Pyrate Cthulhu: Tales of the Cthulhu Mythos, Volume 1 (4.0)

by David Conyers

  “That’s very... broad-minded of you,” said Bowen.

  “Thank you,” nodded Trent. “And once I accepted the possibility that you were some kind of magician, it answered another question for me. See, if you could do all sorts of mystical stuff, why couldn’t you just go get the book yourself? Seems like that’d be fairly easy for a wizard or whatever the hell you are.”

  “Seems that way,” said Bowen, his eyes again locked on the box in Trent’s lap. “So, why couldn’t I?”

  “We got through all the defenses and alarms and poison gas at the library,” said Trent, clicking the locks open. He didn’t raise the lid, though — he just looked at Bowen while he spoke. “But Miskatonic also had all these doohickeys all over the place, on the walls, embedded into the floor, things looked like hieroglyphics. So while we were waiting to pull off the caper, I did some more research in some of the other books in the library. Turns out, they’re mystical protection. According to the books, you can’t do magic around these Signs.”

  Bowen shook his head, as if dislodging a fly. “And your point?” he said.

  “My point?” repeated Trent, now smiling himself. “I don’t really have one. But I do have an experiment I’d like to try...”

  And he opened the lid, turned the box around so that Bowen could see inside.

  There was no book. Inside, resting on a cushion of red velvet, was a stone carving — one of the Signs.

  “We took a few of these things while we were in there,” said Trent. “Just in case. Seemed the prudent thing to do ...”

  Bowen snarled and shrunk back in his seat, his eyes widening, his lips curling. He threw up his hands, gnarled like claws, and hissed like a pissed-off snake. “Put it away!” he choked finally. “Close the lid!” “Now, see,” said Trent, nodding, “this was the other possibility I discovered. If you were just a wizard, this wouldn’t hurt you or any thing — just keep you from casting a spell on me. But looking at the way you’re reacting...”

  Bowen started kicking his feet on the floor, moving the chair backwards, but Trent got to his feet, pulled out the carving and took a couple of steps forward, toward the frantic, wriggling form of the old man.

  “... I don’t think you’re human at all,” he said. And thrust the Sign forward, directly into Bowen’s face.

  The wizard keened loudly, his voice as high-pitched as a tea-kettle, and fell backwards, the chair collapsing under the spasmodic thrashing of its inhabitant. Trent was just as quick, however, and leapt over the fallen chair to keep the ancient sigil trained only inches from the face of the man.

  But it was no longer a man — the skin had started to stretch and peel over Bowen’s skull, and blood oozed slowly from a dozen splits in the flesh. The thing’s hands thrust up, claws forcing themselves through the false meat of the man suit, and Bowen’s whole body convulsed and ratcheted itself into new, impossible configurations. Trent fought the impulse to step back, to get away from the monstrosity, and instead moved even closer, inch-by-inch, until the stone actually touched the writhing, gibbering mass of alien flesh and faux humanity.

  The thing had been loud before, but now it let out such an air-raid siren of a scream that Trent could feel his eardrums compressing. He wanted to drop the totem, throw his hands to his violated ears, but forced himself to keep going, to keep moving with the scuttling insectile horror around the room, to ignore the flailings of the thing’s arms and tentacles, to ignore the gobbets of Bowen-flesh that it sloughed off as it crawled along the floor, to ignore the madness his eyes refused to accept, and to keep the stone sigil touching the creature.

  And, suddenly, with one last inhuman alien wail that sounded like a star exploding, the thing finally fell — collapsed loosely inside the bloody dressing gown it had been wearing — bubbled like pancake batter on a hot grill — melted down into the floor — and the last thing Trent saw before he threw the Sign onto the roiling mass of decomposing plasma were the being’s eyes, red and violet, multi-faceted like a mantis’s, glaring enragedly at him with a hatred more intense than nuclear fire...

  And then the doors to the patio burst open and Willem and Buddy and Theresa and Mike poured into the room, gabbling in excitement and terror.

