Mists of the Miskatonic (Mist of the Miskatonic Book 1) (14 page)

“Sounds interesting,” Kelsey said sardonically.

The Bishop continued unshaken. “Louisiana is a dark place: home for many cults, violent voodoo practitioners, quiet places that hide unspeakable secrets. I saw things that most people have nightmares about, and after several years was called back to Rome and promoted into the Red Brotherhood, the Frater Rutilus. Again my training continued, as did my journey into the hidden, twisted underbelly of the world. A decade after my journey into saving souls had begun, I was part of a secret society of priests tasked with investigating the unnatural. Remember, most Catholics would not even know what I have told you to this point. While the Church forbids secret societies, within the clergy we exist.”

“This is truly unbelievable,” the detective said bluntly.

Oakes continued, unflappable. “Fresh from my Ordination into Rutilus, I was sent to investigate an unusual situation in Argentina. In a tiny, isolated mountain village, a woman claimed a ‘dirty angel’ visited her and she was with child. Another immaculate conception. A miracle, or so they said. While the claim of virgin birth is not that unusual, the culprit is always too much alcohol and a boyfriend the girl’s folks don’t approve of. So I arrived with a senior bishop and his team to discover something unusual was happening. Here was a simple young woman: uneducated, reasonably pious, who was pregnant. While she believed herself only to be two months along, her belly was already distended and being stretched by the
youngster
inside her. The doctor with our group swore he could hear the baby’s heartbeat, strong, and she seemed healthy with the exception of the massive belly. I would have sworn she was ready to give birth, but she insisted two months. So we stayed, blessed the house and her, and prepared for the joyous yet mysterious arrival. On our third night after our arrival she awoke screaming, in labor, her belly distended beyond anything I had ever seen: flesh torn from the strain of the infant. And then her water broke. So in a small room of her family’s house we waited with the doctor assisting, her screaming in agony as we prayed. Then the birth…”

“A blessed event?” Kelsey interrupted.

Oakes shook his head in disgust. “Her stomach erupted, a fountain of bile and blood that soaked the doctor who waited near her. She screamed, and then fell silent, thankfully expiring before her spawn rose from her womb.”

“Oh, that’s gross,” Kelsey mumbled.

The bishop stopped, took a deep breath as he collected his thoughts. His eyes focused on another time and place. “Then it emerged. A glistening, shapeless mass of ooze. A kind of protoplasm, a huge hellish amoeba that neither conformed to our laws of physics or human decency. Dozens of eyes formed, blinking in unison as it took in the light of the shanty. It lifted itself out of the steaming, bloody corpse of its earthly mother, turning slowly as those eyes took us in one at a time. The doctor screamed as bloodshot orbs gaped, and it lunged, a sound like organs being dropped as it moved. It enveloped his skull, the oily tissue crushing his head within seconds as it contracted, his muffled screams emanating from inside the newly born demon surrounding his smashed cranium. We all watched, stunned and the bishop reached to help, crucifix in his hand, and the thing abandoned the shattered skull of its victim and wrapped around the bishop’s throat. He gasped as it tightened: like a greasy snake, it coiled. A split second later it pulsed, and separated his head from his shattered neck with a crunch and a splatter.”

“That’s a wild story,” Kelsey said quietly. “How did you survive?”

“I recoiled in terror. Panic. Fear unlike anything I had encountered. No exorcism, blessing, nothing in my life had prepared me for the darkness that had exposed itself to me on that day. The only thing I could do in my state was raise my crucifix to the demon. My hand shook, and the thing reared up from the headless corpse of the bishop and a voice issued forth, some unhallowed shrieking that could only have originated from hell itself. “Tekeli-li” the thing gurgled and launched towards me. An unholy entity from somewhere beyond time, beyond logic, beyond decency. Yet, for no discernible reason, it simply flopped and rolled onto the floor. I stood, frozen, transfixed, and it puddled in front of me, dead. No explanation. It simply expired. To this day there is no reason I know of why my life was spared. Maybe the sudden introduction into our realm: laws of physics. Maybe it was premature. Who knows? It took me several minutes to compose myself and quit shaking enough to realize that in fear, my bladder had released.”

