Shasta shrugged it off and Clarrisa took it from her. She took a deep breath, then walked boldly through the doorway. This room had also been stripped of furnishings -- even carpeting and paneling -- leaving only bare stone. In the middle of the floor sat a waterbed frame, and inside that lay a featherbed. Both were covered by a single blanket. The mound formed by the blanket in the center of the bed must have been Peter, she thought. It stirred slightly, causing ripples to move in the blanket, but he was quiet, so she decided he was still asleep. She walked over to the bed, her first few steps confident, but the odor became stronger the closer she approached. Slowly trepidation set in and she began to hesitate, slowing her pace, even stopping for brief periods, as if she were restoring her courage to go on.

From the door behind her, Clarrisa urged her onward, prodding her urgently with encouraging remarks. Shasta didn't pay any attention to the words, just the insistence in her voice. Finally she reached the head of the bed. She stopped and simply stared for a moment at the blanket. Peter had pulled it over his head, but she would need to pull it back to crawl in beside him anyway. The odor was strongest here, faintly nauseating. She reached out towards the blanket, slowly; it seemed to her as if time had slowed down. She hesitated just as she was about to touch it and pulled back, apprehensively. Trying to ignore the stench, she took another deep breath, then resolutely reached down and took hold of the blanket.

She jumped as Clarrisa grabbed her wrist, restraining her. She let go of the blanket and Clarrisa pulled her away and back into the other room. Using her foot she pushed the door around until it closed with a soft click. She then turned her face to face and gripped her shoulders.

"Listen to me, my dear; listen very carefully. I can't let you go through with it like this. I had planned to simply leave you to him on your own, but I realize now I can't. It is very important that you succeed, more so than you could ever realize, but you must first be prepared. If you are not, you could panic, and the result would be that my son will kill you. Do you understand? If you are not in control of the situation, he could tear you limb from limb. I cannot permit that to happen. So I will tell you those things that I have left out, and you can believe them or not at your choice. You will soon have proof that what I will say is true, but you must listen to me. Do you understand?"

"What are you talking about?" Shasta gasped. Once again, Clarrisa's sudden change in manner terrified her. She started struggling, trying to break free. Clarrisa simply pushed her across the room until she forced her to sit in the chair.

She dug her fingernails into Shasta's flesh until she stopped squirming. "Listen to me!" she hissed as she shook the girl like a rag doll. "Peter's father isn't human. He is one of the Outer Gods. I know that term mean's nothing to you, but they are immensely powerful beings who eternally dance around the throne of Azathoth, the idiot god who sits at the very center of the universe. His name is unknown, if He even has what we would call a name. It was one of His worshipers who approached me. His cult wanted an avatar to adore, but to accomplish that they must produce an entity that can live in this world, into which He would then channel a portion of his personality as well some of his power. They chose to have Him mate with a human female to produce an offspring He could possess. They didn't tell me what He really was; instead they led me to believe that one of their male members would act as a surrogate. Instead, once I was naked and laying on their altar, they summoned Him to their worship chamber, placated Him with blood sacrifices, then offered me up to Him. Fortunately they had given me some kind of drug, so that while I was awake and aware the whole time, I did not comprehend what was happening to me, or what was doing it. Afterwards I slept, and it was only when I awoke and recalled the events of the previous day, did I truly understand the significance of my bargain. I don't know why I didn't go insane, or why I didn't kill myself or my unborn child. Maybe the cultists did something to me while under the influence of that drug that prevented me from imagining those possibilities. All I know is I carried their god's seed to term, and was rewarded with a healthy human baby boy.

"I had thought that perhaps the mating hadn't worked, or that one of the cultists had in fact filled in for their god after all, and that I had simply hallucinated the rest. As long as the cultists were satisfied, however, I didn't care. I had a beautiful baby son, and with a million dollars I could make for him a better life than I ever had. As I explained before, the cultists tutored him; I let them because they could have killed me and taken Peter if I hadn't cooperated. He was bright and quick, with an aptitude for scholastic research, but even at an early age they began to realize that he wouldn't turn out the way they wanted him to. By the time he was twelve, they were convinced of it and abandoned him. I didn't care. By that time my fortune had grown so that I could retire from active business and devote my time solely to him. That's when his talent began to emerge. Within a year he had mastered the rudiments and intricacies of acrylic and oil painting, and was turning out masterpieces. I was so proud of him, and he was happy with his life. I didn't believe anything could happen to change our lives.

