Encounters with Enoch Coffin

by W. H. Pugmire

  “You paid a lot of money for that painting, and you’re paying me a hell of a lot for the job I’ve come to perform. I’ve never been given such an amount for a portrait that will be used in a book to illustrate its author.”

  “You were chosen because you are, exceptionally, a realist, yet one who presents realism in a most fantastic manner. You imbue your work with hidden sigils, spectral forms, and occult secrets. You show humanity as the monster that it is, or may become. But more, you reveal the other races, of ghouls and burrowers beneath, of avatars of madness and they that split the veil. That is why you were elected for this especial task. You have read my books that were sent you?”

  “Yes.”

  “And noticed the old author’s photo that has been used repeatedly. The time has come for an updated image, in which I am revealed as I am. Use the candle by you to light the other two on the tables nearest me.”

  “I’ve got a lighter.” He could just make out the tables and rose to step toward them as he took the lighter from his pocket and flicked it until its tiny flame ignited. Enoch didn’t look toward the whisperer in the chair until both candles were lit, and then he did his best to stifle the noise that threatened to erupt from his throat. The candlewicks had held their fire dimly for some few moments, and then their flames expanded, and their light spilled onto the whisperer in darkness. The creature was small and entirely nude, although its distinct outline and features were swathed in moving shadow. It tilted forward slightly and curled its mouth, which made the face resemble a grotesque mask of mockery. Absolutely hairless, as had been the others of its race that Enoch had encountered, the being regarded the artist with bulging eyes and lips as its flat nose sniffed at the air.

  “I can smell your blood, Mr. Coffin, as it rushes through your stems of veins. You have read much of the elder lore; do you understand the lure of human blood to that which lurks Outside?”

  “Yeah, I’ve noticed the curious repetitions of improbable lore about the daemons that need human blood to take bodily form in this realm. It’s crap, of course. Why would non-terrestrial freaks that predate humanity by millennia need human blood when humans are so recent a race compared to the ones who lurk Outside?”

  “But you have just answered your own question: because they are of the Outside, creatures of appetite that lust for mortal carnage and the ecstasy it provides. To exist in this realm demands corporeal mutation in those of the Outside, a different chemistry of being. Humans as an outlet of ecstasy are a subtle yet common thread that runs through ancient arcane lore. We of the Deep are enticed by such ecstasy ourselves and use it as a vehicle for procreation.”

  “You of the Deep. Adrianna was going on about that earlier today.”

  “As you were sitting with her and contemplating Devil Reef. Yes, I saw you at the end of my carousing beneath the waves. Such a sad creature, Adrianna. She has heard the call and would resist it, but cannot. She is overfond of oxygen and would stay above one century more. But that does not concern us. You see me as I am, and will paint me thus. Because of your reputed love of the grotesque and monstrous, it will be said that your portrait is a vile exaggeration, an outlandish defamation of the author as inhuman fiend. That will be the rich jest – for your painting will be absolutely true to life. You won’t mind the abuse of critics; indeed, you seem to thrive on it.”

  “I adore disapproval.”

  “Exactly.” Gerhard Speare lifted his head and moved his flat nose as he regarded a curtained space. “The atmosphere is too still, I find. I like a little storm before the Surge. Will you be attending?”

  “Yep,” Enoch replied, indicating the bundle of old clothing that he had set on the floor near his chair.

  “Excellent. Come, let us practice some alchemy and thus kill ennui. Follow me, to the balcony.” Speare rose and waddled to the curtains, which he opened so as to reveal a French door that led out onto a balcony. The dull light of late afternoon greeted them. As Enoch stood, he noticed his painting of Dunwich on the wall and winced at the memory it evoked. “Come to me, Enoch Coffin, and let us call unto the clouds. You have raised storms, I take it?”

  “No, I haven’t, although I’m familiar with the lore.”

  “Ah – a new experience! The tempest I have in mind requires mortal blood.”

  “And your own won’t do, for you are an Immortal.”

  “Exactly. Why do you remove your jacket?”

  The artist did not answer as he tossed his jacket into the room and pulled his knife from his pants pocket. He held the knife in one hand as he used the other to unbutton and roll up his shirt sleeve, exposing the handkerchief with which Adrianna had dressed his wound. Enoch removed the dressing and heard the other fellow sigh as he beheld the symbol etched into the artist’s flesh. “You know this sigil, of course.”

