Nathrotep

by William H. Nelson

  “What about your father?” he asked, adding a notation to her file. “I know he’s not with you anymore, but what do you remember about him?”

  “Actually, I don’t remember him at all. He’s... he’s just always been gone. The only memories I have are the pictures he left behind...”

  “But surely you remember something?” he pressed, setting aside the clipboard. “Your mother tells me he passed away when you were about five years old. Even I can remember things from when I was five. I know it must be painful, but please try; it could be very important to solving your problem.”

  “I’m sorry, doctor, but I really don’t remember him.” Shaking her head, she ran a slim hand back through her hair. “I’d tell you if I did, but I can’t recall a thing about him. In fact, I can remember when I was six. My mother and I used to play dress-up together. She had this marvelous trunk of old clothes. You know, all sorts of outdated hats, robes, dresses and things. I remember how much fun it was to walk around in front of the mirror with all those big people’s clothes on. We even had little tea parties with imaginary friends and everything. That’s one of the earliest memories I have.”

  They began to talk about her past, her social life, even her friendships. Williams was trying hard to find some clue as to the cause of the nightmares by letting her talk through her memories, hopes, and feelings, but he was coming up empty-handed. There just wasn’t anything there to justify the horrendous images she had described. It was beginning to frustrate him.

  The only thing he could conclude was that there could be some kind of mental block associated with the lack of memories from her earliest years. Maybe there was a connection, but he was getting nowhere with conventional methods. He was, however, starting to understand and to like this young woman, and he wanted to help her in any way that he could. Drugs were out; he didn’t think her condition warranted such drastic measures. And he was also hesitant to send her to another of his colleagues. He would have to try something himself.

  “Robin,” he said after he had learned all he could from their conversation, “I would like you to consider hypnosis. Now, I know that sounds a little phony, and maybe a bit scary, but it’s really quite simple, and it would help me to understand these blank spots in your memory.”

  “But that doesn’t make any sense!” Robin exclaimed, sitting forward in the chair. “How can you help me with hypnosis? I saw a guy on cable television make another guy act like a chicken once. I don’t want to be a chicken...”

  “Calm down, Robin,” he replied, getting to his feet and coming around the desk to sit next to her and take her hand. “I won’t make you do anything silly or plant suggestions in your head to make you feel like a barnyard animal. I just want to take you back a little way into your past and try to find out what your childhood was like. I am fully qualified, and I’m bound by my Hippocratic oath not to pry into your private thoughts.”

  “Hypnosis? Are you sure that this is the only way? Isn’t there something else you could do?”

  “Well, there are other things we could try,” he said, leaning back and pushing his glasses higher up on his nose. “I could prescribe medication that would help you sleep more soundly, which I hesitate to do in your case. It could do more harm than good, and it’s not the best method for facing this problem. Or, I could put you into a sleep study, which I’m sure would be uncomfortable for you and your mother; any visit to a hospital can rack up a serious bill. However, I think this will be a much easier way to rid you of these dreams. I’ll simply take you back in time to see what lies in your earlier childhood, then, after discerning the cause of your nightmares, I’ll plant a suggestion in your mind that will help block them until we can work through it. It’s really quite simple.”

  “Don’t we need my mom’s permission for something like that?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.

  “This is a simple procedure,” he reasserted with calm certainty. “I’ve done it many times with other patients in similar situations. There’s no risk involved at all. You’re over the age of consent, so I can assure you that we won’t need your mother’s permission in this particular case. And the worst thing you could expect to happen would be dizziness or a mild headache afterward. I’ll be very careful that we don’t cause you any more anxiety or additional stress. It’s really quite safe.”

  “Well... okay,” she managed, “if you’re sure it will work...”

  Reaching into his pocket, he dug around for a moment, and then pulled out a large, valuable-looking pocket watch. “Nice, isn’t it,” he asked, holding it out to her with a smile. “It was given to me by my grandfather. Look inside.”

