The Lovecraft Squad: Dreaming

by Stephen Jones

  “Only that someone was down here who was even more gaily dressed than we are. I hope you’re not jealous.”

  “I’m certainly not jealous of what happened to him.” Mount brought the scrap of material closer for her inspection. “I don’t think that rusty brown color is part of the d-y-e-i-n-g process but more of the d-y-i-n—”

  “Please.” Emelia peered at the material. “I thought we said no more jokes. It certainly could be blood. And that blackish stuff could be slime. But what’s most interesting are the colors.”

  Mount raised an eyebrow. “I can’t believe you are still discussing fashion at this very serious time.”

  “I am discussing the shades and sequences of certain colors that help to summon the Deep Ones. What you want to talk about is your own business.” Emelia was examining the material with a tiny magnifying glass. “It’s difficult to tell, but certainly the way in which the magenta and emerald pigments have been used to overlap and meld together non-Euclidian shapes would suggest whoever was wearing this would have had to run very fast indeed to get away from whatever horrible thing was being drawn to him.”

  “It looks as if poor old Curtis didn’t run fast enough.” Mount tucked the fragment into his pocket. “I suppose we should search for a body.”

  “I don’t suppose we’ll find one.” Emelia looked out over the threatening landscape. “Those sigils are like catnip to certain Elder beings. I’m surprised we’ve found anything at all. Unless, of course, we were meant to.”

  “And with that observation, I think it’s time to leave this charming area and see what delights they might be serving for lunch in the local pub.” Mount pointed his umbrella toward the silver Bentley Mark VI parked beside the road. “Shall we go?”

  “I can’t believe you’re thinking of letting anyone in Dunwich serve you food.”

  Mount grinned. “I always try to look on the bright side. Perhaps they can at least furnish us with some sherry and biscuits.”

  “You want some what?” The landlord at The Moon and Sixpence—who had introduced himself as Mr. Trevelyan—seemed pleasant enough, even if he appeared baffled by their lunch requests.

  Mount decided it wasn’t worth pursuing the issue. “A pint of your finest ale for myself, and if you could provide my wife . . .” he ignored the kick to his left ankle “. . . with a glass of white wine, that would make her very happy.”

  The gray folds of the landlord’s furrowed brow relaxed as his world was once again returned to normality. “You and your wife, you say?”

  Mount nodded. “That’s right.”

  “You wouldn’t be the couple who’s booked a room here, would you?”

  “We are!” Mount beamed broadly, so broadly that he hoped the landlord didn’t notice Emelia’s startled expression. “I don’t suppose the room is ready?”

  A pint of dubious ale and a glass of cloudy wine were handed over. “It is, sir. Been waiting for you since early this morning. Only room in the place, so it’s not too much trouble to keep it ready for guests.”

  “Excellent!” Mount took a sip of the beer and did his best to conceal how fishy it tasted. “And has our luggage arrived by any chance?”

  “All there, sir, plus your post.”

  “Did you hear that, darling?” Mount nudged his silent colleague. “We already have some well-wishers!”

  “Is it just married you are, sir?”

  Mount nodded and lowered his voice to a whisper. “But it’s all a bit hush-hush, if you get my meaning, so we’re lying low here for a while. Her father owns a rather large shotgun.”

  “I get you, sir.” Trevelyan’s smile was not a pleasant thing to behold, especially as it revealed he was missing his two front teeth. “I’ll see to it you’re not disturbed.”

  “What the hell was all that about?”

  Mount raised a finger to his lips and closed the bedroom door. “We have to stay local for the investigation, and this pub is the only one with rooms.”

  “A room,” Emelia hissed. “He said they had a room. Singular.”

  “Exactly, which is why the HPL has had to cook up the whole newlyweds thing.” Mount picked up the large white envelope resting on top of their bags. “Oh, how lovely!” He spoke loudly as he slit it open. “A card from dear old Uncle Monty. I do hope he has fun on that camping holiday.”