  “I do, Enoch Coffin. It will aid us well. Ah, the uproar we will evoke! Allow me, sir.” Gerhard Speare took the knife from Enoch’s hand and opened its blade, and then he muttered weird words as he traced the sigil with the knife’s point. Enoch spoke the words as well, and marveled at the way their utterance caused his blood to bubble. “Do you smell the thunder, Enoch Coffin?”

  The artist scanned the sky and saw the dark shapes that spilled from one place toward shadowed Innsmouth, the coils of blackness that conjoined as monstrous cloud from which a streak of lightning zigzagged toward the rotting wharves. Heaven thundered as together the monster and the man shouted to the sky. Sheets of rain fell to earth as gusts of growing wind tossed the storm to the alchemists who watched from the balcony. The world turned black as windstorm howled, spilling into the dark room behind them and extinguishing all candles. Enoch turned to gaze at Speare as the novelist took hold of the artist’s arm and bent his flat nose to it.

  “Ah – the scent of mortal blood. How it intoxicates and cajoles!” Without warning, the Deep One thrust the knife deeper into Enoch’s arm and muttered esoteric language that seemed to shake the earth, and then he threw down the knife and held the spray of blood to the sky. Enoch watched, spellbound, as his scarlet liquid rushed toward the ravenous black cloud and became a part of its element. Bulbous lips pressed against the emblem on Enoch’s arm and were coated with his corporeal stain as Enoch’s vision finally blurred. The artist felt the monstrous mouth lift from his arm and smash against his lips as, weak and losing consciousness, he was dragged into the chamber’s gloom.

  IV.

  He awakened in his hotel room, naked in bed, his limbs a bit stiff but otherwise in fine fettle. Propping himself up with his elbows he saw that the bundle of clothes he had bought in the old shop had been placed on top of one of the room’s bureaus, while the clothes he had worn, now freshly laundered, hung on the closet door. “What the hell time is it?” he asked the air as he twisted his head to check the clock on the bedside stand. It must have been early evening, for no daylight slipped through the space between the window curtains. Moaning, he sat up with his back to the headboard and ran his hands through his shaggy hair and noticed the black spot on his arm. A knock sounded on his door. Groaning, he pushed out of bed and staggered to the door. A young woman stood staring at him.

  “Nesa Katt. You are a dream come to beautify my nightmare.”

  The girl laughed lightly as she entered the room. “The sun has fallen and starlight awakened. You’ve slept for some few hours. How do you feel?”

  “Okay, I guess. Got this weird black mark on my arm, just over my skin art.” He showed her his arm.

  “It’s treated shoggoth tissue. We use it for wounds. Quite effective. It will dissolve into your flesh eventually, but one portion of its essence will cling to you for eternity.” She held his arm with one hand and ran her other hand over the mark. “It’s already losing its stickiness.” Enoch took hold of her hand and brought it before his eyes. “What?”

  With one finger of his free hand, he traced the minute webbing that had formed between her slender fingers. “You’re of the Deep. Hell, are you gonna turn int
o one of those fish-freaks?”

  She smiled with her large and liquid eyes. “I am one already. I’m very young, you’ll be long-dead before I look like Gerhard or Adrianna.”

  He gazed at her dark beauty, her smooth skin and beauteous round eyes. “That’s fucked-up.”

  “It’s glorious. Are those the clothes you’re wearing tonight? Get dressed, I have a taxi waiting.”

  Stepping to the bureau, Enoch unfolded the clothes and wrinkled his nose at their fishy odor. “Pah – that smell! I hate the sea.”

  “I drink its sweet perfume.”

  “Yep, you’re turning into one of them thar freaks. What’s so funny?”

  “Your idea that your infant race forms the mold of normality. Your insignificant infant race.”

  “Say that again and I’ll slap you.”

  “Mmm, I love a bit of brutality. Ah, that’s brought some shimmer to your eyes. Need help pulling into those trousers? There, you look authentically Innsmouthian now.”

  “Smell like it too. Give me that hat.” He turned to check himself out in the full-length mirror next to the closet. “Yeah, nice and sexy.”