  She opened the front panel. It was made of silver and the face had Roman numerals instead of conventional numbers. There was even a small, ivory cross set in the back of the polished metal cover. The engraving read, ‘Go with God, my Grandson’ and was signed in a flowery script – Donald E. Williams. Closing it, she handed it back, dangling it from the thick, golden chain.

  “It’s beautiful,” she breathed, unable to take her eyes off it.

  He began to swing it in front of her, talking in a light, comforting tone. She leaned back in the chair, already beginning to feel more relaxed.

  Williams noticed this and continued his soft dialogue.

  “Your mind is at rest... as you follow the watch, you are traveling toward contentment... keep your eyes on the watch... you can feel yourself floating... your eyes are feeling heavier and want to close... let your body sink down as your muscles relax... breathe deeply, now... that’s right...”

  Soon, her eyes fluttered closed, and she was completely under. He leaned forward.

  “Robin, can you hear me?”

  “Yes...” came the whispered response.

  “Good. Now, we’re going to go back, back to when you were five. Remember the watch, Robin? Can you see the hands of the watch?”

  “Yes...”

  “Good. The hands are moving backward and time is moving back as well. The hands are spinning faster and faster each minute, and, as they move backward, so do the years of your life. You are taken back to when you were five. Are you with me, Robin? You are five years old...”

  But Robin was already twisting about in the chair, moaning and whimpering like a small child. As he bent over her in growing concern, her body went into convulsions, the muscles jumping and twitching while spittle flew from her lips. Williams tried to talk her down, assuring her again and again that she was all right, that he was there with her and that she was safe, but it had no effect. She gibbered and thrashed, lashing out at his unprotected face as he moved to keep her from hurting herself. Then, her eyes snapped open and he lost all control of his voice; the eyes were solid, startling red, and completely lacking pupils.

  “Robin?” he managed to whisper.

  Jerking up off the chair, her distorted face split into a wicked grin as a harsh, guttural language erupted from her quivering lips.

  “P’eran, ocktol’lo fiat! Aiieea! Aiieea! Nathrotep! Encudus, ick too dot unum sancredo’ro! Nathrotep... Nathrotep! She will be ours!”

  Her arms moved through sinuous contortions as her small body lurched forward, backing him into a corner. Surveying the room, her now crimson-colored eyes passed over the desk, bookshelves, and other items, to come to rest upon the doctor. A low, throaty hiss issued forth from her sneering mouth.

  Cowering away from that evil stare, he frantically searched his mind for some way to save himself. As she staggered closer, her features contorted with animalistic savagery, he threw up his arms in an instinctive effort to protect himself. The watch, still clutched in his trembling fingers, snapped open, and the thing that now inhabited Robin let out a low sibilation of purest hatred.

  As this horrid sound washed over him, he was knocked back into the bookshelves by a sudden, concussive force. Close to losing the last shred of his sanity, his mind spun in circles, his remaining thoughts scampering away like so many frightened rabbits. Still holding the
watch out in front of him, he smelled ozone, felt his hand go numb, and then explode with a searing pain. Dropping the timepiece with an involuntary cry, he collapsed to the floor, clutching at his wrist and partially swooning in agony. For a few brief moments, the world grew dim, and he was lost to the darkness.

  5

  As quickly as it had begun, it was over. As he shook the cobwebs from his mind, he forced his eyes to refocus on Robin, his breath coming in short, sobbing gasps. She was laying halfway off the chair, her face as innocent and serene as it’d been but moments before. He drew in a deep, steadying breath, gathering his intellect, then wrestled himself back into control by sheer force of will. It was not easy. As he regained his composure, he realized that the girl’s mother must never know what had happened here, and reminded himself, with no small amount of relief, that the office had been soundproofed for patient confidentiality.

  It took him only moments to decide what needed to be done.

  Moving to the chair, he resettled Robin, wiped the spittle from her chin, and arranged her limp body into a more comfortable position. Then, he hastened to straighten up the more obvious things that had been knocked about. He was just finishing when she regained consciousness.

