by Bo Luellen
As they made it to the back of the clearing, next to the cabins, the three of them crouched down beside a large fallen oak tree. Suddenly, Josh shot backward, as David and Amanda turned their weapons in the direction Josh retreated from. Leaning against a portion of the downed tree was a bleached white human skull with the bones of a carcass spread out over a large area. The white human cranium had arcane runes etched into it and some strange language carved on the sides.
Amanda scooted closer and whispered, “The Crimson Brotherhood’s handy work no doubt. I wonder what language this is?”
Josh composed himself and replied, “It’s R'lyehian. The alien language of The Great Old Ones. Powerful deities that reside in different fields of space, dimension, and time. Cthulhuian lore says that these ancient gods once ruled over Earth for a while. What our science is discovering about past global cataclysmic asteroid hits that wiped out past cultures, was nothing more than a transitional moment.”
Amanda looked back at Josh and asked, “Transitional moment?”
The blonde-haired man got back up to a squat and answered, “Some belief systems include a wheel of time called Aeons. An Aeon can be of any length of time from a few hundred years to a million, and during such a time increment, a set of gods rule the planet. Each transition begins with an apocalyptic moment of destruction, as the new pantheon wipes away the remnants of the older one. Each new Aeon is a struggle for which pantheon will emerge as the new ruling godhood over the Earth. Humans are a race with amnesia, who have had their history rewritten by rulers so many times, they no longer possess real facts. We still remember shadows of the truth in the tales of Noah’s flood, The Norse Ragnarök, The Assyrians, The Arthurian Legend, the Tenth Reincarnation of Kaiki…”
David scooted in between them and told Josh, “This is all really fascinating, but bad guys… remember?”
As they left the edge of the clearing, they heard the electronically altered voice of the octopus-headdress-wearing leader launch into a speech on a PA system. They couldn’t make out exactly what he was saying from behind the thick tree cover, but the chanting had stopped.
They worked their way towards the back of one of the cabins and carefully moved through a thick layer of tree cover. As the three emerged, a kennel full of Bluetick Hounds instantly spotted them and bayed. The beasts had a different look to them and carried a predatorial focus that she hadn’t seen in other dogs. On the dirt floor of their cages were a dozen or more human bones, some with the flesh still attached. The dog's mouths had dried blood caked on the outside of their maw, and the smell of rotting meat hit Amanda in the face. Hundreds of flies feasted on the discarded human remains, and maggots rolled around the bottom of their enclosure.
The sound of a pistol cocking caught their attention, and the team looked back towards the rear of the cabin. A man dressed in the black robes Brotherhood leveled a 9-mm semi-automatic Glock at them and slowly moved out into the open. He had a leather strap in his left hand, which was matted with red fluids and had a metal barb on the end.
The Brotherhood man ordered them, “Step away from my dogs and put those weapons on the ground, now!”
Josh dropped his weapons and spoke in R’lyehian, “Vulgtmah Cthulhu.”
The man took a wide stance and replied, “Yeah… Vulgtmah Cthulhu to you too. Now do it!”
Suddenly they heard three sharp clacks in the distance and the familiar voice of Thomas Booth bellowing out in the night air. The man gripped the pistol a little tighter and glanced over towards the sound of the Druid’s voice. The three had their hands up in the air, as the cultist carefully advanced on them. Amanda hit the safety button on her shotgun, knowing the sound of the gunfire would bring hell down upon them, but she had to make a move.
As she was about to lift the weapon, a snarl came from the darkened side of the building, as a three-legged German Shepherd flew out from around the corner with a broken leather leash trailing behind it. The dog was unlike the Bluetick Hounds and seemed unaffected by their barking as it passed them. The animal leaped onto the man’s pistol arm and bit down hard on his wrist. The cultist let out a grunt, dropped his weapon, and pounded on the crippled dog with his left fist.
