[stextbox id=”custom”]This is fiction, for the October blog chain on AbsoluteWrite forum. This month’s prompt: Some Things Dark and Dangerous. Choose a word from this list of Lovecraftian words or this list of obscure words (or one from both if you’re feeling ambitious). Use your chosen word(s) to craft your post. It doesn’t have to be Lovecraftian or even horror, but it should be dark, or unsettling, or scary, or Halloweenish in general. Want to watch the horror unfold? Follow the links to more fearful things at the end of this entry. [/stextbox]
My chosen words: Foetid ((modern spelling fetid)), and also arguably cat.
The antiquities wing of the Louvre had few guards. No one cared to steal a clay cracked clay pot from 1500 BCE, and so a uniformed guard dozed on a chair, unconcerned as to the activities taking place in the room. No one save myself remembered or cared about the tools made at the command of the Old Ones, nor did they want to gaze rapt upon the knives that proffered the first offerings, the bowls that caught the first blood. Most wished merely to gawk at the Mona Lisa and then buy T-shirts in the lesser of the souvenir shops that proclaimed their gawking accomplished.
This pattern of the mindless allowed me to lure my compatriot away from their frog-like masses.
We settled side by side in an overlook, our shoulders touching as we chatted in forbidden English. I allowed his patter to continue as I gazed upon the winged beasts, doomed to light their baleful glares only upon each other and the occasional stupid tourist for as long as western civilization persisted. Ignoramuses, not recognizing the holy guardians of the Great Consumer, profaned them every ten minutes or so, placing hands upon those mighty forelegs and posing for snapshots.
Robby’s obsession with my female form disrupted my reverie. “Who’s your dream boy?” he asked, his bright brown eyes turned toward me, showing the hint of madness that influences one who awaits great revelation. I opened my mouth to answer, and in my moment’s astonishment at such impertinence, a foetid smell burst upon us both, filling my throat as though a rotting coil slid inside my being.
We clung to the overlook as our bodies convulsed under the pounding waves of stench. I managed in the end to retain my repast but Robby did not, his vomit splattering onto the floor below. As though the contents of his stomach merited an offering, the smell of rot and boil disappeared as if it merely walked out of the room. Only the odors of our own refuse remained. A dripping sound drew my eyes back to the great cats snarling on the wall.
In the great cat’s mouth hung the head of a tourist, smirk still fixed in place, as the remaining fluid drained from his remaining neck. The savaged body lay in the middle of the floor, arms and legs askew. A growling rose from the edges of the room. The sound of crumbling rock filled me as the odor had, and at last, I witnessed the miracle I had awaited from the night I emerged from the sea and acquired the form of this young girl. The guardians of Shub-Niggurath lived and as the screams of their massacre echoed through the great halls, I allowed my smile to shine upon Robby, now crumpled on the floor. He already made a fine disciple. If he wanted to be a dream boy, I would gladly make him my messenger. Certainly, he would try to thwart me and in that struggle lay my victory.
I stepped over his prone form, to watch the first feast of the awakened guards. Praise be to the One Who Sleeps, the Guardians are Awake!
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