Whateley Estates

Wilburton, MA

10:02am

 

Hayden raised his arms. “All honor and praise do we give to thee, O Lord.”

 

The group gathered shoulder-to-shoulder behind him. Answered with a practiced refrain. “Beyond the shadows, beyond the stars, beyond the edge of the cosmic sea. Lord of all that is, was and ever will be.”

 

“Before your majesty we bare ourselves, humbled and exposed to you,” Hayden said. “Drenched in the ash of the sacred flames, burned in your holy name, we lay ourselves open to you.”

 

Again, the joint response. “Beyond the shadows, beyond the stars, beyond the edge of the cosmic sea. Lord of all that is, was and ever will be.”

 

“In you we become one,” Hayden said. “Thus, do we cover our faces, for in your glorious shadow there are no individuals. We are all joined in you, mighty Azathoth.”

 

“Lord of all that is, was and ever will be.”

 

Gregorian stepped forward, features distinct even with his face obscured.

 

He pointed to the heart of the chamber. All the others bowed their heads. Gregorian snapped his fingers. A series of candles ignited across the edges of the vaulted ceiling. Pale light spilled into the chamber. A room that resembled a tomb. 

 

Carter shivered.

 

A black pyramid stood against the far wall, three tiered. Some kind of altar. The lowest level was inscribed with runes. Carter recognized the Elder Script. They gleamed blood-red in the wan light.

 

The second was built around a tabernacle. An oblong stone box, bare of markings and polished smooth. Atop the triple dais a lone figure. Seated upon a throne of bones.

 

“Let the newcomer step forward,” Hayden announced.

 

Carter knew he had no choice. He stepped forward. The group converged on him, dumping soot over him, his naked flesh covered in cinders and ash.

 

“New initiate. Go to the holy of holies. Prostrate yourself before it and beg the favor of the Lord of the Deep Dark.”

 

Again, Carter knew there was no option but obedience. He stepped slowly. Toward the horrific display. Urged on by the steady drums, the constant tide of humming.

 

As he neared, there was a vibration along the floor. A series of noises. First the grind of stone-on-stone. A peculiar hiss. Then a low moan. Pressing forward, it was all centered on the tabernacle. He focused his attention. Although a massive piece of black granite, the stone box moved slightly. Each hint of sound roused something inside. Threatening to break out.

At the foot of the altar, he was made to kneel. Katya once again accompanied, lowering herself beside him. Drums filled the chamber with a pulsating echo.

 

“Now, let that which is offered to the Lord of Infinity come forth,” Hayden said.

 

Carter lifted himself from the floor. Katya stopped him, put her hand on his arm and held fast. He looked at her. She shook her head once. Locking blue eyes with his.

 

“Keep your head down,” she said, apparently able to muster some English after all. “Do not look up until you are told. Understand?”

 

He nodded.

 

She took him by the chin. “Understand?” she repeated. 

 

“I do.”

 

“No matter what.”

 

She helped him return to his pose. Kneeling and head lowered, buried in his arms. Behind, he heard the others shuffling close, the tide of moaning and the drumbeat intensifying. Carter kept his face low, his eyes squeezed shut.

 

The stone-on-stone grind grew up again, louder now. With it came a putrid reek, as though a tight seal were broken, bilging fetid odor. Overpowering. The stench made it hard to breathe. He wanted to lift his head. Gasp for air. 

What he heard next kept his face rooted to the floor.

 

A growling arose, with it the scrape of something cutting against stone. Snarls followed. Predatory. The flittering of a serpent’s tongue and the wet gnashing of fangs slobbering with drool. Then there was a scream.

 

A female voice. Dead ahead. Not a cry of fear. Worse. A squeal of pain. More followed. Each whistle of claws slicing through flesh brought a wail. Thrashing came next, sounds of a body dragged and lifted and slammed, of bone shattering. Flesh tearing.

 

Still, Carter kept his eyes averted. The smell made his gut roil. Heaving up into his throat, warm bile in his mouth.

 

The torment changed as the horrible moments slid one in the next. Screaming faded into gurgling. The squish of teeth biting raw meat. Howls unlike any beast or animal.

 

Blood touched his hands. Carter jerked. Hot red fluid pooled around him as the horrific sounds died. Even then, he kept his face to the floor. Until a hand touched his shoulder.

 

“You may rise, initiate,” Hayden said.