  Inside was the most garish wedding congratulations card Emelia had ever seen, and inside that was a sheaf of documents which Mount emptied onto the bed.

  The double bed.

  “I hope you’re not going to suggest we both sleep here.”

  Mount looked mortified. “Goodness me, no.” He lifted up a clothes carrier and unzipped it to reveal a black leather catsuit within. “Now get changed into something more suited to exploring the depths of somewhere ancient and stygian.”

  If he was expecting some riposte, he was to be disappointed. Emelia was already speed-reading the documents. By the time she put them down, she looked perplexed.

  “Seven disappearances in as many months?”

  Mount nodded. “Eight now, including Curtis. They’ve tried to keep it quiet about him. Safer for us.”

  Emelia glanced at the wedding card Mount was positioning on the dresser. “And who are we, exactly?”

  “Why, Mr. and Mrs. Jonathan Mount of course! Always best to keep these things as close to the truth as possible. Why are you waving your hand at me like that?”

  Emelia rolled her eyes. “Because, oh husband of mine, I have no wedding ring.”

  Mount frowned and gave the envelope a good shake. Something round and gold landed on the fraying beige counterpane.

  “Why, darling!” Emelia said loud enough for everyone downstairs to hear as she slipped it on. “It’s lovely!” She lowered her voice. “Do you seriously think anyone is going to believe we would come to this place for a honeymoon?”

  “You’ve read the briefing information. All the disappearances were out-of-towners. A couple on a walking holiday, some chap researching a book about church architecture, others who set off for destinations in the general area and were never seen again. Our cover will allow us to explore the village without looking too suspicious. I bet they’re talking about us now.”

  Emelia rolled her eyes. “I haven’t got to jump up and down on the bed loudly enough they can hear it creak, have I?”

  Mount frowned. “Sometimes I wonder where you get these ideas from. No, having established our identity to the locals, you and I are now going to explore the area.”

  Emelia eyed the unappetizing drinks they had brought up with them. “I hope they’ve got a shop.”

  When they got downstairs, the population of the damp-smelling room had increased from the normal-looking landlord to the normal-looking landlord and a large group of not-at-all-normal-looking men. Twelve pairs of bulbous, fishlike eyes stared at The Moon and Sixpence’s new guests. More importantly, twelve pairs of legs did not stand aside to make it easier for them to get to the exit.

  “Gentlemen!” Mount was the essence of politeness. “Good to see that the public houses of the very heart of England are not being neglected!”

  His words were met by a cacophony of croaking noises as the assembled throng turned their attention to the man behind the bar.

  “What everyone is wondering, sir,” Mr. Trevelyan said as he continued polishing what looked like the only clean glass in the place, “is why such a pleasant gentleman such as yourself, with such an attractive wife, would choose such an out of the way place as Dunwich to have your honeymoon.”

  Gibbering mutters of agreement accompanied this.

  “I see! Well, it’s very kind of all of you to be so concerned about our well-being and comfort.” He could feel Emelia’s fingers digging into his arm. “But if you must know, there is a very special reason why we have come here.” The fingers dug harder. “You see, apart from my lovely wife here, my passion is church organs, and I have it on good authority that at your All Saints’ you have a splendid exa
mple of a 17th-century dual pump-action Kratzenstein harmonium. I simply cannot wait to see it.”

  Emelia gave a grim nod. “Sometimes I think he loves his organs more than he loves me.”

  “Now, now, dear, let’s not have an argument in front of these lovely people.” Mount began to push himself forward. The sea of people, boasting an unpleasant odor that could only kindly be described as marine, began to part.

  The ones by the door still refused to move.

  “You will be careful, won’t you, sir?” The landlord called from over Mount’s shoulder.

  Mount didn’t turn around. Instead, he fixed those blocking his way with a hard stare. “Do we need to be?”

  “It’s just that this is an old town, and it was built so close to the cliff’s edge that parts of it have started to fall into the water.”

