Cthulhu Lives!: An Eldritch Tribute to H. P. Lovecraft (24 page)

Thinking that perhaps Robert Walker could shed some light on this new malady of Dougal’s spirit, I called upon him at the Library. But he would not see me. I could not begin to guess what had occurred betwixt him and Dougal to so sour him to our friendship, or to have such a dire influence upon my son’s psyche. I returned home, if anything more confused than when I had ventured out.

In a state of near desperation, I resolved soon after to send Dougal to my brother, Cormack, in the hills of Pitlochry in Scotland. It would not be an easy voyage in his condition, but neither was the oppressive heat of this southern summer doing him any good. I hoped the good highland air would prove more suited to his blood, and that my brother, a stout, pragmatic man, hard yet not unkind, would be able to work Dougal into a state of health, of both the body and the spirit.

To my surprise, Dougal was not immediately opposed to the idea, and though he turned a sceptical eye on me at the suggestion, he seemed content to entertain at least the possibility whilst I awaited word of approval from my brother.

It was several weeks before arrangements were finalised and passage booked aboard the clipper
Samuel Plimsoll
for London. Dougal emerged from whatever malaise had kept him bedridden. He was still far from well, but he managed to drag himself downstairs to sit in the parlour and look out into the street. With no argument coming from Dougal, I worked with the assumption that he was going willingly to Scotland.

The day before he was to set sail, I returned from my morning’s work to see a great hulk of a man coming down our front steps. He crossed the road and passed me by on the other side without so much as a glance in my direction.

I asked Dougal about him, and he waved absently at a parcel of paper and a small range of pens and brushes. For the voyage, he said. Something to keep him occupied.

The following morning, Dougal seemed tense, almost agitated as I helped him into the hansom to take us to Circular Quay. He clutched a small leather satchel, and would not loosen his grip upon it even to climb into the cab. I put it all down to a case of nerves regarding the impending voyage.

I watched Dougal closely on the ride to the harbour, at first to monitor his condition, in case at the last minute I decided he was not capable of the voyage, but then I looked at him simply out of curiosity. He seemed in better health than I had seen him in some time. Though by no means hale, there was a flush in his cheeks that I had not seen since the days he first began work in the Public Library.

He did not notice my surveillance, though I took no measures to hide it, but stared avidly out the window of the cab, as we made our way through the city. As we passed the north end of Hyde Park, we came upon a great commotion, and the hansom slowed to a crawl.

Looking out the window, I saw a crowd gathered at the top of Macleay Street, where a haze of smoke hung thick in the air. I was surprised that I had neither seen nor smelled it before now, but put it down to being too much concerned with watching Dougal.

I looked over at him. To my surprise he had slumped back in his seat and showed no interest in what was going on outside the cab. I put my head outside to see what was happening. A policeman, directing the onlookers into Hyde Park to clear the roads, told me that someone had burned down the Free Public Library during the night. I was saddened to learn that by the time the authorities had arrived, the building was nothing more than a smouldering heap.

I pulled my head inside the cab, and looked at Dougal. For the briefest moment I thought I caught the hint of smile on his lips, but it was gone in an instant, and he seemed genuinely overcome by emotion. Whatever falling out he had had with Robert Walker, the Library had been an important part of his life, and he sat the rest of the ride to the Quay in silence.

By the time we arrived, and Dougal’s cases were loaded aboard the
Samuel Plimsoll
, the captain, Richard Boaden, was impatient to be away with the tide. I did not have as much time for my farewells as I would have liked, and gave Dougal a hasty embrace as he was helped up the gangway by one of the crew. As he stepped onto the deck, something fell from his satchel, and the sailor stooped to pick it up. The man shuddered as he handed it back, and I was sure it was the little leather journal with the strange, disquieting sigil on its cover.

Whatever it was, it, along with Dougal, was quickly lost in the bustle of the final loading and settling. I caught sight of Dougal again as the
Samuel Plimsoll
pulled away from the dock, and waved. He did not seem to see me, and I was about to turn away when I saw a hulking figure step up beside him. It was, without a doubt, the same man I had seen exiting my own front door only the afternoon before.

