Cthulhu Comes to the Vampire Kingdom

by Cameron Pierce

  The crowd gasped.

  The vampire scientist discarded the graph, then held up another:

  The vampires shrank and shuddered into their thrones, stunned by this terrifying (and factual) revelation of their demise. The vampire scientist displayed a third graph.

  A fourth:

  A fifth:

  The sixth clinched it:

  The vampire scientists returned to their companions on the side of the stage. Fang Foot wheeled forward, nodding complacently. “Now will the Environmental Committee issue their response?”

  Gaul winked at Franz, who gave Lola’s hand one final squeeze.

  Franz shuffled to the front of the stage. He stared out at the sea of faces, all adverse to him before he had even spoken a word. They were not here to listen or learn. They wanted to be told what to think and feel. The Council and the scientists were more adept at the brainwash game. His speeches had earned him high marks as a child, but Franz never adapted to the smooth-talking, promise-making sleight of hand of adults. As a child, his clumsiness was mistaken for charisma, and anyway he was always honest, whereas most vampires outgrew honesty. They forgot. Those who did not forget simply ceased to care.

  Oh, what a nightmare! If only he had a lifetime to prepare.

  “The scientists are correct,” he announced. “The planet is dying. The planet has always been dying, ever since the last sea wolves came ashore. In the course of our slow decline, the seas have turned from blood to water. The core of our personalities has corroded. The blood pulsing through our veins has gone weak. Our spirits, empty. We as a collective have no thought for the planet, no thought for anyone but ourselves. The scientists are right. We’re out of hope.”

  “Crawl back to the sea, ice hugger!”

  Once more, the Bat Cave erupted in laughter.

  Fang Foot glided forward. “Step back. That’s enough now,” he told Franz.

  Tears welled in Franz’s eyes as he backed away, unable to withdraw himself from the malicious crowd.

  Gaul put a hand on his shoulder and said, “You did fine. We put up the best fight we could. You and Lola go on. I’ll take it from here.”

  Gaul engaged in a heated conversation with Fang Foot while Lola ushered Franz offstage. They ducked out through a side entrance.

  “I was horrible. I ruined everything,” Franz said. He threw his coffin hat to the ground and stomped on it.

  “Calm down. You did fine.”

  “How can you say I did fine? Gaul didn’t even want me to stick around.”

  “He wants us to meet him at his cottage. He told me to leave with you now, to give the impression that we were leaving because you were humiliated. He said he has something important to show us, something far more important than any vote.”

  “Do you know what it is?”

  “No. I mentioned to him that Lion Man died. That’s when he told me. Then your speech started.”

  Franz scooped up his coffin hat and tried to smooth out the crumples, but the hat was ruined.

  “You can always buy a new one,” Lola said.

  “Not if the world is ending tomorrow.”

  Bad news. Council called a meeting.

  The text from Bruno appeared in Sarah’s inbox a few minutes after she finished tying up the Lugosi kids and their crazy-ass mother. After what she witnessed, tying up the family had been her only choice. Now she sat on the couch, trembling. Cum over now, she texted. So freaked out.

  A few seconds later, her Ice Chatter vibrated in her lap. A response from Bruno. We voted to move underground tonight. You okay?

  I need u. Please.

  Fang Fuck ordered me to help evacuate the town. Sorry.

  Sarah cursed her stupid husband. He ruined all of her fun. She responded to Bruno. Please, I’m begging you. Please sneak away. I’m in trouble.

  I’ll try. Get out of there if you can.

  Sarah threw her Ice Chatter away from her and started up a new round of convulsive sobs. She felt unloved and confused. She thought back on the scene she had stumbled upon when she came into the house. She had discovered the frail, sickly Ella Lugosi in the kitchen, lying naked on the floor.

  The eggs had still been hot when she shoved them in her pussy, telling from her blistered labia. The gray-haired vampire lay spread-eagle on the granite floor. Crushed hardboiled eggs—whites, yolk, and shell all mixed up—spilled out of her vagina. The children nuzzled at their mother’s pussy, eating egg out of her while blood and menstrual mucus rolled down her thighs, painting their little lips. The crunch of eggshells in their mouths drowned all other noise, like the deafening patter of a thousand tooth-encrusted tongues banging on glass drums.

