by Rick Dakan
“Yes.”
“That he has marked her with the Elder Sign seems to me quite a serious matter.”
“The Elder Sign? Is that what the branch-like symbol is supposed to be? I thought Elder Signs were pentagrams with a flame in the center.” In the game Call of Cthulhu those signs were like crosses to vampires and were common decorative motifs in the game books.
“That is a later perversion of the original symbol Lovecraft describes, a product of the baser, more sensationalist Lovecraft fans of the modern era. No, the original Elder Sign appears in Lovecraft’s letters and is, as you say, somewhat branch- or arrow-like. And it is not a sigil of protection by any means, as some mistakenly think, but more in line with a kind of brand or seal. I can only assume that by tattooing this symbol on his followers, Shelby is either claiming them for himself or, more darkly, somehow marking them for the Great Old Ones.”
“Jesus,” I said. “I knew as soon as I saw that tattoo on Cara that it was a bad sign.”
“Signs and symbols have power, Mr. Dakan. From this encoded message of your friend’s, I can tell that he knows this fact very well indeed. They work on both our conscious and unconscious minds, and while the Western world has given over much of our symbology to the complex and versatile letters of our languages, there are ancient and much more primitive symbols that can work directly on our minds. You mentioned Kym. Is this the African consort that Shelby has taken whom I’ve read about in various online descriptions of the Cthulhu Cult event? Do you think it’s possible he might have fallen under her influence perhaps?”
“I don’t know if he’s influencing her or she’s influencing him.”
“Nor do I of course, but we’ve seen through time the power that dark women can have over sensitive men. Lovecraft’s ‘The Thing on the Doorstep’ is an eloquent warning against such perils. Do you recall the story?”
“Not entirely, no.” I’d tried to read it recently but just couldn’t get into it. I found it to be one of Lovecraft’s weaker efforts.
“I suggest you study it closely. It may have something useful to help guide you in your dealings with your friend. I’ll summarize briefly only by saying it tells the tale of a wife who not only dominates her husband’s mind, as wives are wont to do, but eventually even his body. Now, while such magical transformations are surely not possible, there are powerful psychological techniques, some of them quite ancient, that can achieve similar results.”
Was that it? Was Kym somehow controlling Shelby’s mind? That didn’t seem quite right to me — Shelby had always been such a strong personality, and he didn’t seem to have lost any of his old fire. If anything, Kym seemed a lot like him. But perhaps there was something to what Sinclair was saying. Perhaps they had discovered some sort of mind-control techniques. Was that how they recruited Cara? Which raised another question in my mind.
“When we first talked you mentioned that Lovecraft was very influenced by dreams. And I know dreams are important in ‘The Call of Cthulhu’ and some of the other stories. Is there anything in Lovecraft about sending dreams to haunt or curse people?” I couldn’t quite bring myself to say out loud the nascent suspicion that Shelby and Kym somehow sent Conrad’s dream.
“Oh yes, yes. There’s quite a lot. The whole Dream Cycle, including the epic Dream Quest of Unknown Kadath. Why do you ask?”
“Well, my friend Conrad had a pretty vivid nightmare after we had a kind of run-in with Shelby’s followers.”
“Oh my, that is alarming. If you’d like, I can do a little more research on the matter for you. And do give ‘The Thing on the Doorstep’ a read. I think you might find it useful. Anything else I can do to help in the matter, please don’t hesitate to ask. There is just one thing, though. If it’s not too much trouble, I was wondering if perhaps I could examine your hand made copy of the Manifesto. They’re quite hard to come by it seems, and I’d dearly love to examine one up close. Who knows what other secrets it might hold, eh?”
I was loathe to part with mine, but I didn’t see how I could refuse him flat out after all the help he’d given me. Besides, there might be other secrets hidden in its pages that he could uncover. “I think I can arrange that. Maybe I can even get you a copy for yourself. I’ll get back to you.”
“That would be wonderful,” Sinclair crooned. “I’ll speak with you again soon.
Now I had a date, place, and time where I knew Shelby and his cult were going to be. It was outside the compound, so I might have a better chance to interact with them. I put in another call to Conrad and left yet another message. He was going to want to hear about this.