  At the mention of the word “water” the mumbling, croaking members of the pub began to sway gently from side to side. This would have been disconcerting enough, but somehow they managed to do it in sequence, setting up a wave that passed through the room and back again.

  “The church is very near the cliff’s edge, sir. Very near. So much so that nobody here has ventured close to it for some time.”

  “Your priest, perhaps?”

  The tidal movement abruptly ceased.

  “As I said, sir. No one. I suggest you and your lady friend in your fancy suit and her black leather whatever-it-is stay well away.”

  Mount brandished his umbrella at the two men in front of the exit. They gave him a bulbous look as they shuffled aside. “We shall certainly bear your warnings in mind, Mr. Trevelyan. Thank you!” Emelia slid past him and through the door. Mount took one look behind him as he followed.

  The parting glances were not friendly.

  “Pump-action harmonium?”

  “It was the first thing that came into my head. I must admit I had no idea the communications network in this place would work so quickly, nor that they would be so organized. We may have far less time than we thought.” Mount had broken into a brisk stride up the main street. Whether this was to escape the occupants of the pub or to get to their intended destination quickly Emelia couldn’t tell, but it was probably a bit of both. “Plus, the church is as good a place as any to begin poking around, especially as one of our abductees had an interest in the place.”

  Emelia pointed and looked unimpressed. “Goodness knows why.”

  It was dead ahead of them, perched atop the summit of a hill and master of all it surveyed. The cobbled main street of Dunwich veered up to it, broadening as it did so, tiny alleys and lanes from either side joining it as capillaries join a vein, all leading to the heart that was the All Saints’ Church of Dunwich.

  “Heart of Darkness,” Emelia murmured.

  “Pardon?”

  “Oh, nothing. Just letting my imagination run away with me.”

  “If I recall correctly, it’s been your imagination that has got us out of several scrapes, so feel free to let it run wherever it wants.”

  Emelia hugged herself. It had been chilly when they arrived, and now the sea breeze was making it worse. The breeze also smelled terrible.

  She looked from side to side as they marched. Were any of these shops open? Or even in business? Stained and smeared windows made it more difficult to see if anyone or anything lurked within. An establishment claiming itself to be a butcher’s had nothing to show that meat was its specialty, unless you counted a couple of dead eel-things with tiny, centipede-like legs floating in a tank of tepid gray water.

  Was it her imagination or were some of the clawed limbs still twitching?

  The general shop had bars on the windows and even more on the door, which was firmly closed. Emelia would not have eaten the greenish loaves positioned in the baker’s window—in such a state of disarrangement they seemed to be on the verge of escaping—not even with a gun to her head. The newspapers outside the newsagents were tattered and torn. They also boasted a date of six months ago.

  “Not the most picturesque of places, is it?” Mount didn’t let up the pace. Emelia was glad of it.

  “Depends if you like where Hieronymus Bosch probably spent his holidays. Or Richard Upton Pickman.”

  “Very good point, and our destination does look a little like the place Robert Blake might have gone insane inside.”

  “Thank you for that. I wasn’t sure I wanted to go there, but now I’m positive I don’t.”

  Mount gave a conciliatory sigh. “Such is the burden of the HPL operative. Are they following us?”

  Emelia glanced back. “No. They’re just standing outside the pub. There do seem to be even more of them than before, though.”

  “Probably waiting to see what happens, or to watch a long and established show. If that’s the case, let’s see if we can provide them with an unexpected ending.”

  All Saints’ Church looked even more threatening up close.

  “It’s more like a cathedral than a church.” Emelia took a step back from the huge, scratched, flaking Gothic double doors and looked up. Several gargoyles representing creatures of marine-looking origin stared back.

  “It also looks big enough to accommodate a far greater number than those individuals who are, no doubt, shuffling slowly but purposefully up the hill behind us as we speak.”

  Emelia swung around. Mount was right.

  “Shall we see if anybody’s home?” He raised the crook of his umbrella and rapped smartly on the door. “No answer.”

  “Were you truly expecting one?”

