Just A Tome by Savannah Stakenburg

Just A Tome BY SAVANNAH STAKENBURG

~ 1 ~ A New Job

Knock, knock. “Come in.” Looking up, I noticed a well-dressed man in his forties had entered my office and sat down on one of the two chairs in front of my desk. He must be loaded since he’s wearing one of those expensive grotesque-looking brooches on his coat. I can’t even tell what it’s supposed to be. Great. I hope this isn’t another rich guy trying to find out whether his spoiled wife is cheating on him like last time. Shoving the stacks of paper aside, I light a cigar and prop my chin up with my hand. Let the party begin. “Good afternoon. Are you Mr. Daniel Moida?” I curtly nodded in his direction, “The one and only. So, what can I do for you, sir?” He was sweating profusely. “I’m Raymond Brooks, a private book collector. I need you to investigate a theft,” he began. Who hires a private investigator for a theft when the police exist? “Why wouldn’t you go to the police with this matter right away?” I take a puff of my cigar. This ought to be a good story. “You see, the police refuse to investigate the matter… no matter how much I try to sway them into doing so.” Ah, that’s why he’s here. They won’t help him. “Let’s hear it. Tell me what happened.” “A few weeks ago, I ordered a few books – exceedingly invaluable tomes, if you will, from another private book collector in New England,” he fidgeted with his fingers as he continued his tale, “I contacted the company that usually oversees my shipments. There were two employees who were incredibly eager to take on the job when they heard it was for me, but last night, they were in an accident. The thing is, one of the tomes is gone, but other items I ordered were retrieved from the truck.” “I see. So, you’d like me to locate the missing cargo then, I presume?” “Correct, sir,” he responded eagerly, “I’ll pay you handsomely for your time, I promise.” I run a hand over my brown beard. Not a bad deal, considering all I have to do is find a book. After all, I haven’t been able to afford to fix up Betsy’s engine since the Great Depression started a few years ago. “Alright, tell me more about this lost tome.” “Well, it’s just a green tome on theology and occultism…” he trailed off, “it’s an interest of mine.” The rich and their questionable hobbies.

“Mhm, what about the accident?” “The delivery truck crashed into a tree on Grove Road. Other than the fact that the tome was missing by the time it was discovered, there was nothing peculiar about the scene. It’s still there if you want to see it, sir.” “Very well, and these two men you mentioned just now, who are they and what did they have to say about the incident?” “George Castus was hired to pick up the shipment and bring it to my home here in Portcroft. It was a short trip, since Innsmouth isn’t that far from here, you see. For that very reason, I only hired one guard, Barnabas Marsh, to help secure the goods.” I scratched my head and took another puff of my cigar. Isn’t Innsmouth that bizarre backwater town that was raided years ago? “As of what became of them, well,” Brooks hesitated, his brow furrowed and sweaty, “George Castus is at Creedmoor State Hospital for treatment. Barnabus Marsh’s injuries were minor, so he was discharged earlier, but he resigned shortly after. He wasn’t the same after the injury, you see. He’s changed since. Something serious must’ve transpired during the trip and while I do hope they recover; I must insist that the missing tome is far more important than their current predicaments.” Wow, what a selfish ingrate. “Right,” I say slowly. “If you’d like to speak to them,” Brooks added, “I could share their addresses with you.” “That’d helpful, but let’s talk about payment first.”

~ 2 ~ Waterlogged mystery

Thanks to the Autumn weather, Grove Road was a solemn road leading through a seemingly gray and dead forest. If I had any car trouble here, I’d be screwed, without fail. Thankfully, it wasn’t difficult to find the delivery truck; it was still there, crashed into a large tree with its doors open. I parked Betsy nearby and made my way to the truck. Upon closer inspection, I noticed two things. Firstly, the truck was a wreck. It looked like shit, and secondly, it also smelled like shit. Christ, what the hell is that odor? Covering my nose with my coat, I continued my investigation. It’s only been a few hours since the accident, a day or so at best, but it smells as putrid as a decomposing whale. Surprisingly, the truck was wet on the inside. I craned my neck to look at the soil around the truck. Huh, the soil was arid. So it hadn’t rained here recently, but then looking back at the moist trucks interior… Something isn’t making sense. Scrutinizing further, I spotted small bits of slimy moss in the corners of the truck. Uncovering my nose for a moment, I quickly learned that this disgusting moss was the source of the foul odor.

What the hell? I memorized a map of the area before leaving my office, so I know for a fact that the nearest connection to water is miles away. How is it possible for the truck to be sopping wet and covered in sea moss when it’s miles away from sea? What in God’s name happened here?

