5

Something More Sinister

There was silence between the three of them on the way back from the old house. Aaron stared out the car window, his eyes on sights whizzing by, his mind on footprints, broken starstones, the old ghost trap, the black stone slab with strange carvings ... a sacrificial altar.

He tried to push the old house from his mind, dwelling on the sights his eyes were seeing. They were old acquaintances -- the old county fairgrounds, the old school bus garage, the ghost trap on the hill, the strip mining quarry, the mobile home turned wood paneled house, the broken starstones, the old farmhouses spread far and wide with their vast fields stretching to the sky, the small quaint house resting amidst the trees fronted by the small pristine lake, Midway Grange, the black stone altar ...

Altar. Starstones ...

Try as he might, he could not let go of the images of the old ghost trap. Aaron was convinced that someone or something would be out there on that hill this night. There'd be music, and chanting. Someone would disappear this night, and reappear six months later -- drained of blood, frozen. The familiarity of that vision ...

"Are you all right?" It was Bob. He exchanged glances between Aaron and the road.

"Yeah, are you?"

"Well, don't know what the Hell is going on here, but ..."

"You really don't wanna know," Aaron answered for him.

"Yeah, true," Bob replied softly. "But we have to stop it."

"If we can," Jade replied.

"If we can," Aaron echoed Jade's words, almost a whisper. His mind flashed an image of the skull-faced facade of the old house. Still, something didn't add up. Aaron saw the formula of the house as perfect ready-made-to-order Lovecraftian fiction. All the ingredients were there -- the disappearances, the starstones made of green soapstone, eerie flute music, chanting. Well, things Bob had related, but Aaron had no reason to doubt Bob's word. Lovecraftian all right. Lovecraft fiction!

Aaron smiled, laughed inwardly. The answer was simple. Somewhere in ole Columbiana county is a Cthulhu Mythos fan who is so goddam obsessed with the goddam Mythos that they were takin' things a little too far. Aaron knew that the recreation of Lovecraftian symbolism was easy enough. Nothing at all to make green starstones, recreate the eerie flute music, recreate chanting. Yeah, fucking simple!

He shook his head, his mood becoming more somber as other thoughts struck him. He realized the black stone altar would be costly to make. The starstones were real soapstone, not imitations. There were murders, disappearances; bodies frozen when returned. Aaron's grin and inner laughter faded. No, no fanatic fan. Not that simple.

"We've got to go back," Jade broke the silence. "At night."

"Yeah, when something is happening," Aaron agreed. "If you heard the damn things I've heard, you wouldn't want to," Bob said. He paused, then added, "Tell me something, you mentioned something about a Yog-Sothoth."

"Yeah," Jade said. "What about it?"

"Well, this may sound kinda strange to you, but I think I heard that same word in the chanting," Bob replied. "What the Hell is a Yog-Sothoth?"

"Yog-Sothoth?!" Jade sat bolt upright, glaring at Bob. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I think ...," Bob began, searching his memory. "Yeah, Yog-Sothoth. That was it."

"The Lurker At the Threshold again," Jade thought aloud.

"Shit," Aaron said, his mood darkening. He turned his head, looking at the passing fields. "It sure as Hell isn't the old ghost story it used to be."

"I guess not," Jade said. "We've got something more sinister here."

"Much more," Aaron said.

"Yog-Sothoth another of those Lovecraft things?" Bob asked.

"Yeah," Aaron said. "It's a thing, not a word."

"I was afraid of that," Bob sighed. "This Lovecraft bullshit ..."

Bob fell silent, shook his head. He had experienced the evil of Lovecraft's trimmings, but had never read Lovecraft's works. He was ready and willing to accept the reality of the situation, whereas Jade and Aaron had read most of the Mythos material and still had their doubts.

"You know, all this shit would make for a good horror story," Aaron laughed, trying to dispel the reality of genuine fear. "I can see it now. Ten little robed freaks standing in front of the old ghost trap, chanting and playing their little flutes. Suddenly this huge green scaly thing with green glowing bubbles floating around it, bat-like wings flapping on the wind, and yellow glowing eyes, comes walking out the front door on a hundred long slimy tentacles and says, 'No, I said Bud Light! Iä! Iä!'."

"That's not funny," Jade said, her tone soft and distant.

"Yeah, I suppose you're right," Aaron agreed.

"But I think you've got something there," Jade said suddenly.

Aaron glanced at her, noted her eyes recessed and staring in thought. "Got what?"

Jade shook her head, an unconscious action to shake thought fragments into place. "Yog-Sothoth coming out the door. If all this shit is real, and if someone is trying to call Yog-Sothoth, then there has to be a doorway. More precisely, a gate!"

"That's why the goddam starstones were there," Aaron added. "The chanting, music, ... it all fits! It all fucking fits!"

"Got me confused," Bob said, eyes scanning the countryside. "Gate?"

"Let me explain," Jade said. "In Lovecraft's fiction, Yog-Sothoth exists in time and space outside our plane of existence. But it can be called through to our world by the use of music and specific chants."

"Through this gate," Bob said.

"Right," Aaron replied.

"And you think one of these goddam gates is at the old house," Bob said.