 

Carter forced himself up. He was shaking. His heart raced, stomach convulsed. His legs quivered. What he saw did nothing to help. The altar was slathered in crimson. Blood dripped from everything. Human detritus littered the steps. A toe, a finger, a leg bone. Shorn of muscle, broken. All that remained of Katya.

 

On each side of the tabernacle, two of the naked, faceless minions struggled to secure the heavy stone lid. A green-black tentacle slithered out from the top. Its spiny end was a mouth, dripping in blood. Chewing a hunk of human leg. The supplicants wrangled the kraken-claw, forced it back into the tabernacle. Then they sealed it back inside. Whatever it was, from the sounds coming out of the coffin, did not wish to return.

 

Carter managed to steady himself on his feet. He stared at the steaming, dripping altar. Stunned silence.

 

“You must now beg the favor of Azathoth,” Hayden said. “Place yourself upon the altar, climb to the crest and swear fealty.”

 

Carter slogged through the blood in his bare feel, once again kneeling upon the altar itself. Fully upon the platform now, the highest of the three levels drew his attention. A gruesome countenance. Dripping in blood, its ghastly features revealed themselves as he climbed, illuminated by candle-glows.

 

The head was conical, vaguely cephalopod. Unlike any squid or octopus, the cone was warped, edges fringed with serrated teeth. Bulging eyes wrapped themselves around the sides. Glassy and black, betraying no hint of any other color. Empty and soulless, yet alive, glaring at him. Consciousness. Or intelligence.

 

Beneath, a cascade of horrid flesh. Fat tentacles writhed like a nest of worms, stretching the entire length of the beast. Brushing against hairy knuckles and claw-feet. Growing out from its carapace were bat wings; spiny and covered in bristles.

 

Carter’s eyes burned. Little by little his movement grew stunted, his progress reduced to bare shuffling. Sweat mixed with Katya’s blood dripping from his brow. His mouth went dry. “This is Azathoth?”

 

Hayden laughed. “No. But the power this being represents far eclipses anything contemplated by the caricatures held up for worship by the ignorant masses of our world.”

 

As in echo, the tabernacle rattled. The minions once more took up their chant.

 

“This is what we wish to summon?” Carter asked.

 

Hayden shook his head. “This is a herald of the One Who Will Come, the keeper of the way, the guardian of the portal between the worlds.”

 

Carter recognized the phrase. It was from verses he’d once heard his old professor whispering, half-mad over ancient texts. “Yog-Sothoth.”

 

“Gamaliel was a wise teacher indeed,” Gregorian said. “It is true, Yog-Sothoth is the gatekeeper to the Other Side. Which is why we must prepare, for you to recite the rites you have transcribed and for us to join in the ritual to open the gate.”

 

“This really is all true. Every word of what Gamaliel taught me was true,” he said, astonished.

 

“Exactly as you were instructed,” Gregorian said. “But that is merely the beginning. For even he that we summon, as powerful and incomprehensible to our minds as can be imagined, he too is but a servant, a loyal follower of the true High Lord.

 

“Yog-Sothoth opens the way,” Carter said.

 

“He prepares the path to the one whose wisdom we seek, the power that spans the gulf between all time and all space. He in whom all is one, beyond all that can be seen and known, the fulcrum of primal chaos that is the fountain of all things,” Gregorian said.

 

“Azathoth,” Carter whispered.

 

“Of him there can be no depictions, no statues or poor representations in stone or bronze, for to gaze upon Azathoth is to lose yourself to eternity.”

 

“Gamaliel’s fate.”

 

“Now you understand, and I trust you may be cautioned to avoid the end he suffered,” Gregorian said. “For if I may paraphrase the philosopher of which I am most fond, take care that you should stare too long into the abyss, else it will soon begin to stare back at you.”

 

Carter shivered. He ran his hands through his blood-soaked hair, down to the back of his neck. Drenched in cold sweat. “I don’t think Nietzsche meant it literally.”

 

Gregorian laughed. “Behind the darkness out there lies the source of all wisdom, all power. All the answers are there, waiting for us to find them. Beyond anything mankind has ever imagined.”

  

Carter looked at Gregorian. Then at the altar. The horrific was now transcendent. Almost magical. He lowered his head, kissed the blood-soaked statue and whispered the prayer of fealty. “Beyond the shadows, beyond the stars, beyond the edge of the cosmic sea. Lord of all that is, was and ever will be.”