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

reading about the hound in the Mythos years ago.  Something about the Amulet, which I, for whatever reason, grew very curious about.  I managed to track it down.  Found it in a grave.”

“What did you do with it?”

“Gave it to Capshaw for the museum.  The place is getting a livestock of mysterious trinkets.  He’ll know what to do with it.  I knew if I kept studying all night, I would find the invocation somewhere.  You have to pronounce things correctly.  And I happened to notice that thing was mentioned as a nemesis to Nyarlathotep. As Duke and Newt tried to find the hound, I figured I could do two things at once.  But I wasn’t exactly sure.  Which is why I never told anybody.  Newt and Duke could be led to Amelia, and we could get rid of Nyarlathotep . . . at least for a while.  The fact that Wilbur Whateley was terrified of dogs never even occurred to me.  That Mr. Kalabraise is one brave dog.”

Macky smiled.  “You are one clever man, doctor.  I’m thankful for our friendship.”

Armitage laughed.  “We got off on the wrong foot back there in Arkham, but we’ve come a long way, you and me.  Try to stay out of mischief anyway, will you?”

“Maybe I can turn over a new leaf.”

“That’ll be the day,” Millie said.

“She’s still skeptical,” Macky said.

“You take care of yourself,” Millie old Armitage.  “And here’s that kiss I promised.”  She kissed Armitage on the cheek.

Armitage blushed and raised his eyebrows.  “You keep this one around, Dev.  I think she’s your good luck charm.  How else do you manage to survive these adventures?”

“She hounds me too much.  No pun intended.”

“You two take care,” Armitage said, smiling.

“Will do,” Macky said.

Armitage gave a smile before heading out the door. He waved to them before leaving the office.

“I like that man,” Millie said.

“I think he’s gonna be just fine,” Macky said.

—

 Creighton looked at the Amulet of Leng for a long time.  For a second, he thought a shadow was hovering behind him.  It had been a long time since he’d acquired anything new.  He didn’t want anyone else to know about this.  These things had been turning up for a while.  He was going to need a secret museum inside the museum.  With the Elder Scrolls being gone, and now this in his possession, he wondered about the dark forces in the universe.  Portals, gates, the man he’d killed.  Upsetting, to say the least, and he wasn’t the kind of man who could get over things quickly. He still had nightmares about killing the guard. That and the creature in Dunwich—Yog-Sothoth of a thousand spheres.

He was alone in the museum, except for the security guard.  He didn’t know where the man was.  But it was quiet, and he liked that.  Even though he could hear the nails clipping along the hallway.  A green glow appeared.  He thought of himself as a midnight caretaker, digging up the graves of lost monsters, finding trinkets from a forgotten era, much like the one he’d just put away.

Was that the baying of a hound, or just his imagination?  Was that the smell of tarry stickiness in the air, a portal opening, a glowing orb? For a second, he could sense Nyarlathotep standing nearby wanting the amulet.  Demanding it, in fact.  What was to prevent the Outer God from obtaining it on his own?  From walking in here and kiping it?

The hound clipped along the hall.  The green jade grew brighter.

It might not be the best of bodyguards, but it was reliable.  The hound itself, though under a new sort of spell, was no threat to Capshaw.  Just the opposite.

Or so he hoped.  You never knew with these things.

Capshaw put the amulet in a different drawer with a different lock and sealed it up tight.  He grabbed his bowler hat from the coat rack and decided to treat himself to that drink he’d never finished.  Maybe that same band was there, the blonde singer in the cocktail dress.

—

Frye W. Fields was sitting up late with Munster curling around his legs while typing up the latest article on the Havoc of Innsport, as he called it.

A knock sounded at the door.

He lifted his eyebrows, got up, giddy, hoping to experience something similar to what had happened before.  That had paid off, the book, the tome, that had been left him.  It had spoken to him, and the deep had roiled.  It paid off, too.  His editor, Barnaby Bundlesnitch, considered giving him a raise.

Fields went to the door and unlocked it.  He pulled it wide.  Before he could see who it was, a fist collided with his nose.  A lightning jab of pain blossomed across his face like a hot flower.  Blood started to flow.  He fell backwards and hit the ground.  Munster bolted to the space under his bed.

Whoever had punched him was already walking away.  He saw a fedora and a light gray trench coat, but he couldn’t tell who it was.

It was probably just as well.

—

“How is Creighton?” Macky asked.  He had his feet up on the desk, leaning back, while Millie dusted the knick-knacks.  Benny Goodman was playing on the Vectra 2 radio on the lone stand under the bright window overlooking Innsport.

“I think he’s lonely, Dev.  We should do something for him.  I don’t think he’s gotten over killing that guard.”

“That was your fault.”

“How was it my fault?”

“Because you wanted to be the Queen of Sarnath.  Boy, you were really something, too, Mill.  You had it down, too.  That green chiton you had to wear all night was good, too, but it left me empty.”

“Everything leaves you empty.”

“Why the sharp tongue?  What did I do to you?”

“Dev, you left everyone on the brink of horror . .