~3~ Creedmoor State Hospital

Creedmoor was quite a rundown place for a hospital. I guess that’s what you get for being a charitable hospital instead of a private one. Luckily it was within walking distance from the office, so I could let Betsy rest after her journey to Grove Road yesterday. The hospital’s interior was bleak and simple. At the reception desk, a young woman with catlike glasses was filing her nails. “Hello, madam,” I began, “I’d like to know which room George Castus is recovering in.” With a defensive hand placed on the ledger, she pouted. “And who might you be to that person?” “I’m a private investigator,” I fetched my investigator’s license from the inside of my coat pocket, “See?” She raised her eyebrows upon seeing my license, nodded, and began searching through the ledger in front of her. “He’s in B0085. If you take these stairs down, you’ll find the wing he’s in,” she explained, using her hands to illustrate the route to me, “Just keep walking until you find the right bed.” He’s in the basement? “Is that a new wing here in the hospital?” I asked, perplexed. “Yes,” she answered carefully, “it’s where the mentally ill reside.” Mentally ill? Did she just say mentally ill? “I-I see,” I stammered, surprised, “Has anyone come to see him since his admittance?” She shook her head, “Not a soul.” Giving her a curt nod, I bid the young woman farewell, and made my way down to the basement in search of George Castus.

Even to a grown man such as myself, the basement was frightening. I want to leave, immediately. The hairs on my neck stood up as I walked. The atmosphere down here was different, cold and sterile. There were rosaries and crosses on either side of the walls in the halls, which were poorly lit by porcelain lights. I heard patients’ cries, wails, and screams as I walked towards bed eighty-five. Castus was quite a young man, tall, with blonde hair. He looked pale, he sat upright in a strait jacket in the center of his bed, unmoving, his face downcast. His patient information board stated he was admitted due to severe trauma shortly after the accident.

Despite standing right in front of him, he wasn’t acknowledging my presence at all. What the hell happened to him? “Hello, George,” I spoke carefully, to avoid startling him. No response. Great. Another useless suspect. He continuously muttered quietly under his breath. Can this cretin even hear me? I inched closer to him so I could hear what he was saying, but it seemed to be a different language. What the Devil is he saying? “Cthulhu fhtagn,” Castus murmured repeatedly. “George, can you explain what that means?” I probed carefully. Once again, I received no response and Castus continued his mindless babble. For God’s sake, get it together, George. Letting out a deep sigh and feeling my agitation build up inside me, I waved my hand in front of him. He craned his neck to face me, which caused me to step back. His eyes were vacant and clouded. “C-C-C-Cthulhu fhtagn,” his chapped bottom lip quivered as he spoke, sending a new wave of chills throughout my body. I’m leaving. Right now. “Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn. Cthulhu fhtagn! Cthulhu fhtagn!” Castus screamed with his dead eyes locked on me. I fled the room as the nurses poured into the room to attend him.

~ 4 ~ Barnabus Marsh

God, I was barely able to get any sleep last night. I keep hearing Castus’ screaming in my head. If this keeps up, soon enough I’m going to be admitted to a mental hospital too. Obed Street was a long winding road and there weren’t any houses on either side of the street. I’ve been driving for ages, and I still haven’t found Marsh’s house. If Marsh really lived here, where the hell is his house and why in God’s name would he live in an abandoned place like this? Betsy struggled heavily when we entered the area. I don’t think she’ll be able to go uphill from this point on. Fantastic, time for me to walk the rest of the way in this eerie forest. Putting on my hat and grabbing suitcase, I left Betsy behind. As I reached the top of the hill, profusely sweating, I spotted an old villa on the horizon. It was such a bleak and somber sight compared to the orange skies above. Please let this be the right place. Arriving at the house, I noticed that it was in quite a decrepit state, seeing as the stairs creaked as I ascended them.

I rapped on the door using the doorknocker, which was in the shape of a curled tentacle.

I felt a cold breeze against my back as the door unlatched, and a disheveled man appeared behind it. Thank God. I was really starting to get cold. From what I could see, the man had disheveled black hair and dark brown eyes. He eyed me suspiciously, “Who are you?” “Good evening, sir, are you Barnabus Marsh?” I inquired. He nodded in response. “Could I speak to you about the accident you were in while working for Mr. Brooks?” He looked back before looking at me again. “I-I don’t want to talk about it,” he stammered. Before he closed the door, I shoved my foot in the opening, “Sir, I’m a private investigator looking into the matter. I’d like to speak about the case with you. I won’t be long.” Flashing him my investigator’s license, Marsh sighed, “Very well, come in.” He opened the door fully to allow me to enter. Marsh was wearing a black cloak and muddy boots, as if he was about to go out. “Oh, were you on your way out?” “No,” he shrugged, “just doing some work in the yard. It’s cold out.” Looking around the house, I thought it looked perfectly normal, at first. As we walked through the hall and entered the living room, I noticed that the house was decorated with strange ominous paintings of dark oceans and strange beings with many tendrilstowering over cities. Marsh must really like tiny jade statuettes to have three of them lined up on a side table like this. He’s as nutty as a fruitcake. It was strange seeing oil lamps in his home since people stopped using them ages ago. Wow, he even owns a cuckoo clock. This place is practically a museum. Seeing a few paintings of people, comforted me at first, but then I began feeling like I was being watched, which sent shivers up and down my spine again. Sitting down, I fetched my notebook and pen from my coat pocket. “Mr. Marsh, can you tell me anything about the accident that took place during a job for Mr. Brooks approximately two days ago?” Marsh eyed me suspiciously as he fiddled with a jade ring on his ring finger. “George Castus and I were hired to deliver some cargo from Innsmouth to Mr. Brooks’ home in Portcroft,” he explained, “While we were driving on Grove Road, George lost control of the truck and we crashed into a tree. The next thing I knew, I was in the hospital.” “Did you see anything strange that day?” “Strange? No, I don’t think so.” “What about the sea?” I probed, “Did you two stop at the seaside?” I could see beads of sweat rolling down his temple as he shifted his gaze from the clock to his ring. “No, we were instructed to drive from Innsmouth to Portcroft without any stops. The truck also had enough gasoline to last the entire trip.” Then where the hell did that moss come from? “Was the cargo wet when you picked it up, perchance?”

