The Lovecraft Squad: Dreaming

by Stephen Jones

  Emelia matched his grim expression. “You mean sacrifice?”

  “That’s always the way with these things, isn’t it? Either corporeally, in which case all one of us has to fear is a horrible death. Or spiritually, where . . .”

  “. . . One of us is destined to be the vessel for something from another dimension.” Emelia put the book down. “I knew it would be me.”

  “It isn’t, not necessarily. For all I know, you are standing by a complete set of the Revelations, but I’m being prevented from seeing them—just as I might be prevented from seeing the Crawling Chaos as it rears up to engulf me. I wonder if it’s because I picked up that scrap of material?”

  They were silent for a moment as they both pondered their possible fate. Finally, Emelia spoke.

  “So we’re watching each other’s backs, then?”

  Mount grinned. “As always. And the first thing we need to do is find out if there’s a connection between this church and the beach below.”

  Emelia indicated the yawning expanse behind her with an extended thumb. “You mean apart from the plummet one hundred feet in a vertical direction?”

  Mount extended his hand. “I was thinking more of some stairs.”

  Emelia ignored his offer and began to inspect the walls. “I’m guessing that what we’re looking for is a secret passage, something used only by the local population that requires a specific set of triggers.”

  “Possibly.” Mount was tapping floorboards and pushing at pews. “But you saw our friends in the pub. The chances are it can’t be too complex, or they’d never be able to work it.”

  “Their leader might. That landlord looked capable of accessing a secret entrance.” She kept tapping at the stone. “Unless, of course, we haven’t met whoever is behind this yet.”

  “My guess is we have.” The pews had yielded little, and now Mount had turned his attention to the pulpit, even though it was perilously close to the cliff’s edge. “We’ve been here too long for our arrival not to have been checked out firsthand. Either it is our landlord, or one of his fishy ‘customers.’” He dusted off one side of the wooden box before placing his shoulder against it. “I doubt this place has seen a vicar for sometime.” His efforts were eventually rewarded as, with an ear-grinding crunch, the pulpit slid to the left.

  And kept sliding.

  Right the way to the edge of the cliff and over it.

  Five seconds later there was a loud splash.

  Mount brushed off his sleeve. “I doubt anyone will miss it.”

  “I’m not so sure.” Emelia pointed at its previous location. “I suspect the person who wanted to cover that up will probably be a bit annoyed with you.”

  Mount turned and regarded the dark oblong his efforts had revealed, and the flight of worn stone steps leading down. “I’m guessing this isn’t going to be a case of ladies first?”

  “You’re absolutely right.” Emelia was peering into the darkness. “If I had my way it wouldn’t be ladies second, or third, or at all.”

  Mount produced a brass cigarette lighter. The flame gave the walls a smoky glow as he descended.

  “Come on!” Mount was already seven steps down. “These walls are absolutely fascinating—even to an ignoramus like myself!”

  “Always claiming you’re the muscle when there’s academic work to be done,” Emelia followed him down. “And always claiming you’re the academic when we get into a spot of physical bother.”

  “What was that?”

  “Nothing.” Emelia halted behind Mount and looked at the ancient rock, or rather the glyphs that had been carved into the damp stone. “Oh, wow.”

  “Any idea what they mean?”

  “These initial symbols suggest a city—there’s a multitude of stick figures and I’m guessing the oddly shaped boxes are meant to be buildings. But that doesn’t make sense.”

  Mount brought the flame closer to the rock. “Why not?”

  “The wavy lines at the top here suggest water, which would put this entire city deep beneath the sea.”

  “Like Atlantis?”

  Emelia nodded. “Or Lyonesse, the mythical place near Cornwall that is supposed to have sunk beneath the waves.”

  “We’re near the sea, and buildings are falling into it. I’d say your translation skills are pretty on the money so far. What else does it say?”

  Emelia guided the lighter as they slowly descended the steps. “The stick figures are worshipping something, and over time the worshippers seem to be changing shape.”