Amanda ran at the thrashing victim of the dog's rage and brought down the butt of her shotgun onto his shiny forehead. The hardwood stock made a dull thud on his face that collapsed him motionless onto the ground. Blood trickled down from a deep dent in the cultist's forehead, as the German Shepherd disengaged and looked up at Amanda. The animal had on a vest that read, “K-9 Unit – Retired – Charlie.” Its right eye had been cut or poked out, and moist blood soaked the side of its face like dark red tears. It was sporting several deep gashes on its body that looked like the handiwork of the barbed whip the cultist was carrying. Josh tried to stop her as Amanda leaned down and unfastened the cruel-looking pronged choke collar on the dog's neck. Blood was matted where the device had sunk its metal teeth deep into the flesh, and Charlie let out a whimper as she removed the spikes. Once free, the canine moved closer to Amanda and licked her hand gently.
She rubbed one of the few sections of fur that didn’t have a laceration and soothed, “It’s okay, boy. You don’t look like you belong here. How did you get here?”
David gauged the sleeping dog handler, as Josh suggested, “We need to move, Mandie. Now!”
She stood up and peeked around the corner of the cabin at the assembled crowd. Booth was in the middle of a speech and drawing the attention of the Crimson Brotherhood. Thanks to the Druid, a clear opening to the platform was available. The bulk of the members were surrounding Booth and taking in the distraction. The only people left on the stage the Master, four purple-robed characters, a tied-up Henry Jekyll, and one fat man in a white cloak. Before discussing it with the rest, she bolted out from behind the cover and went into a dead run towards the platform.
Amanda’s years of marathon training took over, and her short legs hit a long stride. Off to her right, her peripheral vision caught the brown fur of Charlie, as it paced beside her. He was struggling against the wounds, but the retired K-9 was determined to join in the assault.
It was a hard sprint, but she was in good shape, and it helped that her adrenaline was pumping. She dropped the shotgun and pulled out the pistol to maintain her balance in the run. Josh and David were starting to trail behind as she and Charlie broke away. By the time she was close enough to the platform, Amanda had taken a quick inventory of her surroundings. There were logs, branches, and five-gallon containers around the base of the structure.
Her nose caught the pungent smell of kerosene, as she thought, This thing is made to burn.
When she got within twenty feet, Josh slid to his knees and aimed his rifle towards the stage. David kept moving right behind her, dropped his bow, and pulled out his scuba knife. With a mighty thrust, she sprang off of one of the logs and made a jump for the stage.
Chapter 17: Henry V
Tahlequah, OK - Thursday, October 18th, 2018 – 6:07 p.m. CST
A cloud lifted from Henry Jekyll’s mind as his eyes opened to see a swirl of action in front of him. At first, he thought this might be a delusion or a trick of the mind. He saw his friend Juste Theriot dressed in black robes being held at gunpoint by Professor Amanda Lanyon. She had her left arm around his neck and the barrel of the gun buried into his friend’s temple. Amanda was yelling at a group of people in purple robes something that he couldn’t make out. He scanned the area through bloodshot eyes and saw dozens of Crimson Brotherhood disciples pointing their firearms at his college teacher.
A larger man who carried a knife was at her side and pointing his blade at a white robed fat man. Henry noticed that his eyesight was turning from fuzzy to clear and his hearing was returning at a rapid rate. The outline of some of the people on the stage were hazy and seemed to have a glow.
Henry muttered to himself, "What's happening?"
Hyde’s voice thundered out in his head, “What you are seeing are the side effe
cts of our union. Our spirits are attempting to operate symbiotically but your body isn’t ready. Our two senses are competing for ownership of your limbs and organs. Neither of us can take or give control of the Vessel. Because of your heritage, I’m trapped here. Usually, I would suggest you kill yourself to free me, but that would be prolicide.”
True to his word, Henry’s vision shifted in and out of focusing on what he thought was reality. One moment everything would look normal and the next he saw strange ethereal creatures swimming about. It was like watching through an ever changing lens that cycled through different visual types. He saw his friend Juste, who looked like the Louisianan he had befriended one moment and in the next, he saw a ghostly visage of an older man phasing inside the Cajun’s body.