"Yeah, that's about the size of it," Aaron said.

"I'll admit there's something strange going on down there, but all this Yog-Sothoth bullshit is kinda hard to believe."

"We're deadly serious," Jade said. "It also explains the disappearances. Yog-Sothoth requires sacrifices. Each time a sacrifice is made the gate opens further. Soon the gate will be open wide enough for Yog-Sothoth to get through, then there will be absolutely nothing that can stop it."

"Assuming that IS what's happening down there," Bob said softly.

"It sure as Hell looks like it," Aaron said. "But there is one thing that still just doesn't fit, something about the disappearances."

Jade ignored Aaron's comment, her mind on another train of thought. "Another thing," Jade said, her eyes straight ahead. "Someone else knew what was going on down there and tried to stop it. That's why the starstones were there. They should have known those five starstones weren't powerful enough to stop it."

"Whoever put those starstones there may not have known it was Yog-Sothoth," Aaron replied.

"Whoever put those starstones there had to know something about what was really going on," Jade answered. "The simple fact that they were starstones and not some silly shit like pentagrams or crosses or wolfbane will tell you that!"

Night had fallen by the time they returned to Columbiana. Aaron caught a glimpse of the Columbia Foundry, its chimney belching fire and smoke, the smoke eerily lit by flames climbing high into the night sky. The night crew was cooking iron and steel.

Gotta be awfully damn hot in that old place.

Uptown things were brighter. Street lights cast a yellow glow over all concerned. Flags fastened to the light pole in the center of the village square fluttered on the night breeze. On one corner of the square several gearheads were sitting on a bench, laughing, joking, watching cars go by while their fire breathing cars sat silent under the street lights with Turtle Wax all a-glitter. Some things never change. They rounded the square, passed the heritage-marked log cabin, and headed down North Main on a roundabout path to Bob's house.

They pulled into the driveway, and shut the car off. Bob's nervousness was back in toto. He climbed out of the car, peered into the darkness, then moved quickly to the front door. Jade and Aaron exchanged glances and followed. There was an uncanny feeling as though something waited, something dark and evil, lurking in the night shadows just waiting for the proper moment to pounce. They shrugged it off and entered the house. nce inside Bob lit the two candles in the living room. Jade and Aaron stood in the hallway. Bob pulled a curtain aside and peered out. He shrugged, replaced the curtain, paused a moment, then walked toward Jade and Aaron.

"Come on, let's go into the kitchen," he said. He walked past them without stopping. "Got to put some coffee on."

Jade and Aaron followed Bob into the kitchen. They were surprised when he turned the light on. With the dark curtains and candles in the living room, turning on the kitchen light seemed a little out of character.

Bob noted the puzzled expressions on their faces. "Got to see what I'm doing," he said, grinning.

"Okay," was all Aaron could say.

Bob lit a cigarette, the first Jade and Aaron had seen him smoke since coming to Columbiana, then turned for the cupboard, taking out three coffee cups.

Jade stepped forward. "Let me help you," she said.

"The water's in the sink," Bob said, trying to joke away his moodiness.

"Right, I should have guessed," Jade laughed.

The coffee maker sat at one end of the counter. Jade emptied the old oil-thick coffee into the sink, and filled the pot with fresh water as Bob put new coffee grounds into the coffee maker. Bob backed away as Jade poured the water into the maker, placed the pot on the hot plate, then switched it on. The newly brewing coffee dripped into the pot.

"What we need to do is replace those goddam starstones," Aaron said, taking a seat at the kitchen table.

"Temporary protection," Jade turned away from the coffee pot.

"Where are we gonna get them?" Bob questioned. He flicked cigarette ash into the sink.

"I don't know," Aaron replied.

"Maybe Arkham," Jade said. "Miskatonic University."

"Shit, Jade!" Aaron was incredulous. "Get real! We know better than that! And you're from Massachusetts!"

"Do we really know?" Jade asked. "We thought we knew Lovecraft's work. Fiction. That goddam house shot a hole right through that. How do we know for sure there isn't a Miskatonic University?"

Aaron was doubtful. "Could be a wild goose chase," he said.

"And it might not," Jade replied, glancing over her shoulder at the coffee maker.

"Well, we need to do something," Bob said. He turned the water on in the sink, drowned his cigarette in a small hiss of death.

"I don't think we have much of a goddam choice," Jade said. "I think Miskatonic is our best bet."

"I suppose you're right," Aaron said resignedly.

I can't believe I'm doing this! On a jaunt to a goddam city that don't even exist! Must be losin' my gourd, oughta have my fuckin' head examined! Huh! Starstones! Huh! Flutes! Chanting! People disappearing! Just doesn't add up! Yeah, oughta have my fuckin' head examined!

Aaron laughed to himself in the dark Pennsylvania night. His mind screamed, Ridiculous! He grinned, shook his head, then scanned the night-shrouded hills of pre-Pennsylvania Appalachia. Everything was calm, serene. A soft quarter moon hung low in the sky. Stars twinkled against the canopy of night. The only sound he heard was the air rushing by his rolled down window. Occasionally there was a passing car. In the rear view mirror the glowing red taillights would disappear into the dark.

