Cthulhu Mythos Writers Sampler 2013

by Various Writers

  The skipper finally noticed that Noble was there. The older man had aged visibly since that morning. His eyes were red with new tears.

  “Only six left,” he said softly. “Six from fourteen.”

  “Nobody else made it?”

  The skipper shook his head.

  “We never saw them coming. They came up out of the sea like whales coming up for air. One second there weren’t nothing but sky and water, the next the sea was full of… full of things.”

  He went back to staring out over the scene.

  “What have we got into John? What the hell have we gotten ourselves into?”

  Nobody answered.

  “I got out a mayday,” the skipper said, talking to himself. ‘Don’t know if anyone heard us, but I got out a call. And I done cut the engines… we was just burning fuel and going nowhere. All we can do is keep at the radio. Keep at it and hope someone hears us.”

  Susie replied first.

  “Bugger the radio, We still have the satellite connection in the lab. Hell, we can get anyone we want in seconds online.”

  The skipper shook his head.

  “I ain’t sending anyone down below. We ain’t got no way of knowing if those things are down there.”

  Noble hefted the axe.

  “I’ll take that chance. We need to get someone out here to rescue us.”

  The skipper hardly noticed as Noble led Susie off the bridge.

  As they descended the main stairs to the lab and crew quarters Noble realized just how quiet the vessel had become. Normally, even when they were at anchor, there was a buzz around the boat, the slap of feet on deck or the sound of three different stereo systems vying for supremacy. Today there was nothing, not even any whistle of wind from outside.

  Susie refused to let go of his hand all the way to the lab. She jumped once when they passed an exterior door, but it was securely closed, and there was no noise from the other side. But when they reached the lab and closed the door behind them, she loosened visibly -- not enough to let go of his hand, but enough that it didn’t feel like it had been clamped in a vise.

  “Over here,” she said, and led him to the desk where the laptop computer sat. It was only then that she let go of his hand. He started to move away, to check on the door, but she grabbed at him like a drowning man after a life-belt and pulled him close.

  “Please,” she said. “Don’t leave me.”

  Noble watched as she called up the coastguard in Hawaii. The man at the other end wouldn’t believe her at first. Not until Noble dragged over the petri-dish containing the remnants of the tar they’d collected earlier. He held it up to the web-cam. As if on cue it started to ooze and coalesce.

  The web-cam looked at the tar.

  And the tar looked back.

  A single, lidless eye, pale green and milky, stared out from a new fold in the protoplasm.

  An audible gasp came from the coastguard at the other end.

  “Do you have engine power?” he asked finally, dragging his gaze from the eye.

  “No,” Susie said. By now she was shouting. “Just get some help to us. And fast. People are dying here.”

  The man left his seat, leaving Susie and Noble looking at a view of an empty office at the other end.

  “Now we wait,” Noble said.

  Susie turned her gaze to the petri-dish.

  The eye stared back at her.

  From outside a sound broke the quiet -- high pitched, like a flock of gulls after a shoal of fish. But it was as if words could be heard in the din -- the same words, repeated over and over.

  Tekeli-Li. Tekeli-Li.

  Susie went pale.

  She turned back to the laptop, fingers frantically dancing over the keyboard as she searched for information.

  “What is it?” Noble asked, but she was too busy to reply. After several minutes she sat back in her chair.

  “It can’t be,” she whispered.

  “Suzie,” he said softly. “Just tell me.”

  She pointed at the screen.

  “Remember last year, I went on the survey to Antarctica?” She didn’t pause for an answer. “We sat up late one night, as you do, drinking rum and telling stories. Talk got around to the Pabodie Expedition in the early thirties.”

  “Wasn’t there some kind of mass delusion on that one?”

  Her eyes were wide. “So everyone thought at the time. But the story goes that they discovered an ancient city under the ice. A city built by beings genetically engineered for the purpose. Beings that could take any shape required to get the job done… and at least one of the beings was still alive. They called it a shoggoth.”

  Noble barked out a laugh.