  “Does it say what they’re worshipping?”

  “No. Unless . . .” Emelia guided Mount back from the wall. “Hold the lighter up.”

  Mount did as he was told. When he saw what the flame revealed he almost dropped it. “Do you think it’s to scale?”

  “I think one is simply meant to be given the impression of something colossal and overwhelming.” Emelia’s voice had dried to a croak. “And that book upstairs said Morgawr—a sea serpent rumored to inhabit the bay near Falmouth.”

  “Cornwall again.” Mount was nodding. “But what would a Cornish sea monster, god or whatever it is, be doing here?”

  “Doesn’t have to be the same one, does it? Perhaps this one’s his brother.”

  “Or sister. Which means technically they could . . .” Mount shivered and the flame flickered “. . . do something that doesn’t bear thinking about.” He took two more steps down. “Looks like that’s it for the cartoons.”

  The steps had come to an end too, instead becoming a narrow sloping corridor of rough rock. Mount shielded the flame from water dripping from somewhere high above as they moved on. From time to time other, narrower passageways joined the one they were on.

  “Smugglers,” he said.

  “Pardon?”

  “Wouldn’t surprise me if this tunnel leads right down to the beach. Back in the day I bet it was used by smugglers.”

  “Whose descendants ended up as our friends in the pub.” Emelia was close behind. “It would make sense, especially if Morgawr helped them by wrecking some ships and protecting others. Plus, anyone not happy with the arrangement probably acted as a handy sacrifice.”

  “Sacrifices they’ve needed to start offering with far greater frequency. I wonder why?”

  “Maybe Morgawr has got hungrier. Or maybe . . .” Emelia fell silent as Mount came to the same realization.

  “. . . There are some little Morgawrs that need feeding.” Mount paused. “I have a sudden strong desire to turn back.”

  “And let others end up like Curtis and the rest? That’s what we’re here for, isn’t it? To stop all that?”

  “True.” Mount set off once more. “And, besides, we’d never live it down if the League learned we ran away from a case.”

  “You ran, you mean.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Nothing.”

  They proceeded the rest of the way in silence. Soon, they could hear waves in the distance. The sound got louder as the tunnel grew narrower.

  Mount was taking shallow breaths. “This is getting to be a bit of a squeeze.”

  “No more lobster for you, then.” But Emelia found herself having to turn sideways as well. “I’d be surprised if half those men in the pub would be able to fit through here.”

  Mount was having to breathe shallowly, but it didn’t stop him from talking. “I suspect it hasn’t been used in years. Like that church up there. Nowadays they probably drag victims straight from the town across the beach. After dressing them up in some kind of beastie-attracting costume.” Mount grunted as he came to an especially narrow bit. “Yes, I can’t imagine any of those portly chaps ever come through here.” With a major deep breath and one heroic squeeze he was through and into a much larger, wider, cavernous area.

  Where a large group of “those portly chaps” was waiting for them.

  Emelia was right behind him, and Mount had no time to tell her to stay where she was. She emerged from the darkness, saw their reception pa
rty and then Mount’s apologetic expression.

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “I doubt I’d have found my way back without the lighter anyway.”

  “Those tunnels stretch for miles beneath these hills,” said a familiar voice in the crowd. Trevelyan, the landlord, emerged from the croaking throng. “It’s unlikely you would have found your way out by yourself. I would have had to send in some of my regulars to find you. They can see especially well in the dark and the damp.”

  “But you don’t, do you?” Mount narrowed his eyes. “If you’ll forgive me, you don’t look . . . er . . . local.”

  “Cornish born and bred.” The landlord looked proud of the fact.

  “Ah. That explains a lot.”

  That caused raised eyebrows. “Does it?”

  Mount nodded. “Did you come here after Morgawr? Or did it follow you like an obedient pet?”

  “Mind your words, foolish unbeliever!” Mount had obviously hit a nerve. “He is a God. One of the Great Old Ones who came to this world eons ago. His power is ultimate, his glory infinite, his appetite unending.”