Deep in the night Aaron crossed the Pennsylvania/New York state line. The sign heralding the Empire State broke the reverie of jumbled and twisted thoughts he had not realized he was thinking. He grasped his memory, bringing his thoughts to full awareness. The house floated before him with its artesian wells. The black stone altar with its strange carvings arose before him, floating on the air as the wind howled in his ears. Yet, not a single branch, twig, or leaf was out of place. The music filtered in, the ethereal flutes so soothing and unearthly. Strange hooded figures paraded around the old house, a leader and followers. Green globes of soft incandescent light appeared, floating about the house. They mingled, merged, forming greater globes, then broke apart again to merge with other globes as they floated by.

Aaron stood, mesmerized by the globes, watching them in wonder when suddenly the uncannily hot and humid air of early spring sharply turned cold. There was a roar in the darkness. He turned his eyes from the soft green globes of light to the dark sky of the night. The body of a young woman was dropping to the ground from above, a body that was frozen. Hair, face, and clothes were frosted white. The body fell on the floating altar and shattered, tiny frozen pieces sparkling like a shattered mirror.

Two brilliant white lights and a blaring horn interrupted Aaron's parade of horror. He cut the wheel hard to the right, pulling the pickup back into its proper lane just as the car whizzed past. A second longer and he would have been shattered over the New York highway like his vision of the girl shattering on the floating altar. He shook his head, breathed a sigh of relief, and listened to his heart pounding rapidly in his ears.

Close, very close. Not close enough. Can't die yet.

The night seemed endless. But soon dawn danced on the horizon. Then sunrise erupted so quickly in the east that it rolled back the canopy of night like a throw rug being rolled up for storage.

The sun jumped above the horizon. Down went the sun visor. On went the sun glasses. It was a new day. All was bright and cheerful. A bright and sunny day always seemed to make things less menacing. It had always been so. Long-legged beasties were gone when the sun came up. Yet, Aaron simply couldn't shrug it off. He knew this beasty was waiting for the right time, the right moment. When that time came, even the sun would not make it go away.

Time and the road were fast for Aaron. Nighttime. Daytime. Pennsylvania, New York, Connecticut. The ribbon of I-84 lightly touched the tires of the battered pickup. Cities and towns came and went. Danbury, Waterbury, Bristol, New Britain, Hartford, then I-86 to Massachusetts.

The Massachusetts Turnpike unraveled Boston. Aaron crossed from green countryside to concrete and steel jungle. Time slowed. The sound of the city disappeared, and Aaron found himself daydreaming.

What if there really is a goddam Arkham? Why the Hell not? Starstones. Frozen bodies. Real? Jeeeezz! Fucking unreal!!

The village of Salem crawled into Aaron's mind. Salem was his destination. Lovecraft's Arkham. Salem had always been Salem. It was Salem when it was founded, Salem when the witches were murdered -- you know, the Salem witches, those evil pesky innocent leeches. Salem was Salem, had been ever since. Aaron grinned, then laughed. Yeah, Salem is Salem. Then passing out of Lynn, a road sign caught Aaron's eye. It read, Arkham City Limits.

Well I'll be damned!

Aaron shook his head. If that wasn't enough, five street lights downtown was a big blue sign with white lettering, directing visitors to Miskatonic University. A left turn and four more blocks. On the right was a gate to the university grounds. Aaron passed through the gate, found himself surrounded by 18th Century architecture. An authentic Lovecraft oasis of Colonial America. Road signs led him to the university library.

He pulled in an open parking space, cut the engine, jumped out, and stood in the middle of the parking lot, doing a three-hundred-sixty degree survey of the campus. All exteriors sported the same design. Red brick with white latticed windows, gabled roofs. He stared at the library entrance with its thirteen steps leading to an open porch sporting four great white Corinthian columns. Beyond the columns, in shade, were double doors leading to the heart of the library.

Aaron slowly climbed the steps, passed under the great porch roof, then through the double doors into the library. Inside were books and students and students and books; everywhere as far as the eye could see were books and books and books. Aaron gained directions to the curator's office via a question to a student. He made his way to the office, found the curator to be a young man, perhaps just a little older than Aaron.

The curator sat at his desk hard at work on something. Aaron stood silently in the doorway. A pile of books and papers were stacked in front of the curator, his desk a proverbial example of chaos and disarray. Aaron cleared his throat, a gesture to make his presence known. The curator looked up.

"Yes, may I help you with something?" he questioned. His eyes were bright and inquisitive.

"Yes, I hope," Aaron replied softly. "I'm Aaron Swanson."

"Well, come in, Mr. Swanson. Sit."

The man gestured to a chair in front of his desk. Aaron sat, his mind trying to formulate a sentence for the request he was about to make. Strange, the thought of asking for starstones. Aaron wondered if the curator would laugh. It seemed so absurd.

"I am Doctor Daniel Armitage," the curator said.

The mention of the curator's name instantly cleared Aaron's thoughts. Armitage, a Lovecraftian name. Aaron grinned, nodded. Naturally he would be an Armitage.

Dr. Armitage crossed his arms on the desk. "What can I help you with?" he asked.

