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

He was trying to retain as much dignity as he could.  The wine was stronger than Saki.  He’d never drunk anything that made him feel this way before.  He’d never drunk anything that made him see this way.

“I will speak to you in a tongue you can understand,” Ubba-Sathla said, emerging from the darkness of the cave.  He carried a stone tablet in his hand.  “I have many languages.  You have been entertained by the Weevles.  They can be a nuisance.”  He turned and confronted the creatures.  “Leave our guest alone.  Where did you find him anyway?”

“Chalk-chalk,” Oh-lee-Oh said.  “Flabber-fisted.  Style gifted.  Wouldn’t let us go.  Want to entertain.  No one sees us.  No one please us.  Say it isn’t so!”

“That doesn’t answer my question,” Ubba-Sathla said.

“Outside, chip-chip.  Appeared from gate.  Foreigner. Traveled.  Many miles.  Comes from bad style.  Rip in hem leg.”

“I beg your pardon?” Macky said.

“It’s no matter,” Ubba-Sathla said.  There was sadness in his voice.  “What’s your name?”

“Devlin Macky,” he said.

“I am Ubba-Sathla.  As you already know.  I’ve been exiled here from the Outer Darkness.  It’s a punishment.”

Macky tried to right himself.  “Why?” he asked.

“An act of rebellion against the Elder Gods,” Ubba-Sathla said.  “I invoked their power through the Elder Scrolls.  They let me keep a copy as a sort of mercy.  Which was very rare.  But I’m stuck here.  They made me.  I am what I am because of them.”

The colors were coming together, then separating.  “Why?”

“The same reason they make anything,” Ubba-Sathla said.  “Servitude.  Slaves, if you must know.  The Weevles got you drunk on the wine of Kadath.”

“It didn’t take . . . much persuading.  It’s . . . different.  Not like back home.  They said I could contact you and . . . see the Elder Gods through it—hiccup!  But I’m . . . having a hard time focusing.”  Macky leaned over to one side, as if he were going to pass out.

“That’s not true,” Ubba-Sathla said.  “You see me but not because of the wine.  They like to make up things.  It amuses them.”

“I didn’t need to get drunk to see the Elder Gods?”

“No.”

“Well . . . it’s a nice change of pace.  It’s . . . been a long—hiccup—night.”

Ubba-Sathla smiled.  “I would ask you how you got here, but I think I know.  Why you are here is a different story.”

“The witch-house,” Macky said.  He felt like he was on a trip to Mars.  “Nyarlathotep.  Yog-Sothoth.  Hiccup!  I think the only way I can get help is to talk to the . . . Elder Gods.  I don’t know how to reach them, though.  I was hoping . . . someone around here could—hiccup—help.”

“Hmm,” Ubba-Sathla said.  “How did you get wrapped up in all that?”

“The Necronomicon.  I came into its possession.  Accidentally, of course. Hiccup!  I opened a doorway, then another, and another . . . until—”

“All thirteen were opened?” Ubba-Sathla finished for him and nodded.  “The Mad Arab is at it again.  His claim to fame.  We all have our weaknesses, don’t we, Mr. Macky?”

“Mine is strong drink,” Macky said, leaning a little too far to his left.

“Very clever, you all,” Ubba-Sathla said, confronting the Weevles.  “But you didn’t have to get him drunk.”

The Weevles bickered, hit each other on the head, and grumbled.

“I’m fine,” Macky said.  “Hiccup!  Really.  I just hope this doesn’t offend the Elder Gods.  I would hate it if they—hiccup—thought less of me?”

“It’s no matter.”

Macky nodded.  It felt like his head weighed fifty pounds.  “How do you . . . summon them?”

“I’m not sure they would be happy to help me, to be quite honest,” Ubba-Sathla said.  “But I can try.  An invocation, a prayer, a reading from the scroll will get their attention.  How they respond—if at all—of course, is up to them.”

The scrolls weren’t like the ones Nyarlathotep had taken from the museum.  The Elder Scrolls, perhaps in a more primordial fashion, was the stone tablet he’d brought with him.  It had strange markings on it, reminding Macky of the Ten Commandments.

Ubba-Sathla got on his knees, set the tablet before him, and started reading.  The cadence, strangely, put the Weevles to sleep.  They quieted, slowed, and drifted off, falling sideways on the ground. Others caressed the heads of their neighbors and looked sleepy-eyed.  Macky watched all this, astounded.

Nothing happened.  Macky had a hard time paying attention.  His eyes were getting heavy, and he wanted sleep.  He felt like he was going to pass out, but the wine was so flavorful, he reached for the flat, mishappen cup, brought it to his lips, and spilled it on his chest.

“Oh . . . jeez!” he said, trying to wipe it off.

A portal opened on the cave wall to his left, a dark void.  A face was staring at him: eyes and a mouth, but the features were flat.  It wore a regal helmet of some kind.  Macky realized it was part of the creature’s crown, a sheet of silver flame.  The face was intense, hard to read, ominous, and noble at the same time.  It demanded reverence.  Macky felt very small and insignificant in its presence.

Ubba-Sathla continued to invoke his prayer.  His head was bowed.

The picture widened.  Other figures came into view, similar in form and shape as the first.  They were standing in what appeared to be a great hall.

“You called on us again, Ubba-Sathla?” the figure in silver flame said.

“You honor me with your response, Nodens.  I am grateful.  Thank you.”  Ubba-Sathla bowed slightly.

“Your gratitude is warranted,” Nodens said.  “And your reverence is welcome?”

“Thank you, Nodens.  You honor me with your presence.”

“Why have you called us?”

“The man here with me, Nodens,” Ubba-Sathla said, motioning to Macky.  “His name is Devlin Macky.  He comes from the Third Dimension.  He pleads for