  “Yes, about his appetite.” That was Emelia. “It’s increased recently, hasn’t it?”

  Their silence gave her the answer.

  “Any idea why that might be?”

  Further silence, apart from some subdued croaking.

  “Oh goodness.” Mount looked at his partner. “I think we know something they don’t know.” He cleared his throat. “If I were you, I would stop giving food to your master and mistress before the entire family is big enough to come after you.”

  Trevelyan looked incensed. “Insolent fools! You hope to delay your death by uttering heresies! There is only one Morgawr! One Ruler Under the Sea of Dunwich!”

  Emelia turned to Mount. “Hermaphrodite?”

  Mount shrugged. “Or some kind of parthenogenesis. Either way, no one here realizes what could be coming.”

  “Prepare him!”

  Two of the locals slithered forward and grabbed Mount.

  “You see?” He shouted to Emelia as he was dragged across to the landlord. “It was me! I was right!”

  “Your partner will stay here, with us.” Now Trevelyan had produced a roughly woven costume displaying sigils similar to those on the scrap of material they had found on the beach. “She will make fine breeding stock.”

  “Well, you could certainly do with some.” Mount struggled as they pulled the foul-smelling sack over his head. “May I at least say goodbye to her? I mean, you have us surrounded here, so there’s no chance I’m going to escape.”

  The landlord nodded, and Mount was released. He looked uncharacteristically emotional as he extremely uncharacteristically took Emelia in his arms.

  “My darling,” he said. “All I can do is tell you one more time how much I love you.” Emelia felt something being slipped into her pocket. “And all I beg is that you do not forget me, nor all the little tokens I have given you as symbols of our love. Let those be your comfort in your time of greatest need.”

  “I won’t, my love.” Emelia joined in on the act. “I shall be thinking of you always and especially when you are . . . out there.”

  Mount gave her a nod and returned to his captors. “Gentlemen,” he sighed. “I am ready to meet my fate.”

  The assembled group moved around, separating Mount and Emelia and revealing an opening in the stone. Charcoal-colored sand stretched beyond, and there was something else. The light was changing, altering from the natural, gloomy daylight of an English seaside town. Instead, as Mount emerged from the crack in the rocks, he found himself bathed in an unnatural, violet light. He looked up, but could not identify the source. He knew one thing, though. The stars that glowed in the scarlet-smeared heavens were wrong. Very wrong.

  Mount looked out to sea. The water had changed too. There was an orange tint to it, and it was so clear that now he could see far beneath the waves and out to the horizon.

  Something very worrying was happening beneath those waves.

  Mount saw parts of the town. They must have fallen from the cliff’s edge into the water but, if so, the pieces had been remarkably preserved. They had also been used to build new structures.

  Even with his newfound vision, the city went so deep that Mount could only just make out the crooked towers, the ragged columns already becoming encrusted with sea-life. This vast temple was crowned with a gleaming spire, one that must have been harvested from the fallen debris of the church. Into that spire had been carved symbols. Mount couldn’t decipher them, but the longer he stared the more he felt madness encroaching, and so he looked away from the spire, looked deeper into the ocean, only to be filled with horror at what he saw.

  Something was moving in the temple depths.

  Or rather, somethings—wriggling creatures that looked tiny to him but were probably just deep, their appearance altered by the refraction. Like tadpoles with too many legs, or centipedes with lengthy, propellant tails, the school of monsters dipped and swam, split up into a snowstorm of individuals only to come together and coalesce once more.

  Mount would have studied them further, but he was distracted by a sound from behind him.

  The villagers had begun their unnatural chant. As they began to emerge from the cliffside, Mount looked back to the water—to the rippling effect that had now begun, as something vast and ancient and eternal answered. Answered, and began to come forth for its latest sacrifice.

  Time to run.

  Behind him, Trevelyan pointed toward the sea and screamed: “The Morgawr rises!”

