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Chaosium Digest Volume 35 Number 05
Chaosium Digest Volume 35, Number 05
Date: Saturday, December 22, 2001
Number: 2 of 2
The Whippoorwill House Affair, Chapter 4 (CTHULHU FICTION)
by Brooke Johnson (Z_signal@hotmail.com)
Greetings, as there is no age limit to who may read the digest, and nor
should there be one the mythos should be enjoyed be any and all. It is in
this light we feel that before this installment off the whippoorwill house
affair it is best to warn you that material contained within is suggested
for the mature reader. Horror describes a great many events, which pass from
rampaging abominations from beyond to the deeply personal and intimate
horror that humans can visit upon each other or may hold hidden form the
light of day, and, it is this latter that is expressed in one of its
extremes in the text below.
In the end we write to please ourselves and ourselves alone and, if the
horror we write cannot make us feel uncomfortable it has failed completely,
but we also wish to inspire these feeling in the reader.
To those who would accuse us of extremity for extremities sake, the events
in question are part of the greater development of the characters and this
will become clear if ever we complete the long trek of which this five part
tale is but one part of the whippoorwill house affair, and even that is but
one story in a long chain of madness, the events herein are but the merest
seeds of a much darker tree to sprout and fruit it is to bear.
Kindest regards
Brooke and mike
Send questions, suggestions and pan demonic hyper blasts to:
Z_signal@hotmail.com
The stairs, the stairs stretched away and up in front of us, with no hint of
malice what so ever, sot so much a breath or otherness seeped from the deep
varnished oak. I expected the banister to snake its way to life and the
steps to shudder into rictus grin but nothing happened. In the distance
there where disjointed sounds, the matter crunching tears and the sky
continued to fall apart and a wet cracking like the snap of bone laden with
red fattened moist flesh. Despite the best-made plans of my brain my
automatic relaxes had different idea, they swiveled around to the
be-curtained wall to our left and in cruel conspiracy with my corresponding
hand whipped the fabric away. As one the trees all turned to look at me, as
if caught with hand in proverbial cookie jar, as in a game of musical chairs
they where all poised with the air of one trying ones hardest to look as
though one is perfectly still, three or four of the truly massive oaks
evidently didn't care and continued an ungainly trample to where ever they
decided to take root, what ever the cause the forest was rearranging itself,
almost around unseen monuments, I let the curtain flop back. The gods
forsaken phrase passed lips and turned angered by the inanity of the
statement, I slapped Swindell with the back of my hand and spat venomously
at him.
' If you don't have anything else to say stay silent you bloated parasite'
The words came unbidden as in the brief contact some thing had happened;
probably due to the highly charged atmosphere I had shared swindles mind,
only enough for a brief impression of something I couldn't interpret but it
had left me feeling filthy, violated and ill.
' You poncy bastard, you fucking fagot' and other high brow insults issued
from the indignant maw of his pointlessness, I simply turned and stalked up
the stairs not caring what space curved abomination obliterated me as long
as meant I was away form him.
The ornately carved door lock was inscribed 'Mordiggian'.
'Hmm, I wonder what that could mean' he mouthed looking. I imagine he
thought, thoughtful in the contemplation of mysteries and all thought of his
recent injustice forgotten.
I half debated whether or not to expand on the subject but found myself
talking anyway.
'Its an entity, possibly a deity connected with a race of beings known as
the Gul, humanoids that eat dead, namely humans.'
I got no farther before he interrupted with indignant huffing about the
immorality of eating the dead, then instantly jumped to the conclusion that
Mordiggian was awaiting his tender flesh behind the door, checking his gun
he nodded to me with a look of what I'm sure must have been in his eyes the
proud look of the accepting martyr but was in fact a bizarre squint. I
opened the door not caring if annihilation hit me full on and found as I
suspected a second floor. Swindell wandered into the corridor and I watched
his back diminish in the low light, I wondered why it was that I disliked
him so much, cogs whirred in my head of things I had seen and felt in
juncture with Swindell but no teeth took purchase and it eluded me for the
moment, though I desperately promised I would justify my venom.
On cursory inspection the upper hall had three main doors and a small one
set back into a small alcove that was most likely a cupboard, I declared we
would inspect this one last.
He opened the first door and a fetid stink rolled out of the room in an all
too tangible bustle, we entered the bathroom completely expecting that which
we found.