Aaron shuffled uncomfortably in the chair. "Well, I have ... ah, an unusual request to make," he began. "I thought you might be able to help me ..." His voice trailed off as he began to stare around the office. It was as much colonial in design as the rest of the university. And there were books everywhere, stacked in corners, on bookshelves, on a small coffee table, some apparently as ancient as the Great Pyramids of Giza. "Arkham, Miskatonic University, this library. You. It's all real. I just can't ..."

"Yes, it is real," Dr. Armitage interrupted. "As it should be. Now, this unusual request of yours."

His words brought Aaron's attention back into focus. "I am in urgent need of some starstones."

"Starstones," Armitage echoed softly, then sat back. His complexion went ashen gray. The brightness in his eyes dimmed. He turned gloomy, paused, tapped his fingers on the desk top. "You mentioned my name, Arkham, and this university. I understand then that you have studied the works of H.P. Lovecraft."

"Yes, I have."

"It was my grandfather that Lovecraft mentioned in his works," Armitage said softly. "He gave his life, as did Lovecraft himself, in the fight against the Great Old Ones. Alas, I am sorry to say, that it is a fight which cannot be won. Just prolonged. Why do you seek starstones?"

Aaron told Dr. Armitage the story from the beginning. He passed over the old ghost story, a meaningless side track in light of the recent events, and concentrated on the broken starstones, the stone altar, the hieroglyphs, chants, and disappearances. Dr. Armitage was attentive, fearful throughout, then visibly shaken when Yog-Sothoth was mentioned. Aaron noted Dr. Armitage was deeply concerned. When Aaron had finished, Armitage sat in silence, contemplating what had been said.

"You sure it was Yog-Sothoth?" Dr. Armitage finally said, looking across his desk at Aaron.

"Yes."

"You certainly have a dire problem. I would say that one of the artesian wells is the gate. You close those wells and you close the gate."

"How do we close it?"

"Simple," Dr. Armitage replied. "Dynamite."

"Dynamite?" Aaron was doubtful.

"Yes, dynamite," Dr. Armitage said. "Commonplace simple things can do wonders. Sometimes we tend to overlook such things."

"You sure it will stop Yog-Sothoth?"

"If you mean will it close the gate, yes, the gate will close," Dr. Armitage replied softly. "But you still need to replace the starstones to keep the worshippers away from the house."

"That's what I came for," Aaron said. "The starstones."

"Unfortunately I have none," Dr. Armitage sighed. "But I know of one who does." He pushed his chair back and rose to his feet. He turned to a cluttered bookcase behind him, took a small wooden box from the bookcase, then turned back to the desk. The small wooden box was ornately carved with pictures and symbols, unearthly and surreal, but very much different from the symbols and hieroglyphs associated with the Great Old Ones. "A token of the Elder Gods," Dr. Armitage said as he sat the little wooden box before him on the desk.

He opened the box, took out a small golden medallion and held it up to the light. The medallion was the size of a half dollar. Incised on the surface was a star with an eye in the middle.

"The symbol of the Elder Gods," Dr. Armitage said, staring at the medallion. "You can get the starstones you need from Doctor Lawrence Whateley. Give him this medallion. He'll know I sent you."

Dr. Armitage leaned over the desk, handing the medallion to Aaron. Aaron took it, glanced at the star and eye image, then glanced at Dr. Armitage. "Where do I find this Doctor Whateley?"

"You will find Doctor Whateley in Wilbraham," Dr. Armitage replied. "Go to Springfield. Take the Springfield Road east. Just before you arrive in Wilbraham, turn left onto Stony Hill Road. A mile down Stony Hill is a small white cottage ..." Dr. Armitage paused, his eyes intent on Aaron. His expression turned cold and serious. "Mr. Swanson, tell no one, absolutely no one, the name of the person who lives in that cottage."

Aaron nodded, wondering why. He rose from the chair, shoved the medallion into his pocket, and shook hands with Dr. Armitage. "Thanks for the medallion and your help, Doctor Armitage. Very much appreciated."

"One final thing," Dr. Armitage said as Aaron turned to leave. Aaron paused, turning back to face him. Dr. Armitage continued, "Strange things have been known to happen near Wilbraham. Some people know the village by another name. Do not stay there any longer than you have to."

Know the village by another name, Armitage had said. That puzzled Aaron all the way to Springfield. Another name. Aaron hadn't been about to ask Dr. Armitage what that other name might be. And strange things happening? Undoubtedly strange things that Lovecraft had recorded over a half century earlier, things that now and again still happened. Aaron had no intention of staying there any longer than he had to. Evening nearing; strange things after dark ... Aaron shook his head to clear his thoughts.

The Massachusetts Turnpike gave way to Route 21, Center Road. Center Road gave way to Springfield Road. Aaron turned east on Springfield, heading toward Wilbraham. The setting sun glared through the trees lining both sides of the road, casting long eerily life-like shadows along the road. To the left and right beyond the line of trees the hills rolled away to the horizon. The closer to Wilbraham the narrower the road, the trees clinging to the roadside, taunting. The hills beyond became obscured.

A narrow dirt road cut across Springfield Road. A road sign read, Stony Hill. A second sign just beyond caught Aaron's eye. He nearly missed the Stony Hill turn-off. The second sign announced the next village. It wasn't Wilbraham. It was Dunwich.