“I would leave that out of the story next time,” Kelsey chortled.

The Bishop continued again. “We shipped mother and infant in separate containers: sealed, blessed and lined with lead. By the time we arrived at the Vatican, the slimy creature born of human womb had vanished. The box containing it was empty but for a coating of oily mucus. The corpse of the mother was inspected and autopsied, but nothing could be determined. All we had to prove our story was the shredded remains of a young woman and an empty box. Then I was inducted into the Shadow Order, the most secret organization within the Church. I now investigate what most would deny even exist: my promotion the result of surviving the encounter. The creature that erupted from the woman is called a Shoggoth, evil beings from when before man walked the Earth. How she ended up impregnated with it, I can only speculate. So I know what it’s like not to understand, to be overwhelmed by the knowledge being revealed. Like you are now.”

Oakes stared at Kelsey.

“Why would you tell all these deep, dark secrets to me? If all this is so secret, you sure blabbed to me without thinking,” Kelsey snarled, and then paused while he contemplated the statement. “With all due respect, sir.”

“You already know some of it, Detective. Besides, events are now spinning out of control as we speak. No one will believe you, until it’s too late, so for you to head to the street corner to proclaim the end of times will go unheeded, even if you choose. These things that are coming defy the very laws of physics and sanity that govern our world. Things will come from across space and time. Things that will rule this dying globe with an iron hand of chaos. Death will be a welcome reprieve when Cthulhu rises from his ocean tomb. Humans will be herded like cattle, used in ways that decent people cannot even contemplate. Wars will rage for the amusement of dark gods, things so alien and beyond our ken it’s indescribable. It’s coming. The end of the world.” Oakes looked out of the dirty windows blankly, eyebrows furrowing. “Make things right with your soul while you can. With God. Soon, faith is all we will have left.”

“My soul is fine,” Kelsey said emotionlessly. “I don’t need faith. Don’t really have any anyway.”

“We are standing on the last vestige of sanity, of our reality. Humanity’s best days are behind us,” the bishop said sadly. His expression was blank. “We’ll see if you need faith, Detective.”

Kelsey cussed quietly under his breath and thought about the encounter with Bishop Oakes as he sat down at his desk. It took a minute of deep thought to realize he still wore his jacket. He took it off and hung on the back of his chair. Detective Frank Thompson came up behind him. Frank was back from his trip to Seattle to check on his father.

“Hey, you heard anything on that missing couple from Seattle that disappeared between here and Montana? And are you still working on that suicide from the weekend?” Thompson asked.

“No on the first, yes on the second.” Andrews put down some notes and looked up. “You get a positive identity on the suspect from that battery case?”

Frank laughed. “Better. My victim could only positively name the first guy who attacked him. He’s a frequent flyer, got a long record so that was easy. But he didn’t know the name of the second attacker, just knew him by his name from films he was in.”

“An actor?”

“Depends on how you define acting. An actor, and then some. His screen name is Big Johnny Cream. I ran him on a search on the internet, and found about two dozen movies he has been in.” Frank smiled. A mischievous grin curved from ear to ear. “Gay porn. I called the public defender, told him I would make that part of discovery before the jury. He panicked, said he had no idea about his client’s career and they would not dispute he was at the scene of the crime. I told him he owed me one for not dragging that into court.”

Kelsey laughed. “That’s funnier than hell: just when I think I’ve seen it all being a detective. Someone should write a book about this business.”

The phone at Thompson’s cubicle rang, and he answered. His face scrunched as a voice warbled in the receiver.

“We have to roll. Got a call. Looks like a suicide,” Frank said.

“Son of a bitch. Another one? I haven’t got the paperwork finished from this weekend,” Kelsey groused. “Sorry. A lot on my mind.”

“It’s ok. Patrol made the call. The victim was found a few minutes ago by a secretary and they cleared the scene. Put a .45 to his head,” Thompson said, matter-of-fact. “We need to check it out.”

