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The Call	By : drowsteel Category: Titles in the Public Domain > Call of Cthulhu Views: 3040 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work fiction, based on The Call of Cthulhu by HP Lovecraft

Chapter List
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Lovecraft’s message on the website was enigmatic, as usual.

“Slaughter Roses and witches hang.”

Tabitha started her long, tedious search through the London Times. All Lovecraft’s messages were coded to key in to either the London Times, LA Times, or the Wall Street Journal. Sometimes all of them had conflicting information, and there was nothing to be done about it, you just had to make the best guess and hope that you got it right.

The last time Tabitha had met Lovecraft in person, just before he vanished forever, had been six years ago in New Orleans. He’d shot a wealthy executive in the face. If Tabitha ever saw him again, she knew he’d likely be dead. In fairness, he might be already; there was no guarantee that the man who posted web messages was the same one she’d met years ago.

“I can look at that one, if you like,” James offered.

Over the top of the newspaper, Tabitha sent an icy stare at James. He didn’t scan right. He’d miss the clues.

James sighed. “Can I see the sport pages, then?”

“When I’m done,” Tabitha answered.

“What about the ones from Los Angeles?”

“No!” Tabitha almost shouted. “Be fucking patient!”

James held his hands up in a motion of surrender. He usually wasn’t one to push for conflict, and by personality it would be hard to tell that he was a former member of the British Royal Marine Commando. Denied reading material, James picked up a pen off the table and flipped it from hand to hand like a ball, occasionally glancing at the television program Mayumi was watching.

As usual, Mayumi was watching orchestras. She loved classical music and shows about composers. Since James didn’t, he was usually bored with Mayumi’s choice of programming.

The three of them weren’t friends, but they worked together well enough. Tabitha thought that it was best to keep emotional distance, in case one of them should die. Especially if it was horrible. Like when Allen died.

“Are you done?” James asked. Tabitha had begun staring at nothing as thoughts of Allen came back to her. Without a word, Tabitha threw the sports section at him. “Thank you.”

Traveling to Salem, Oregon was eventually decided by an article in the New York Times about the murder of high school student Rose Ailes. The death was described as a “brutal, execution-style slaying with no apparent motive”, and Lovecraft’s interest in the murder wasn’t immediately apparent. It was never immediately apparent.

Going by commercial airline wasn’t possible. Rather, it was risky. James had no identity in the U.S., and brought with him a Weatherby .320 rifle, and even if they could have gotten him fake paperwork, Tabitha didn’t like gambling that airport security wouldn’t take special interest in them. Mayumi might have known some mumbo-jumbo to get them past inspection, but really Tabitha hated any plan which involved “might”.

Instead, they went by car. The trip from Olympia, Washington was less than three hours. Even if the message had been for Florida, they would likely have driven.

At the Oregon border, the cops didn’t give them a second look. Their car had Washington plates and Tabitha looked like one of the many goth or punk college students from Portland.

The actual murder had taken place in a tiny suburb of Salem called Greenvale, and the victim had been shot in the streets near the local high school. Not wanting to stay too close, Tabitha reserved a hotel in the city of Salem; it was a thirty minute drive.

“Well, it’s a very nice neighborhood isn’t it?” James commented.

It was nice. The houses were well-maintained and had lawns. The high school which Rose had attended was a private school run by the local community, and most of the teachers also lived in town.

“Is this a religious school?” Mayumi asked, squinting at the large white with red trim buildings which made up the layout of Saint Michael High School.

“Safe call to make,” Tabitha replied. Mayumi often missed out on things which your average American could tell at a glance.

“They remind me of the supremacy group,” Mayumi said, still looking at the high school buildings. “That used to hang black people.”

“The Ku Klux Klan,” James answered. “I was thinking that, too.”

Tabitha took another look at the buildings, with their pristine white and sharp red lines. Even without squinting, it was easy to picture them as giant, sheet-wearing murderous men.

“Right,” Tabitha murmured. She wished Mayumi had kept that observation to herself.

“Police are watching,” James said casually as he pretended to write in his pocket notebook. Tabitha tried to look around without turning her head. Mayumi was less subtle.

The patrol car had “Marion County Sheriff” printed on the side. The deputy inside was probably in his mid-forties and had black hair with a lot of gray to it. From behind his aviator-style sunglasses, he was obviously sizing them up.

“Do we look suspicious?” Mayumi said aloud.

James smirked. “Well, I don’t. The both of you, perhaps.”

Although James was teasing, it happened to be true. Tabitha was all in black with pale skin and dyed-black hair, one strip of bright-red lipstick ran down the center of her lips. Mayumi was so obviously curious about everything that she stood out as either lost or confused. Only James looked perfectly at home, relaxed and calm in his blue polo shirt. He looked very kind and boyish, probably without trying. That son of a bitch.

