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

and yellow lights zig-zagged, came into being, and faded in a kaleidoscopic rhapsody of images and light.  Under their feet, the floor was an ethereal, invisible solid.  Macky felt like he was falling through space standing on it.

Scenes unfolded: the farmhouse where Newt and Duke were. The streets of Innsport, the Mad Arab’s bookshop, an apartment Macky didn’t recognize, the police station, the museum, and the pit where Mike, the security guard, had died, a graveyard, an open casket, and something else beyond all this—the skies above Innsport, Yog-Sothoth coming through in a spherical mass.  Something was churning in the sea.  The water was roiling.  Cyclones of bats, mi-gos in the air, rats by the thousands scampered over the tracks of the train station.  Giant spiders clung to the sides of buildings.  They waited in dark alleys.  The city was buried in fog, a hound with red eyes and wings, a green amulet around its neck.  The orbs of Yog-Sothoth were everywhere, illuminating random patches of the city, a grid of connect-the-dots.  The tear in the night sky opened wider.  The Lurker at the Threshold was waiting.  Or was he slipping through?

“What is that?” Macky asked, referring to the roiling deep.

“The resident of the Thirteenth Gate,” Nyarlathotep said.

In other areas: pictures of a nearby hospital, patients strapped to chairs, electrodes on their heads.  The hallways and rooms were filled with madmen and women, the criminally insane.  Macky could hear them screaming.

“Cthulhu emerges,” Nyarlathotep said.

“There’s that word again,” Macky said.  “What does it mean?”

“The son of Yog-Sothoth,” Armitage said.  “Azathoth’s grandchild.  Cthulhu, Macky.  We’re in trouble.”

“The naivete of mortals never ceases to amaze me,” Nyarlathotep said.  “When dealing with something more superior than yourselves, you tend to buckle.  Quite easily.  I find it entertaining.  Did you think you had what it took to outwit Yog-Sothoth, the Lurker at the Threshold?”

“Why did you bring us here then?” Macky asked.

“To watch you squirm,” the god said. “And to amuse myself.  Believe it or not, there’s still a chance for you.  I’ve given you that chance.  I’m not as my reputation precedes.  But Cthulhu is coming.  And Yog-Sothoth.  The mi-gos, bats, rats, spiders, hounds, fog, gates, all of it . . . unleashed.”

“That’s my fault for giving you the benefit of the doubt, sure,” Macky said.  “But think of Millie and Mr. Kalabraise.”

“Don’t forget me, Dev,” Capshaw said.

“Creighton.  Sure.  All of us.”

“You forgot Henry,” Millie said.

“I can take care of myself,” Armitage told them.

“Who is Mr. Kalabraise?” Nyarlathotep asked.

“The dog,” Macky said.

In answer, Mr. Kalabraise barked.

“Brown Jenkin will take care of him soon enough.”

“Her,” Macky said.

“Excuse me?” Nyarlathotep said.

“Her.  Mr. Kalabraise is a she.  It’s Millie’s way of being cute.”

“She doesn’t mind,” Millie said.

Nyarlathotep stood staring at them, wondering if this was real. “As I said, Brown Jenkin will take of her soon enough.”

“Who is Brown Jenkin?” Millie asked.

“The haunter of the witch-house.”

“I don’t like the sound of that,” Macky said.

“You’re not supposed to,” Nyarlathotep said.

“There’s that enigmatic talk again,” Macky said.  “Look, help us.  Please.  Just tell us what to do.”

“You’ve made it this far,” the Outer God said.  “Look around, Mr. Macky.  Certainly, you can see what you have to do.

“I’ll say one thing,” Macky said.  “That fact that you can be entertained by someone else’s misfortune says a lot about you.  On the evolutionary scale, that’s pretty low.  Purely selfish, narcissistic even.”  He shook his head.  “It says a lot about where you stand.”

“Uh, Dev,” Armitage said.  “That might not be a good idea.  You know, to argue with an Outer God.”

Nyarlathotep stared at Macky for a long time.  There was no expression on his face.  How could there be?

“I mean, honestly,” Macky said.  “What’s the point?  Meaningless, fleeting, momentary pleasure?  Is that the reward?  Self-gratification?  Self-aggrandizement?  Stroking the ego?  It’s an endless cycle.  You realize that, right?  It never ends.  Once you get what you want, it won’t be enough.  You’ll always want more.  Always.  It’s inevitable.  It’s human nature.  You’re a god, for crying out loud!  You have the petty needs and wants of a child.  What does that say about you?  You have this power, and yet you use it for something so frivolous, selfish, and empty.  Soulless.  God, you’re a sociopath.  Doesn’t that bother you?”

“Uh, Dev . . .” Armitage pleaded.

Nyarlathotep didn’t say anything.

“You’ve actually defined yourself through pride,” Macky continued.  “The fall of the devil.  It goes back centuries, thousands of years.  What does that make you?  Base.  Shallow.  There’s nothing there, Nyar-baby.  Through all of history, the unending, cosmic unfolding of time and space, gods, monsters, humankind, and progress, you’re right there at the bottom of the dung heap.  You and Yog-Sothoth both.  You’re no better than Hitler, Stalin, or Napoleon.  We don’t look back on those people with admiration, you know?  They were idiots.  Stupid.  Dumb goals, lofty ideals, men who wanted to put themselves on the plateau with gods.  But they fell, Nyarlathotep.  They fell hard.  And now they’re looked on with nothing more than pity. And that’s if they’re lucky.  Is that the legacy you want to leave?  You’re fighting for the losing side.  You can’t win.  You’re a hamster on a wheel, buddy.  Once the light touches the darkness, you’re finished.  You’ve evaporated.  Disappeared.  You cease to exist.  You need the darkness to survive, but you’re destroyed by light.  Love kills you, and those things will never die.  They’re immortal.  Timeless.  Infinite. Eternal.  You see where I’m going, don’t you?  You, my friend, are a product of your own inept weakness.  In the bigger picture, you’re nothing, mean nothing, and will continue to mean nothing until it’s all said and done.  That’s your fate.  You might have a little fun in the meantime, but that’s the end result.  Your purpose is to thwart the