  “W-what happened? I feel so strange...”

  Williams could only stare at her in disbelief.

  “What’s wrong? You look pretty upset...”

  “What?... Oh! Nothing. Nothing at all,” he said, pulling his thoughts back into order. “I guess we’ll have to go with those sleeping pills after all, just until we have a better understanding of these... these dreams of yours...”

  She peered at him in shocked amazement; he looked like hell and he was contradicting himself. What could have happened while she was hypnotized? Actually, it didn’t really feel like she’d been hypnotized. Maybe he hadn’t been able to put her under to begin with, and she said as much.

  He looked at her with haunted eyes, then agreed. He had not been able to put her into a receptive, hypnotic state after all.

  “Send your mother in, please,” he finished in a hollow voice. “I’ll discuss this further with her and prescribe a mild sedative. That should do the trick, I think. Yes, that will do quite nicely.”

  She was puzzled, but hoped she would get the chance to talk to him again. It felt good to get a few things off her chest, and he’d treated her more like an equal instead of some young kid. She only wished she could figure out why he’d been so different there at the end. Maybe he was upset about not being able to hypnotize her. Shrugging, she left the room.

  As the door swung closed, Williams sagged back against the desk. He was grateful she hadn’t noticed the faint, acrid odor hanging in the air. Glancing down, his eyes fixated on a smoldering object on the ground. His self-control wavered as he looked from the large burn on his hand to the lump of melted slag that had once been his ivory inlaid watch. As Robin’s mother entered the room, he kicked it under the desk. It left a small burnt patch on the polished mahogany floor.

  “You seem a bit shaken, doctor,” Ms. LePrade observed, her voice high with suppressed emotion. “Can you tell me what’s the matter with my daughter?”

  “Nothing... nothing at all...” he replied succinctly. “Just a familiar case of, um... adolescent bad dreams. It’s quite normal, really. I’ll prescribe a sedative. Nothing strong, you understand, just a little something to help her sleep.” Returning to his desk, he bent down and scribbled out the prescription. “If these nightmares persist, have her take two of these. And, Ms. LePrade – watch her. Watch her closely.”

  Carol searched his haggard features as she took the small slip of paper. Nodding to herself as if she’d reached some kind of inner conclusion, she turned and stalked out of the office. He didn’t even notice; as the door closed behind her, Dr. Barnaby Williams fell to his knees, grabbed the small, plastic trash can, and was very, very ill.

  “Hello?”

  “Robin, why weren’t you in school today?”

  It was Kelly. At least, Robin thought it was Kelly; the pills were stronger than she’d anticipated and the room seemed to be spinning out of focus. She knew she couldn’t keep her eyes open for very much longer, so she struggled to tell her friend about her visit to the doctor. The details were a bit fuzzy, due to the effects of the drug, but Kelly seemed to understand.

  “Well, you get some rest and I’ll see you tomorrow. Be sure to ask your mom about the slumber party; it’s gonna be great! I’ve got something special planned. Don’t forget. See ya!”

  As Kelly hung up, Robin began her descent into unconsciousness. As she drifted toward sleep, she could feel the tendrils of the nightmare reaching out to ensnare her. For a few brief moments, she struggled against it. Then the pills enfolded her in their dark embrace, and she knew no more.

  Zak was furious. The entire night was a complete waste! Cursing, he rose from the center of the diagram. Above him, spread out in unnatural clarity, the pathways lay open, shimmering and pulsing as he vented his rage to the heavens. The roof of the ancient dwelling no longer impeded his sight; his new friends had shown him the way, taught him the words. Now, however, the words weren’t working.

  Reaching down, he snatched up the worm-eaten tome from the floor, careful not to lose his place. Within the moldering old book he had found the ancient rituals of power and, for the past several nights, they had made it possible for him to do what was needed. Now, she seemed to be resisting all his efforts!