As the patrol car pulled close to them, James pretended to notice its presence for the first time and gave a friendly nod. Mayumi watched it intently, oblivious to being discrete. Tabitha decided to let her feelings show and gave a bored, disgusted look to the deputy.

“What are you doing here?” The deputy got out of his car and asked the question sternly, not bothering with any facade of friendliness.

“We’re an investigations firm,” James replied with a smile. “The Olympian asked us to follow up on possible motives for our recent murder.”

“There was no motive,” the deputy said flatly. “It was random violence.”

Conway, the deputy’s name plate read. His badge number was 241.

“The thing is,” James said, “it doesn’t really feel like a random murder. Well, so our newspaper people tell us. I suppose they imagine that a single murder on a public street which isn’t followed by any others could have a motive.”

The friendly way James spoke tended to mask the underlying viciousness of what he said. Deputy Conway, like most people, wasn’t sure whether James was mocking him or not.

Tabitha drew out her license as a private investigation firm and handed it to the deputy, who immediately handed it back to her without looking at it.

“We’ll be talking to students as they come out,” Tabitha told him.

“You better watch out,” Conway said darkly. “This city’s still sore, and if people want to kill you for asking questions I won’t blame them.”

Clearly wishing he had a reason to arrest them, the deputy got back in his car and made a point of writing down Tabitha’s license plate number before driving off.

“Nice fellow,” James said.

“No he wasn’t,” Mayumi said, wondering how James could have missed it.

Students started leaving promptly at 5:00 PM.

“They leave all at the same time,” Mayumi said. She and Tabitha were in the car and parked down the street, letting James be the one to make contact with the kids.

Watching the young people leave campus, Tabitha knew that Mayumi had been right. The uniformed students stayed in tight groups, looking with suspicion at even the most gentle stranger. Tabitha could only imagine how they’d take to her.

The uniforms and group movement made blood rush to Tabitha’s head, and Allen’s face rushed into her mind. His face with cheeks slit open and eyes punctured, leaking that viscous clear fluid...

Tabitha threw open the driver’s side door and dry heaved, going into a cold sweat. She put her head between her knees and gulped in air that tasted like copper. Miserable, uniform-wearing little shits.

Mayumi didn’t even look over. She kept watching James.

“It isn’t worth thinking about,” Mayumi said. ”He doesn’t feel pain now.”

“I’m sure it’s hard,” James said, looking sympathetic and concerned. “I only want to get at justice for the deceased.”

It had taken him several tries to find someone who would talk to him. The vast majority of students hadn’t even been willing to listen to his pitch, instead walking faster and staring silently back. The girl who looked back a little longer was the winner, James knew. He’d started wheedling, and she’d walked slower and slower, until she nervously answered.

“It was somebody from outside of town,” the girl told James. “Rose was one of us, so she was safe with us.”

“So there wasn’t anyone who didn’t like her?” James asked.

“That wouldn’t have mattered,” the girl answered.

Other students were stopping now, but not to talk. They began to form a circle, staring both at James and the girl who was speaking to him.

“Thank you for your time,” James said with a smile, pretending to take no notice of the coldly hostile crowd forming around him. “Afternoon,” he nodded to the ring of students as he walked away calmly. The crowd stared after him, before moving as one off campus.

“Yes, I feel that way too,” James said to the retching Tabitha on his return to the car. “I think Lovecraft was the one who murdered that girl.”

Tabitha was still in no shape to answer. Her stomach was convulsing, trying to push out its nonexistent contents.

“Why do you think it was him?” Mayumi asked.

“They make me think it,” James pointed at the school. “Lie down in the back,” he said to Tabitha, hurriedly putting her in the rear seats of the car before getting into the driver’s seat and speeding off.

James drove them to Salem, where they stopped for dinner. Tabitha mostly drank clear liquids, finally getting a little appetite back and having a sandwich. Around nine, they went to the hotel Tabitha had reserved. It was modest and cheap, only for functionality.

“We can’t stay here,” Mayumi said suddenly, and she grabbed James’ shoulder.

Without a word, James turned to look at Tabitha. She was looking much healthier than she had a few hours ago. It wasn’t like Mayumi to insist.

Tabitha shrugged. “Back to Olympia,” she agreed.

Feeling oddly relieved, James pulled away and started the drive back to Olympia.

It was an early morning, though not by design. Everyone decided on their own volition to be awake before five thirty, unable to sleep any later. Mayumi decided to occupy herself with making an egg and bacon breakfast. Tabitha made a web search for any information about Greenvale. James took the rare opportunity to browse the television channels.