  “Jesus,” yelled Willem. “The bodyguards — they just fucking melted.”

  “Oh,” said Buddy, the only cool one in the group. “I see your plan worked.”

  ***

  “So where’s the five mil?” asked Theresa, still staring at the mess on the floor.

  “There never was five million,” said Trent, taking a big gulp of Bowen’s cognac. “We were supposed to die here tonight.”

  “There’s some pretty good stuff in the house, though,” said Willem, looking around at the paintings and artworks.

  “Yeah, we’ll take everything when we go,” said Trent. “You all still have your Signs?”

  “You kidding me?” said Theresa, pulling on the chain around her neck, tugging the stone sigil into view. “From now on, this thing sleeps with me, bathes with me ...”

  “Sounds fun,” smiled Mike, leering at her. But Trent saw him fingering his own Sign and nodded.

  “So how about the Necronomicon?” asked Buddy. “It’s worth a lot of money — what’re we gonna do with it?”

  “Miskatonic’s offering half a million for its return,” said Trent, poking at the bubbling mess that had been Bowen with his boot, and grimacing. “I say we take it.”

  “We could get a lot more,” complained Buddy.

  “Yeah, we could,” said Trent. “But then we’d have to worry about who actually had the thing in their possession. Can you imagine one of these things” — pointing down at the pool of ichor — “getting its claws on the book? God knows what would happen to the world.”

  “Yeah,” sighed Buddy. “I get your point.”

  In His Daughter’s Darkling Womb

  by Tina L. Jens

  In his daughter’s darkling womb

  Great Cthulhu will be born

  And at his birth the Fabric of

  Space and Time will be torn

  When he casts away Death’s shroud

  And rises from the Deep

  Star of yellow will burn out

  Mankind slaughtered like the sheep

  Mother/Daughter to the eldritch god

  And those attendant at his birth

  Will be Judge and Executioner

  To the Cosmos and the Earth

  “Or, so it is written in the poem.”

  “That’s very interesting, David,” Katherine Cullom said sarcastically. “But this is a science lab, not a literature classroom.”

  David Gaughan did not tell the marine biologist that the poem, or prophecy, was written in von Junzt’s Unaussprechlichen Kulten, but she would not have recognized the title if he had.

  ***

  Field Journal Dr. Katherine Cullom September 29

  After years of preparation, everything has come together!

  It was with no little awareness of the scientific significance of this experiment that I first observed the giant cephalopod this afternoon.

  Reciting the phylogeny can't begin to capture the emotions of seeing the specimen for the first time.

  It was monstrous in size, with what seemed like innumerable tentacles that could curl around the length of the tanker. It seemed to radiate, if you'll forgive the word, an aura of age, aeons, and absolute Evil.

  As best we can measure a live specimen it's 24.3 meters in length, roughly the height of a five-story building! Its weight, judged by water displacement, is 490 kilograms. Just imagine, this massive creature weighs less than a standard automobile!

  Its skin in its natural state is a deep crimson with concentric black rings running around its tentacles and body like wild racing stripes. Like its cousin, the Octopus vulgaris, it has the ability to change color and skin texture in response to its environment and mood, a fact we learned almost immediately upon entering the hold of the converted oil tanker, where
the immense aquarium had been constructed...

  ***

  Despite repeated warnings to move slowly and speak softly, chaos reigned in the lab.

  You’d think none of these people had ever dealt with a cephalopod before, Katherine thought angrily. They’d soon learn their lesson if it inked repeatedly and they had to climb into the tank and net out the cloud of black ink and mucous. The filtration system was top of the line, but no filter could keep up with multiple inkings by a specimen this size.

  The presence of David Gaughan only increased Katherine’s rage. Katherine had tried to have him thrown off the boat, or at least out of the lab, but he had the proper authorization papers from Arkham Industries Corp. She couldn’t fault the staff in the home office. She knew the techniques that David and Animal Rights Now! used to get such permission slips. David was an official observer for ARN!. She’d had numerous run-ins with the activist, despite the fact that she was a research scientist for a marine institute, not some corporate chemist looking for a way to dump pollution undetected. She often suspected David harassed her for purely personal reasons.