After a lot of arguing back and forth over the next few days, Conrad and I finally agreed that we would both go to the meeting at the Hippo House. I thought he should hang back out of sight, maybe wait outside in the car in case I needed help, because his presence might provoke Shelby in some way. Although the red marks had faded after a few days, Conrad said he continued to have disturbing dreams about the pond and whatever might be lurking in it. It was obvious from the bags under his eyes that he wasn’t getting much sleep at all. Exhausted and on edge, I thought it was more than likely that he’d lose his cool and blow up at Shelby, and that didn’t seem like a good idea. But Conrad insisted that he might not get another chance to see Shelby anytime soon, and he’d become convinced that Shelby had something to do with his dreams. When I’d made the mistake of telling him about the connection between Lovecraft’s stories and dreams, he’d grown even more certain that Shelby was somehow causing them. He swore up and down that he would be on his best behavior until we knew for sure what was going on, and since there was no way I could actually stop him from coming along, I figured it was better to move forward together.
The Hippo House is an old (by Sarasota standards) split-level, flat-roofed home built in the mid-1950s. It is surrounded by palm trees, an oak, and several large stands of bamboo. The famous hippos were two white stone sculptural pieces sunk into the grass of the front yard — life-sized hippopotamuses, or the top halves of them anyway, that looked like they were swimming in a lake of grass. Created by some art student at least a decade ago, they were chipped, stained, and had been repainted multiple colors on multiple occasions, but I thought they looked best as they were now, in their original white. The Hippo House is just a few blocks from the Ringling Museum of Art, and is actually less than a mile from Shelby’s old place on Indian Point Drive. Pulling up in front of the place with Conrad by my side created eerie resonances with that nasty night a year before, especially because most of the other guests seemed once again to be college-age men and women. They were all lined up outside the front door to the house, although instead of the New College hippie-chic style, most of these were more obviously art school kids, with more black and vintage clothing than dreadlocks and baggy hemp blouses. There was also a good mix of what I’d describe as typical gamer or comics geeks, and I saw one guy wearing a Miskatonic University T-shirt, so he was probably a real Lovecraft fan (Miskatonic being the fictional university that plays a role in many of Lovecraft’s stories). It was also a smaller crowd than previous events — no more than a couple dozen people.
Most of us parked along the street, as the driveway was filled to capacity. Conrad pointed to a large white conversion van and said, “That’s theirs. I’ve seen it going in and out of the compound.” I recognized it from the surveillance photos he’d shown me. The line of people waiting to get in snaked halfway down the driveway, and we took our place at the end. Neither of us said anything; instead we both tried to eavesdrop on the conversations around us. Most of it was trivial and uninteresting, although I did see that several people near the front of the line had brought their own handmade copies of the Cthulhu Manifesto. I wondered if I should have brought mine and if we would need the key to decode any more ciphers.
At 9:00 p.m. exactly, the front door opened. A young, slender woman with glasses wearing a simple black dress stood there and said, “Hi guys. Welcome to the, um, Ch
urch of Starry Wisdom event. I’m Emmie and I live here, so if you need anything, please ask. Just come on in and find a seat anywhere, and we’ll start in a few minutes, OK?” I was sort of startled at how mundane and simple she made it all seem. The line started to file into the house.
When Conrad and I were about five people from the front entrance, I heard a door open behind us. Conrad tapped my shoulder and said, “Look.” Two young men dressed in black pants and black T-shirts were carrying a large plastic storage container from the house to the van. They’d apparently exited through some side door. “That one in front is the guy Ash. I met him the first night I had dinner over at Shelby’s place,” Conrad whispered. I nodded. I’d seen the guy at the compound on one of my visits as well, but I hadn’t known his name.
“He looks kind of pissed off,” I said. Ash’s face was grim, his brows furrowed as he hefted the heavy container into the back of the van.
“Yeah. I wonder why.”