So that's it. Dunwich. Wilbraham's other name. Fucking Dunwich! The same goddam Dunwich that Lovecraft wrote about ... The Dunwich of the Whateley's, of ... Doctor Lawrence Whateley?

Aaron turned onto Stony Hill Road and stopped. He climbed out of the truck for a better look at the road sign. Something didn't seem right. Lovecraft's Whateley family in Dunwich were country folk, country folk with a twist. An unnatural father. Aaron wondered if this Doctor Whateley was of the same stock.

Some trick? Well, I'm gonna see who or what this guy is! Gotta get the goddam starstones.

Aaron shrugged as he climbed back into the truck. He glanced over his shoulder at the sign, then put Jade's truck into gear, and continued down Stony Hill Road. Armitage was right. A mile down the road was a small white cottage situated among some trees. A soft light shown through a side window. It went out as Aaron pulled into the driveway. Aaron climbed out of the truck. A short stocky man, perhaps in his late thirties or early forties, emerged from the cottage.

Aaron stood next to the truck. The man approached. Aaron gave the strange man a cursory glance. Short, stocky, thinning gray hair. He wore wire-rimmed glasses, which hung on the end of his nose, and he walked with a black cane that sported a strange figure carved in ivory. Aaron sensed something about him, a power, an aura of some kind. Quickly, with a keen eyes, the little man paced around the old pickup, inspecting it as though to give Aaron an appraisal. With a grunt he threw back his head, his eyes darting in Aaron's direction.

"Why are you here?" he questioned, seemingly stand offish.

"I came from Ark ..."

Whateley shook his head, waved a hand to cut Aaron off. A quick motion of his cane signaled the cottage. "Come. Come inside." He turned from the truck, walked to the porch, threw open the door, and entered. Aaron followed close behind.

The cottage was dark and gloomy inside, exhibiting an element of disarray and chaos as Dr. Armitage's office had. There were two small chairs along one wall, a desk in the center of the room, a small reading table next to a chair, and bookcases covering the other walls. Here and there between the bookcases was an occasional grotesque painting, paintings that were now all too familiar to Aaron. Nothing else that could be deemed living room furniture was apparent. Books and notes were scattered everywhere. Whateley turned up an oil lamp. The light Aaron had seen. He sat behind his desk, and motioned toward one of the chairs with his cane. Aaron moved cautiously to the chair, his mind wondering what the rest of the cottage looked like.

"I am Doctor Lawrence Whateley," he said as if Aaron should know the name. "What business do you have here?"

Aaron reached inside his pocket and pulled out the symbol of the Elder Gods that Dr. Armitage had given him. The medallion gleamed in the light of the oil lamp. Dr. Whateley's eyes seemed to brighten at the sight of the medallion. He leaned over his desk, his eyes trained on the small circular symbol representative of the Elder Gods.

"Ah, you have been to see Dan Armitage!" he exclaimed. "No doubt the good doctor sent you here."

"Yes, he did," Aaron replied.

Whateley's eyes floated to Aaron. "And who are you?"

"I'm Aaron Swanson," he said. "Doctor Armitage said ..."

"Doctor Armitage says a lot of things," Dr. Whateley interrupted. "I will judge for myself what you have to say."

"I'm looking for starstones."

"Starstones? Starstones!" Dr. Whateley sat back, laughing. He opened a desk drawer, and pulled out a pouch of tobacco and a pipe. He loaded the pipe, tapped the tobacco, and lit it. His laughter subsided, and in the semi-darkness he watched the smoke curl into the air as if it were more meaningful to him than Aaron's request for starstones. He turned his eyes to Aaron, his face now a mask of seriousness. "Starstones you say. Explain!"

"Back home there's this old house with artesian wells ..."

"Artesian wells!" Dr. Whateley interrupted again, ripping the pipe from his mouth. "A gateway!" He leaned forward, his eyes opening wider, and added softly, "But whose gateway are we talking about?"

"Yog-Sothoth, we think. That's the name in the chants."

"Chants too!" Whateley exclaimed, sitting up straight. He began to laugh again. "You think starstones will stop Yog-Sothoth from coming?!"

I don't know what the Hell to expect! Think I'll just get me some fuckin' monster-size toilet paper to wipe his ass for him when he shits on my shoes while he's chewing my fuckin' face off! Man, what a goddam weirdo! Give me a break, Whateley!

"No, we don't," Aaron replied, suppressing his thoughts. "We need them to keep the worshippers away from the house. There were starstones there, but they've been broken and removed."

"They will be again."

"Doctor Armitage said we should dynamite the wells."

"Yes, yes. You should."

Whateley rose from his chair and paced the floor. He puffed on his pipe, his eyes, mirrored with conviction and intense thought, cast to the floor. Aaron remained quiet, glancing about the room. Eerie shadows were cast by the oil lamp. Whateley suddenly stopped next to a painting on the wall. He motioned to the painting with his pipe as he turned to face Aaron.

"You recognize it?" he questioned, pointing with his pipe.

"It's Yog-Sothoth."

"Do you realize what you are dealing with?"