"The metamorphosis must have begun when he was sixteen, but I noticed nothing because it was internal, and if he felt anything wrong he said nothing. By the time he was eighteen certain physical abnormalities began to appear, but by that time it was too late to reverse the process, if the process could have been reversed at all. The doctors I took him to told me they had no idea what was happening, but they were convinced he would either die in a few years, or become a helpless, deformed vegetable. I knew what was happening, but how could I tell them my son was turning into some monstrosity's surrogate on earth? They recommended that I institutionalize him, but I couldn't abandon him, not now. I didn't care what he was, or what he was turning into; I loved him and I wouldn't discard him just to make my life easier. So I dismissed the doctors, and Peter and I adjusted our lives as necessary. I had the political clout to keep the state from taking him away from me and the financial resources to meet our every need. We would live out lives here, in our home, as we had always planned.

"On his twentieth birthday the cultists returned. That's when I was told what Peter must do to redeem himself. If we refused, or if we failed, the consequences would be our financial ruin, my death or worse, and the likelihood that Peter would be claimed by the state and put in some laboratory for study. I didn't care what they did to me, but I would kill for Peter, and if I felt it would guarantee his safety forever, I would die for him as well. So I did what I could. For six months I tried to prepare him to impregnate the woman the cultists had selected. As I've already explained I've failed. You are my last hope. I have only six months left to succeed, including the time needed to impregnate their volunteer. I don't even know if he can conceive, but if he cannot even copulate properly it will never work."

Clarrisa stopped talking suddenly, almost in mid-sentence, and her face seemed to melt as if the mask of ice she had been wearing had suddenly thawed. She let go of Shasta's arms and reached up to cradle the girl's head between her hands instead. When she spoke again her voice was very soft and gentle, a remarkable contrast to the concrete-hard, steel-edged tone she had used before. "You think I'm mad, don't you?"

When Shasta didn't answer she dropped her hands, looking downcast, and then stepped back and turned away from her. "Yes," she said just barely above a whisper, "I suppose I do sound quite mad."

Shasta rubbed her arms where her muscles hurt. She hadn't realized how hard Clarrisa had held her until she had let her go. "Well, you do sound unsettled," she volunteered hesitantly.

Clarrisa lifted her head and gave a short, nervous laugh. "'Unsettled,' she says." Then she turned half way around and looked at Shasta over her shoulder. "You go through what I've been through, and then you tell me if 'unsettled' is the right word for it."

"I'm sorry," Shasta protested, "but I don't know what else to say. I mean, you've acted so strangely ever since I first came here. I thought I understood why. Now you tell me some story that's so fantastic it sounds like it came out of a Stephen King novel. And you expect me to believe it?"

"No," she answered, somewhat wearily, hugging herself, "I don't expect you to take my word for it. But I said I had proof." She then turned full around and placed her hands on her hips. When she continued her voice had recovered its firm, commanding tone. "I'll give you another chance, my dear. Another chance to reconsider, that is; to turn around and walk out of here without further involvement. Of course you'll forfeit your money -- except for a little extra I'll give to you to give to your manager. But at least you will leave with your sanity intact. Or you can come with me, back into Peter's bedroom, and see for yourself my proof. But I warn you: if you choose the latter, there will be no turning back. Regardless of what happens I will expect you to fulfill your end of our bargain. Is that acceptable to you?"

"I suppose," Shasta said incredulously.

"Then choose."

