mobility on the uneven terrain of the settlement.

  Exhibit 04: The field journal of Dr. Zulema Thurston, partial. Some pages believed missing, or possibly out of sequence. Handwritten notes on bound pulp, transcribed below:

  Day 471: Several days ago, the engineers tried unsuccessfully to dig a new well. After Mr. Farre’s team abandoned their previous dig site, they attempted to draw water from a site farther to the east. However, the efforts at this site were also unsuccessful. Rather than uncovering more red water, however, the team broke ground into an underground cavern that the initial survey team must have missed.

  There is still further digging to be done at the site, but Mr. Farre and Mr. Tydway brought me into the conversation, as some type of ancient writing adorned the walls of the cavern. As the debris is shifted, they say they will bring me images of the walls and any artifacts they find.

  Who would have guessed I’d have a chance to use my doctorate out here in the colonies?

  I’d expected my retirement to be boring. This could be the making of me.

  Day 492: I got fed up with the digging team today and blew my top at poor Ananais. It’s no damn fun at all for them to bring me stray bits and pieces, so I’ve convinced them to increase the diameter of the dig and create an angled ramp into the cavern pit, so I can catalogue all of the findings myself.

  It’s a testament to Mr. Farre’s character that he’s making way for me. I know, by rights, his priority ought to be finding more water, but, truth be told, I think he enjoys a good mystery more than most.

  Except for books and the occasional show on the wi-vane, there’s not much in terms of entertainment out here. I think he likes this almost as much as I do.

  Day 517: We had no idea. Or, at least, the survey team gave us no indication.

  This planet, this whole planet, and our settlement in particular, had to have been populated. If not by an advanced civilization, then, at least, by a people who had a religion, writing and architecture.

  There’s so much under our feet. There must have been a whole city, once.

  I can’t translate it. Not yet. We need more text.

  Day 533: The last bit of rock got chipped away, today. We found the source of the river, but more importantly, we found the center of the ancient city.

  There is a stone ziggurat at the centre of the centre, a sacrificial altar at the top of it all. The altar is carved with circles and spheres, and it appears to be made of a red stone, while the rest of the pyramid is moss-covered greystone.

  Translation is getting closer. Ananais is coming over, later tonight, to help me cross-reference the inscriptions against some of the books he brought. He says his great-grandfather left him a strange, antique book that has odd writing in it, too.

  ***

  Exhibit 05: A rubbing from a bas-relief, graphite on butcher paper. Pictured are a series of concentric spheres with beams of light emanating from them, hovering over a cityscape. A border of skeleton-shaped keys frames the entire image. There is some text in an unknown language along the bottom-right-hand corner of the rubbing. Red pencil has been used to write initials on the upper left corner: “YOG.”

  When questioned by DCI Yang and Lieutenant Colonel Chastewick about possible meanings of the initials, Professor Armitage declined to speculate.

  ***

  Exhibit 06: Unopened bottle of Tokyo-style whisky. Ju-On brand single malt, aged 12 years. Slight moisture damage to label and minor tears on the wrapper around the cork, but otherwise in excellent condition. In fact, the condition is quite impressive, given the disarray the settlement was found in and the state of many of the other New Roanoke items enumerated here.

  The only unusual markings on the bottle are five bloody fingerprints, too smudged to be matched with any certainty to any of the c
olonists.

  ***

  Exhibit 07: Damaged solid state drive. Files include the following:

  A: Translation.txt: Contents: jibberish symbols, letters, and numbers, save for one fragment in English text, which reads, “He no longer lurks.”

  B: Video file of iridescent glowing spheres, four seconds in length. Thought to be some sort of meteorological phenomena.

  C: Image, likely from a colonist’s personal library. Depicts a naked shoulder with a key-shaped tattoo.

  ***

  Exhibit 08: Polyphasic rifle, damaged in such a way that it appears to be melted like a candle. Yang and Chastewick identified it as Bell & Dobson Mark Seven, making it the second artifact from this conglomerated firm to be salvaged from New Roanoke. Both investigators were at a loss as to what sort of environmental conditions could cause this level of damage.

  ***

  Exhibit 09: Femur. Likely from male in his mid-forties. Remarkable in that it is the only human remain recovered at the site. It is unknown whom the femur belonged to, as many of the men in the colony were around that age.

  ***

  Exhibit 10: The diary of Ananais Farre, lead engineer for the colonial dig expedition (incomplete). Partial text follows:

  Day 460: We attempted to dig a tertiary well to increase the amount of potable water available, and also with hopes to increase water pressure at the South facility. However, when we began the dig this morning, we found that all water brought to the surface for testing was a blood-red, as if tinged with ochre or a microbial bloom of some sort.

  As the samples sat waiting for analysis, they turned brown and began to solidify. I would say, “to clot,” since the water was so vibrant and red, but, of course, it was water and not blood we extracted from the ground. Testing was inconclusive, but, for obvious reasons, we stopped drilling and will not consume the water from the area.