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

With all that said, boy-howdy, I could use some giggle-juice.”

“I had a feeling your monologue was going to end a drunken note,” Millie said.

Ten feet ahead, Nyarlathotep lead the way in silence.

Mr. Kalabraise trotted happily alongside Millie, tongue hanging out of her mouth.  Her tail wagged, not caring the world was falling apart around her.  Portals were opening, monsters snatching helpless citizens from the streets, but to Mr. Kalabraise, it was a chance to stretch her legs.

“You could pretend you were proud of me,” Macky said.

“I’m not giving you any votes of encouragement,” Millie said.

“Not even a little?”

“No.”

“Come on, Mill.  Where’s that unwavering valiant spirit, that rock-solid faith I’ve come to know and love?”

“I’m in a season of doubt,” she said.

“We’re figuring this thing out,” Macky said.  “We’re making progress.”

“I’m a little off.  You know, cosmic monsters, The Necronomicon, Abdul Alhazred, Yog-Sothoth.  Monsters in basements.  Creatures in graves.  Forgive me.”

“You were always the undaunted one.  What do you think got me through?  Where did you think my strength came from?”

“A bottle.”

“Loosen up, Mill.  What gives?”

“My previous answer is the same as the question just posed.”

“Point taken.  Boy, am I getting hungry, though!  Where’s a deli when you need one?  How come all these adventures go till all hours of the morning?  We need a change in the program.  What do you think?  Operating on malnutrition, sleep-deprivation, and yet, we’re still defeating the bad guys.”

“Your cockiness isn’t a good sign,” Millie said.

“I agree,” Armitage said.  “We should be careful, Dev.”

“I’m with, Dev,” Capshaw said.  “I’m starting to fill that fighting spirit.  We’re making progress.”

“That’s the kind of attitude I’m talking about,” Macky said.

Armitage looked over his glasses.  He was mumbling something under his breath.

“Find something?” Macky asked.

“Huh?” Armitage asked.  “Maybe.  I found an invocation, for the hound, I think.  I don’t know if it will work, but I’m doing my best.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Macky said.  “How about when it’s all over, we all go to a nice restaurant to celebrate.  My treat, of course.”

“You don’t have any money,” Millie said.

“Your treat then,” Macky said.

“I don’t have any money, either.”

“Looks like Creighton is fitting the bill.  A curator’s salary has to be pretty good.  Look at the nice outfits he wears.  Although I must say, I’ve been admiring your shoes, doctor, since we picked you up at Arkham.”

“I’m proud of them myself,” the doctor said, angling the two-tone brown and white shoes for everyone to see.

“Things are definitely strange,” Capshaw said.  “I’ve been possessed by an evil spirit, took another man’s life, and that isn’t something you get over quickly.  But in some ways, I feel better than I have, more hopeful.  Maybe there’s something to this.  I never hurt anything in my life.  Not once.  Well . . . that’s not entirely true.  We would catch the neighborhood cats and shave their tails when I was in elementary school.  They used to mewl and whine like you’ve never heard in your life.”

“You used to shave the tails of cats?” Armitage asked.

“I was seven.  I had a lot of friends who thought it was funny.”

“That’s cruel,” Macky said.  “What did you do?” he asked Armitage.

The doctor shrugged.  “Sat in my room and read.”

“What did you read?”

“Detective stories.  Science fiction.”

“Weird Tales Magazine?”

“One of my favorites.”

“We have something in common after all.”

“I thought you didn’t know how to read?”

“I like to look at the pictures,” Macky said.

—

The witch-house was an old, gray Victorian.  It looked like a Halloween haunted house at the top of the hill.  It was cartoonish in some aspects, sitting alone, surrounded by barren maple and elm trees, the leaves falling.  Currents of light continued to flash behind the windows, brighter and more blinding the closer they got to it.  Macky had to shield his eyes.  He noticed the others doing the same.  It looked like a Christmas tree, but there wasn’t anything festive about it.

“Where are we?” he asked Nyarlathotep.  “This isn’t Innsport.”

“We’re moving in and out of a space-time dimension.  The gates, when they open, reveal other gates.  More gates open the more people come into contact with The Necronomicon.  Consider yourself lucky this one opened for you.”

Macky didn’t like the way the lights were flashing behind the windows.  It made him nervous.  “On second thought,” he said.  “Why don’t you guys go ahead.  I don’t know if I’m up for it all of a sudden.”

“Quit being such a baby,” Millie said.

“Hey, this stuff is getting to me as much as to anybody else.  Bats, rats, shave-tailed cats, nothingness, mi-gos, glowing orbs, spider-women, doorways, gateways, portals, which are really all the same, but still . . . It’s getting up there.  Humbling.  Clandestine.  That means ‘secretive,’ Mill.”

“I know.  But you didn’t use it correctly.  None of which you mentioned is a secret.  Nor is anyone trying to keep it a secret.  Now, let’s get going.  It’s all for one and one for all, right, Mr. Kalabraise?”

Mr. Kalabraise barked.

“Here is the Nexus of the Mythos,” Nyarlathotep said.

“The Mythos?” Macky asked.

“The Lovecraftian Mythos.  Howard Phillips knew what was real and what wasn’t.  The witch-house was part of it.”

“Whatever happened to him anyway?” Macky asked.  “Is he locked up somewhere?”

“He’s buried in Rhode Island,” Armitage said.

“Hey, like the bookstore!”

“The bookstore isn’t buried,” Millie said.

“The doorways and dreamscapes can be accessed from here,” Nyarlathotep said.  “The Outer Gods, Elder Gods.  Earth.  Even Innsport.  This is where it begins.”

“But how do we know what to do?” Macky asked.

“You don’t.  It will come to you eventually.  You will be led.  If you’re lucky.”

“Is that supposed to be encouraging?”

“It is if you want it to be,” Nyarlathotep said.

“You’re an extraordinary