She did not say this commandingly, nor was there even a hint of that desperate pleading Shasta had noticed before. She said it in a careful, even voice. This time, Shasta felt, it would be totally her own decision. But what kind of decision was that? This woman was crazy, probably absolutely insane. There was no telling what would happen to her it she went through with this lunatic plan. And yet, the most that would probably happen was that she may be forced to make love to an idiot savant; someone who might have a great artistic talent, but have the mentality of a two-year-old. And for that she would have more money then she ever dreamed of having. It would give her a chance for freedom from the streets and a real life, not to mention a chance to survive to grow old. How did that compare with believing some harebrained story, turning tail and running without even having a look at Clarrisa's proof. It made no sense, so it would probably be prudent to leave. But then, if Shasta had been in the habit of doing what was prudent, she would still be back in Pawtucket, Indiana, married to her old high school sweetheart and raising kids. Besides, there was a certain amount of pride involved here. She had never run from anything in her entire life, and she wasn't going to start now.

She stood up, her back straight and stiff, and she held her head up. She said, "All right, show me what you have."

Clarrisa motioned for her to follow and she went over to the bedroom door. She opened it and they both entered and walked over to the bed. Peter was still asleep. But before Clarrisa did anything else she turned and whispered to Shasta, "Now remember, do not wake my son. It you do, all of this will be for nothing. Whatever you feel like doing, don't do anything at all. Do you understand?"

Shasta nodded and said, "Let's get on with it."

So Clarrisa reached out, took hold of the blanket, and carefully lifted it clear of the bed and over her head. Peter lay in the middle of the mattress in a near-fetal position. He had one arm wrapped around his knees while the other was raised to his head with his thumb in his mouth. But had she not already known that he was human, she never would have been able to recognize even this much. His body had degenerated until it looked like a fat, bloated starfish with stubby arms. The feet had totally disappeared and the head was almost devoid of recognizable features, with the exception of a sphincter mouth and two huge, glassy eyes. The hands were still fully formed, but were attached without wrists to their limbs. His flesh seen to be composed of a combination of jelly, putrefying meat, and a compost pile, and it was covered with a thick coat of mucus that oozed from orifices scattered across his skin. His body quivered with each breath and bubbles of gas percolated through the mucus. Whenever a bubble broke the surface, a smell of sewer gas wafted up towards her, nauseating her.

Shasta stepped back away from the bed and brought her hands up to her mouth. Clarrisa needn't have worried. Accept to stare in wide-eyed horror, Shasta couldn't screen, she couldn't vomit, she couldn't do anything at all. Her paralysis was so complete that she couldn't even think. She wasn't even aware of her surroundings anymore; the fact that Clarrisa was still holding up the sheet, the fact that she was in this room, the fact that she was on the earth, even the fact that she was alive were matters that were totally oblivious to her. The only thing that she knew was that . . . thing . . . in the bed. It dominated her entire being. It was as it the universe had suddenly collapsed in on itself to this point, and that this was all that ever was or ever would be of the whole of creation.

Only when Clarrisa finally lowered the sheet did some semblance of the world return to Shasta's awareness. She dropped her hands and stared at the older woman. She still couldn't speak and she could barely even think, but she could feel again, and what she was feeling now was a sense of cold horror that she had never experienced before. This wasn't a feeling of physical fear; there was no rush of adrenaline, her heart beat slowly, her breathing was steady and regular. And it wasn't emotional fear; there was no icy feeling in her gut, no spasm of panic gripping her mind, no shock that would render her unconscious. There was simply none of the regular symptoms that accompanied fear. Instead there was a numbing feeling that crept over her like ice-cold water slowly filling a tub. It extinguished all reason, all emotion, and left only the empty realization that what she had thought was reality had in fact been an illusion all along. The horror that she felt in fact came from the grotesque understanding that she was not part of a rational, divinely inspired creation, but rather a universe that contained entities and powers to whom humans were nothing more than fleas that they might pick from their hides. She had always clung to the hope that the streets she had been forced to call home for the past seven years of her life were nothing more than an aberration, and that with a lucky break she might be able to leave them for the clean, sane, normal world of the rest of humanity. Now she had just discovered that the streets were simply a reflection of the character of the universe as a whole, and that the clean, sane, normal world of the rest of humanity was the aberration.

Clarrisa walked up to Shasta and took her in her arms. And it was perhaps that very human contact that finally restored her to complete being, because she clung to the other woman suddenly, buried her face in her shoulder, and sobbed uncontrollably. The revelation still weighed heavily on her, but with this one small bit of human reassurance she just might avoid losing her own sanity completely.