The place was derelict as though it had been abandoned by even the ravages
of nature and consumed by the spirit of filth incarnate. A private and
compact effigy to urban industrial dereliction encapsulated into one
bathroom. The once white tiles where brown and in some places black, rust
from pipes and other exposed metal surfaces was leaching into surrounding
materials and where it was behind paneling it sprouted like bizarre
crystalline weeds reaching rigidly for all substance available in a strange
mockery of life. Dark matter listlessly heaved over the side of the toilet
pushed from below by some unknown pressure in the bowels of the house. The
sink gagged as some blockage in its depths prevented its vomiting of
effluent, the buzzing strip lamp glinted of moistness in the pipe and the
plug hole gained momentary life as an eye.
The bath had so long been clogged that diseased plants grew on its mostly
solid surface, but sluggish movement, primal and with the purpose of
instinct, needles to say we avoided getting to close or paying too much
attention.
The only other item of interest was a wall mounted medical cabinet the type
with the mirrored doors, with out pause for thought Swindell opened it, the
contents where revealed as an age stained bottle of bleach. Venting his
frustration by slamming the door (causing the bath quagmire to quiver oh so
slightly) Swindell muttered.
'Bloody useless how is that meant to help us'
I looked at him quizzically.
'What are you on about' I had to admit I was sick of the sound of his voice
most heartily by now.
'Well' he gestured expansively, 'I just thought that well, you know we might
have found something to help us along. We have in other rooms.'
'That as by chance you idiot, its not some bloody quest decreed by god, does
intelligence decrease by percentage every time you open that chasm in your
face'
He looked shocked and then stern.
'Look right, just because you don't have eczema doesn't make you Mr. bloody
perfect. One of these days I'm going to loose my temper with you then, oh
then you be so bloody smart arse.' He waved a stubby finger at me as if to
slash my flesh with his words. I pushed insolently past him ignoring his
pathetic attempt at the indignant glare.
The next room appeared to be a child's bedroom aside form the blood and gore
littering the room it would have been perfect picture of childhood
happiness. My mind was now numb to the phrases of 'him' began to scan the
room for details and as final sound form passed his lips I heard the child
like twittering coming form a cot in the corner, before I could issue
warning his foot falls thudded over to the source, I started to turn heard a
grunted curse and a gunshot. When I turned Swindell had turned to marble
complexion, saliva dripped from his lower lip and an expression 50/50
perverse pleasure and deep self-loathing crossed his face.
'What the hell was that' I half screamed, he looked guilt ridden.
'It was, er, it was nothing, and it's done now you don't need to bother with
it' he blurted with forced enthusiasm.'
I pushed him out of the way and pulled back the cover from what he had just
dealt with, there was nothing but a grubby Polaroid photograph in a smear of
fluid on bare floor. It showed a man with his face blacked over (obviously
Swindell) with a little boy wearing a birthday hat sat on his knee,
something about the boys expression twisted something in me I couldn't grasp
yet I knew it was horrific, in addition the date scribbled on the back was
roughly a year and six months into the future. The line 'we only nurtured
what was there' was scrawled very neatly above the date.
'What's that' inquired Swindell.
I muttered it was nothing, pocketed the picture and stalked from the room.
As I crossed the threshold something twanged that somehow the corridor
wasn't right, but I ignored it and carried on to the next room.
Again Swindell threw open the door, this time a strong ammonia smell wafted
from the room stinging eyes and searing nasal lining, This appeared to be a
master bedroom. A large contemporary, four poster bed was the main item of
furniture in the room but the usual gamut of dressers and a desk lined the
walls, a sliding wardrobe was covered by the same material as the walls so
to hide it when closed, this was slightly ajar. Hanging above the bed was an
extremely large, almost covering that wall, painting. I did not know how I
had not noticed it as the first item when I entered the room as it was truly
hideous, perhaps I was becoming desensitized to the unusual?
There will be no prizes for the first person to guess what Swindell's
cutting edge critic of the painting was, I shook my head and began a
cautious inspection of the room. The cupboard concealed no horror and
nothing was remotely in the desk and dressers, I stopped half way through
the later wondering exactly why I expected there should be, curiously
Swindell was transfixed by the painting repeatedly muttering his hallmark as
a sickly sheen spread across his face. I decided to investigate the picture
to see what held my rotund nuisance so rapt.
I cleared my throat.