The fat man in the white robes went from looking like a middle-aged guy wearing a bad wig to having an impossibly huge Angelic creature floating inside of his being. The massive Celestial was clad in shining silver armor that had symbols etched into the metal that he didn’t recognize. Its luminescence was so brilliant that it lit up the entire forest around him. The enormous wingspan engulfed the entire platform, and they phased through the people as they flapped. The Angel's face was captivating in its perfection, grace and balanced beauty. Just as with Hyde, Henry couldn't decide definitively if the creature was male or female.
He yelled out at the spectral elderly man that was possessing his friend, "Let go of Juste!"
The white robed cultist looked at Henry and then phased into the face of the divine image of the Angel. The creature communicated something to him he couldn’t make out, and then melted away. He shut his eyes tightly and forced himself to keep from passing out from the stress on his senses.
Hyde’s thoughts were desperately exclaiming in his head, Miniel! We must get away from here! Help me to free ourselves from these bonds! If we linger, that Angel will take your life and rip me from your corpse!
Jekyll opened his eyes to see the Angelically possessed cultist pull out a pistol from under his cloak and point it at the chest of Juste Theriot. Henry strained against his bonds, as the Angel’s face once again shifted into focus and replaced the sweaty fat man. Miniel gave an innocent smile at him, and a feeling of peace came over his body. Henry snapped out of the hypnotic gaze as three rounds fired from the gun into the Cajun’s chest. His best friend flew backward into Amanda’s arms, and the pair crumbled to the ground. He saw the ghostly image stayed standing while Juste’s body went flying. The spirit looked back at his dead friend and then melted down through the stage.
He felt a rage burst out as he screamed, “No! Juste! No!”
In the distance, lights appeared at the edge of the clearing as armed men in SWAT gear sprang out from the tree line. The spotlight of a helicopter shone down on the stage from up above, and the thunderous sounds of helicopter blades beat overhead. Instantly, muzzle flashes sparked to life all across the Preserve. The followers of Cthulhu scattered away from the platform and took up firing positions behind vehicles and the cabins.
One of the purple-clad cultists fearlessly strode out on the stage and took one of the torches from its resting place. Jekyll saw several bullets hit the cultist in the back and blast away part of the robe, exposing black skin underneath. Unphased by the wound, the tall man walked calmly over to a corner of the platform and drove the flame into a bundle of dried sticks and twigs, igniting the wooden structure.
An older man in the same purple garb pointed a decorative looking dagger in Henry’s direction and dashed at him. Murder rage was in his eyes, as the beaten Jekyll used all his might against the ropes. He felt surges of strength coming from Hyde, but it felt unbalanced and unfocused. The man raised the dagger high into the air and then sent it down in search of the Henry’s heart. The taller man ran like a shot and drove his shoulder into the purple-robed cultist, sending them both sailing off-platform and down to the cold ground below.
He choked as the smoke made its way into his lungs, and bullets buzz-sawed into the burning platform. A loud whoosh sound came from underneath, as a blast of fire came up and engulfed the body of Juste Theriot. Half the flooring was gone or ablaze, as Henry’s attempts to get free became useless and desperate against the thick cords that held him.
He nearly gave up when he felt something moving around his wrists and pulling on the knots. Mustering up all his energy, he managed to turn his head and saw the soot-blackened face of Professor Lanyon working his bonds free. He tried to mouth the words, “Thank you”, but had no energy left.
Hyde's voice came from within him, Jekyll, I can't hold us conscious much longer. The abjuring spell of the Athame Dagger is still binding me, and our merger is over taxing me! You must convince this Lanyon woman to help us flee before Miniel takes us!
Heavy with grief over the loss of his best friend, his eyes snapped open to reveal hot red pupils that burned, No! I don't want to run! I’m through running! I want to make them pay for the death of Lewis and Juste! I want them all to pay! Do you hear me Hyde! I’ll do whatever it takes! We will make them all pay!
The Demon’s voice made a soft reply, So be it, my child. The pact is made.
Henry lost consciousness instantly and his mind went dark and hushed.