"It's all right, my dear," Clarrisa whispered softly in her ear, "it's all right." She reached up and patted the back of her head like she was a distraught child. "You will survive; you have strength. But I was right about you."

Shasta lifted her had and looked Clarrisa in the face. "What do you mean?" she asked between sobs.

"You understand, my dear; you truly understand." And when Shasta gave her a puzzled look she added, "Yes, I can tell. But it's as I said, you have deep sensitivity. You see things that others do not. You feel what they cannot. Anyone else would have looked at my son and seen a monster, a genetic aberration. But you see him for what he is and for what he represents. And yet you also have the strength to survive your epiphany."

"You call this strength?" she protested, as she was racked by another series of sobs.

Clarrisa once again cradled Shasta's head with her hands, and Shasta reached up and took hold of her wrists. "Yes," Clarrisa said, "I do. Because if you were not able to deal with it you would now be catatonic."

Suddenly Shasta's heart went out to this woman. Clarrisa had actually seen the thing that was Peter's father, had been raped by it, not just once but several times. And yet she came out of that experience better than she had been going in. In empathy, Shasta reached out and cradled Clarrisa's head between her own hands. "But how did you survive? I have you to help me, but who did you have to turn to?"

"Just myself," she said, a tone of profound sadness in her voice, "and later my son."

Shasta pushed herself away suddenly. "I don't think I can go through with this."

"Yes, you can," Clarrisa said firmly. "As I said, you have the strength, and you know now that you must."

"Why?!" Shasta exclaimed. Real terror now seized her, the same she had felt when, as a little girl, her brother had told her the bogeyman man lived in her closet, and what it would do to her after she fell asleep. The same she had felt her first night on the streets, when she didn't know where to find food or shelter, but knew of only one way to get both. Only now the stakes were much higher.

"Because you know!" Clarrisa insisted. "You know that I was telling the truth, and you know the implications of what I have said. To my life, yes; if I fail. But also to the world as a whole. Can you imagine what would happen if an avatar of his father was actually produced? Can you conceive of what it would mean to our planet? Oh, He wouldn't destroy it out right, but He would make it a living hell the likes of which even Satan, in all his diabolical sadism, could never imagine. Some would die: those who couldn't live in His kind of world, those who couldn't understand Him, and those who could but couldn't live with that understanding. The rest . . . well, He wouldn't enslave them -- that's not a concept that is part of His psyche -- but He would use them. And how He would use them would surpass the cruelties of the Holocaust, and the Inquisition, and the Crusades, and all the great depravities of Mankind by a thousand-fold. Oh, He wouldn't think of them as cruelties; for Him the concepts of good and evil, right and wrong, compassion and cruelty don't exist. He would just simply act as He saw fit, but with no more concern for our welfare than we would have for the roaches that inhabit our homes."

"Then why are you helping him?" Shasta asked.

"I'm not helping Him. Oh, I suppose in a way I had, twenty years ago, when I was younger and was seduced by the money. I knew after He came and had His way with me what it would actually mean, but I still went along with it. When Peter was born, however, I came to understand that I wasn't doing this for his father, I was doing this for him. And I wouldn't be helping his father, I would be helping him. And it is perhaps, if there is a beneficent God, his doing that my son has turned out the way he has. Because if my son is to be an avatar of his father, I want Peter to have some small bit of him which is human, so that he will know what it is like to be human. And maybe, just maybe, that will mollify the worst of the atrocities he might commit."

"But what of this child that his father wants him to produce? What would its purpose be?" Despite herself, Shasta could feel her terror slipping away as the mundaneness of the conversation began to take hold.

"I don't know; I wish to god I did. But I have been promised that if Peter can father a child he will inherent his birthright. And maybe, with the two of us teaching and influencing him, rather than become a monster, Peter might actually become a savior for this world."

"I don't know," Shasta said hesitantly.

"I don't know either," Clarrisa said more firmly, "but isn't it worth the risk? If we do nothing, his father will simply try again with someone else. At least we have the situation in hand now. We might not be able to stop His plan, but we together may be able to alter it to such a point that instead of being a force for evil, we could create of it a force of good. Is that not worth the try?"