"Yes."

"I don't think so," Dr. Whateley chuckled. He shook his head and shuffled away from the painting.

Jeeeeeezzzzuz K-riste! What an arrogant son-of-a-bitch!! You may know more about this shit than I do, but give me a goddam chance! This sure as shit ain't no overgrown toad on a lily pad!

Whateley stopped in front of Aaron. He paused a moment, his eyes locked on Aaron's. In that moment out of time Aaron came to realize the wisdom and knowledge of Doctor Lawrence Whateley. It was a feeling so strong that Aaron was convinced no one knew more about the Great Old Ones than Whateley himself. Aaron could see it in Dr. Whateley's eyes.

"No matter. The sun sets. Soon it shall be dark," Dr. Whateley's tone had turned serious, deadly serious. "You must leave here. You shall get your starstones."

Whateley shuffled to a small cabinet in a corner behind his desk. A key on a once-concealed key chain in his jacket opened the cabinet. He took out a small green sack, opened it, and poured the contents on his desk. Starstones. Five of them. All genuine and made of green soapstone from ancient Mnar. He scattered them about his desk, then held one up to the light of the oil lamp. "Yes, yes. These will do nicely," he thought aloud. Turning to Aaron, he added, "Here. Here are your starstones."

He placed them back into the sack. Aaron rose, approached and stood at the desk. He could see the sack was made of some sort of leather with a draw string to tie off the top. The sack was parched, almost like dried skin. Aaron wasn't about to ask.

Whateley held up the sack of starstones. "The medallion please."

Aaron gave Whateley the medallion and took the starstones.

"I shall see that this is returned to its rightful owner," Whateley grinned as he opened a desk drawer and dropped the medallion into it. He paused, sat at his desk, and suddenly produced a revolver from the same drawer he had placed the medallion in. "One more thing," he said, grinning as he held the revolver up. "If the starstones don't get the worshippers, this will."

"You're not serious?!"

Dr. Whateley slowly leaned forward. His voice took on a more somber tone, his words paced, slow, deliberate. "I am deadly serious."

Aaron took the gun, turned it over in his hand, studying it. Great! Fucking great! First dynamite, now a goddam gun! This is beginning to look like a goddam militia group! Aaron glanced back at Dr. Whateley, noticed Dr. Whateley staring at him.

"They wouldn't hesitate to kill," Dr. Whateley said softly. "You mustn't either. Now you must go." He rose from his desk. "You have urgent business that you must attend to in Ohio."

Ohio? Ohio!? Now how the Hell did Whateley know that!? I never said home was in Ohio!

They were silent as they left the cottage. Aaron was incredulous at Dr. Whateley's knowledge of Ohio, yet somehow expected it. It was dusk; the sun was now gone. Night seemed to come faster here in backwater Massachusetts than anywhere Aaron had ever seen. Shadows crawled through the trees, danced across the narrow dirt road fronting Dr. Whateley's property.

Whateley stared at the rapidly darkening sky. Aaron climbed into the truck and slammed the door shut. Whateley suddenly stuck his face through the open passenger window.

Dr. Whateley spoke, his voice once again serious, monotone, and soft. "There may be no gate in those wells, Mr. Swanson. Keep a close watch on the sky. Call it an instinct. I have learned to trust my instincts."

Dr. Whateley fell silent, his eyes still locked on Aaron. The man's voice had been slow, convincing. Aaron realized this man said only what he meant to say, never given over to elaboration. There was concern in what he said. Advice to be heeded. No trivialities.

Aaron remained silent. He stared back at the strange little man.

Dr. Whateley's eyes gleamed with an unnatural light. Some unfathomable power, his face a blank expression. Aaron knew that this man possessed a power no mortal had or could ever begin to understand. Those eyes would leave a lasting impression upon Aaron. And it was then Aaron suddenly had an uncanny feeling that Dr. Whateley already knew the outcome of what he, Jade, and Bob were yet to face.

Aaron pondered Whateley's final statement. Watch the sky. Aaron felt uneasy. He knew that something was out of place, not quite right, but with Whateley's statement, he was now even less sure. He could not explain his feeling of uneasiness, his doubt, much less to know what was causing it. Evidently Whateley recognized something Aaron had failed to see, something Whateley probably thought Aaron knew. But he didn't. Elusive. A faint trace of recognition, yes, but elusive. It tugged at his mind, and he fought to recall it. Aaron was convinced it would make itself known in time.

Aaron was back about noon the following day. He had taken a short detour to a friend in Youngstown, Ohio, an old classmate named Blackie Johnson. Aaron grinned at the thought of how Blackie acquired his nickname. Just out of high school, a student at Youngstown State, Blackie hung out at The Apartment a nightclub on Midlothian Boulevard on Youngstown's east side. He had a penchant for taking beautiful young black women from The Apartment to his apartment. Knocking on his door, Aaron was surprised to see Blackie hadn't moved, and not surprised to see the reason behind his nickname was still intact.

Blackie also always had a knack for destroying things. It was a skill which lead to his career as a demolitions expert with a local Youngstown building contractor firm. Inside Blackie's apartment, Blackie and Aaron had a quick conversation, a stated request eluding the reason, a hurried reason for leaving, and a promise to come back for a visit later when there was time.