Unknown Location – Unknown Date – Unknown Time
He swam in an ocean of inky blackness until Henry woke up facing the familiar entrance to Hyde’s Study. This time the door was half-open, and the sound of a crackling fire came from inside. Jekyll looked down at himself and found he was wearing a black sweater and slacks, but no shoes or socks. The cold stone beneath his feet chilled his toes and the inviting nature of the warm flames within.
As he entered the old looking room, he felt a sudden warm sensation take over his body in the same manner as when he and Hyde had merged in front of Bill. Jekyll took notice of a figure sitting in a leather high backed chair and reading a book. The stunningly beautiful profile of the man was revealed to be the same person who had flown into him.
Henry stopped and gave a dumbfounded, “Hyde?”
The man was dressed in a black suit that had a white pinstripe going down the length of the jacket, which reminded him of how the creature’s wings had been salt-and-pepper dark and light. The man’s cheekbones were sharp, almost inhumanly so and curved to a sharp jawline. The being’s dark hair flowed down past his waist and was pulled back into a clean ponytail. The locks were fine, like down feathers of a bird and bound by black leather and a silver clasp.
As he stood to address Jekyll, he rose up to a towering 6-foot 8-inch frame. His chest and arms were not overly big, but he moved with an almost water-like fluid grace. When they locked eyes, the ancient nature of the beast penetrated deep into Henry and made him skip a breath. The presence of the Demon had a charming yet hypnotizing effect.
Hyde lifted his glass to him and announced, “It is Hyde. Welcome, Scion.”
The Demon closed the book he was reading and tossed it down on the table next to a half empty bottle of Tennessee Whiskey. The loud noise made him jump, while his companion seemed to delight in the moment of fear. Looking down at the discarded tome, Henry read the title, La Révolte des Anges by Anatole France.
The piercing blue eyes of the monster lanced into Henry, "Powers, Thrones, and Dominations, of all past wars. I wish but to remember the invincible courage that you displayed and the loyalty which you rendered to authority, for these assure me of the steadfastness of the fealty you have just sworn to me."
Henry felt lost and replied, "What?"
Hyde opened a hand in a gesture for him to sit down and revealed, "It’s a quote from a French author I once knew."
Henry's bare feet plodded on the hardwood floor of the Study, as he made his way over to a brown leather French style armchair. Sitting down, he noticed that Hyde waited for him to do so first before seating himself. The Demon swirled his glass and stared at him with a big grin that denoted a secret that Henry was blind to.
Henry wiggled his toes and asked,
"Where did these clothes come from?"
The Angel leaned on the armrest of his high back chair, "How you humans continue to amaze me with your infinite capacity to ignore the wonders of the cosmos.”
Henry looked as if he was going to retort when Hyde leaned forward and added, “Forgive me, Scion. It has been many thousand years since I’ve been forced to converse with lesser beings. Yet, you’re not entirely lesser, are you now?”
Henry stammered for a moment and then answered, “I don’t know.”
The smile faded from the Demon’s face as he soothed, “But of course I’m scaring you. Let’s return to your question of minor detail. We are currently co-existing inside one body, and this Study represents my consciousness. Here, I can make anything happen. Of course, you are not actually wearing these clothes nor do you have the ability to wake up. Right now, your body is being dragged across a cold field by a few heroic mortals that wish to save your life. It seems you possess some degree of charm and persuasion and managed to manipulate your college Professor into protecting you. I respect that.”
Henry felt the flush of rage at the insult and replied, “I didn’t manipulate her!”
Hyde took a drink from his glass before asking, “I do wonder what force could drive a woman such as her to abandon her injured husband, endanger her vile children, and attempt your rescue? Do you think she hopes to become intimate with you? Will you grace her with your inadequate manhood? Hyde could make her enjoy it so much more.”
Henry tightened his fist and answered, “Professor Lanyon is a good person, and, if she is doing what you say, then it is because of her faith in God.”
The Fallen Angel took the Whiskey bottle and refilled his glass as he continued, “Personally, I hope they succeed. I love a gallant death. Alas, mine will not be so. If Miniel manages to get to me, I’m her prisoner, and you die. If one of the Brotherhood or the police kill you in the crossfire, I go free. If you live, well then, things get interesting. So let’s see where fate takes us, shall we?”