Shasta said somewhat weakly, "I suppose so."

"But I cannot do it alone, my dear. I need your help."

Shasta shook her head. "I still don't know if I can go through with it."

"But you will give it a try?"

Shasta nodded, then, and said, "Yes." She took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and repeated, "Yes, I will give it a try."

"That's all I can ask of you," Clarrisa said.

"But I make no guarantees," Shasta warned. "I will do what I can, but I cannot promise that we will be successful."

"I know, my dear. Do you want to be alone with him?"

"I don't want to," she said. "I'm scared to death. But if I can't do this on my own, I won't be able to do it at all."

Clarrisa nodded. "I understand. I will be in the other room if anything happens. If you need me, call for me." She kissed Shasta lightly on the cheek before letting her go. "Thank you, my dear," she said with tears brimming in her eyes, "and good luck." And then she quickly left the room, closing the door softly behind her.

Shasta was now on her own. At first she simply stood her ground and looked at the bed. Clarrisa had been right; she did understand. And she had also been correct in that, if the situation had gone this far already, if the plan had in fact advanced this far, there was no way they could stop it. And even if they were able to do so by some miracle, it -- Peters father -- would simply try again. They might not succeed, they -- herself, Clarrisa, Peter -- might all die horribly, but at least it was worth the attempt. And she knew that as long as she was convinced of that, she would do her best.

So she went up to the bed, took hold of the sheet and gently pulled it aside. Peter stirred slightly, but he stayed asleep. She than carefully lay herself down on the edge of the bed and slowly pushed herself towards him, until she was touching him. She couldn't bring herself to touch him with her mouth, not this first time. Perhaps later, but for what she wanted to accomplish today, the rest of her body would be able to do all that was necessary.

Under her ministrations he awoke gradually. As he did so his body respond before he was fully aware of her presence or what was happening. By the time he was fully awake he was embracing her and moving his body against hers in counterpoint to her movements against him. She helped him by guiding his hands and demonstrating with them what he should do. When he began to clumsily mouth her, she guided his head and gently shaped his mouth for proper action, and encouraged him to use his tongue in a manner similar to the way she had instructed him to use his fingers. His organ remained flaccid throughout, and yet she touched and stroked it, showed him where he would place it within her. And demonstrated how he would use it. She then spent the rest of the session trying to achieve an erection using her hands. It took a little while, but she was finally able to accomplish not only that, but also stimulate him until he climaxed. He came with a shudder and then lay quiet. She stretched out beside him and held him close to her, stroking and petting him to relax him. Only when he finally drifted off to sleep again did she leave him.

She walked quietly out into the outer room. Clarrisa was sitting in the chair, looking rather agitated. She started when she looked up and saw Shasta standing in the doorway. Shasta figured she must look an awful sight, covered in brown slime from head to toe, but Clarrisa hardly seen to care.

"You're all right!" she explained.

Shasta couldn't suppress a grin. "Of course I'm all right. Why wouldn't I be? It's not like your son would have eaten me; I mean literally, of course."

Clarrisa stood up and came over to her. "I'm sorry, my dear, but as I told you, all the others I tried to pair with Peter were unsuccessful. What happened was they couldn't go through with it once they were in bed with him, and when they tried to get away from him he became agitated and killed them. He even ate the first three before I was able to teach him not to."

For a moment Shasta was so shocked she was speechless, but then she said, "Well, I'm glad you didn't tell me that before!"

"How do you feel?" Clarrisa asked with genuine compassion.

"I don't know really, to be perfectly honest with you. I mean, it was like making love to warm congealed soup. And yet he responded in a way that none of my clients had ever done so before. For the first time in my life I can actually say I made love to someone, not just copulated with him. So I guess I don't know how I feel yet."

"What happened? Did he . . . was he able to . . .?"

"Well, I just sort of stimulated him, to start with. As I said before, I want to go slowly. I just want him to get used to me, to like the idea of having me around. But I was able to get him to ejaculate. So I don't think we'll have any problems getting him to copulate with someone. If he's sterile he still won't be able to impregnate anyone, but at least he'll know how to try. By the time I'm through with him, he'll be an expert."

