Cthulhurotica (25 page)

“Tabitha!” I screamed as the thing lifted me higher and higher into the air. Her dead face, red from the lights, slowly shrank. “Tabitha!”

Something pinched the back of my neck and darkness overtook me.

Waking was strange. It was not like slowly drifting awake, nor was it like a sudden start as if waking from a dream where you’re falling just before you hit the ground. It was if someone had flipped a switch; one moment I was awake, aware, alive and the moment before I… wasn’t.

“Where am I?” My voice was strange. It didn’t come from my mouth because, as far as I could tell, I didn’t have one anymore. I tried to move my arms but I didn’t have those either. A sudden flash of fear of paralysis came over me; what had those creatures done?

Slowly I became aware of my sight. The picture faded into view like a photograph slowly appearing in a developing tray. My vision was wrong, gray and grainy like a badly printed newspaper picture. The details of the room slowly became more and more distinct. Ahead of me was a far distant wall lined with shelves and on each shelf were small vats in which something oblong and spongy floated in a viscous liquid. Wires connected each spongy mass to various strange electronics that protruded along the outside of each vat. Each container had a small box on the front that resembled a speaker and a shiny, blank lens like that of a camera. As my vision improved I saw that my point of view was from a shelf, several feet off the floor. It was about then that I realized what was wrong in a sudden flash of terrible insight; I no longer had a body to move.

And now I’m here, the story I wished to tell you over. The lens fixed to my optical nerve shows me a constant grainy image of rows and rows of vats with brains suspended in thick, mucous-like solution. I can hear cries from the other speakers, the gibbers and rants, pleas and prayers and screams of all the others. I wish I could stop the noise but there are no ears to plug, no way for me to close my unblinking, ever-seeing eye. The creatures made me the perfect victim of my senses.

They left me with nothing but the memory of her, the look and feel of her body, the taste and smell of her skin, the sound of her voice.

This story, these memories of what I believed her to be, torment me worse than the understanding of my reality, what I have been reduced to, or the sight and sounds of the hell beyond my prison. In my mind’s eye I see her as she was that last night, pale, luminescent, alive, human. I taste her skin, smell her scent, feel her.

It’s all I have left.

The Box
by Galen Dara

Gary Mark Bernstein
OPTIONAL ON THE BEACH AT THE FESTIVAL OF SHUG NIGGURATH

The woman at the hotel read my name, and looked up at me a second time. “Mr. Nyarlathotep?” she asked. She’d had no trouble pronouncing it, and I nodded. “Are you here for the Festival?”

It used to be that few people knew about the Festival of the Thousand Young. In previous years I would have thought it a well-kept secret. This was the first time it had been moved to this beach town. Like so many more conventional meetings, since the town had launched it’s multi-million dollar public relations campaign, the Festival organizers had moved it to take advantage of convenient hotel bookings and entertainment packages.

“Yes,” I said quietly.

“I thought I saw you talking to Mr. Whateley. We have a lot of New Englanders down for the Festival, but so few from abroad. You are the first from Egypt.”

“I am looking forward to moonrise tomorrow night.” I smiled at her. “You will find I am not as inhibited as many of your New Englanders. But I need to find things to do between now and then.”

That was when she recommended this particular stretch of beach with the extraordinary view to me, suggesting I go there after eleven in the morning.

At eleven, as I walked nearer the beach, I saw that at each opening in the fence, and at each path leading to the shore or the dock, some authority had posted a sign that said, “Optional.” That was all the sign said.

The first sign I passed wasn’t worth noticing but by the time I viewed the third I was thinking, What? What is optional? Shouldn’t they tell you? Seemed really strange to have this incomplete information posted on official-looking sign. Perhaps the local residents understand exactly what was meant, but this beach catered largely to tourists like myself. How could we understand? I had read some brochures and glanced at some guidebooks and remembered no hint of such a sign.

I turned to walk closer to the rolling breakers I heard over the sand dunes, heading toward the pier with the recommended view.

I saw a couple looking out toward the ocean and the other side of the bay. I had read that sometimes you could see pods of dolphins and occasionally a whale further out. The man wore a swimsuit but looked less than athletic. The woman wore summer clothes and apparently did not plan to go in the water. (I myself wore sandals and a robe over my swim trunks.) Whale watching it was.

As I walked toward the couple, not sure if I would strike up a conversation or not, I head them talking. They seemed to be bickering over nothing, the way some couples do as a way of life. Was it too hot for comfort or not? Should the woman have worn her bathing suit? Not a real fun pair, but perhaps they could use the interruption of a stranger. I had a strong suspicion they were not here for the Festival. But before I reached them I saw one of the extraordinary sights, which was not at all what I expected. A woman nude except for her sandals stepped up beside them and leaned over the rail looking at the sea and beyond the bay. The woman of the couple gasped and her husband looked over and did a double take.

The newcomer, totally unself-conscious, looked lovely. She ignored the other two and seemed at peace.

“Don’t you look,” the wife told her husband. “If you look, I will mutilate you.”

“How can I pretend not to notice?” the husband asked in a loud whisper, but he turned back towards the ocean and kept his eyes forward.