The two shook hands, and the larger man passed Dougal something, who visibly struggled with its weight. I could not be sure at such a distance, but it looked like a thick, heavy book.

The
Plimsoll
turned around the point of Fort Macquarie, and I lost sight of my son. I was left with a heavy, fearful weight in my gut. The next several days were ones of near madness as I went over the events of the last few days, my deep doubts refusing to be put to rest.

Was that fire in his eyes, that colour in his cheeks as we sat in the cab, a marker of the same obsession that had burned in Dougal during those long nights searching through the Library? Who was that enormous man who was now aboard ship with my son for three months? What was that book he handed over? I could not help but entertain the dreadful possibility of Dougal’s involvement with the burning of the Library.

Following this grim prospect, I went once more to try to see Robert Walker. To no avail. There was no sign of him amongst the salvagers at the ruin of the Library, and no answer when I called at his home. The dark questions I had about my son remained.

There was nothing I could do in the end, and I threw myself into work to distract myself, once more travelling away from Sydney. Gradually the fear for Dougal dissipated, and by the time I received his telegram telling me that he had arrived safely and was waiting for his uncle, I had dismissed my concerns as nonsense.

I waited eagerly for the next news of Dougal and, despite myself, my brother and the family I had long since left behind.

It did not come.

♦

MR AONGHAS CROWTHER

SCHIMEL ST

WATERLOO, NEW SOUTH WALES

DEEPLY REGRET TO INFORM YOUR SON DOUGAL HAS PASSED STOP CAUSE OF DEATH YET UNDETERMINED STOP DETAILS FORTHCOMING WHEN POSSIBLE STOP PLEASE ADVISE INSTRUCTIONS FOR BURIAL STOP

CONSTABLE GEORGE BIRMINGHAM

EDINBURGH CITY POLICE

No parent can believe they will lose a child, even one as sickly as Dougal. I maintained my composure long enough to telegraph arrangements for Dougal’s body to be preserved and returned to me in Sydney. I paid no mind to the considerable expense, and indeed, soon paid a much greater price, to both my business and my health, meted out in whisky.

It was the longest period of my life, those eighty-seven days I waited for the return of my son. No further information came from the Edinburgh Police concerning his death, and I sent telegram after telegram to my brother, seeking some explanation. I did not receive a word in reply.

I met by chance with Robert Walker again, though I was much the worse for drink at the time and have no reasonable recollection of it. Evidently the death of Dougal, which I must have blurted out in my stupor, had considerable impact upon him. Perhaps it was merely guilt, but our friendship was rekindled, though it took on more an aspect of nurse and patient. He would join me for a drink, as had been our habit, in the early evening, though he kept a careful eye on me, and took responsibility for pouring the whisky himself, putting it away when he judged I’d had enough.

He seemed genuinely distressed by my condition, and took great pains to help me keep my spirits up. He was a great boon in that dark time. When notice came that Dougal’s body had finally arrived, it was Robert who took charge of arrangements, and accompanied the casket to the house.

I had to see my son one last time. Against Robert’s advice, for he was concerned about the state of the body, I opened the coffin.

I had to steady myself against its edge to keep from falling. What I saw within made me weak at the knees. I managed to hold on for only a moment before I turned away and vomited. Then Robert was at my elbow, helping me straighten. Steeling myself, I turned back to the casket, and together we looked at the body.

The face was shrunken, the lips pulled back in a rictus scream, and the skin blue-grey and translucent, showing a black web of capillaries stretched tight over the skull beneath. It looked as though all fluid had been drained from the body, and the eyes were stuck wide open, an expression of abject terror frozen upon its gruesome visage.

But perhaps most disquieting of all was the fact that the body I looked upon was not Dougal’s.

