Worlds of Cthulhu

by Robert M. Price

  At six o’clock the next evening, Angelene knocked on a mahogany door decorated with a carving of the Green Man.

  Chloe opened it a few moments later. “Oh, hello, I wasn’t expecting you. But come in, please.”

  Angelene stepped into a sylvan sanctuary. The cottage was small and cosy, a sacred space with hardwood floors and timber in the walls and ceiling. There was wood of all types and colours almost everywhere in furniture, ornaments, and frames. Leafy pot plants commanded the hall, the lounge, and the kitchen beyond, and there was a sprig of mistletoe above the door. She felt as if she were inside a magic womb. “I read your dissertation. I thought I’d return it in person. I hope you don’t mind?”

  Chloe led her into the lounge. “No, of course not. Make yourself comfortable.” She indicated a settee. “Would you like a cup of tea?”

  “Yes, please.”

  While she waited, Angelene walked around the room. Between the plants and Celtic symbols on the walls there were landscape photos of various places in Britain. Stone circles, groves, forests, and chalk figures. “Did you take these yourself?” she asked when Chloe returned.

  “Some of them. There you are.” She handed Angelene a cup and saucer, placed a teapot on a low oak table, and sat in a wicker chair. “I suppose you didn’t find my dissertation very useful. I’m sorry if it’s been a waste of time.”

  “Not at all. I’ll admit that half the time I was reading I wondered why on earth you’d given it to me, but when I reached the end, I realised.”

  “You finished it!” Chloe’s surprise, like all her other expressions, was refined.

  “Yes. It was only when I finished that the answer came to me. I know everything!”

  Chloe upset her teacup, spilling some on her blouse. Angelene could’ve sworn she’d touched the torc again. “How stupid of me.” Chloe glided into the kitchen and returned with a tea towel, dabbing the chair and her top. She left her cup and saucer on the table when she sat down again. “What do you know?” There was a hard edge to her voice Angelene hadn’t heard before.

  “About the signal station!” She hesitated, suddenly wondering if she’d finally gone mad. But she couldn’t be mad, she felt too calm and satisfied. “I’m convinced that Magnus Maximus had the signal station built because he was another believer in the sea demons you mentioned. He built it as a kind of temple to summon their aid. He believed that they’d helped Caesar conquer Britannia, and he wanted their help in his conquest of the Empire. He built it to summon them, then—when it didn’t work—he abandoned it and took his men to Gaul to fight. It explains all the discrepancies. I’m right, aren’t I?”

  Chloe sighed, and laughed nervously. “Yes, that’s exactly what I think. Well done you!” She smiled, revealing her tiny teeth again.

  “I went up to the castle this morning after my walk, and spent an hour at the signal station. I wasn’t sure my idea would make any sense in the cold light of day, but when I stood there, looking out to sea and thinking about those sea demons, I knew I was right. Poor old Maximus, he should’ve put his time to better use!”

  “You’re quite right. It didn’t help him at all.”

  “I came here to convalesce and… I feel wonderful. It’s taken me long enough, but immersing myself in something so distant from my life has been the most therapeutic thing ever. I’m ready to go back to London now. I’m leaving on Friday. I can’t thank you enough for all your help, Chloe, you’ve been wonderful.”

  Chloe’s tension evaporated in an instant. “I’m sorry you’re leaving, but I’m glad you found the peace you were looking for. I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve bought you something. Perhaps you’ll wear it as a memento of your time here.” Chloe picked up a small cardboard box from the sideboard, and withdrew a thick bronze bangle. It was in the shape of a torc, exactly like the one around her neck, but smaller. “Here…”

  Angelene took it from her and studied the plain circle of metal. “Thank you, it’s lovely. Are you sure you want me to have it?”

  “Yes, of course. Perhaps you’ll try it on now.”

  Angelene slipped it onto her right wrist. “Oh, a perfect fit. Thank you.”

  Later that night Angelene walked out the bathroom and raised her hand to switch off the light. She saw the bracelet and stopped her arm in mid-air. She touched the cool metal with her fingertips and was about to slide it off when she had her third epiphany. It was more consummate than the others. It was also calamitous and frightening, and she left both light and torc alone as she sat on the bed. She must be going mad, but she still felt poised and collected. Some time passed before she switched the light off and went to her window. She looked out at the dark, deep sea and knew she had to find out for herself.