James turned off the television, then started looking out the windows. “Mayumi,” he asked slowly, “are we safe here?”

“I don’t know,” Mayumi replied. “Do you think so?”

James looked at Tabitha, who was having no luck finding anything new on the web. “No,” she said. “We’re not.”

After a quick, tense breakfast, everyone was back in the car; it didn’t feel safe to stay in one place. The drive was scenic, intentionally taking no one particular route but making a winding way to Greenvale. Every so often, they made a stop in whatever town was close to ask about Greenvale.

Nothing. Apart from the murder of Rose Ailes, no one knew anything about it, or anyone from there, or anyone who knew anyone from there, or how long the town had been there.

“How did a newspaper get the story, anyhow?” Tabitha finally asked.

She had to ask it several times, to several different people before finally a gas station attendant, of all people, knew something.

“The shooting was right in front of a sheriff’s deputy,” he said. “My brother in law.”

Tabitha cautiously asked her next question. “Deputy Conway?”

“No,” the attendant shook his head. “Well, yeah, he was there too. My brother in law is George Mayall, though. He said it was a tall, real thin black guy who did it.”

Lovecraft.

The attendant looked thoughtful. “He said Conway gave him a hard time about recommending the press release.”

“Like how?” Tabitha asked.

“I don’t know.”

No doubt existed in Tabitha’s mind now that Lovecraft had been the one who murdered Rose Ailes. He’s orchestrated the newspaper article. On returning to her car, she wanted to tell James that he’d been right, but his face was already tense.

“Our hotel which we didn’t stay at,” James started, “burned.”

Returning to Olympia was now no longer possible. Anything which could be traced back to Tabitha was compromised and deadly.

“Conway will kill us,” Tabitha said grimly, staring straight ahead as she drove. “He’s one of them.”

No one argued. Tabitha’s reasoning wasn’t flawless, but there was no reason to doubt it. Thinking that anyone wasn’t out to get them at this point seemed foolhardy.

Past midnight, James dropped Tabitha off just outside of Greenvale while driving with the headlights off. He drove a mile away before parking.

Tabitha felt exhilarated in spite of herself. Being out in the dark sneaking around reminded her of being a teenager, when she’d raced around Olympia at night with her friends. A lot of the things she did now were things she’d learned then, about moving quickly unseen.

The suburban town had brightly lit streets, illuminated by street lamps that stood like alien guardians along the roads. Tabitha felt certain that other eyes were lurking along those well-lit streets where she couldn’t protect herself in darkness. Where she’d be vulnerable in the light.

Tabitha stayed next to things, anything which could break up her silhouette. Nothing moved on the streets except for her, and the imagined faces which peered from every house and every window.

The house which Rose had lived in was hard to find. All suburban houses looked alike even in daylight. At night, they were nearly indistinguishable. If they’d taken the time to find it in the daylight...

We’d be dead.

The thought was sobering enough.

There were no alarms on the houses. Normal suburbia was paranoid, frightened. Secure and wired.

These were not suburban homes, Tabitha knew. They looked like it. During the day they looked like it. Now they looked like rotten, deformed eggs which still somehow nurtured the diseased vermin inside them. At any moment they might burst forth their progeny into the world. Shambling, darkened creatures which would...

I’m cracking up, Tabitha thought. It accompanied more fear than it had two years ago, when it had been less true.

Finally, Tabitha found the right street numbers. The house was one-story, with a wooden fence around the back yard. It reminded her of houses she’d used to wish she lived in. Briefly, she considered going around the back. She found the front door unlocked.

Even on the inside, the hardwood floors and darkened halls had a dormant energy that seemed to nurture some unseen, sinister young. Tabitha wondered if Lovecraft had been here, in this house.

No, she decided, taking her shoes off to move silently. Lovecraft was a coward. That’s why we’re here, and he’s fleeing to distant parts of the country where these people can’t tear him to pieces.

Tabitha felt suddenly certain that she was going to be torn to pieces. Because that bastard Lovecraft had sent her in his place. Because that coward ran away.

Forcing the thoughts from her mind, Tabitha crept though the house. She took a keychain light from her pocket, only turning it on for seconds at a time.

The light exposed bizarre statuary. Twisted, strange depictions of creatures which clawed their way from the deepest corners of Tabitha’s mind. Goosebumps raised all over her body, and the panicked urge to run swelled up inside her.

Tabitha pressed herself forward, deeper into the house. A flash of the light on a bookcase revealed bound works with strange symbols that would have meant something to Mayumi, but were just marks of madness to Tabitha.