  Vampire children eating eggs out of a cunt.

  Cunt eggs.

  Egg-eating children.

  Child vampires.

  Vampire cunts.

  She curled into a ball on the couch and cried, unable to decide if she should untie Ella and the children and evacuate with them to the underground, or else wait for Bruno or Fang Foot to come rescue her. She felt scared and helpless and totally, utterly alone.

  Gaul lived alone in a ramshackle cottage on top of a steep and icy mountain. In order to avoid the perilous climb, Franz and Lola usually invited Gaul over to their place when he asked to have them over. There was no avoiding the climb now. Franz walked in front of Lola. She held onto his waist. The path was too narrow for two people to walk side by side. Some days, the wind blew so strong against Gaul’s mountain that nobody could climb up or down the mountain without being blown away.

  When they reached the summit where Gaul’s cottage leaned on teetering stilts, Franz and Lola stared out at the frozen, silent earth.

  “Remember how dark the town used to be?” Franz said.

  “The town is still dark.”

  “Sure it is, but the scientists are right. The darkness is dying out.”

  “We’ve known the darkness was dying all along. Tomorrow, though, that’s quite soon. Gaul said this sort of thing takes eons.” Lola paused. “You don’t really believe the darkness will die out by tomorrow, do you?”

  Franz shrugged. “I see no reason why not.”

  “You’re so gullible, Franz. Did it occur to you that maybe the Council is pulling one over on the town? They’ve supported the scientists’ proposal to move underground from the beginning. Every attempt we’ve made to gain support has been squashed at the source. It’s just like the Council to expedite the voting process without notice. This battle was supposed to be resolved three winters from now. We need more time.”

  “We don’t have more time. It’s over, Lola. We lost. We’ll wait around to see what Gaul has to show us, then we’re heading home to pack our bags. We’re moving underground with the rest.”

  “Those graph charts really scared you.”

  “Yes, Lola. Those graph charts scared the sea wolf out of me.”

  “I knew it,” she said disgustedly. “Whatever, let’s go inside.”

  They climbed the rope ladder up to Gaul’s porch. A wooden plaque nailed to the front door proclaimed: WELCOME ENEMIES, STRANGERS, AND FRIENDS. THE KETTLE ON THE STOVE IS FULL OF WATER, THERE IS BLOOD TEA IN THE CUPBOARD, AND A LIBRARY FULL OF BOOKS ON THE SECOND FLOOR. MAKE YOURSELF AT HOME AND STAY A WHILE. YOUR COMRADE, GAUL.

  Gaul’s hospitality might have seemed uncanny, until one remembered who he was and where he lived. Few vampires would be willing to climb a mountain to visit their own families, let alone to read cryptic mystical texts and drink weak blood tea with a hermit who headed the Environmental Committee. Franz and Lola, however, were not average vampires. Merrily, they made a pot of blood tea and went upstairs to the library to read while they waited for Gaul.

  Cthulhu murdered the cook next.

  Afterward, he tied an apron over his spandex uniform and put on a tall white baking hat. If this diner was incapable of cooking the perfect hamburger, he was going to take charge and cook the damned thing himself.

  He ran into problems im
mediately.

  The hamburger buns were stale, the lettuce was wilting, the ketchup contained high fructose corn syrup, and white pustules of fat flecked the ground beef. Even if he cooked up a pickle-free burger, his meal would still turn out unsavory.

  Cthulhu sighed. He tossed the baking hat aside and stomped out of the kitchen.

  Gone were the days when greasy spoons served up top quality food. Nowadays, not even a god could conjure a decent meal without going through a great deal of trouble first.

  Cthulhu swore to himself that if the vampires did in fact summon him, he would do everything in his power to find the perfect hamburger. He’d destroy the planet if he had to.

  Now, however, was the time for rest. He whipped out his Ice Chatter from the pouch sewn into the right breast of his spandex suit. While the Ice Chatter powered up, he filled another pint glass with blood beer and then sat down at the counter.