  As Mount made his way across the beach, he tore at the garment, but it was as if tiny tentacles had wormed their way through the fabric of his suit and pierced his skin with iron barbs. Every tug sent electric shocks of pain through his body. The pain threatened to make him fall, and he couldn’t risk that.

  Then the ground vibrated with such force that he fell anyway.

  As he did, he turned and saw what was rising from the sea—a serpent bigger than any Mount could have imagined. Its green skin shone in the violet glow. Its many, multi-jointed limbs flailed at the air as its bulbous head swayed from side to side, two rows of eyes searching as feelers tasted for scent, and mandibles clicked hungrily.

  So it hadn’t found him yet.

  Good.

  Instead of running any farther and risk hitting the rocky ground near the coast road, Mount began to dig, frantically burying himself in the black sand.

  The creature was ashore now. It paused as it tasted the air.

  Come on, Emelia.

  The creature swung toward Mount, who was still desperately scrabbling, rolling in the dust, covering himself as best he could with the sooty granules. He didn’t dare stop.

  The head then swung away, toward the crevice from which the villagers had emerged.

  Where are you, Emelia?

  The creature gave a mighty roar of frustration as its prey continued to elude it. The silence which followed was broken by a solitary female voice.

  “Hey!”

  Ignored by the townsfolk until now, Emelia Shaver burst through the crowd and ran as close to the monster as she dared.

  “Hey! Morgawr!” She took the item that Mount had given her from her pocket and waved it in the air. “Is this what you want?”

  The creature, its patience already tested by the lack of a victim, swung toward both her and the townsfolk behind her.

  “Come and get it then, boy! Come on!”

  Morgawr took one giant step forward. The ground shook, as did the villagers, paralyzed and confused by this turn of events.

  Emelia waved the material and took a step back. “Good boy! Come on! Thatsaboy!”

  The monster reared back, gave another roar and prepared to thrust itself at her.

  Just as Emelia shoved the fraying scrap of material into Trevelyan’s shirt pocket and delivered a karate chop that brought the landlord to his knees.

  Then she ran.

  Not along the beach
, but back into the cave, where she squeezed herself into the tunnel and waited.

  The cries were awful, but they didn’t last long. She knew Morgawr’s unexpectedly vast meal was over (or that what was left was being taken back to feed the family) when she heard the noise of something very large and fleshy hitting the water. She waited until the sounds had completely subsided before venturing out.

  Mount was at the far end of the beach, brushing normal-looking sand from his suit. The sacrificial outfit was in tatters.

  “I say we hang onto it, though,” he said. “I’m sure the CID boys will want to have some fun with it.”

  Emelia slapped sand from his shoulders and coughed. “Well done for remembering that scrap of sacrificial gown you picked up earlier, but I’m afraid you get points deducted for that terrible performance.”

  Mount had his jacket off now and was shaking it out. “Purely for their benefit, Miss Shaver, and it seemed to go down well, didn’t it?”

  “All I’ll say is that I wouldn’t give up the day job.” She looked up. “The beach is normal again!”

  Mount nodded. “Everything changed as soon as Morgawr went back beneath the surface of the waves. My betting is if we sent a deep-sea dive team down there now, they wouldn’t find anything. What I saw most likely only exists in a parallel dimension brought on by the chanting of the ex-inhabitants of Dunwich.” He pulled his jacket back on and grimaced. Emelia guessed it was still rather gritty. “But we can leave that for more experienced individuals than ourselves to look into.”

  “And what did you see?”

  Mount jumped up and down to make one last valiant attempt to rid himself of the grains of sand. “That, my dear Miss Shaver, can wait for a lavish meal at the League’s expense, one which I feel we have earned and which, most importantly, will not contain any seafood.”

  FIVE

  The Shadow Over the Moon

  Prologue

  THIS MESSAGE IS FOR Jocelyn Peabody. Joe—that is, Colonel Joe Muldoon—and Professor Dyer, I am trusting you to pass it on, as appropriate.