'You seem to be admiring that thing very intently, connoisseur of the
alternative arts are we?'
He screamed high and shockingly, leapt upon the bed and made a futile
attempt to cover the picture with his body.
'I.I.I NEVER DID IT, THAT WASN'T ME, I .I WOULD NEVER DO THAT!' He squealed
at my through a spray of spittle.
He looked quizzically at my expression of hyper puzzlement then turned
slowly to look at the painting.
'What the hell was that about, if I had any doubts about your sanity, or
lack thereof then I have none now?'
'No look I.I.I thought it was.'
'It was what you fool?'
He hung his head in dejection. 'Oh, nothing'
As he clambered down from the bed I wondered at the deep look of shame on
his face and found myself horrified to see evidence of his arousal, The
picture in my pocket suddenly felt like lead and thoughts leapt unbidden in
my mind.
'Not now' I told myself
'Survive this then say something but not here and now, it would be too easy
for.'
Suddenly an image slammed into my consciousness with the force of a comet's
impact. It leached through my whole nervous system then exploded outwards.
I was face down on the bed, a hand pinned me in place stretching one of my
own arms back so hard I thought it would rip from its socket, I heard
someone breathing heavily behind me and realized with alarm that I was no
longer clothed below the waist. Suddenly I felt some one climb onto the bed
and on top of me, then with one savage movement it was thrust inside me, the
person on my back released a groan of such sickening pleasure that bile rose
in my throat, defeating my lips to escape the horror that was visited upon
me. The thrusting started in earnest and my attacker began to release
animistic grunting, he chortled wetly and gleefully as his force caused
sharp and raggedly pitifully breaths from my mouth. He started panting and
shuddering and I knew with an unbelieving and detached horror what was about
to happen, but he pulled out, rammed his fist into my hair ripping me to the
floor and to my knees, I looked into the face of my rapist, it was Swindell.
He was completely naked, his bloated form covered in a glistening sheen of
sweat he wore a conical party hat with glittery tassels on the tip, he
regarded me with undisguised lust and triumph, one hand reached down and he
began to fondle himself.
'I wanted to do this you know, right from the beginning'
The sensual edge he put to his voice grated like nails being torn out.
'I was going to do it on the bus, you know when the driver left I was
weighing my chances just when the bastard came back screaming so I bided my
time and it paid off, this calls for something special I think!' the glee on
his face could have burned steel. He pushed my head so it looked down at his
masculinity it was covered in a mixture of blood, pre- semen and other
filth.
'You know what to do' He drawled and I heard, actually heard the saliva drip
from his mouth and dribble down his chin.
'Do it good enough and I may just kill you quickly once I'm finished with
you, if I ever do'
It was thrust into my mouth smashing my jaws apart and scrapping at the roof
of my mouth he began moving again and each stroke in sent out a spray of
bile, his convulsions began quicker this time and I felt his trembling in
the seconds leading up. He using his hands on my skull to increase his
pleasure and with a sickening crack my nose broke against his pelvic bone,
he made a strained gargling exultation and my stomach churned as I realized
what it meant.
His ejaculation burned through the back of my throat and erupted from the
back of my head spraying my cranial contents across the room like a shotgun
suicide, but my interest was riveted on Swindell. He was hung from an
infinitely high ceiling some distance away, his was now gargling in pain his
groin area was a swarm of chewing maggots and the skin of his bloated body
writhed with small giggling faces, around him cavorted 11 black figures,
leaping and spinning like demented acrobats. A 12th figure stalked lithely
forward and picked me up by my chin holding me close to its face, I feared
another violation at the hands of these creatures but instead it spoke in a
perfect upper class English accent.
'Hello number thirteen' it said cheerily and smiled, I took the moment to
examine its face. It was obviously not human as it radiated otherness in
almost tangible waves but its form was human enough. It was roughly the late
end of 7 feet in height and despite being almost stick thin it obviously
contained immense strength in its slight frame its clothing could best be
described as part bio mechanical space suit part extreme fetish, torture
garment. The skin was alabaster shot through with veins of faintly pulsing
green light, and the eyes, oh the eyes weren't just black, they where empty,
they where the abyss and the void and in them I could see all creation ever,
is and will be. The creature appeared to be a man of about 20, part of his
face was tattooed with complex designs that threatened to capture the soul
if inspected to closely, he wore an extremely well cultivated goatee beard
bound straight somewhat akin to an Egyptian pharaoh, his long jet black heir
hung down but undulated sinuously with a life of its own, shadow given form
and purpose. HE Spoke again HIS voice compelling, commanding and soothing
all at once.