"Well, that's an obstacle we'll have to tackle later. In the meantime, I really cannot thank you enough for what you're doing. I mean, I understand that the money is attractive to you, but I can never adequately repay you for what you are doing."

Shasta suddenly felt very embarrassed. She could feel herself blushing from her head down to her breasts. "I'm not doing so much, and it's hard not to like him. I mean, he really was quite gentle with me, as long as I was gentle with him."

"I still owe you more than I can ever repay. Come on, let me take you someplace where you can clean up."

Even as she took Shasta by the elbow, however, Peter came oozing into the room. He stopped short when he saw the two women together. For a brief moment Clarrisa went white, but then Peter slowly edged towards them. He came up to his mother, but then slowly, tentatively reached out to just barely touch Shasta on one shin. And then he smiled.

When he spoke his voice was very distorted and it gurgled, but the words could still be understood. He said, "I like you."

Despite herself, Shasta smiled. She answered, "I like you, too," as she reached out carefully and touched him on the top of his head.

He shied away from her touch, but he also giggled. He then looked up at his mother and said, "She's nice."

Clarrisa replied, "Yes Peter, she's very nice."

"We had fun together," he continued.

"You enjoyed it?" Clarrisa asked.

"Yes, Mommy, I liked it a lot. Is it a new game?"

"Yes, Peter, it's a new game, and you and she will be playing it a lot from now on."

Peter looked over at Shasta and said, "Really?!"

Shasta answered, "Yes, Peter, every day. Just before you have your nap, and I'll teach you how to be real good at it, too."

"You will?" he asked excitedly. "Was I good today?"

"You were fine, Peter, but I'll be teaching you different ways to play the game, and the more you practice the better you'll become. Does that sound like fun?"

"Oh yes, very much!" he replied.

Clarrisa then said seriously, "Peter, I want you to listen very carefully."

Responding to the tone of her voice, Peter looked back at her and said quietly, "Yes, Mommy."

"I love you very much --," she continued.

"I love you too, Mommy," he interrupted eagerly.

She smiled and said very gently, "I know, Peter. But I want you to understand that it is very important that you learn how to play this game well."

"I understand, Mommy."

Clarrisa continued, "Your father wants you to know how to play this game, and if you play it well enough He will be very pleased with you. It's very important that He be pleased with you, do you understand, Peter?"

"Yes, Mommy, I understand." And in that one simple statement, Shasta heard his father in his voice. Despite his lack of childhood development, Shasta was now certain that Peter himself knew, at least instinctively, how important this all was.

Clarrisa did not seem to catch that, but she smiled, obviously very relieved. "Good boy, dear. Now I have to take Shasta here -- that's her name, dear, Shasta; can you say Shasta?"

Peter tried to mouth the unfamiliar word first. When he spoke it, he did not say it very well, but he said it. "Shasta." He then reached out and touched her again, this time with greater confidence. "I like you, Shasta." His touch lingered and he even managed to caress her calf.

In that same moment, Shasta new suddenly that she couldn't abandon Peter regardless of how she might feel, or come to feel, about his mother or her relationship with his father. She now understood how Clarrisa could subordinate everything, whether herself, her life or even her own security, to him and his needs. Shasta realized that now she could do no less herself, even if it meant unleashing upon the world the greatest horror it had ever known. Peter had become more important to her then anything else, even sanity.

"I like you too, Peter," she replied.

"Well, Peter, I'm going to take Shasta to her room so she can clean up. She will see you tomorrow, just before your nap time. Now why don't you stay here and work on your paintings."

"All right, Mommy." And he almost turned away, but than he stopped. He hesitated for a moment, being edged up real close to Shasta's feet. He reached his hands up towards her and she kneeled down in front of him. He put his arms around her shoulders and he kissed her on the cheek. When he pulled back, she leaned forward then and kissed him on the forehead.

It was not until a few days later that she discovered he had drawn her face onto the head of the woman being savaged by the entity in his painting.

Created: May 3, 2003; Updated: August 9, 2004