  No hint of her raging emotions slipped past her mask of professionalism, and it took only a firm hand on the shoulder and a quiet, “Let’s calm down, shall we?” administered to the half-dozen people nearest to her to start a ripple effect through the room.

  In a voice only a notch louder than normal conversation, Katherine began issuing orders to the team. Despite the immense size of the ship’s hold, she had no need to repeat herself.

  Only after teams were dispatched to measure, weigh, and photograph the specimen did she allow herself the luxury of turning back to the aquarium tank and studying the creature.

  The techs had done a good job of building a giant cave in the middle of the tank, as well as tunnels and perches all along the floor of the massive aquarium.

  Katherine was more than a little disconcerted to find it had climbed out of its cavernous lair to press itself against the glass and study her.

  Like most Octopods, its eyes were telescopic, and could raise and retract from the side of its head more than two feet in any direction. Unlike most Octopods, it had three sets of eye stalks, far more than necessary given the telescopic range of each eye. All six eyes seemed to ignore the rest of the team and follow her about the room.

  The specimen was remarkably calm, exhibiting none of the characteristics of fear common to its family, other than a slight pulsing of color when a skin scraping was taken from the tips of one of its tentacles. The examination revealed retractable claw hooks on the underside of each tentacle, five inches in length, curved, and tapered to a deadly point.

  It could climb a mountain with spikes like that, Katherine thought.

  There were also tiny growths at the base of its two back legs where the tentacles joined the body. They looked like wing buds. More likely, they were the last remnants of dual dorsal fins, discarded by species evolution, but not quite disposed of by the species’ genes.

  One of the younger members of the research team climbed the ladder to the room of the enormous tank and unlocked the feeding hatch. Using a wench, he raised a giant crate up to the top, then guided it to the opening and dumped the contents in. He quickly closed the hatch when he was done.

  Ten pounds of assorted live fish and crustaceans began swimming about the tank. The young scientist would monitor what the creature ate, in order to determine its dietary range and preferences.

  “Remember to lock that hatch securely,” Katherine told the Feeder. “The specimen may be a giant, but we shouldn’t assume that it isn’t every bit the escape artist other Octopods are.”

  He shuddered and nodded. No one wanted to imagine this creature slouching moistly through the corridors of the ship.

  Katherine was beginning to think the early field reports were inaccurate and that this specimen didn’t have a protective ink sack, when the creature proved her wrong.

  Considering how calmly it had weathered the earlier chaos in the lab, its reaction to the ship’s cat surprised her.

  The specimen had somehow worked the hatch open and snaked a long tentacle across the floor in pursuit of the cat. There were more than a dozen people in the room, but no one noticed until the feline screeched.

  Hissing wildly, the cat scraped its claws down the length of the menacing tentacle. Ichor squirted from the wounds. The specimen thumped two tentacles against the aquarium wall as it retracted its injured arm. A black cloud struck and rebounded against the glass. A high-pitched wail pierced the room as it jetted into the rocky cave.

  The scream did not end when the creature reached its lair, and more than one member of the team was on his knees, hands clasped to his ears in pain.

  But discomfort did not relieve duty.

  Katherine barked orders. “Get that blood sample off the floor, on a slide, and into the lab!”

  She pointed at the Feeder. “Grab a net and scoop that ink cloud out before it disperses. Send a sample to the lab and monitor the water chemistry every half hour.

  “Someone catch that cat and take scrapings from underneath its nails for tissue samples. Let’s get a move on, people!”

  Ten minutes later and throbbing headaches all around, the team cleared out of the lab and escaped to the top deck for a half-hour break, a private lecture for the Feeder, and a general briefing.