'The future rolls toward the corporeal, solid and inescapable' HE tossed a
negligent hand at Swindell.
HIS hand shot up and suddenly the sky was made of a huge rusted clockwork
mechanism.
'Kharna is coming!' HE exulted with both hands and I realized I was
floating.
The 11 dancers began an uncoordinated chorus of he is coming.
'Chewing his way through what is, whilst his followers build that from his
filth!' HE gestured the sky, chorus of shadows began to move in almost
robotic jerking movements whilst making crunching, chomping sounds.
HE looked suddenly angry and his voice became the death scream of galaxies.
'If Kharna builds too much, then too much will he take and one of the trio
will fall, and distracted, one of the duo left will be devoured leaving the
solo over all, Kharna seeks to make this him'
The chorus began to fall over.
HE became jovial again, spreading his hands expansively and shrugging, he
continued with a half laugh.
'The builder cannot win! Is it right that men should walk rusted bridges of
iron from world to world? Stagnation cannot rule, as it is the death of all
that is was and will be.'
'Besides' HE continued.
'I don't know who I like less, Arowan or leviathan. Remember this: Corrode'
And suddenly I was back in the bedroom Swindell was disinterestedly looking
through the sliding cupboard and it appeared as though the ordeal had
occurred in my head alone. Transition from the deeply personal and surreal
terror of previous back to this was an ordeal in its self, Swindell returned
to tell me what I already knew, that there was nothing useful in the room, I
muttered something and turned tail. I couldn't suppress a shudder when some
how I knew some of what I had just experienced had been the product of
Swindell, though weather it was the product of a mind actively cultivating
the abhorrence or some deep repressed desire I couldn't tell.
As we returned to the corridor even Swindell noticed that there was a
particularly foisty smell about the corridor almost like an old bucket of
water suddenly disturbed, I know your thinking I should have guessed what
that meant but I had just had a bit of a fright so my mind was a bit askew
ok?
The recessed door turned out to conceal a stairway leading up, at the top of
this was a trap door a crudely scrawled five pointed star containing a
flaming eye in the middle had been etched into the wood, next to this some
one had freshly scratched
'HA HA HA OH NO PLEASE KTHANID IM SO SCARED'
I'm sure you as I at the time detected the lashings of sarcasm laced to the
statement.
Swindell stared intently at the symbol.
'I think' he started with the air of one whose entire occult knowledge was
gleaned from such hallowed pages 'my first book of ghost stories'.
'That this symbol has scared shitless what ever the hell is causing the
problems round here, and our answers to this whole mess are behind this door
'
Ignoring him I tried the door, it was locked.
'God damn it!' Swindell screamed.
'We were so close.'
We had retreated back to the bedroom, Inspector Cluseo was smoking a home
rolled, and I was looking at the picture again.
It showed a blasted twisted landscape of filth, stunted trees diseased
people staggering about being brutalized by gas mask wearing figures in lab
coats, similar to the ones witnessed earlier. The distant background showed
a skyline of what was obviously a city-sized factory complex of some kind
and faint hints of machinery where showing through the sky. Christ crucified
on an inverted cross was the centre piece, wires trailed from his mouth
whilst pipes and coaxial cables sprouted from various parts of his anatomy,
saliva dripped form his mouth and seemed to be reacting with his skin
burning melting.corroding. Leaping to my feet and startling Swindell so that
he dropped his lit cigarette on his trousers, I ran to the door and threw it
open. The stench of decaying vegetation made me bork, the floor was covered
in mud, bits of dead plant ad various detriverous invertebrates, some taking
to the air in an attempt to explore my mouth. Swatting and trying to
maintain balance I made my way to the bathroom ignoring Swindell and his
questions.
Entering the bathroom I ripped the door off of the medicine cabinet, even
then I should have noticed, indeed something was wrong but I pushed it aside
in my exultant fervor at cracking one of the houses conundrums (admittedly
with other help) and that was to prove a big mistake. There was a horrible
shlucking sound, the stench of an ancient bog washed over me as something
rose from the bath. I turned thankful that at this perspective the
florescent strip light obscured all detail, and in that split second I
bolted for the door, the bottle of bleach in my hand.
--
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