We had no time to figure it out at that moment, as it was our turn to step inside the house. Now things started to get a little creepy. The perfectly normal living room was quite spacious, made all the more so because all the furniture had been removed. Looking through the space deeper into the house I could see a large sofa and love seat combo stacked in the dining room beyond. Cushions and pillows lined three of the four sides of the room and a mishmash of contrasting Persian rugs covered the floor. The sickly sweet smell of incense coming from braziers hanging in each of the four corners flooded my nose and my eyes started to tear up a little. Most of the pillows were taken, but Conrad and I found two places near the front door and took our seats. Everyone else in the room was chattering in low, excited voices, eager to see what was going to happen next. I’m sure all of them had heard stories about the art opening or had even been there themselves, so they no doubt expected something shocking.
Emmie stood next to a closed door that I assumed led into a bedroom and lowered the lights until it was almost too dim to see. Then music started playing from the other room — the same sort of atonal stuff they’d played at the art show ritual. We all sat on our cushions and watched the doorway in the opposite wall in expectation. The music reached a now familiar crescendo and then cut off. The door opened and out walked Kym, dressed in a long, flowing black dress, her hair tied back in a tight bun that, combined with her makeup, accented her cheekbones and gave her a very severe look. Her only other adornment was a gold charm hanging around her neck. It looked like a metal version of the same pentagram and flaming eye sigils we’d received at the art show.
Two robed figures followed Kym out from behind the door. One I recognized from outside as the person helping Ash load the heavy box into the van. The other was Cara. I sat up straighter and tried to catch her eye, but she remained focused on her role in whatever was about to happen. They each carried a large, black velvet bag, much like the one Kym and Shelby had used at the art show ritual. They took up positions flanking the door, while Emmie took a seat on a cushion that someone had been saving for her. And that was it. No Shelby. At least not yet.
Conrad leaned over and whispered in my ear, “Where the fuck is Shelby?” All I could do was shrug. I had no idea.
Kym strode into the center of the room and then did the most surprising thing of all — she smiled. It lit up the room and stripped away all the severity in her look. It was a sophisticated, charming smile full of confidence and warmth. “Thank you all so much for coming here tonight. It’s wonderful to see you. Wonderful and impressive. The mere fact that you found this meeting is a testament to both your intellect and your commitment. Or at least to the fact that you’ve got smart friends who told you where and when to show up.” The crowd laughed at her little joke, and looking around I saw a few embarrassed smiles and good-natured ribbing from friends.
“However you arrived here, you’re all welcome. I just hope those of you who tagged along have some idea what you’re really in for.” She winked. “It could be quite an experience.”
Kym moved back to the front of the room and stood in front of the doorway from which she’d emerged so that she could see everyone at once. “Welcome, then, to the Church of Starry Wisdom. My name is Kym, and I’m what I guess you would call one of the High Priestesses of our church. And yes, we really are a church, registered with the State of Florida and the U.S. government. That means if you want to tip me at the end, it’s tax deductible.” There were some mild chuckles from the audience. “But don’t worry, we may be a church, but there’s not going to be any talk of saving your soul or bringing you to Jesus. As a matter of fact, since we know there’s no such thing as either an immortal soul or a divine Jesus, you won’t hear much about them at all. Same for Muhammad, Buddha, Moses, Vishnu, Thor, Zeus, and any other made up deity you’d care to name. They are all, each and every one of them, a pack of lies.”
Several people cheered and clapped at this, and the approval became contagious and soon the whole room was clapping. Kym smiled again, “I can see I’m talking to the right people. Now, of course there’s no way you should take my word for it. You shouldn’t take anyone’s word for anything, not without proof to back them up. But fear not, friends, we have the proof. We know the truth. And we’re more than willing to share it with you. But first things first, I need to find out if you’re all actually willing to learn it. So are you? Are you willing to learn the truth?” She cocked her head slightly to the left, awaiting a response.
A number of us replied immediately, saying yes, myself among them. I certainly wanted to know the truth, although probably not the “truth” Kym was trying to sell. But Kym didn’t seem satisfied with our response. “Come, come now,” she said, her voice light but a little chiding. “After all the effort you went through to find me here, surely you’re a little more interested then that. So, are you in fact ready for the facts?”
“Yes!” the crowd cried this time, their enthusiasm filling the room.