  “Let’s go, handsome.” He reached for his wallet. “You won’t need that, come on.”

  Walking slightly behind her, Enoch admired the girl’s figure as it was revealed beneath her simple dress of blue cotton. When he sat next to her in the taxi he touched his hand to her choker and its amulet of white gold. “What is this stuff?”

  “What, Innsmouth gold? It’s beautiful, isn’t it? They bring it to us from the Deep. There are lots of conflicting legends concerning it and its uses in Innsmouth, such as that the townsfolk used it as a form of exchange for productive fishing. That was nonsense. The payment came in worship of the Lord who slumbers in R’lyeh and the surrender of dreaming to His Call. You’ve read the Cthaat Aquadingen, I take it.”

  “Nope. Heard about it. Like I said, I hate the sea.”

  “And all her splendid mysteries? Sad. We were told you’re well-versed in all matters of the Outside.”

  “Who the fuck are ‘we’?”

  “Ah.” She pointed out the window as they approached the restored station at the western end of Bank Street south of the river. Lit up, it was a magnificent sight, this Gothic Revival edifice with its marble pillars and clock tower. They stepped out of the vehicle and a sound caught Enoch’s attention.

  “I hear water on rocks.”

  Nesa pointed to a nearby barn-like covered railway bridge. “It’s one of the waterfalls, beneath the old bridge.” Enoch listened to the music that issued from inside the building, which he recognized as a string quartet by Béla Bartók. Nesa linked her arm with Enoch’s as they climbed the steps and passed a hunched figure that stood smoking an exotic cigarette. “Good evening, Suresh,” she greeted the fellow, who sneered at them and walked away. Following another newly-arrived couple inside, they entered an alien world of golden light and weird allure. The large room was now teeming with people, and Enoch noted that most of the crowd seemed young. He thought it looked an artistic crowd and remembered that those who had helped to rebuild portions of the city had been wealthy young bohemian types. Perhaps they had thought to turn shadowed Innsmouth into an oasis of aesthetic oddness for a very select few. The sight that utterly captured Enoch’s attention was a mammoth sculpture composed of Innsmouth gold, a bizarre composition of spires and coils that looked absolutely alien.

  “Whoa, that’s cool! What is it?”

  “It replicates one of the temples of Y’ha-nthlei, the city in the depths beneath Devil Reef which is one reason why Innsmouth was chosen as our human haunt. Its partial destruction by your government was repaid one million times by squadrons of shoggoths in the 1930’s. The damage has since been restored, and this here is a reminder of our eternal glory and providence.”

  “It’s beautiful,” he told her as he admired it with his artistic eye, “but it kinda makes you feel lightheaded the longer you look at it. The dimensions are all screwed up. That white gold – it’s so alluring, makes you want to enter into it and pray – to Gawd knows what.”

  The music was evocative and its effect dizzying. Some couples moved to it with swoon-like motion that might be mistaken for exotic dancing. The musicians stood on a raised platform: two with violins, one with a viola, and the last with a cello. Enoch noticed that all four were the hairless Innsmouth type, and he liked the way their faces wore fevered expressions as they performed their piece. Indeed, the entire room almost hummed with an undercurrent of eccentric exhilaration. “This crowd overflows with adventurous expectancy.”

  “Excuse me?”

  He waved his comment away as he smiled at his youthful companion. “Nothing. Just nattering to myself.”The music stopped and a young black fellow took to the stage. “Who’s that?”

  Nesa tilted to his ear and whispered. “Delmore Rahv – he’s been selected as this year’s Olmstead.”

  “What the hell is an Olmstead?”

  “The One Who Is Pursued.”

  The young man raised his hands and silenced the crowd. The room stood dead still for some while, and Enoch began to get antsy. He was just about to ask Nesa what was happening when a foghorn sounded from some distant place outside. “The Surge begins,” Delmore Rahv whispered. Jumping from the platform, he walked into the crowd, which began to encircle him, and Enoch thought that the black fellow’s face wore a smile of perverted pleasure and pride. Someone near Rahv slapped his face and whispered “Traitor.” Another pushed him violently so that he stumbled to where Enoch and Nesa stood. The young woman clutched the black man’s collar and ran her pointed nails across his cheek. “Judas,” was her stern rebuke as she hurled Rahv from them. Enoch sensed an air of fevered playful malevolence that reminded him of his youthful punk-rock days when he thrilled to the violence of the pit. The black lad’s mouth smiled as it bled, and then another horn sounded from outside. The crowd stopped their antics as Rahv slipped from them and exited the station. Nesa suddenly grabbed Enoch’s shirt and began to rip it off him, and then she lifted and discarded her dress, revealing her shapely breasts and lithe figure. Playfully, Enoch growled at her as he removed the rest of his clothing except for his hat. The girl licked her mouth as she stared at the artist.

