The Idolaters of Cthulhu Read online

  Now, in my intense desire to probe into the dream-life of Joe Slater, I sought these instruments again, and spent several days in repairing them for action. When they were complete once more I missed no opportunity for their trial. At each outburst of Slater's violence, I would fit the transmitter to his forehead and the receiver to my own, constantly making delicate adjustments for various hypothetical wave-lengths of intellectual energy. I had but little notion of how the thought-impressions would, if successfully conveyed, arouse an intelligent response in my brain, but I felt certain that I could detect and interpret them. Accordingly I continued my experiments, though informing no one of their nature.

  It was on the twenty-first of February, 1901, that the thing occurred. As I look back across the years I realize how unreal it seems, and sometimes half wonder if old Doctor Fenton was not right when he charged it all to my excited imagination. I recall that he listened with great kindness and patience when I told him, but afterward gave me a nerve-powder and arranged for the half-year's vacation on which I departed the next week.

  That fateful night I was wildly agitated and perturbed, for despite the excellent care he had received, Joe Slater was unmistakably dying. Perhaps it was his mountain freedom that he missed, or perhaps the turmoil in his brain had grown too acute for his rather sluggish physique; but at all events the flame of vitality flickered low in the decadent body. He was drowsy near the end, and as darkness fell he dropped off into a troubled sleep.

  I did not strap on the strait jacket as was customary when he slept, since I saw that he was too feeble to be dangerous, even if he woke in mental disorder once more before passing away. But I did place upon his head and mine the two ends of my cosmic "radio," hoping against hope for a first and last message from the dream world in the brief time remaining. In the cell with us was one nurse, a mediocre fellow who did not understand the purpose of the apparatus, or think to inquire into my course. As the hours wore on I saw his head droop awkwardly in sleep, but I did not disturb him. I myself, lulled by the rhythmical breathing of the healthy and the dying man, must have nodded a little later.

  The sound of weird lyric melody was what aroused me. Chords, vibrations, and harmonic ecstasies echoed passionately on every hand, while on my ravished sight burst the stupendous spectacle of ultimate beauty. Walls, columns, and architraves of living fire blazed effulgently around the spot where I seemed to float in air, extending upward to an infinitely high vaulted dome of indescribable splendor. Blending with this display of palatial magnificence, or rather, supplanting it at times in kaleidoscopic rotation, were glimpses of wide plains and graceful valleys, high mountains and inviting grottoes, covered with every lovely attribute of scenery which my delighted eyes could conceive of, yet formed wholly of some glowing, ethereal plastic entity, which in consistency partook as much of spirit as of matter. As I gazed, I perceived that my own brain held the key to these enchanting metamorphoses; for each vista which appeared to me was the one my changing mind most wished to behold. Amidst this elysian realm I dwelt not as a stranger, for each sight and sound was familiar to me; just as it had been for uncounted eons of eternity before, and would be for like eternities to come.

  Then the resplendent aura of my brother of light drew near and held colloquy with me, soul to soul, with silent and perfect interchange of thought. The hour was one of approaching triumph, for was not my fellow-being escaping at last from a degrading periodic bondage; escaping for ever, and preparing to follow the accursed oppressor even unto the uttermost fields of ether, that upon it might be wrought a flaming cosmic vengeance which would shake the spheres? We floated thus for a little time, when I perceived a slight blurring and fading of the objects around us, as though some force were recalling me to earth—where I least wished to go. The form near me seemed to feel a change also, for it gradually brought its discourse toward a conclusion, and itself prepared to quit die scene, fading from my sight at a rate somewhat less rapid than that of the other objects. A few more thoughts were exchanged, and I knew that the luminous one and I were being recalled to bondage, though for my brother of light it would be the last time. The sorry planet shell being well-nigh spent, in less than an hour my fellow would be free to pursue the oppressor along the Milky Way and past the hither stars to the very confines of infinity.

  A well-defined shock separates my final impression of the fading scene of light from my sudden and somewhat shamefaced awakening and straightening up in my chair as I saw the dying figure on the couch move hesitantly. Joe Slater was indeed awaking, though probably for the last time. As I looked more closely, I saw that in the sallow cheeks shone spots of color which had never before been present. The lips, too, seemed unusual, being tightly compressed, as if by the force of a stronger character than had been Slater's. The whole face finally began to grow tense, and the head turned restlessly with closed eyes.

  I did not rouse the sleeping nurse, but readjusted the slightly disarranged headbands of my telepathic "radio," intent to catch any parting message the dreamer might have to deliver. All at once the head turned sharply in my direction and the eyes fell open, causing me to stare in blank amazement at what I beheld. The man who had been Joe Slater, the Catskill decadent, was now gazing at me with a pair of luminous, expanding eyes whose blue seemed subtly to have deepened. Neither mania nor degeneracy was visible in that gaze, and I felt beyond a doubt that I was viewing a face behind which lay an active mind of high order.

  At this juncture my brain became aware of a steady external influence operating upon it. I closed my eyes to concentrate my thoughts more profoundly, and was rewarded by the positive knowledge that my long-sought mental message had come at last. Each transmitted idea formed rapidly in my mind, and though no actual language was employed, my habitual association of conception and expression was so great that I seemed to be receiving the message in ordinary English.