“No matter what those facts might be?” Kym asked.
“Yes!” we shouted again.
“Even if these truths strip away all the comfortable illusions that have kept you sane your entire lives?”
“Yes!” the room answered a final time, although with a little less energy.
“Some of you had to think about that one, eh? Well, that’s good. This isn’t a journey one should enter into lightly. So let me tell you the first truth. I don’t believe it. I don’t believe any of you. Oh sure, you say it. You shout yes. But how hard is it to get a crowd of eager volunteers to shout ‘yes’ to anything I say up here? Not that hard. So before we get too much farther into things, I’m going to need some real evidence that you’re all ready.”
Kym held out her left hand and Cara stepped forward and opened up her black bag. She reached in and pulled out an ornate, blue and gold glass bottle and handed it to Kym. She held out her right hand and the other man stepped forward and opened his bag. Kym pulled out a large, silver chalice, very much like the kind I remembered from my churchgoing youth. “Science and invention are wonderful things,” said Kym. “They are the engines for enlightenment, the lenses through which we can view true reality. And scientific exploration has been going on for as long as humanity has had the capacity for reflective thought. When someone says ‘science,’ most of us think of modern laboratories and men and women in white coats. And that’s fine — those scientists are heroes, without a doubt. But science is a process of building on past discoveries, and some of the most important ones are quite ancient indeed. One such discovery is in this vessel.” She raised bottle. “And now we’re all going to share it. And in sharing it, help open our minds to the truths I have to tell.”
She held the bottle up next to the chalice and then slowly poured it out into it. The dark liquid that flowed out was brown and thick, closer to a loose syrup than the wine or liquor I was expecting. “I’m not going to tell you what this is,” Kym said as she finished filling the chalice. “But I will have the first drink.”
She brought it to her lips and took a healthy drought of the stuff, wiping her lips in satisfaction as she lowered the chalice. She blinked once, then again as if to clear her vision and I thought I could see her wobble a little on her feet. “That’s the stuff,” she said, and smiled. “Whoa… ”
Cara stepped forward to steady her. Kym handed the chalice to her male follower, who moved to where our host Emmie was seated at the end of her row of cushions. “Now please,” Kym said, licking her lips. “I want you all to think for a moment. This is a potent brew we’ve prepared for you here. I will not tell you what’s in it, but I might suggest that if you have any allergic conditions that can be life threatening, you might not want to drink it.” Like a priest at mass, Kym’s follower served Emmie a sip from the chalice. Her face screwed up in obvious distaste, but then she leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes, her body reacting.
Kym, still a little wobbly on her feet, leaned on her other acolyte for support and was starting to slur her words. “Just sit back and let the liquid flow through your body. Oh, my, it’s a wonderful little kick as it spreads out to every nerve ending. You’re going to feel the effects almost immediately, and it’s important that you embrace the feeling,” she said, closing her eyes and running a hand up and down her neck. “It reminds me of that kind of wonderful, warm glow of an orgasm, but spread out long and slow over minutes instead of seconds. Not as intense all at once, but an all-body pleasure seeping out through every nerve ending.”
“Oh, it feels wonderful,” Emmie said from her seat. “It’s just like you described it — the most wonderful, drunken tingling.”
“That’s it. That’s the feeling. This is as good as anything you’ve ever had. Like the best high you can imagine.”
The acolyte with the chalice continued to make his way around the room, giving sips to each of the two dozen attendees. I couldn’t for the life of me imagine what exactly might be in the cup, but if it was that effective, it wasn’t legal. I wondered if I should actually take a sip or just pretend when my turn came. We were last in line, so maybe we’d get lucky and they’d run out before I had to make a decision. I glanced to my left at Conrad, but his eyes were fixed on Kym and the doorway behind her, as if he expected Shelby to come out at any moment. So far Kym hadn’t made any sign that acknowledged either of us being there. I couldn’t see how she might have missed us, so either she was ignoring us or was so caught up in her own thoughts, that she wasn’t paying any real attention. Judging by how she could barely stand, I wouldn’t have been surprised if she was now too out of it to care.