As Aaron was leaving, Blackie nodded at his gorgeous female friend, then smiled at Aaron. "It could be like old times, man!" Blackie laughed, nodding at his female friend. "You know, hangin' out at The Apartment; a little hay rollin'."

You haven't changed a bit, old man. Aaron laughed to himself, glanced at Blackie's friend who seemed to purposely be nearly breaking free of her skimpy blouse, then grinned at Blackie. "Naw, gotta go," Aaron replied as Blackie pulled his girl closer. "But I promise ya, man. I'll be back."

"All right, I'm holdin' ya to that!"

Aaron set the case of illicit dynamite that Blackie had given him in the back of the truck. Blackie and his girlfriend stood in the doorway waving as Aaron backed out of the parking space. Aaron waved back, grinning. Neither one of them hardly had a stitch of clothing on. Aaron laughed as Blackie gave Aaron the standard parting gesture he always had -- pulled his girl in front of him, pulled her blouse up around her neck, and squeezed both her breasts. Aaron waved again, shaking his head.

That son-of-a-bitch hasn't changed a bit. Both of 'em damn near naked. Shit! I probably dragged their asses outta bed.

Jade was out the door before Aaron had the truck stopped and turned off. He glanced at her, her haggard look mirrored in his puzzled eyes. She looked worse than Bob had looked when they first arrived in Columbiana. And it had only taken her two days. She was edgy, nervous, appeared as though she hadn't slept since Aaron left. There were dark circles under her eyes.

She threw her arms around Aaron's neck. "Oh, Aaron," she cried. Her voice was soft and worn. "You wouldn't believe. You just wouldn't fuckin' believe!"

"You're not gonna believe, either; Doctor Whateley, Dunwich, Arkham ..."

"There really is a Whateley?" Jade was incredulous, her mood seemed to brighten. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised."

"Yeah, there is," Aaron replied. He took the bag of starstones from the back of the truck. "Alive and in the flesh. He's a strange one. Here, take this sack. Starstones."

"Good," she glanced at the leather sack. "Are they real?"

"Genuine," Aaron replied. He glanced at the house, then turned his attention back to Jade. "Where's Bob?"

"Inside, sleeping at the kitchen table," Jade said.

"Sleeping? Now? In the middle of the afternoon?"

"Yeah, we were up late last night. You wouldn't believe it, Aaron! We went back to that goddam house. At night!"

Aaron's eyes went wide. "Are you nuts?! That's dangerous, Jade! You could have been seen!"

"We were."

"What?" Aaron was surprised.

"They saw us," Jade repeated, Aaron lifting the case of dynamite from the truck. "There were three of them down there last night." Jade glanced at the case. "What's that?"

"It's dynamite. Come on, let's get in the house."

They turned toward the house. "Dynamite?" Jade questioned. "What for?"

"To close the wells," Aaron replied. "Both Armitage and Whateley said to dynamite the goddam wells."

"Armitage? An Armitage too?"

"Yeah, the grandson of Lovecraft's original. How about getting the door for me?"

Jade opened the door. They crossed the hall to the kitchen. Sure enough, Bob sat at the kitchen table, his head resting on his arms, fast asleep. Aaron put the case of dynamite on the floor; Jade placed the sack of starstones on the table, arousing Bob. He lifted his head and glared about groggily. Like Jade, Bob was also haggard. Up late, Jade had said. Bob looked as if he hadn't slept at all until now.

He shook his head, rubbed his eyes. "Aaron, you're back."

"Yeah, with starstones and dynamite."

"Dynamite?"

"To close the wells," Jade answered.

"Jade, you awake?" Bob said sleepily. He squinted at her.

"Yeah, been awake for about an hour."

Bob sat back and stretched his arms. He paused a moment, staring at his fingers as he placed his hands on the edge of the table. "They were here last night," he said softly.

"They? Who's they?" Aaron asked.

"Don't know," Bob said. "We went back to the old house last night ..."

"I know, Jade told me," Aaron interrupted.

"Well, they saw us. We ran," Bob continued. "When we got back here, we noticed two people standing under the streetlight ... across the street. Think they were watching the house."

"It could have been anybody, maybe the neighbors," Aaron said.

"No, it wasn't," Jade said. "Right out of Lovecraft, Aaron. Just like in Innsmouth. Goddam trench coats, the whole bit. They WERE watching Bob's house."

"Did you get the starstones?" Bob asked. His eyes fell on the sack. He shook his head. "Oh yeah, you said you did." He shook his head again as he struggled to his feet. He walked to the counter, picked up a piece of paper next to the refrigerator, then walked back to the table and sat. "Those things, men, whatever the fuck they were -- they were like, ah ... streetlight phantoms," he said, unfolding the paper. "They were there, across the street under the streetlight, then gone. Just like that."

"It may not be a good idea to stay here any longer," Jade said softly. "If they know where we are ..." she fell silent.

"Maybe not a good idea," Aaron said. He took a seat at the kitchen table opposite Bob.

Bob pushed the piece of paper across the table to Aaron. "Here, Aaron, what do you make of this?" Bob said.