  “Cabin fever and too much booze more like.”

  Susie looked back at the laptop.

  “But what if it was more than that? Does this sound familiar? This is from a journal of one of the expedition members.”

  She read.

  “It was a terrible, indescribable thing vaster than any subway train – a shapeless congeries of protoplasmic bubbles, faintly self-luminous, and with myriads of temporary eyes forming and un-forming as pustules of greenish light all over the tunnel-filling front that bore down upon us… slithering over the glistening floor that it and its kind had swept so evilly free of all litter. Still came that eldritch, mocking cry-

  Tekeli-li! Tekeli-li!”

  Noble leaned over her and read the words for himself.

  “That’s just a story to frighten the gullible,” he said.

  Outside the noise grew louder.

  “Tekeli-Li. Tekeli-Li.”

  The protoplasm in the petri-dish suddenly surged against the glass, with such force that the dish fell off the table. The tarry substance started to make its way across the floor, scuttling like a manic spider.

  Before he could stop her Susie rushed to the trestle and poured some of the contents of a glass jar on the creature. Steam rose. A vinegar-like tang caught at the back of Noble’s throat and forced him to close his eyes firmly. When he looked again there was nothing left of the creature but a smoking pool of oily goop on the floor.

  “Hydrochloric acid,” Susie said, holding up a half-empty jar and almost smiling. “It seems to do the trick.”

  Noble remembered the scene out of the bridge window.

  “I don’t think we’ve got enough.”

  He turned back to the screen.

  “OK, for the sake of argument, say what we have here is a Shoggoth from the Antarctic. Why here? Why now?”

  Susie shrugged.

  “We may never know… not without more study. But I suspect there are at least two driving factors. One is global warming. The ice-shelves have been disintegrating for years now. Maybe one woke from freezing and hitched a ride?”

  “And the other?”

  “What every creature needs. A food source. These things are bio-engineered, made of complex hydrocarbons. Other complex hydrocarbons, and lots of them, would be irresistible.”

  “But why would…”

  Noble never got a chance to finish.

  The boat lurched. Metal squealed. Even through the door of the lab they heard screams, wild and full of fear, coming from the direction of the bridge house. Noble ran for the door.

  “Wait!” he heard the woman shout. But the screams were too insistent. He couldn’t stand idle in the face of them. Taking a tight grip on the axe he opened the lab door.

  The screams were too loud. Just as Noble stepped into the corridor the Skipper fled down from the bridge. Blood poured from his head where a piece of scalp flapped, showing bone below. The older man almost fell at the foot of the stairs, his legs giving way beneath him, but he gave one look back up the steps and squealed in fear before getting to his feet.

  Noble saw the reason a second later. A black sphere rolled lazily down the steps, slumping like a partially deflated beach ball. The Skipper squealed again and started along the corridor towards Noble.

  He didn’t make it.
>
  Behind him the ball opened and stretched, bat-like wings touching the wall on either side of the corridor. The underside of the wings fluttered… and scores of green milky eyes opened in unison. The thing surged forward. The Skipper had time for one more scream before it fell on him like a wet carpet, engulfing him totally in its folds. Noble moved forward to try to save the man, but was held back by a hand on his shoulder.

  “We need to go,” Susie said. “You can’t help him.”

  Once glance showed him she was right. The black mass seethed and roiled over the Skipper’s prone body, but the old man made no sound, even as a lump of bloody meat was dragged forcibly from bone. He was already gone.

  And so will we be if we don’t get out of here.

  Back at the staircase more black spheres rolled lazily down into the corridor. Noble felt something get put in his free hand.

  “Use this,” Susie said. “Quickly. It might cover our escape.”

  He held a flare gun, already loaded. He aimed it in the general direction of the Skipper and pulled the trigger.

  Noble took Susie’s hand and ran as the corridor exploded with light and searing heat. They reached the end of the corridor before Noble realized they had got themselves trapped. The only way to go was up onto the loading deck beside the Zodiac. He turned back.

  Too late.