  His tentacles fumbled over the keypad. He had not tuned in to Lolcats in eons. When conscious, he checked the site for updates hourly, if not more, but he had been dreaming for so long. He could not deny himself the pleasure of those adorable kittens and their so-funny captions. I can has cheezburger remained his favorite, though. It’s what got him started on this whole hamburger kick in the first place.

  The Lolcats homepage loaded and Cthulhu began to feel at peace with the universe. He slurped the top layer of foam off the blood beer, wondering what new Lolcats were in store for him.

  Franz and Lola were debating the literary merit of Baron Bloodworth’s famous poem, “The Solitary Reaper,” when Gaul materialized in a cloud of smoke on the writing desk in the far corner.

  He hopped down from the desk and shook the dust out of his robes. “One in three times, I can teleport with perfect precision. The other two, I stray a few degrees off course and wind up on the writing desk, in the sink, the waste bucket, or someplace worse.”

  “Where does the dust come from?” Lola asked.

  “The dust? What dust are you speaking of?” Gaul smiled proudly. “This is the skin of Father Time.” He pronounced skin like skein. He laughed at his own bad joke.

  Franz closed the volume of Baron Bloodworth’s poetry and asked, “How’d the rest of the meeting go?”

  Gaul’s smile melted into a quivering frown. “They booed me offstage. The vote passed to move underground. They want the town evacuated by morning.”

  Lola slammed her fist on the table. “We have to stop them!”

  “I’m afraid it’s already too late,” Gaul said, looking like a somber owl.

  “Then why are we here? Why did you ask Lola to sneak us out of there like that?”

  “One hope still remains to stave off the cruel spring that will devastate the planet by morning. I prayed to the great old ones for many centuries, begging that no vampire should ever be required to summon our only hope, for summoning the almighty Cthulhu requires the sacrifice of one’s virginal firstborn child . . . in addition to a readily available copy of the real Necronomicon. Alas, my prayers went unanswered, and yet the old ones have satisfied my demands in their bewildering way. Lola, when you told me that Lion Man had died without apparent cause, everything became clear to me. I’d always known Lion Man would be of great significance to our planet. Little did I know that he would fulfill his life mission by dying so young. You see, I could never ask anyone to sacrifice their virginal firstborn, but Lion Man made it easy. I don’t have to ask you to sacrifice him anymore because he’s already dead. You saved his body, right?”

  Lola nodded in the affirmative.

  “Uh, except for his head,” Franz said. “Is that a problem?”

  “I’m having trouble recalling what the Necronomicon says about the headlessness of virginal firstborns. Let’s go ahead and chance it.”

  “But the Necronomicon has been lost for ages. Ever since the sea wolf battleship S.S. Dunsany sank in the first year of recorded time, Cthulhu has been unreachable,” Lola said.

  “Yeah, how are we going to summon him if we don’t have the Necronomicon?” Franz asked.

  Gaul withdrew a pipe from the breast pocket of his robe and filled the bowl with dried brain matter. “That, my students, is where you’re wrong. Cthulhu is more than a dead myth from a time forgotten. Soon, the lost hero of our planet will be a reality once more. A new age of eco-consciousness shall rise!”

  “But how?” Franz and Lola said at once.

  “The Necronomicon is in my possession,” Gaul said, his lips contorting around the pipe stem.

  “Impossible,” Lola said. “I don’t believe it.”

  Franz gasped. “The Necronomicon is in your possession? Does anyone else know?”

  “Yes and yes,” Gaul said. “I never told you because I wanted to protect you. I hoped it would never come to this.”

  “Where is it? Is it in this room?” Franz stood and began scanning the volumes lining the bookshelves.

  “Who?” Lola demanded. “Who did you tell, you fool!”

  “Please calm down. We have very little time left. Fang Foot will send the rest of the Council for me soon. He’s the one who knows.

  “Before he rose to power in the Council, long before either of you were born, Fang Foot showed great promise as a sorcerer. The Order of the Old Ones viewed him as a bright hope for the future. He was advanced far beyond the other fledglings. The order believed Fang Foot could lead our clan into a new dark age. They dreamed of the seas turning to blood once more. They anticipated an Age of Enlightenment. Sadly, none of this ever came to pass.