Aaron moved the sack of starstones out of the way and picked up the piece of paper. He studied it, trying to comprehend what was scrawled on the paper. It looked like jumbled lettering, three lines of it, yet the name Yog-Sothoth was instantly recognizable. Again and again he scanned the lines of writing, shaking his head, trying to make sense of it, trying to draw on the knowledge he had from Lovecraft's writings.

"I copied it down last night," Bob said, Aaron's eyes trained on the name Yog-Sothoth. "Well, that's what the Hell it sounded like. The chant anyway."

"Chant," Aaron said softly. "This is a phonetic interpretation."

"I guess you could call it that," Bob replied.

"Yeah, just like in Lovecraft's stories, Aaron," Jade added. "It was all there last night -- the chanting, the flute music, the whippoorwills ..."

"Whippoorwills?" Aaron interrupted, suddenly glancing up at Jade.

"There's never been any whippoorwills around here!"

"There isn't," Bob said. He shook his head, adding, "Well, there never use to be."

"There is now," Jade said.

Aaron pulled bits and pieces of Lovecraft material from his memory as he turned his eyes back to the piece of paper. "If this is like the chants in Lovecraft's stories, I should be able to translate some of it," Aaron said softly.

Bob leaned across the table. "Yeah? What does it say?"

"Let me see," Aaron said, pausing, then he continued. "Ia, now I think that means hail. The letters cf mean is, and fhtagn means dreaming. So, the chant starts 'Hail! Hail! Yog-Sothoth is dreaming'. Fhtagnl means dreams, and ai is yes." Aaron dropped the paper on the table and glanced at Bob. "That's all I recognize."

Bob picked up the paper and sat back, glancing at the chant he had written. "Iä! Iä! Yog-Sothoth cf'fhtagn," he softly began to read the phonetic chant. "Az Yog-Sothoth fhtagnl naguithaukwa fhtagnl! Ayakithaukwa! Ayakn riuk'fnow nglui claugm naugn! Ai! Ai!". Bob shook his head and dropped the paper on the table. "I don't get it. It's beyond me."

"Be careful, I wouldn't read that too damn loud," Jade said.

Aaron tapped his fingers on the table, his mind lost in thought. It was another familiar puzzle, something about the chant, something out of place, just not quite right. Even after having read Lovecraft's material, Aaron seemed to be coming up short on memories of it. Always just beyond his grasp. At first he thought it was the way Bob had written it down, interpreted it phonetically. But he wasn't sure. Aaron was beginning to believe the signs didn't fit the pattern of Yog-Sothoth. Still, Yog-Sothoth predominated Aaron's thoughts. And so did the sky. Whateley had said to watch the sky.

What the Hell is the goddam connection!? Starstones and chants and streetlight phantoms. Whippoorwills too!

Aaron sat back and shook his head, ceased tapping his fingers. He knew whippoorwills weren't indigenous to the area. Bob and Jade's streetlight phantoms. That he recognized. Deep Ones. They don't fit the puzzle either.

"You want something to eat, drink?" Jade asked, interrupting Aaron's thinking. "You look like you haven't eaten in a while."

"No thanks, Jade," Aaron replied, pushing himself up from the table. "Haven't had any sleep in a while. Think I'll lie down on the couch." He paused at the kitchen door, turned to face Bob and Jade. Bob's eyes were turned to the piece of paper. Jade stood by the kitchen sink, her arms crossed, her eyes turned to the floor. "Wake me up about six if I don't get up before then. Tonight we're gonna stop this bullshit once and for all."

"All right, Aaron," Jade said, glancing up at him.

Aaron left the kitchen. For the first time since he and Jade arrived, he noticed how dark and haunting the living room really was with the curtains drawn, even in the light of day. Depressing. Aaron was certain the mood it presented did Bob's state of mind no good. No doubt shadows dancing in the corners of the room created horrid images in Bob's mind, escalating his nervousness. Certainly his condition stemmed from events he had experienced at the old ghost trap, but the mood in the darkened living room had to have had some poisoning affect as well.

Aaron plopped himself on the couch and buried his face in his hands. "Starstones, chants, and streetlight phantoms," he thought aloud. "Whippoorwills too." He shook his head in distaste. I don't need all this horse shit. Everything was so good back in Massachusetts. With Jade ... He sighed, shook his head again and ran his fingers up through his hair. Hmmmm. Yeah, everything was great, but now this horse shit.

"Well, a friend in need is a friend in deed," he softly voiced the thought. "At least so the old saying goes."

He rolled over and laid down. He closed his eyes, but sleep wouldn't come easily. Images danced in his mind. Coffee shop talks he and Jade had shared; their reading adventures; concerts. He saw the trip to Texas he had made years before, saw Lisa. He saw the haunted-house hunting days of high school. He saw good times, bad; days long gone; and recent days. There were images of the old house, the artesian wells. There was Dr. Armitage standing before the house, Dr. Whateley standing in the doorway. From one of the artesian wells a great shadow rose up to the sky, a great black shadow born on wings.

That was the last image Aaron saw before sleep finally claimed him, clearing the images away.

Created: August 11, 1997; Updated: August 9, 2004