  And still, the high-pitched wail drilled into their brains and continued, for over an hour

  ***

  Katherine Cullom looked up from her computer as she heard the metal clanging that indicated a visitor at the door. She opened the hatch and greeted her research assistant and second in command of the project.

  “Helen, come in. I was just working on my journal.”

  “I’m sorry, Cassie. I can come back if you’re busy.”

  “No need. Let me just save the file.”

  Katherine completed the series of keystrokes, then gently pushed the flip-top closed.

  “You’re up late,” Katherine said to her friend.

  “Can’t sleep,” Helen grinned.

  “Want a celebratory nightcap?”

  “Sure.”

  Katherine opened her desk drawer and pulled out a velvet-lined box. She undid the clasp and removed two crystal snifters, filling each with a generous measure of cognac.

  Helen whistled. “That’s a beautiful set!”

  “It was a gift from Frank on our fifth anniversary.”

  Helen searched her friend’s face for signs of grief at the memory of her dead husband. She saw none. But then, Cassie was a master at shutting off her emotions.

  Helen shrugged out of her white lab coat before accepting the drink.

  Katherine grinned as she saw Helen’s under-apparel. Blue jeans and tennis shoes—standard field gear—and a red T-shirt with a picture of two giant squids mating, encaptioned, “Cephies Do It in the Sea.”

  “Where did you get that?”

  “Going-away gift from The Boyfriend,” Helen said.

  Helen went through men so fast that Cassie never bothered to memorize their names. The man of the moment was always referred to as The Boyfriend.

  The two women were opposites in every way, which may have been the reason they were best friends. Or in Katherine’s case, her only friend. There weren’t many who wanted to get close to “Dr. Coldfinger”, but Helen had known Cassie back before she’d earned that name. She knew why winter had moved into the woman’s heart.

  “I just stopped by to drop off the briefing reports. I knew you’d want to see them tonight.”

  Helen handed the stack of papers over and finished her drink quickly. She’d seen Cassie’s eyes glancing back to the computer and knew her friend was eager to get back to work.

  Katherine closed the door behind her, returned to her desk, and opened her computer. She took another sip of her cognac and started a new paragraph.

  ***

  Field Journal September 29 (Continued)

  Arkham Industries
is to be commended for the high quality of our floating lab. I had reservations about this project when A.I. insisted on having so many of their own people on the research team, and in handling all the arrangements themselves, rather than trusting our expertise in such matters at the Institute.

  The work progresses well.

  I have tentatively classified the specimen from phylum through genus, with species as yet undetermined. Or (as I strongly suspect that this is a previously undiscovered creature) species unnamed.

  Our records search continues. Meanwhile, I have classified it as: Mollusca, Cephalopoda, Octopoda, Octopodidae, Octopus ... (Species undetermined.)

  However, there are numerous distinctions in characteristics that separate it from other species in this phylogeny. I expect this matter to undergo fierce debate....

  Katherine hit the Save command on her computer before picking up the written reports from the afternoon briefing.

  ***

  Field Journal September 29

  Addendum: Summary of Specimen's Natural Territory and Capture

  After repeated attacks on Devil's Reef, and what the more fanciful segment of the population refer to as the sunken ruins of Y'ha-nthlei, the specimen has, over the last decade, abandoned its original domain and established a new territory that is roughly bordered by three deep sea trenches in the South Pacific and the Great Barrier Reef, where it has been observed feeding on semiannual occasions on the abundance of sea life drawn there.

  The coral reef has provided excellent coverage and protection during these infrequent feeding periods. Boats are unable to navigate the shallow waters, and divers have been unable to keep pace as the specimen slipped through the razor-sharp coral structure. Despite numerous pursuit attempts, on each occasion the creature was able to leave the diving teams behind and slip into deeper waters.

  Once away from the reef, the creature has been observed to run for three separate bolt holes, all deep sea trenches that fall far below the depth to which equipment and divers can follow, where it will remain for many months at a time. We know of no other creature that can withstand the G-pressures at the bottom of these trenches.