The smell of aged meat grew in Tabitha’s nose and stung the back of her throat, the farther in Tabitha went. She knew now which door she was moving towards, and her mind put forth the horrors which it said waited for her. There were demons and rot and death in that room, like the ones which had struck her sanity in the past and would this time shatter her mind forever.

Her mind told her that every time.

The doorknob felt unnaturally warm in Tabitha’s hand. It was because it was a living thing; a womb. The door was all that protected the outside world from the horror inside. It was insane to try to open the door. It was worse than suicide, more malevolent than murder.

As the hinges swung, the foul smell of putrescence oozed over Tabitha’s body, coating her skin and soaking into her, ensuring that she’d never be clean again. The slowly swinging door exposed more and more of a scene which Tabitha wished didn’t exist, but continued to be exposed as the cruel light allowed it to reach her eyes.

The body of Rose Ailes lay on the floor, now not only shot in the face but fully torn open, skin gone and organs exposed. In the center of what had once been a young woman was a man who must have been her father, lying face down and naked, covered in congealed blood and other, colored chunks of things which looked like they shouldn’t have been part of a human body. His bearded, blood coated face snapped towards Tabitha in the doorway and he gurgled like a feral beast before screaming the nightmarish words:

“IA! IA! CTHULHU FTAGHN!”

The balding, bearded ghoul lunged at Tabitha, who slammed the door against him with the weight of her entire body behind it. His arm caught between door and frame, snapping like a twig yet still twitching, fingers opening and closing as the rapidly discoloring hand prevented the door from closing. The man howled in pain.

Tabitha yanked the door back, allowing her attacker to tumble to the ground. He tried to break his fall with his hands, and the bone of one arm tore through his skin. Tabitha dropped on his back, leading with both knees into his spine before racing to the front of the house, crashing into a table on the way before snatching up the shoes she’d left by the door and fleeing outside. Behind her, the horrendous ghoul still screamed.

Light posts tried to reveal Tabitha as the invading infection in the body of Greenvale. Tabitha’s heart raced, telling her to run without stopping, but she forced herself to be slow, to think and not panic. She threw her shoes back on, knowing that a foot injury meant death now. Howls continued from the house behind her, and lights from those other deadly structures turned on one by one.

Hands shaking, Tabitha struggled to unholster the .38 snubnose revolver strapped under her shirt, already trying to find enough darkness to shield herself.

A woman streaked out from a house across the street, already at a full run. She was dressed in nightclothes, holding a cleaver in her hands as she let out a scream of pure madness.

Tabitha didn’t shoot. The urge to run overtook her, and she sprinted from the cleaver-wielding madwoman. Her pace was like lightning.

Other people poured into the street, and Tabitha knew that if she even tried to start shooting, she’d be torn to pieces by a hundred more than she could ever hope to kill. The throng howled in cacophony, sometimes in words that Tabitha knew and sometimes in that forgotten, elder language which sprung from insane dreams. Later, Tabitha would have no memory of the chase. At the time, she could make out the individual faces in the crowd, could see them tripping over each other as they tried to overtake her, could see some thinking predators try to use cars, only to get stuck on the bodies of their swarming bretheren.

Several times, fingers tore at Tabitha’s body, but later she would not remember them. She shot someone in the chest, but did it without trying and had no memory of it. She only vaguely would be able to remember the car which blocked her path; Marion County Sheriff, it said on the side. She remembered Conway’s face, obscured partially by the pistol he aimed at her. Tabitha laughed hysterically as she continued to run at him. Being killed quickly would be a blessing.

I’m cracking up, Tabitha thought without the least bit of fear.

Conway shot twelve times, and he missed every time. He couldn’t aim very well out the window of his car, and couldn’t tell where to target against the crowd. Behind Tabitha, several people fell bleeding.

Tabitha shot once at Conway, missing completely but making him duck into his car. Tabitha vaulted easily over the hood, still laughing from giddy fear. Her pursuers crashed into one another, piling up even as Conway ran them over, trying to pursue Tabitha.

The patrol car stopped dead at the next gunshot, not any little handgun round but the bellow of James’ Weatherby .320 round roaring through the night and into Conway’s head. Several other reports followed, nearly stopping the crowd entirely in its tracks. Tabitha’s car swung over to her, Mayumi at the wheel. Screams of outrage emanated from the mob as Tabitha dove into the backseat, legs and lungs burning.

A few newspapers the next day had the story “New Roanoke?” in their pages. None of them were front page. So little was known about Greenvale anyway that it invited little speculation that it was suddenly uninhabited. In coming years, it would be included in paranormal magazines as a list of strange occurrences.

It was weeks later that Tabitha posted, from Rhode Island:

Witch trial in recess, she wrote, prosecution resting in your house.
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The Call