Another person joined them, a short redheaded man also in a long terrycloth beach robe, holding a cell phone.

“Disgraceful,” he announced to the world at large, or perhaps to the ocean. He sized the couple up then spoke directly to the wife. “Don’t worry, I have already called the police.” My guess was that someone interested in getting the police involved was not connected to the Festival either.

I stood behind them now and listened. The naked girl was striking but I felt more curious than prurient at this point.

The girl turned to smile at the three others and I saw her face for the first time. It too was lovely but more than that, I felt I had seen it somewhere before. She looked quizzically at the outraged man. “What is disgraceful, if I may ask?”

“You, you brazen strumpet!”

She laughed as if in surprise. “Me? Whatever do you mean? I am suntanned if you mean bronzed, but I am no strumpet.”

“You come here stark naked and pretend nothing is wrong!” said the redheaded man.

She smiled slowly, shaking her head. “If you disregard my footwear,” she said. “But that is not disgraceful. Didn’t you see the signs?”

The redheaded man looked at the clothed woman with a puzzled expression, and the husband kept his unblinking gaze pointed out toward the sea.

“What signs?” I said. I knew what signs. But I meant, what do the signs mean?

The woman turned to see me. “Why hello again,” she said. “I am glad you took my advice. I was hoping you would.”

I realized this was the woman from the hotel desk who had advised me to come to this spot.

I said, “You told me I would see an extraordinary view. You did not lie.”

She smiled broadly at this and nodded in acceptance. “The clothing optional signs,” she said.

“Why I never!” said the clothed woman.

“Not ever?” asked the naked woman, “if I may quote Gilbert and Sullivan.”

“Here they are!” said the redheaded man, pointing behind me to two uniformed police officers approaching. “Officers, arrest this woman!”

“What has she done?” asked the taller of the two.

The clothed woman sputtered, “But-but can’t you see! She’s naked and she is beautiful. There has to be a law against it.”

Both officers regarded the naked woman closely. “You may be right,” said the shorter.

“If you disregard my footwear,” the naked woman said again, with an amused and inviting smile.

“I don’t know,” the taller officer said. “Your footwear has a kind of charm of its own.”

“Surely such things cannot be legal in this city!” the redheaded man said, obviously a tourist himself.

“Well, it’s funny you should mention it,” the taller officer said. “The city council had quite a debate. One side insisted the signs not say ‘clothing optional’ as it would scare off some shy or conservative tourists. But they failed to convince the – lets call them the more
radical
council members – to omit the signs all together. They compromised on leaving the signs up with only the word ‘optional.’ But they never said or defined or compromised on what that word meant. Which is kind of a shame, because now there are some cases tangled up in court.”

“Well, what are you going to do!” the clothed woman demanded to know.

“Mostly,” the taller officer said, “we are going to sit back and wait for the legal system to try to untangle what the city council messed up.”

“You can’t do that while this cougar preys upon innocent victims in her stark everything.”

“Disregarding the footwear,” I put in helpfully.

The naked hotel employee and I exchanged warm smiles, and then she frowned cutely at the redheaded man.

“Have you been preyed upon or molested yet?” the shorter policeman asked him.

“No,” the redheaded man said. “But it is only a matter of time. And look at this poor woman’s husband.” But you could only look at the back of the head of the husband in question. “And I think this other gentleman is in trouble already.” I think he meant me.

The naked lady said, “Shouldn’t you wait for the other gentleman to file his own complaint before you leap to that conclusion? And speaking of leaping to conclusions, what is with that cougar crack? How old do you think I am?”

The redheaded man turned away from her to the two police. “What do you think is going to happen? Don’t you feel you need intervene?”

“We have to wait for the courts,” said the taller policeman.

“And the city comptroller estimates this uncomplaining gentleman and his friends and ilk are going to come back often and bring much revenue with them to the city. It all has to be taken into consideration.”

“What is spent in our fair city stays in our fair city,” the other officer said.

“So is everything to your liking so far?” the nude woman asked me.

“So far I am as happy as a bug in a Persian rug,” I told her.

“Why don’t you come with me for a swim and ditch that unflattering old swim suit now that you understand the sign?”

I grinned. “I am not used to doing certain things in public.” In a crowd of cultists, yes, but in front of strangers?

She smiled undeterred. “Very well for now. Fortunately, you know how to find me if you feel like a drink later.”

“I’ll sue,” the redheaded man said.

“We’ll all sue,” said the clothed lady.

The taller cop smiled grimly. “The city comptroller said a lot of people might sue. Any idio– any
person
can sue.”

“And our lawyers can use the money too, he said,” the other cop said.

The naked lady (who turned out to be named Sue Beth Lee) and I left them arguing while the two of us compromised and went for a mixed swim – she very politely did not mention again that I was overdressed for the activity. The warm sea water was just what I needed at that moment, and we had a lovely conversation about the Festival over a picnic lunch on the sand.

Two nights later things became even more intense in the moonlight.

Ay-ee yah! Iä! Shug Niggurath!

The Brides of Tindalos
by Kirsten Brown

Kirsten Brown
LE CIÉL OUVERT