Marsh shook his head, “It was kept dry, as ordered by Mr. Brooks.” “Were you also informed what the cargo contained?” He keeps fidgeting with that ring and it’s starting to annoy me. “No, I wasn’t,” Marsh finally answered. Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Cuckoo! That damned clock startled me. “I-I’m sorry, sir,” Marsh stammered, “but t-talking about the accident really m-makes me feel unwell. I-I’d like you to leave now.” With a sigh, I gathered my things and made my way to the door. “Thank you for your help, Mr. Marsh,” I gave him a curt nod as I exited the house. He promptly slammed the door shut. What an absolute jerk.

~ 5 ~ Soft Hums

I turned to leave when a breeze blew away my hat, which thankfully landed in some bushes next to the house. I picked up my hat and was dusting it off when I heard voices in Marsh’s yard. They were soft hums. What the hell is Marsh up to? I crept onto the premises quietly to get a good look at what was going on.

The yard was massive and barren, scarcely decorated by more strange figures. In the middle, there were five others, cloaked just like Marsh, surrounding a large green flame. I can’t recognize anyone with their hoods up like this. They’re chanting in a strange language, just like Castus did when I spoke to him. They look like cultists, but who are they worshipping? Marsh had just exited the house and joined them. At the edge, near the cliff, there was an altar, with unlit candles on each side. He uttered a few words to his comrades before he made his way to the back of the yard, standing behind the altar, facing them. Then, he grabbed a book on top of the altar, but I couldn’t see what the title was. So, I inched closer. Wait, is that— Crack. The cultists’ chanting stopped. My heart stopped. Did they just hear me? I must go. This isn’t worth it. I must leave. An intense feeling of fear overcame me, but I couldn’t bring myself to move. Move damn it, move! What is happening?

Paralyzed, I stood there, watching them come towards me and dragging me towards the altar.

Marsh seemed different when our eyes met again. Just like Castus, Marsh’s eyes lacked life and emotion. He held onto a green tome as he looked down at me. Please don’t tell me that’s Brooks’ tome… Shifting my gaze to the others, I noticed they looked strangely absent as well. Holy shit. They all look possessed. What have I gotten myself into?

The worshipper who held me in a kneeling position in front of the altar spoke in that foreign tongue again. Marsh nodded, and then opened the tome. The cultists began chanting again. I could only recognize Castus’ haunting words as the cultists repeated their chant in the disturbing glottal tongue. “Cthulhu fhtagn!” As they chanted, Marsh held up the tome as green flames began to escape from it. Seemingly shocked, he dropped it, but it was engulfed by green flames upon reaching the ground.

~ 6 ~ Cthulhu fhtagn

Suddenly, there was only silence. A deafening silence, and a sense of impending doom. Did time stop? I can’t even see the wind’s ripples in the patches of grass. My hands were moist. The yard was covered in green disgusting moss and it was wet. It wasn’t just moss. There was blood, too. The cultists were dead. The man who was holding me down isn’t there anymore, but why can’t I move? Looking up, I was met with an unfathomable sight. Marsh’s body was gone, splattered over the altar. Looking past the altar, over the cliff, I could see a portal of some sort. It’s ginormous. My hands trembled uncontrollably. Its rims are green, like the cultists’ flames. It smells salty. Putrid.

An overwhelming sense of infinity within the vast nothingness of an abyss… I could hear that strange chanting again, coming from within the portal. Make it stop.

I was being shown something. I don’t want to look. Stop it. With eyes wide open, I peered into the vast darkness. An ocean floor? No, an underwater civilization. What the hell is that? Monstrous creatures with tendrils chanted those accursed words again. Stop! As if heeding my wishes, the crowd’s chanting turned into a faraway hum as the portal nestled above a dark void. True darkness… I stared into the abyss, and in that moment, the Abyss stared back. I heard It beckon me in ancient tongues until I knew nothing more. Cthulhu fhtagn. Cthulhu fhtagn. Cthulhu fhtagn.

~ Fin ~