“What’s the address?”

Frank pulled out a notepad. “4320 Bryden, in some strip mall. Suite number…”

“Sixteen,” Kelsey finished for him. “Doctor Phillip Dreyfus. He’s the shooter.”

Detective Thompson looked surprised. “Who told you?”

Kelsey’s muscles tensed. He stared. “Lucky guess.”

Dreyfus was on the floor behind his desk with a bloody splash of bright crimson and slick, wet brain matter splattered on the wall. Kelsey and Thompson looked over the scene as the hysterical secretary’s shrieks echoed through the outer office.

“Well, he’s dead,” Frank said decisively. “Nice shot.”

Kelsey gently poked the pistol that lay near the body with a pen. The gun was untouched by the puddle of blood as it soaked into the carpet. “Ruger 9mm. They look a lot like a .45. Patrol made a mistake. Still, more than enough to penetrate and splatter. Whatta mess.”

“What the hell is it with this rash of suicides all of a sudden?” Thompson grumbled. “I suppose we are in the middle of a big cluster now: this is gonna keep rolling until we rack up five or six more of these. Dammit, the paperwork will be endless.”

Kelsey stood. “I talked to this guy just yesterday: he’s Samuels’ shrink. I thought he was jumpy, but Jesus Christ on a crutch. As loony as his patient. So much for his eleven years of education.”

Thompson sighed. “You investigating the Feds case? Chief’s gonna love to hear that. Let me know when you see him coming so I can leave, not gonna get hit by flying objects once the old fart gets going on you. Nice job.”

“I’m not investigating, just following up. Chatting, not investigating.” Andrews studied the desk, and contemplated the dark circles scribbled there. “Big difference.”

“I don’t see much of a difference,” Thompson said. “Were paramedics called in on this one?”

“Patrol arrived first, determined he was dead and there was no point. Just us. Dispatch called the coroner while we were on our way.”

Andrews gently picked up an envelope on the corner of the desk. The writing was in shaky black ink.

“Detective,” Kelsey whispered as he read the print. The packet was unsealed. With practiced skill, he gingerly lifted out a folded sheet of paper. He looked at the words on the paper and thought about the potential consequences of his chat with the psychiatrist yesterday.

“What’s it say?” Frank said quietly. “Is it our note? Case closed?”

Kelsey read the script aloud. “Detective Andrews, it all comes together. Better dead than alive to witness what will happen.”

“That’s it?” Thompson said.

“That’s it,” Kelsey said emotionlessly. “Chief is really gonna be pissed.”

“You talk to anybody else? You wanna prepare me for any other suicides we might be investigating today before they happen?”

Andrews glared. “Just you. Good luck.”

Wednesday came, the middle of an insane week coupled with insane dreams.

The Chief’s voice sounded angrier than usual on the phone just moments before, and now Kelsey trudged down the empty carpeted hallways to Roger’s office. Voices carried through the door, muffled and angry. The Detective rapped his knuckles on the solid door and waited quietly. Eventually the knob turned and he entered. The chief retreated behind a huge, oak desk. Sitting in a chair to the left of the door was FBI agent Johnson, dressed in a black suit and smartly pressed white shirt.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” Kelsey said as he forced a smile. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

Chief Rogers glared. “Agent Johnson has some concerns you are fishing about in forbidden waters, Detective, and he flew back here in person to express that.”

“I’m not really sure I understand, Chief,” Kelsey said dryly. “We have closed the case and shipped all relevant materials…”

“Cut the crap,” Ray interrupted. “Johnson knows all about Dreyfus, and you gabbing with that priest. This is a closed case from our end, and this needs to stop.”

“I’m not investigating. I’m just trying to understand this end-of-the-world stuff, Cthulhu. It’s the end of November and the body count is mounting. Yearly stats are going to be lousy if this keeps up. I want to be prepared to understand this phenomenon. I think we have a suicide cluster, and it may get worse. These people are really buying into this stuff.”

“What’s a Cthulhu?” Rogers asked.