  The castle closed at five o’clock. Angelene watched the visitors shuffle off to the entrance as a member of the staff did his rounds. Then the women in the Master Gunner’s House locked up and left. As the young man closing the castle climbed the steps to the keep, she withdrew into one of the stone alcoves, concealing herself in a corner. She heard his footsteps on the wooden platform before he trotted back down the steel stairway. She waited for another hour before she risked leaving her hiding place. She’d never done anything like this before, so she could only hope she’d prepared adequately. Her hair was tied back in a tight ponytail, Chloe’s gift was snug on her wrist, and she wore her walking boots. In her backpack, she carried a flask of tea, a powerful flashlight, and a small bolt-cutter.

  The wind howled and the clouds moved briskly across the sickle moon as the sun began to set. Angelene could see the mound of St Mary’s chapel clearly despite the failing light. It was uncanny, because sixteen hundred years ago there’d been a huge tower here, perhaps as tall as the keep behind her, and no chapel. Now, there was only the chapel, the foundation stones from the station all but invisible. She stopped a few feet from the mound, removed the flashlight from her pack, and switched it on.

  The beam illuminated the small portcullis gate and beige stone in the blackness beyond. Angelene held the torch in her left hand and the backpack in her right. She took a deep breath and a single step. She swallowed, dropped the backpack on the grass, and glanced at the sliding bolt.

  She almost screamed: the padlock was gone.

  It had been there ten hours ago; she’d seen it with her own eyes. She reached out her hand and gave the iron a gentle push.

  It shrieked as it swung back an inch.

  Angelene’s heart beat a frenzied tattoo. She felt a lump in her throat. She tried to swallow, failed, and was nearly sick. She gasped for breath.

  She could see into the subterranean chapel. It was small, a rough square with each stone wall about twenty feet in length and seven in height. There was a square enclosure in the centre, with low walls four feet long. She couldn’t see what was inside, but thought it might be another well.

  She fought to bring her breathing under control, then pushed the gate open, and ducked in.

  She trod slowly and carefully down the two steps to the uneven floor.

  Angelene was in a tomb—or a temple—anything but a chapel.

  She held the light ahead of her protectively and advanced towards the centre square. She was scared, but it seemed to draw her with an ominous inevitability. As she approached she could see a shadow within the four walls. She turned the beam –

  “Angelene.”

  She slapped her right hand over her mouth to stop herself screaming and spun towards the voice.

  Chloe stood in the corner, one hand clutching the torc around her throat.

  Angelene grunted, choked—only when she was sure she wouldn’t scream did she take her hand away from her mouth.

  “I was afraid you’d come,” said Chloe.

  “You—you—scared me to death. What the hell are you doing here?” Her fear was replaced by sudden, vicious anger.

  “I’m he
re to stop you…” Chloe pointed past Angelene to the middle of the vault, “…seeing.”

  Angelene turned her light on the enclosure and moved forward.

  “It’s a stairway to the prison—where the Romans kept the human sacrifices before they killed them. You know the secret now, so let’s leave together.”

  Angelene shone the torch over the wall and saw narrow stone stairs winding down, curling in a tight circle. “I’m not going anywhere with you. You tried to scare me last night with this bangle and now you’ve done it again. I’m going to have a look at this dungeon, satisfy myself that I’m right, and then get back to my life. I’ve had enough of you and your crackpot theories. You’re as bad as those murderous, power-crazed Romans.” She swung her leg over the wall.

  “No!”

  “Don’t try to stop me!” She shone the light at Chloe, but she hadn’t moved.

  “If you won’t heed my warning, take this.” Chloe shook the torc, which she was still clutching. “Your circlet isn’t enough—please take my torc as well.”

  Angelene waved her right wrist. “I don’t even know why I’m still wearing this ugly thing.”

  “Please—Angelene—if you value your sanity, please wear my torc.”

  Angelene scowled, swung her other leg over the wall, and began her descent. Chloe started chanting in a language that sounded like German. Angelene swore. She wasn’t scared by this absurd hocus-pocus, and she ignored the mantra and concentrated on her feet. The smooth stone steps were steep, and they spiralled to the left. It was just like any other medieval staircase and there was nothing unusual or unsettling about the journey. Angelene estimated that she descended roughly a foot with each step, and that Marine Drive was about two hundred and fifty feet below at the most. She probably wouldn’t even get close to sea level, but she counted as she went anyway.

  After a hundred and fifty steps the staircase widened, the steps ceased to spiral as tightly, and the limestone lining was replaced by the natural, blue-tinted Oxford Clay. She had the impression she was approaching another vault or a chamber, but there was nothing of the sort. The air grew stale and the rock damp. Angelene felt the sweat of the walls as she brushed against them.