  “A vampire baby was left at the door of the monastery. Without any means of tracing the parents, the Old Ones took in the orphan and raised him as their own. They even named the little one. Gaul, they decided, after a serious night of heavy drinking. That is how I came to bear my name, but forget that I’m speaking of myself for the moment.

  “Gaul possessed one advantage that gave him an edge over the others. He was raised by the Old Ones almost from birth. Most fledglings did not enter the monastery until several decades or even several hundred years into life.

  “Soon, the Old Ones shifted the brunt of their energy to training Gaul, who demonstrated an uncanny ability to master everything they taught him. They never imagined a vampire so young could learn the dark arts. They began to adopt other newborns, but never with the same results.

  “Fang Foot brooded. He was furious with the Old Ones, and very jealous of Gaul. Finally, on the day Gaul reached the age that enabled him to compete in sorcery duels, Fang Foot challenged him. As per the rules of the Order, it was up to the one challenged to choose the subject of their battle. To everyone’s surprise, young Gaul chose necromancy, even though this was an area where he was uncharacteristically weak and Fang Foot was at his strongest.

  “But Gaul soundly defeated Fang Foot. Even though he was less talented than his opponent, Gaul revealed a trait that proved far superior to talent or experience. With patience, wit, and a balanced, quiet mind, Gaul deflected his weaknesses onto his stronger opponent. See, Gaul never learned how to control the undead, but he realized he wouldn’t have to if he could free their buried ghosts instead. So for every undead vampire that Fang Foot raised up from the grave, Gaul reached through time and exhumed a hundred skeletons from the forgotten closets of the undead. Soon, the sorcerer’s battlefield went up in frenzy.

  “Fang Foot lost control of his undead army because they were all too busy chasing after the skeletons of their past, trying to conceal them from the living spectators. Gaul’s ghosts, on the other hand, were as light as balloons. He held their invisible strings and laughed as the undead tripped and stumbled after them. It was a glorious day for him, but not for Fang Foot. He resigned from the Order of the Old Ones that night, vowing to have his revenge someday. He threw himself into politics. Thousands of years later, he finally rose to head of the Council, and sure enough, on his first day in office, he used his new power to shut down the Order of the Old Ones. It was a sad day for Gaul, who had sin
ce become an elder in the Order himself. Now poor Gaul is the only one left over from the early days. Much of his power has waned, but still he hopes—”

  Shouts from outside drew Gaul to the window. “They’re here,” he said, removing his bathrobe. “You must go.”

  “Where’s the Necronomicon?” Lola said, her voice harsh and shrill.

  Standing naked before them, Gaul stuck a finger in his bellybutton. “I’m so sorry,” he said.

  “Look, we don’t have time to stand around while you pick lint. Tell us where you hid the damned book.”

  Franz grabbed Lola’s arm. “We have to go.”

  The voices outside grew louder.

  Franz opened his mouth to tell Gaul that they were leaving, but the sight of the naked hermit stopped him cold. Gaul slid two more fingers into his bellybutton, sinking them knuckle-deep. His belly splooshed and emitted an odor of rot accompanied by a foul yellow liquid.

  Downstairs, the door lurched under a platoon of fists.

  Gaul’s hand slid wrist-deep into his stomach. His bellybutton stretched wider.

  Franz heard the front door explode, followed by the trample of angry vampires surging into the cottage.

  Gaul’s canine teeth flared over the lip of his fake beard. He ripped his stomach apart, tearing away his flesh like a husk or a piece of clothing, and his stomach’s contents fell to the floor.

  Among the squirming coils of Gaul’s innards, a book screamed through blackened lips. Eyeless. A wrinkled blob of bookflesh warped by endless years of breathing blood.

  Footsteps clattered on the stairs.

  Lola darted forward and scooped the Necronomicon from the pile of guts. She thrust the heavy tome into Franz’s arms and pushed him toward the window.

  She threw open the shutters and hopped onto the ledge. “Climb onto my back,” she said.