  “Come to daddy, kitty-kitty.”

  “Meowrr,” she said, and then followed it with her lovely lilting laughter as she spilled into his arms. His hands fondled her breasts as she bit into his shoulder, and then her lips pressed against his ear. “The Surge begins.”

  The horde of beings oozed from the building as they bayed and barked. Enoch saw that the dark sky was clear, untainted by the storm that he and Speare had earlier evoked. A harvest moon swam within an ocean of starlight, and the crowd continued to bellow as they leapt as if hungry to seize the lunar sphere. And then the multitude moved as one, joined surreptitiously by the more extreme Innsmouth types that crept from out the barn-like bridge and the river that it spanned and joined the Surge, bringing their stench with them. Enoch and his companion flowed with the flopping pack, and the artist stretched his mouth so as to join in with the snarling and croaking emission of inhuman utterance that issued from the rabble all around them. They swelled like some grotesque saraband engaged in fantastic danse beneath a cryptic moon – hopping, leaping, bleating as they pursued the one who fled them. A kind of hypnotic delirium clutched at the crowd, and Enoch found it exhilarating. He raised his hands to the yellow sphere in the sky, leaping in the air as if in an effort to grab the moon and eat it.

  He could smell the sea and realized that it spread before him. Wind rushed to him from the water as waves moved toward the sand on which Delmore Rahv danced. Some few muscular figures, all of whom wore bands of white gold around their throats and wrists, approached him and lifted the young black man to the stars, and then they hurled him into the sea, into which they followed. Staring out over the water, Enoch saw the horde of creatures that were climbing onto the dark and distant reef.<
br />
  Nesa appeared before him and stroked his phallus. He fell with her onto the sand.

  V.

  It was still dark when he awoke on the beach with Nesa in his arms. Yet, like the ghost of Hamlet’s father, he could sense the dawn. Adrianna smiled down on them. The elder woman wore a kind of robe that covered her completely, but she was without her scarf so that the slits that opened and closed at each side of her neck were clearly visible. The wig had been discarded, and Enoch marveled at the shape of the regal head with its inhuman proportions. “How strange,” the artist whispered to himself, “to find such ugliness alluring.” Nesa stood as Enoch stayed reclined on sand, and Adrianna took the girl’s hand and studied the minute webbing between its fingers.

  “You’ve a long wait yet, dear child. But you’ll be surprised at how swiftly a century will pass. Millennia await thee.” The older woman placed her inhuman hand on the girl’s belly and nodded. “Beget, Nesa, and bring forth the children of Cthulhu. We will swim as Nation in the era of His Awakening, and bay with joy at the riot that will devour this doomed world. Breed, child.”

  “I have made a start, I think,” the young one answered, turning to smile at the mortal on the sand.

  Adrianna knelt beside the mortal and pressed her monstrous mouth against his forehead. “It has been a pleasure, Mr. Coffin. I hope that you will come often to our shadowed city and breed with abandon.”

  “I think I’m up for that,” he answered as he wore a crooked smile.

  He then noticed the craft that sailed toward shore, and Adrianna rose and turned to greet the boat and its navigator. Gerhard Speare lifted his oars out of the water and waited as the first touch of dawn filtered above them.

  The ancient woman turned to the couple one last time and nodded, and then she let her robe fall to the sand. Enoch thought there was something majestic about the way the creature walked into the water and moved through it, to the boat into which she climbed. Standing, she waved toward shore one final time, and then reached for the fabulous tiara of white gold that her companion held to her. Adrianna placed the strange object on her dome as her boat mate dropped the oars into the water and guided their craft toward the black line of Devil Reef. Enoch smiled wistfully as Adrianna lifted her hands to the sky and then tipped over and into the depths.