  "Joe Slater is dead," came the soul-petrifying voice of an agency from beyond the wall of sleep. My opened eyes sought the couch of pain in curious horror, but the blue eyes were still calmly gazing, and the countenance was still intelligently animated. "He is better dead, for he was unfit to bear the active intellect of cosmic entity. His gross body could not undergo the needed adjustments between ethereal life and planet life. He was too much an animal, too little a man; yet it is through his deficiency that you have come to discover me, for the cosmic and planet souls rightly should never meet. He has been in my torment and diurnal prison for forty-two of your terrestrial years.

  "I am an entity like that which you yourself become in the freedom of dreamless sleep. I am your brother of light, and have floated with you in the effulgent valleys. It is not permitted me to tell your waking earth-self of your real self, but we are all roamers of vast spaces and travelers in many ages. Next year I may be dwelling in the Egypt which you call ancient, or in the cruel empire of Tsan Chan which is to come three thousand years hence. You and I have drifted to the worlds that reel about the red Arcturus, and dwelt in the bodies of the insect-philosophers that crawl proudly over the fourth moon of Jupiter. How little does the earth self know life and its extent! How little, indeed, ought it to know for its own tranquillity!

  "Of the oppressor I cannot speak. You on earth have unwittingly felt its distant presence—you who without knowing idly gave the blinking beacon the name of the Algol, the Demon-Star, It is to meet and conquer the oppressor that I have vainly striven for eons, held back by bodily encumbrances. Tonight I go as a Nemesis bearing just and blazingly cataclysmic vengeance. Watch me in the sky close by the Demon-Star.

  "I cannot speak longer, for the body of Joe Slater grows cold and rigid, and the coarse brains are ceasing to vibrate as I wish. You have been my only friend on this planet—the only soul to sense and seek for me within the repellent form which lies on this couch. We shall meet again—perhaps in the shining mists of Orion's Sword, perhaps on a bleak plateau in prehistoric Asia, perhaps in unremembered dreams tonight, perhaps in some other form an
eon hence, when the solar system shall have been swept away."

  At this point the thought-waves abruptly ceased, and the pale eyes of the dreamer—or can I say dead man?—commenced to glaze fishily. In a half-stupor I crossed over to the couch and felt of his wrist, but found it cold, stiff, and pulseless. The sallow cheeks paled again, and the thick lips fell open, disclosing the repulsively rotten fangs of the degenerate Joe Slater. I shivered, pulled a blanket over the hideous face, and awakened the nurse. Then I left the cell and went silently to my room. I had an instant and unaccountable craving for a sleep whose dreams I should not remember.

  The climax? What plain tale of science can boast of such a rhetorical effect? I have merely set down certain things appealing to me as facts, allowing you to construe them as you will. As I have already admitted, my superior, old Doctor Fenton, denies the reality of everything I have related. He vows that I was broken down with nervous strain, and badly in need of the long vacation on full pay which he so generously gave me. He assures me on his professional honor that Joe Slater was but a low-grade paranoiac, whose fantastic notions must have come from the crude hereditary folk-tales which circulated in even the most decadent of communities. All this he tells me—yet I cannot forget what I saw in the sky on the night after Slater died. Lest you think me a biased witness, another pen must add this final testimony, which may perhaps supply the climax you expect. I will quote the following account of the star Nova Persei verbatim from the pages of that eminent astronomical authority, Professor Garrett P. Serviss:

  "On February 22, 1901, a marvelous new star was discovered by Doctor Anderson of Edinburgh, not very jar from Algol. No star had been visible at that point before. Within twenty-four hours the stranger had become so bright that it outshone Capella. In a week or two it had visibly faded, and in the course of a few months it was hardly discernible with the naked eye."

  PART THE FIRST

  INCURSION

  *****

  Thou on whose stream, 'mid the steep sky's commotion,

  Loose clouds like earth's decaying leaves are shed,

  Shook from the tangled boughs of Heaven and Ocean,

  Angels of rain and lightning: there are spread

  On the blue surface of thine aery surge,

  Like the bright hair uplifted from the head

  Of some fierce Maenad, even from the dim verge

  Of the horizon to the zenith's height,

  The locks of the approaching storm. Thou dirge

  Of the dying year, to which this closing night

  Will be the dome of a vast sepulchre,

  Vaulted with all thy congregated might

  Of vapors, from whose solid atmosphere

  Black rain, and fire, and hail will burst: oh, hear!

  from “Ode to the West Wind”

  by Percy Bysshe Shelley

  1792-1822

  The Fane of the Faceless God

  by

  DJ Tyrer

  The old Copt had been unwilling to lead us here but Lord Algernon Beswick was a wealthy man and there were very few people whose scruples or fears cannot be overcome by the offer of sufficient wealth. Almost blind, the old Copt had clung to his granddaughter for guidance and support as he directed us along deep ravines gouged through sandstone and until we reached our destination.