  “Not really.” He lifted one of the immense wrought-iron handles. “I didn’t know they made these in the shape of octopuses.”

  “Octopi,” Emelia corrected.

  “Octopuses,” Mount corrected her back. “Fourth declension Greek as opposed to second declension Latin. Too many people make that mistake, and I do wish they wouldn’t.”

  The crowd was much closer now.

  “I think the only mistake we need to worry about right now is hanging around out here.”

  “Always changing the subject when you know you’re in the wrong.” Mount twisted the iron handle and pushed. The door made a horrid scraping sound as they squeezed inside, and then it swung shut of its own accord.

  “I’m not sure if that’s a good sign.”

  Emelia peered through the crack in the doors. “They’ve stopped.”

  “Which means either that they fear this place or . . .”

  “Or?”

  “That we are to be dispatched by a power far greater than they.” Mount turned to regard their surroundings. “Oh dear.”

  All Saints’ was not so much a church as half of one. Fifty feet of nave complete with broken, dust-covered pews led to—nothing. Apart from an expanse of mottled gray sky that seemed to be daring them to approach.

  They did anyway.

  “Oh dear, indeed.” Emelia peered over a broken edge of cracked red floor tiles to the crashing waves far below. “No wonder nobody comes near this place.”

  “Another victim of time and entropy.” Mount was a few steps farther back. “I wonder how long it’s been like this?”

  “I can’t make out any bits of church down there, if that’s what you mean.” Emelia turned to see him holding on to the nearest pew a few feet back. “You’re welcome to see for yourself.”

  “I shall give that a miss, if you don’t mind. I have a thing about great heights associated with ground that’s likely to give way. Can you see where we were on the beach from there?”

  “Shouldn’t that be, ‘Please come over here, as I am fearful for your safety’?”

  Mount shrugged. “Well, you’re there now, plus you’re considerably lighter than I am, so you’re probably going to be fine.”

  “Always with the ‘probably’s.” Emelia looked to her right. “I can just about see it.” She placed the palm of her right hand on a pillar and leaned forward, kicking her left foot out behind her for balance.

  “Emelia, y
ou will be careful, won’t you? I may seem to be unconcerned, but that’s only because I . . .”

  “There’s a good view if you stretch.” She skipped back to him. “Now what was it you were saying?”

  “Oh, nothing.” But the relief on Mount’s face said it all. “Shall we have a look around?”

  He moved on before she could reply.

  Emelia turned her attention to a stack of moldering hymn books. “Any suggestions as to what we might be looking for?”

  “Just the usual—mystic symbols drawn on the wall, unutterable slogans painted in blood . . .”

  “. . . Books that are in no language known on this Earth?” Emelia held aloft the first volume she had picked up.

  “Yes, that sort of thing. Ah! Have you found something?”

  Emelia nodded. She opened the scuffed and stained red cover and grimaced. “If I’m not mistaken, this is volume seven of the Revelations of Gla’aki.”

  Mount strode over. “Really? How fascinating! And how odd that someone should leave it here. May I see?”

  She handed the volume over for Mount’s inspection, which was brief.

  “Very funny, young lady.” He handed it back.

  “What?”

  “It’s just a hymn book. Like the rest that are stacked there. Unless you believe a rousing chorus of ‘Lead us, Heavenly Father, lead us’ might be capable of summoning Elder Gods.”

  “Give me that!” Emelia snatched the volume from him and flicked through its pages. Arcane symbols, words she knew she must never utter aloud, references to another planet, another reality. And something else—a crude drawing of something vast and worm-like emerging from the depths of the ocean. One word had been inked beneath the image of the crawling horror.

  Morgawr.

  “Are you being silly? Or can you really not see this?”

  Mount peered at the picture of the sea serpent she was holding out to him. “All I can see is ‘We Plough the Fields and Scatter.’ How very interesting. I take it you’re being deadly serious now?”

  “I most certainly am. You?”

  “Yes, indeed. Which gives me the uneasy feeling that one of us has been selected for something.”