  At two hundred and fifty feet she reached the flaxen bedrock, and the stairs took a more meandering course, no longer winding, but still descending. She could hear the crash of the waves, echoing from all directions in the enclosed space of the tunnel. The smell of salt was strong, mixed with a whiff of mildew, and something stronger that reminded her of decaying flesh. Water dripped down the walls and Angelene had to slow her pace as the steps became slippery. She could no longer gauge the rate of her descent but continued to count each footfall.

  By three hundred steps the smell was like a charnel house. The walls were heavily pitted, similar to the stone of the castle above, and there was a steady trickle of water flowing down the stairs.

  As she counted her four hundredth step, Angelene saw the end of the stairway far below, terminating at the entrance to a cave. She was tempted to speed up, but remembered the water underfoot. The last few stairs were completely submerged.

  At four hundred and eighty four paces, she reached the bottom, standing in seawater midway up her shins. The rotten smell was even stronger, as if there were a carcass of something large nearby.

  She waded cautiously forward, shining the light into the narrow tunnel ahead. Angelene was wary of the water level, but it appeared unchanged, and she could feel a gentle current pulling ahead. The adit was wide and high enough for her to pass easily, and the water didn’t creep any further up her legs. She walked a few more paces as the tunnel curved, and then saw it open into a vault. She pushed forward with renewed energy, ignoring the rising water, and paused at the entrance to an immense cavern which extended beyond the illumination of her torch. The water reached her knees and the stench would have been unbearable were it not for the sharp tang of salt. She couldn’t see an end to either the sandstone walls or the still, dark water and knew she couldn’t go much further. She was disappointed to find the prison flooded.

  Angelene heard a soft splash—felt a slight eddy in the water.

  She peered ahead, but still couldn’t see anything.

  She heard another splash, fainter and further away.

  She waded forward—saw something in the mere about fifty feet ahead. She pressed on until the water was midway up her thighs. Then she stopped, held the flashlight at arm’s length, and strained to discern the details of the pale grey mound now thirty feet away. It appeared to be a lump of clay about twenty feet across and ten or so high, curiously crisscrossed with thick, black lines that reminded her of a small railway track. The front of the mound was shaped like a polyp, behind which was a single, luminous ellipse, yellowy in colour.

  Angelene saw the lines were in fact links in a massive metal chain, rusted with age. She wondered why they’d been left on an island in the middle of the lake.

  The chains creaked as the clay twitched.

  The ellipse disappeared and reappeared.

  It blinked.

  She stared at that eye in the huge, formless creature, and screamed and screamed and screamed.

  The next morning Angelene left the hotel for her morning ritual. She was mentally and physically exhausted, but she weaved her way down to Royal Albert Drive, too afraid to look at the headland. Only when she reached the road, did she realise she was on the very edge of the sea. She didn’t know which was worse, what lay beneath the castle or what lay beneath the ocean. She shivered and hesitated.

  She remembered Chloe’s words from a few hours before. The thing was a prisoner, because neither the Pagans nor the Christians had the power to kill it. It was alive, but it couldn’t escape.

  Angelene continued until the promenade began to curve around Castle Hill. She stopped again, and reached for her right wrist. Why had she taken off the bangle when she’d dressed? It—and Chloe’s chanting—had prevented her from losing her mind. She faltered. She lacked the courage to walk in between that… thing… and the dark, swirling sea. Angelene turned to go back, then caught a glimpse of a teenager on a bicycle. He was pedalling towards her, crossing the very path she feared to tread. She was being stupid, paranoid.

  She took a deep breath, smiled at the boy as he passed, and resumed her circuit.

  The cyclist was the only witness to the freak wave that crashed against the sea wall, picked Angelene up from Marine Drive, and lifted her over the cast-iron railings and the blocks of quartz. He was the first of hundreds to look for her body, but it was never found.

  Worlds of Cthulhu

  First Digital Edition

  2015

  Worlds of Cthulhu was edited by Robert M. Price and published by Fedogan & Bremer, 3918 Chicago St, Nampa, Idaho, 83686.

  Fifteen hundred copies of the hardcover Trade edition and one hundred copies of the hardcover Limited edition were printed from Century Old Style by the Thomson-Shore Company. The original hardcover release was in 2012.

  Come and visit us at www.fedoganandbremer.com to see ALL of our publications!