  Black protoplasm, pieces of it smoking, filled the far end of the corridor. Long tendrils searched the air ahead of the main body, and had already covered half the distance between them.

  “Up onto the deck,” he said. “It’s all we can do now.”

  Susie didn’t argue. She handed him three flares.

  “That’s all we’ve got. Make them count.”

  He nodded. He handed her the axe.

  “Chop first, ask questions later. OK?”

  “Got it,” she replied, and stared up the small set of steps.

  Noble looked back along the corridor. The black tendrils were less than five feet away and seemed eager to reach for him. He just had time to load the gun and send another flare into the main mass before following the woman out onto the deck. Light and heat followed him out. He turned, loading the gun, but no protoplasm came out of the corridor.

  “Noble,” Susie cried from nearby. “I need help here.”

  She stood by the side of the Zodiac. A long tendril was raised high over her, and she was barely keeping it at bay with the axe. What she couldn’t see was a second appendage creeping along the deck behind her.

  “Get down,” he called.

  He raised the gun and fired just as she threw herself forward. The flare embedded itself in the side of the dinghy and burned furiously. Susie scuttled across the deck to stand with him as they watched it blaze. It took most of the two tendrils with it. Noble was about to celebrate when the Zodiac’s fuel tank exploded, the blast knocking him backwards to teeter on the steps to the lower deck. He would have fallen back if Susie hadn’t steadied him.

  Tall black tendrils still wafted on high all around the hull.

  But they’re staying well away from the fires.

  “Help me,” he shouted. I’ve got an idea.”

  A minute later he was using the axe to break into the fuel storage area in the stern. There were five plastic containers stacked there, each holding fifty litres of gas for the Zodiac. Noble stuffed the flare gun into his belt and started to lug the canisters out on the deck.

  The Zodiac had burned itself out and lay in pieces, a smoldering ruin. All around the tendrils raised themselves up higher, swaying from side to side. Pale green eyes stared down from the heights.

  “Now or never,” Noble whispered.

  He started to pour gas across the deck. He emptied the first canister completely, making sure the others were sitting in the pool of liquid.

  “Get to the upper deck,” he said. “Quickly. I’ll cover you.”

  She left at a run, clambering up the exterior ladder to the raised deck that sat above the crew quarters. The tendrils continued to sway above the bow but, for now at least, they encroached no further. Noble said a silent prayer and ran for the ladder. A tendril struck at him, and missed by mere inches, slapping into the deck at his feet and splashing gasoline over his ankles. The air shimmered as the fuel evaporated in the heat.

  Susie stretched down a hand and helped him haul himself up beside her. He stood, turned… and gasped.

  The view from the bridge hadn’t really imposed itself on him. At the time he’d been too preoccupied with merely staying alive for a few minutes longer. But from here on the upper deck, he couldn’t ignore it.

  Black tendrils raised into the sky from horizon to horizon, waving slowly in unison like an audience at a concert moving in time to a ballad. Nowhere could any sea be seen. All that was visible was a thick mat of black protoplasm anchoring the tendrils.

  And the eyes were everywhere, pale, green and unblinking. As Noble noticed them, so they noticed him.

  Tens of thousands of eyes swiveled and fixed their stare on the boat.

  The chant rose, filling the air with noise.

  Tekeli-Li!

  Tendrils surged forward, crawling over the bow, dragging the protoplasm behind in a dense carpet that started to smother the lower deck.

  “Do it now,” Susie shouted. “Before it’s too late.”

  Noble waited for several second more, until the tendrils had almost reached the fuel canisters.

  “Burn you bastards,” he shouted, and fired the last flare down into the pool of gas.

  They had to stand back as the fire took. Tendrils thrashed in frenzy, trying to escape flame that was suddenly everywhere. Noble threw Susie to the ground and lay atop her, covering her with his body. The fuel canisters went up one after the other, the explosions drumming in his ears, the heat singeing his hair.

  Then all was silence.

  Noble heard his heart pounding in his ears. He stood, carefully, lifting the axe from where it lay by Susie’s right hand.