  Snarling, he refocused on the entities inhabiting the realms beyond. They answered in their own guttural tongues, snaring his chaotic thought patterns and drawing him upward once more, teaching him, showing him the passages of the stars, pulling him through the wanderings of his own dementia, and placing him again onto the pathways of towering darkness. Once more, he sent tendrils of ancient energy out toward the child, but she was... inaccessible. He begged and pleaded, tempting and cajoling them, but the creatures refused to lend him any more of their inexhaustible strength. Bellowing out in frustration, he scratched long gouges of flesh from his already battered visage, raging from within the confines of the intricately drawn pattern.

  As his anger spent itself, he slumped to the floor in defeat, letting the portal close; the child had resisted him a final time. Even with all the power he’d gained from the Kitab al Azif he was still unable to reach her. Up until now, the document had been his key, his gateway into the depths of her slumbering mind. Now, he realized he would need more than just the feeble materials he’d been using – more blood, more power. Yes, he would need much more! It had all been going so well, yet now something was hampering his efforts. Perhaps she’d figured out a way to escape the images he’d been channeling. In any event, his new friends would know what to do.

  From out of the corner of his eye, he saw something stirring the debris that littered the far reaches of the room. The things that walk between had departed, leaving him to himself and his new companions. A nervous twitter escaped him. Oh, yes! They could really sneak up on you! Slithering through the glowing mists, they whispered and snuffled, flowing and flapping toward him. He’d had lots of practice with hallucinations, but this was different; these images didn’t go away in the blink of an eye or a shake of the head. Oh, no! They stayed around to get to know you! Not that it bothered him; they were his friends, his new friends, and, anyhow, his life had been so empty until they’d appeared. Giggling in delight, he allowed their feelings to fill him once more, letting the miasma of their thoughts seep into the spaces of his naked self.

  The exchange was brief and, as the beings left him, he felt reinvigorated. His friends would provide what was needed; they would show him the way.

  A noise distracted him from his silent musing. Snapping his head around, he focused on the large, jagged hole that he’d torn in the side of the attic wall. There, a diminutive figure, swaddled in shadows, was dancing silhouetted in the outline of the rupture. The splintered, fractious maw of the portal outlined the desiccated, leather
y shape with ominous clarity. It was his first ‘born’ child.

  And he was juggling.

  Zak laughed, latching on to the astounding scene with the keen observance of a captive audience. His son was scampering and dancing about, juggling three whirling, white spheres. Leaning forward, he peered through the hazy darkness of the room, beginning to laugh harder as he caught onto the significance of the jugglery. The beautiful, white whirling balls were skulls. Very small skulls, to be sure, but skulls nonetheless. Delightful!

  He knew what it meant. It meant ‘two, by one, means three.’

  Pulling the dirty black robes tighter about his lithe frame, he leaned forward and then carefully placed the book in the center of the diagram. Getting to his feet, he climbed through the hole and crossed the shadowy attic heading for the stairs. He knew he had better hurry; he didn’t want to miss all the fun! Chortling to himself, he hurried down the hall, his hideous son scampering along beside him.

  6

  Day Three

  Friday, April 29th, 1988

  Mark Cook burrowed his hands deeper into the pockets of his denim jacket as he stared at the dilapidated old house. It was much bigger than he’d expected, the flaking, gray walls clawing their way up to the archaic, gabled roof in a grasping attempt to form an impressive, if not altogether sound-looking abode. He felt the light touch of goose bumps drawing across his skin as he stood scowling at the sinister spires and turrets. There was something tugging at the back of his mind, an undefinable tingle of warning perhaps, but he sealed himself off from the nagging uneasiness. He would let nothing distract him from his chosen task. There was too much riding on this for him to fail.

  Pulling out a joint, he leaned back against a gravestone. Then, after snagging a lighter from his back pocket, he sparked the doobie to life, still eyeballing the structure in mild trepidation. Inhaling deeply, he allowed a slow smile to creep across his rugged features as he passed the spliff off to Rob.