The Weird Company (38 page)

I shuddered at the sight of the seven things that were once the proud residents of Allyn Hill. Shuddered even more at the way the monstrous things grasped and tore and sucked at the flesh and bones of the goats that Larsen tossed to them. Then my eye caught the thing that flailed in the corner. There were by my count thirty-nine victims in the Great Hall, thirty-five of them had melted into seven sinister protean things, but the other four were incomplete, and this imperfect monstrosity lay in the corner whimpering. It was less complete than the others, and therefore less inhuman, and on one of its faces I could still see the bright blue eyes that rested beneath a shaggy golden mane.

Cautiously I slipped out of the kitchen and made my way along the back wall toward the pitiful thing. The others and Larsen were so distracted by their feeding that they failed to notice as I knelt down beside the mewling, simpering, defective changeling. I stared into those bright blue eyes, and for an instant I thought that there might still be some humanity left within the deformed mass of writhing flesh. Those eyes stared back, and there was a spark, an instant of recognition and hope and I reached out to touch what I knew was all that was left of Shane Atkins. In a flash all traces of humanity were gone and a great grey tentacle whipped around my hand and dragged me forward. I pulled back, but to no avail. The eldritch mass of tumorous flesh pulled me closer and another tentacle flailed about, trying to find purchase and strengthen its hold on me. In unison the four bulbous mouths whistled out that howling unearthly refrain Tek Tek Tek Tek E Li Li!

Without hesitation I swung the gun up, pressed it against the face of the thing that was once a man, and pulled the trigger. The ensuing recoil pushed me backed toward the kitchen door, which all things considered, was fortunate, for my action had attracted the attention of both Larsen and his flock. I quickly crawled backwards, closing the door and bracing it just as something large, heavy and wet slammed against it. The door cracked and I could see the latch straining under the pressure being applied on the other side. I threw the lock hoping it would buy me a few seconds and then slid a kitchen knife into the space between the floor and the door, wedging the door closed. I backed away from and surveyed the kitchen for options. Somehow, even in my panic, I knew that these monsters needed to be destroyed. I dashed about the kitchen and one by one snuffed out the flames of the lights but left the gas work valves wide open. I even stopped and turned on all the valves for the stove. Stepping outside I frantically grabbed a box of matches and an oil lantern. I smashed the glass of the lantern against the door handle and lit the wick. I set the broken lantern inside the door, shut it and ran as fast as I could.

I was at the bottom of the stairs that led to the breakwater when the explosion lit up the night. The pooled water around the shore rippled as the shock wave blew past, and I stared as flaming pieces of debris careened in arcs across the sky. I sat there for a while and the glow from the top of the hill slowly grew stronger. It took me quite some time to cross the breakwater and get back to the station. The pain in my back is getting worse and my legs ache horribly.

I’ve climbed to the top of the tower again. The whole village of Allyn Hill is burning; in a few hours, I doubt there will be much left at all.

0530

I think I understand now why Danforth was driven mad, and I suppose why McTighe tried to kill himself on the way back. The things Lake found, the Elder Things, that rose up and slaughtered our colleagues, I cannot deny that anymore. They laid dormant in the ice for millions of years. If they could do that imagine what else they could do. Imagine their resilience.

The explosion in the great hall and the ensuing fire wasn’t enough, three of the things survived. They’re down below now, clamoring about desperately trying to find a way into the lighthouse tower.

I can’t move much, my legs aren’t working well, but I’ve been able to douse the light, disconnect the fuel line and turn on the pump. The ground level is covered with kerosene, and fumes are slowly filling the tower. I’m going to place this field book in a tin and throw it out into the ocean. Then I’m going to light the wick. It’s crude but when the fumes reach the top of the tower I think the resulting explosion will be enough to kill them and me.

Pr. Pabodie, Dad, if the stones survive what I’m about to do here, you need to make sure to destroy them. Use a kiln if you have to. I also want you to know that despite our differences, I couldn’t have asked for a better step-father. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me over the years. I also need you to know that what happened here wasn’t your fault; I wanted to go to Antarctica. It was Larsen who caused all of this. He figured out what the stones were and stole one of them. It was madness what he did. I suppose he was like Danforth and McTighe. I think maybe all of us who survived the expedition might be just a little mad.

The stones, they’re not stones at all. They aren’t a magical ward, or even a weapon, not at least in the manner that we think of. But we should fear them; they could destroy us all. I keep thinking back to when we excavated those star-shaped snow mounds back at Lake’s camp and how the dogs went wild with fear. I think they instinctually knew something we’ve forgotten. The star stones, they’re theca, protective cases filled with parasitic spores. I don’t know when it happened; it may have been in the communion wafers but something else as well, the bread maybe. Everybody at the feast that night was infected. It makes some sort of inhuman sense. They transform the very flesh of their infected host into something else, something akin to those ancient things that so long ago ruled the entirety of the planet.

0630

The sun has risen, Easter morning.

Glory, Glory, Hallelujah!

Father, remember me as the man I was.

They’ve nearly broken through the last door.

I don’t have much time. The pain is unendurable.

I wish my arms were still

Acknowledgements

The vast majority of
The Weird Company
was written long before Reanimators, and grew out of research I had been doing for a History of Miskatonic Valley. That I stumbled upon the fact that Waite, Chandraputra and Olmstead were likely all in or about Arkham at the same time seemed an opportunity too good to waste, and thus was born my League of Lovecraftian Gentlemen, or The Miskatonic Aide Society, or the Arkham Odd Fellow’s Club. In the end I settled on The Weird Company to honor that most venerable of institutions we all aspire to, the magazine Weird Tales. To those who came before me and graced its pages with their tales, and inspired me in their fashion, I dedicate this work.

I also need to acknowledge those people who believe in my work and continue to encourage me by making my stories available to the world, including Robert Price, Brian Sammons, Glynn Owen Barrass, Scott David Aniolowski, and Mike Davis. There is a renaissance of a kind going on in Lovecraftian fiction and these gentlemen are at the forefront of giving it new life and direction.

As always my work would not be possible without the support of my wife Mandy, who does more than her share to keep me sane.

Literary Acknowledgements

“The Last Communion of Allyn Hill” previously appeared in
Horror for the Holidays
, Miskatonic River Press, 2011.

“Journal of Thomas Gedney” previously appeared in
Worlds of Cthulhu
, Fedogan & Bremer, 2012.

“The Statement of Frank Elwood” previously appeared in
Worlds of Cthulhu
, Fedogan & Bremer, 2012, and in
Urban Cthulhu
, Nightmare Cities, H. Harksen Productions, 2012.

“The Thing in the Depths” previously appeared in
Lovecraft eZine
#16 July, 2012.

“Beneath the Mountains of Madness” previously appeared in
The Mountains of Madness
, edited by Robert Price, Dark Quest Press, 2013.