♦

MR AONGHAS CROWTHER

SCHIMEL ST

WATERLOO, NEW SOUTH WALES

REFER TO YOUR CORRESPONDENCE REGARDING BODY OF YOUR SON STOP BODY IDENTIFIED BY SEVERAL CREW AND PASSENGERS OF SAMUEL PLIMSOLL STOP NO FURTHER INFORMATION STOP REGRET CANNOT BE OF MORE ASSISTANCE STOP

CONSTABLE GEORGE BIRMINGHAM

EDINBURGH CITY POLICE

My only concern now was to go myself to Scotland and find the truth of what had become of Dougal. But I could not simply board ship. Preparation took much longer than I would have liked. With the testimony of Robert Walker that it was not, in fact, my son, I was able to give over the disturbing, unidentified corpse to the authorities for disposal.

With Robert bereft of his work at the Library and not knowing quite what else to do with himself, I had little trouble convincing him to look after my business dealings in my absence. There was a rather painstaking process of making the necessary introductions, etcetera, but eventually I found myself free to travel without concern for my welfare.

A fortnight or thereabouts after the removal of the hideous body from my home, I was aboard the
Cutty Sark
, the fastest ship then sailing between Sydney and London.

For all its speed however, I had considerable time to mull over events. I tried to convince myself that Dougal had been the victim, taken in by some foul play or other. But however hard I tried, my mind remained a maelstrom of suspicion, filled with things I could not quite put together: the burning library, the great brute coming out of my door and then standing with Dougal aboard the
Plimsoll
, and most of all the little journal with that horrid symbol on its cover. I could not shake the feeling that whatever was going on was part of some dark design. I needed to find the
Samuel Plimsoll
and question her crew.

We put into the Port of London, and I wasted no time disembarking and calling at the Port Authority Building, seeking the whereabouts of the
Plimsoll
. She was due in this very port only a few days hence, and I spent a restless time waiting for her, unable to stop myself trawling the docks with a photograph of Dougal and asking anyone who would listen if they had seen him. They had not. My efforts with the crew of the
Samuel Plimsoll
yielded no more recognition than I got along the docks. Fully half of the crew who had been aboard with Dougal had gone, succumbing to the perils of the open sea or signing-on with other vessels. Of those that remained, all but a few were tight lipped and ill disposed.

I was free enough with my coin, but it did me little good, until I spoke of that enormous companion of Dougal’s. Several sailors made gestures as if to ward off evil at his mention, and I rapidly found myself alone save for one grey and gruff old salt.

“There be no good come of you looking for that malefic individual,” he growled as he gripped me hard by the arm and propelled me toward the gangway.

I opened my mouth to speak, but he cut me off sharply. “And no good neither of you saying more where it might get heard,” he hissed, looking about. He stopped at the edge of the deck, and slipped a card into my palm. “There’s some what would do you harm to see that,” he said, and then, “The pull of blood, be as great as that of the sea.” And he thrust me from the ship.

I wandered into the crowd a few steps, a little confused about what had just occurred. I glanced at the card in my hand, and was caught by a sudden chill. I looked back then and saw the old sailor watching me, a cold, satisfied smile on his face. He turned away quickly and was gone.

With a shudder I moved hurriedly out of sight of the
Plimsoll
, and when I found an uninhabited lane, I stepped out of the bustle and examined the card.

♦

MR MILLIGAN

SAMUEL PLIMSOLL

CARE/LONDON PORT AUTHORITY

FLESHMARKET CLOSE STOP YELLOW SIGN STOP TIME NOW CLOSE STOP

I had no idea what it meant, but I remembered well the reek of Fleshmarket Close. Edinburgh. From whence came the body that was not my son. I took the next train.

The haar lay thick on the city, the buildings floating ghostly out of the fog as we pulled into Waverley. Impatient, I made no time for finding a porter, and carried my case myself up the steep slope of Cockburn Street to the Star Hotel, right on the corner of Fleshmarket Close. The stench of the place, the fish and meat and the urinary scent of the public house, had not changed in all the years I’d been away. I took a room at the Star, and having arranged my small belongings, made my way up through Fleshmarket Close toward the Royal Mile, where I intended to break my fast before anything else. I did not make it that far.