  Fires burned across the lower deck, and the boat was listing sharply to starboard. The shoggoths had backed off, leaving a twenty-meter moat of sea all the way around the hull. Tendrils still swayed lazily in the air, but there was no sign of any watching eyes.

  Noble lifted Susie up.

  “We’re safe. For now.”

  “Maybe for a bit longer than that,” she said. She pointed out to the port side. At the same time he heard it, the chug-chug of a chopper’s rotor blades.

  They stood on the deck, waving and grinning like excited school kids as the US Navy chopper got closer and hovered overhead. Even as they were winched upward the tendrils started to creep back towards the boat, slowly at first, then faster as there was no sign of further fire.

  When the chopper banked to turn away Noble got a clear view of the boat, completely covered now, sinking under the weight of the thick black carpet.

  It went under with scarcely a splash.

  But that wasn’t quite the end of it.

  Right at the far point of the chopper’s turn Noble caught a glimpse of something glinting in the last rays of the sun.

  Far away, almost on the horizon, shimmering in the heat, stood what looked like a city of glass… or plastic? Massive towers and turrets rose high above the sea, and gargantuan black shapes slumped through cavernous streets. He remembered something that Susie had said earlier.

  The shoggoths were made. Made as builders.

  When he blinked and rubbed his eyes the image had gone, taken out of view by the completion of the chopper’s turn.

  By now the sun was setting. Beneath them the black carpet shone, a shimmering green that looked almost peaceful. Even above the sound of the rotors, he thought he could hear them, would always hear them, a chorus, stronger than any choir, singing in perfect unison.

  Tekeli-Li. Tekeli-Li.

  A sea of eyes watched as the chopper headed away over the horizon.

  Back to Top

  Interview with William Meikle

&
nbsp; What influences helped play a part in your writing?

  It would have to be the reading I did in the genre as a teenager in a small West Coast Scotland town in the early-seventies, before Stephen King and James Herbert came along, that were most formative.

  I graduated from Superman and Batman comics to books and I was a voracious reader of anything I could get my hands on; Alistair MacLean, Michael Moorcock, Nigel Tranter and Louis D’Amour all figured large. Pickings were thin for horror apart from the Pan Books of Horror and Dennis Wheatley, which I read with great relish. Then I found Lovecraft and things were never quite the same.

  Mix that with TV watching of Thunderbirds, Doctor Who, The Man From Uncle, Lost in Space and the Time Tunnel, then later exposure on the BBC to the Universal monsters and Hammer vampires and you can see where it all came from. Oh, and Quatermass. Always Quatermass.

  I have a deep love of old places, in particular menhirs and stone circles, and I’ve spent quite a lot of time travelling the UK and Europe just to visit archaeological remains. I also love what is widely known as “weird shit”. I’ve spent far too much time surfing and reading fortean, paranormal and cryptozoological websites. The cryptozoological stuff especially fascinates me, and provides a direct stimulus for a lot of my fiction.

  Do you have any techniques for writing?

  For me it’s mainly inspiration. I wouldn’t write at all if the ideas didn’t present themselves in my head. I find I get a lot of ideas clamouring for attention all at once. I write them down in a notebook that never leaves my side, and sometimes one of them gathers a bit more depth, and I get a clearer image. At this stage I find myself thinking about it almost constantly, until a plot, or an ending, clarifies itself.

  Once I’ve written down where the story should be going it quietens down a bit. Then, if I find myself still thinking about it a couple of days later, I’ll probably start writing the actual story. At any given time I have about 20 ideas waiting for clarity, two or three of which might end up as finished works.

  That’s the inspiration part. And that continues when I start putting the words on paper. I’ve tried writing outlines, both for short stories and novels, but I’ve never stuck to one yet. My fingers get a direct line to the muse and I continually find myself being surprised at the outcome. Thanks to South Park, I call them my “Oh shit, I’ve killed Kenny” moments, and when they happen, I know I’m doing the right thing.