The Lurker at the Threshold : A Horror Mystery by Brandon Berntson (books under 200 pages .txt) 📗

place.  Macky was relieved to see the blue had returned to the curator’s eyes.  He looked confused and lost.

“Sorry,” Macky said.  “You didn’t give me much of a choice.”

“What on earth—?” Capshaw said, and shivered again.

“Look,” Macky said, indicating the pile of pages on the desk.

Capshaw turned, frowned. “What on earth is that?”

“We got trouble.”

“Dev, what’s going on?”

Macky shook his head.  “You didn’t show up for work.  I wanted to see how you were coming with the book.  You weren’t at the museum.  I’m glad I stopped by.  There was something else here, Creighton.  I don’t think it was inside you exactly, but it had you under its spell.  Maybe that’s why the ice water worked.”

Capshaw looked like he was trying to make sense of all this.

“Let me get you a towel,” Macky said.  He went to the bathroom down the hall.  He came back with a towel and handed it to Capshaw.

“This is serious,” Capshaw said, wiping his face.  “And thanks.  What a terrible thing to think . . . I can’t even remember how it happened.  I . . .”

A sudden gale whirled through the room.  Some of the pages fluttered to the floor.

Capshaw bent and picked them up.  He looked them over and shivered again.  “This is dreadful,” he said.  “Do you know what this means?”

“It means we’re in trouble.  And I’d like to check on Millie. I haven’t seen her yet today.  I had to leave the office early.  Duke and Newt found another body.  I want to make sure she’s all right.”

Capshaw looked at Macky and nodded.  “Good Lord,” he said.  “This is more to add to The Necronomicon. Abdul Alhazred was using me, wasn’t he?”

“So, it would seem.  He doesn’t know how to hold a pencil in his current state, I guess.  You don’t remember writing it?”

“I remember leaving the museum.  I stopped somewhere for a drink.  And . . . then you splashed water on me.”

“I don’t see the book.  You don’t have it with you?”

“No.  I . . . No.  I locked it in the bottom drawer of my desk at the museum.”

“I was at your office.  The door was open.  The desk drawer, too.  There was no book there.”

“The bottom drawer?”

Macky nodded.

“Good heavens!  Who else knows about it?”

“I was hoping you could tell me.”

“Let me get my coat,” Capshaw said, looking down at himself.  “Perhaps I’ll change my clothes first.”

Chapter 9

Capshaw turned to Macky as they were driving back to the museum, and said, “I should thank you.”

“For what?” Macky said, one hand on the wheel.  “Dumping ice water down your back?  I thought the forces of darkness were stronger than that.  I didn’t think it would work, to be quite honest.”

“I’m feeling normal, at least.”

Macky made a right on Lexington, where the museum was.  “Do you remember anything else?”

Capshaw thought for a second.  He shook his head.  “Not about the time in between, no.  I do remember some things in the book.  How it ties together with The Necronomicon.  Not just what was written but some of the old legends tied to it, things and sources that didn’t come from The Necronomicon, so to speak.  I found it particularly disturbing that whoever studies it succumbs not only to madness but terrible ends as well.  I feel . . . evil inside, Dev.”

“Maybe we should find a priest to bless you,” Macky said.

“I appreciate the thought.” Capshaw smiled. The light returned to his eyes.  It was good to see.  “Regardless of how old The Necronomicon is, Abdul Alhazred isn’t dead.  Perhaps he never was.  He has some power, maybe from the Outer Gods, his own experiment—whatever it may be—that’s granted him a life outside the corporeal state.  The book isn’t done.  Maybe it was never meant to be.  It all sounds pretty crazy.”

Macky nodded.  “Which is what you were scribbling so furiously.  How did he possess you without actually inhabiting your body?”

“There could be any number of reasons for that.  A spell from the book itself would be my guess.  Powers beyond.  I think, though, that it played into my own love and fascination with ancient relics.  I gave in, in other words.”

“That’s a disturbing thought.”

“Abdul was a disturbing individual.  Thus, the Mad Arab.”

They drove down the block.  Macky parked the coupe

“How did you get inside anyway?” Capshaw asked.

“Lock-picking set.  I haven’t used it for a while.  I happen to be carrying it around lately.  Sometimes there are other forces on your side.”

“Yes.  Thank God for that.”

“So, let me ask you . . .”

Capshaw turned and looked at Macky.

“You want to know what else I can tell you about the book?”

“Only if you’re comfortable with it.”

Capshaw nodded.  He looked straight ahead.  “There are plenty of things that disturb me about this, Dev.  Abdul worshipped the Outer Gods, things bound to time and space.  The Outer Gods are a group of monsters.  Enormous in power and size.  Yog-Sothoth.  Cthulhu.  Azathoth.  It’s a succession, a family.  Azathoth is the grandfather.  Yog-Sothoth is the next in line.  Then Cthulhu.  Impossible horrors with omniscient power.  But they are bound, banished in some ways to the Outer Darkness—a place beyond time and space.  They’re bent and long for the destruction of humankind.  They long to break through.”

“That’s lovely,” Macky said.

“The book is a summoning device, a gateway to dimensions, which, if accessed correctly, could—”

“Allow the Outer Gods to enter and wreak havoc on earth.”

“Precisely.”

“You said portals.”

Capshaw nodded.  “Yes.”

“I believe one is already opened.  We had an issue last night behind the office.  A voice spoke through some gateway. We were tracking a hound. It said something about the Lurker at the Threshold, the first gate being opened.  It called itself Gomory.  I