  The man spoke in his granddaughter’s ear, his voice a harsh whisper, and she translated his words, “We are here.”

  Our little party stood before an archway carved from the living rock. The archway stood two heads taller than any of us and was sealed with a stone slab. It was quite plain and I could see Algernon was a little disappointed.

  “I expected something a little... grander,” he said.

  I gave a light chuckle. “It is a hidden fane,” I told him, “not a public temple. The worship of the Faceless God was proscribed and persecuted. Decoration will have been restricted to the interior.”

  He nodded. “I suppose you’re correct, Celia.”

  “Of course I am, Algie,” I smiled.

  “We go now,” the woman said on her grandfather’s behalf.

  I shook my head. “No.”

  “O, let ‘em go,” Algernon said. “We don’t need them.”

  “Correct,” I agreed, producing my revolver and shooting the old man dead. I nodded from Selim, one of our bearers, to the granddaughter and said, “Seize her.”

  The sturdy Arab did as I commanded.

  Algernon was spluttering in confusion and waving a hand vaguely towards the woman and her dead grandfather. “What did you do?”

  His man, Smith, had pulled out a revolver, but the other guides had produced pistols or levelled muskets at them both. I had made certain all those accompanying us were loyal to the cause. Algernon’s money had been vital to the expedition and his gender had also been necessary in this backward nation, but I knew I couldn’t rely on my erstwhile fiancée once he understood the true nature of my interest in ancient Egypt.

  “Please, darling, tell Smith to put down his gun and allow my men to bind the two of you and I promise you will not be harmed.”

  “Celia, I don’t understand.”

  “She means to murder us,” Smith told him, looking about in horror at all the barrels aimed at him. Doubtless, he had imagined some kind of treachery might occur, but not one so complete, nor one including me. He surely knew his master would never risk harming me.

  “Only if you resist,” I told them. “I am no villain.”

  Algernon looked down at the dead man and said, “You shot him in cold blood.”

  “And I will shoot you in cold blood if you do not do as you are told,” I snapped. Then, I softened my tone and said, “The old man had to die. Truly, my dear, there was no malice in my act. Had there been another way, I would have let him live. But there wasn’t. I couldn’t allow him to leave, knowing the location of this place, lest he lead others here. In addition, I have need of this one, and he wouldn’t have left her behind. What I did, I did out of expediency. I have no animus against you, but if necessity requires me to kill you, do not doubt that I shall.”

  Before he could say or do anything, his man pulled back the hammer of his gun. Before Smith could pull the trigger, two muskets fired and he died. The men I had sought out might not have been the best equipped, but even such antiquated firearms were effective killers.

  Algernon looked down at Smith’s body, more bewildered than ever.

  “I don’t understand,” he told me in plaintive tones with an anguished look upon his face. I must admit I felt bad for putting him through this violence. I am not totally heartless.

  “Algie, you do not need to understand. All you need to do is allow us to bind you and do exactly as you are told. I promise that you shall remain unharmed.”

  He shook himself and straightened his spine and thrust back his shoulders. “Celia, I do not understand why you are behaving like this but it would be utterly unconscionable for me to allow you to perpetrate such acts of violence with impunity or for me to allow that poor girl to remain in danger.” He looked me squarely in the eyes and said, “Celia, I implore you to halt this madness and return to town with me, so that this girl can be returned to her family.”

  That was Algernon to a tee, verbose and naively righteous. Admirable, in its way. A terrible inconvenience, right now.

  “Algie...”

  He fumbled in his pocket for his revolver, saying, “Dammit, Celia, I shall not submit to such demands.”

  “Very well,” I told him, pulling the trigger of my gun.

  Algernon stumbled back a few steps, then fell to his knees before collapsing to the ground, a rose of blood blossoming upon his chest and a look of surprise on his face.

  I crossed to where he lay, kicked the revolver away from his twitching hand and knelt beside him.

  “Truly,” I told him, “I had no desire to do that. Damn you, Algie, why couldn’t you cooperate? You didn’t need to die.”

  He gurgled and blood dribbled
past his lips. I could see the light was fading in his eyes.

  Gently, I took his hand, hoping to comfort him as he died, and leaned to kiss his brow. Then, I heard his breathing halt and felt his life leave him. I closed his eyes before standing.

  I felt a twinge of sadness. For better or worse, I am not divorced from human emotion. Rationally, I know that any sentiment I held for Algernon was of no significance when weighed against the aeons of time and light years of space which comprised the Universe. We are all but insignificant motes of dust beside the true reality and the Elder Gods that command it. But, no matter how much I tell myself that, no matter how well I comprehend it intellectually, I cannot fully escape the moral and emotional constraints of humanity. That is the curse of mortality. One day, when the Old Ones return to rule, they shall enable those of us who serve them to transcend our petty forms and perceive the true reality, freeing us from all such limitations. But until that time, no matter how I steel myself, I will always feel some hint of horror or guilt or self-doubt whenever I do the things that must be done.

  “Sorry,” I whispered as I turned away, and I was, even if it was no sin to slay him. Sin and law are transitory creations of humanity. I serve a higher purpose.