This week’s theme will be stories of the Cthulhu mythos. I tried to write today’s in the classic kitschy Lovecraftian style. I think I’ll do the rest in a slightly more contemporary voice, but I still want to stay true to the camp horror that makes Cthulhu stories so much fun. We’ll see how it turns out!
January 22nd, 2007 at 6:43 am
Carlos Santiago and Pedro Nachez both physically raised up as the cab came to a halt in front of Saint Sebastian’s Church in the square. The heat was unbelievable today, and the flies were swarming like mad since their window was down. “50 pesos”, the hack turned to them and stated. Carlos saw a ugly, gargantuan figure with black hair and dark eyes sodder out of the archway of the church, and head over to open the cab door.
“Welcome senores”,the figure smirked,”I am Enrico. We thank you for coming. The bishop phoned me earlier to say that you were coming. I told him that it was not necessary, but he insisted.” Pedro caught himself staring at the creased lines upon the man’s face, like a well-traveled map. Carlos grabbed his leather “doctor’s”-bag and followed them in.
“What exactly is the problem in this village,anyway?” A long, winded sigh escaped the giant’s mouth, like wind through a tunnel.
“Our elders are disappearing,sir.”, he stammered out, afraid to actually state the truth. “The old people of this village are fewer in number everyday. It is not death that takes them; they simply vanish.”
Pedro curled his nose at the plethora of scents overtaking him. These old churches frequently did so to him.. He had always had a sensitive nose. The combination of cracked leather, dust, spoiled wine and the draft wind from the local carneceria were making his sinuses run. “Well, what leads does this give us?”, Carlos queried.
“I’m afraid almost none,senor. The only place that I can recommend checking would be the devil-shaman who makes his home 5 miles outside of the village. He is an evil and godless man who takes the shape of any animal he comes across. There are no brujah in the village that I know of.” The cracks upon the man’s face raised up as he anunciated this. A crowd of children ran past the archway, playing for awhile between their lessons. “If this does not come to an end, their beautiful faces will be the only prominent faces around…”, the man trailed off. Outside, a murder of crows flew overhead, cawing their disdain with the entire proceedings. He thought for one moment he had heard a barely discernable sigh, but dismissed it.
“Where shall we sleep for the night?”, Pedro asked the man. It was almost siesta, and there was little work that they would be able to get done today.
“We have secured space for you in our attic, and have placed cots and bedrolls for you there. Breakfast will be at Seis in the long-room.” He pointed skyward towards a panel in the ceiling with a strand of thread attached. Pedro pulled the panel down, and caught the ladder before it made a run for the ground. The wind had picked up, and the scent of fresh meat from the village’s carneceria was practically unbearable to Pedro Nachez. His senses must be acting up because he had also heard an elderly whisper -”E-Ah-Y’Golonac..E-Ah…” He had heard these sounds before on previous missions, and wondered if perhaps he should not mention them to Carlos, but did not for fear of what it meant - his own insanity. “I will show you gentlemen around beforehand, and give you a chance to make any preparations to the ground that you may require.” He raised a black-cloth arm to beckon them into an interior room. Carlos pulled vis vials of sea-salt and unbleached & unprocessed flour out of his medical bag, and uncorked them. He spread a small line across the threshold of the entrance the archway they had entered and followed Pedro & the man.
The gentle giant showed them the long-room where both breakfast & prayer would be served, and to several auxilliary rooms where the children were taught and sins were forgiven. Carlos had no need for simplistic faith such as this, but it was his bread & butter. He had worked for The Vatican for years dispelling these things that faith could not explain. He had been relieved when he had found out his assistant was a Gnostic man, and not adamantly religious. Several black flies did spirals around his head while the giant exclaimed the importance of helping this village determine where it’s wise-ones were going to, and how to get them back. Carlos spread a line across each window or threshold, as much for his own peace-of-mind as protection, and traced a pentacle on the the stucco-wall. He had found this sigil to be the most useful and multipurpose of any he had learned.
As they settled in for the siesta on the cots furnished for them, Pedro onced again heard the murder of crows fly overhead cawing. Carlos had told him this was not a good sign, perhaps even an omen of death and decay. He was worried, but drifted off to a nap with the sweet smell of pork cooking wafting through his nostrils and the quiet whisper of “E-Ah, E-Ah..” drifting over him like a lullaby. Outside, right before he fell asleep, he heard two small girls arguing, “Sonia-Maria, you old fool..Do not run. These vessels will not last forever. Why look, already your stich-work is coming apart. Enrico still has twelve more to do, and only ten ninas to work with. Do you want to end up in a ninos-suit? The two new ones are too old for the rite.. They will only be food.”