The Lurker at the Threshold : A Horror Mystery by Brandon Berntson (feel good books txt) 📕

Macky thought he’d gone back in time.  The place was lit with candles and lantern light.  There wasn’t a modern convenience anywhere.  The walls, he noticed, were decorated with symbols and sigils, vases, glassware, sculptures of all kinds, none of which he recognized.  The wind was howling outside, or was that the dog again?

“Pardon me,” he said, in reference to his sneeze.

“No need to apologize,” the man said.  “Anything here interest you?”

“I was just curious,” Macky said. “Did you hear the dog?”

“The hound?” the man said, as if correcting him.  He smiled.  It gave Macky the creeps.

“Never mind.”  Macky looked around the bookstore.  “Old shop.  Been here for a while?”

“Many, many years.  Too many to count.  Lots of ancient wisdom.  Knowledge beyond the gates.”

“I see.”  Macky turned back to the window.  “It doesn’t look like you carry the latest Rex Stout.  Or am I mistaken?”

The man smiled benignly.  “I’m afraid not, sir.  Something much more interesting than that.”

Macky cocked his head and frowned.  A small, dusty window was behind the man that should’ve looked out onto the alley behind the store, but Macky thought he saw dunes.  The sliver of the moon illuminated a star-filled sky over a vast desert.

Yes, he must be dreaming.  He was having vivid hallucinations in the office while sipping bourbon.  It happened. Or he was taking a snooze and having a little dream.  It was the only thing that made sense.

“Something to pique your interest more than the latest murder mystery?”

Macky chuckled.  “I’m afraid I’m not much of a reader.  Unless you have Weird Tales Magazine.”

The man smiled.  “My name is Abdul,” he said.

“A pleasure.  Devlin Macky.”  He put his hand out, and the man shook it.  His hand was cold, like ice.  His eyes were dark.  They dragged him in.

“Looking for a gift?” Abdul said.  “I have rare, collector’s editions.  A young lady in your life who is a book lover, perhaps?”

“Funny you mention that.”

“This is a very rare find,” Abdul said.  He reached down into the glass case that made the counter and pulled out a large book.  “Very antique.  You may find it interesting.  Enlightening, even.”

It was a large volume bound in red leather with metal clasps.  For a man who didn’t like books, it was still beautiful. Curious might be a better word.  A similar symbol was on the cover, matching the medallion on the man’s turban.

Macky wanted to pick it up, feel the weight of it in his hands.  He didn’t know why.  He wasn’t a bibliophile, but this thing held a certain charm.  He wanted to feel the clasps between his fingers, run his hands across the leather, take a whiff of its pages.  A book like this had to be worth a lot.

“Wow,” Macky said, raising his eyebrows.  “That’s an old one, isn’t it?”

“Many years of research have gone into this volume.  Things of the cosmos.  Things eternal.  Things dead . . . but living.”  The man smiled.  “Perhaps you are open to the power of their suggestion?  And, I am proud to say, it was penned by my very own hand.”

“You don’t say?”

“I do. Help yourself.”

“Ah, the timeless art of shameless self-promotion,” Macky said.  “You wove that spell pretty well, Abdul.”

The bookstore owner smiled.

“I’m afraid I couldn’t afford it, though,” Macky said.  “It looks . . . priceless.”

“Nonsense.  It is for you, sir.  A gift, sir.”

Macky raised his eyebrows.  A thought entertained his brain.  He didn’t believe this was happening.  Not one bit.  If anything, it would be funny, amusing to Millie.

He looked up.  A whisper touched his thoughts.  Gooseflesh stood on his neck, the patter of a thousand cold feet.  The man was smiling.

It had to be a gag if it wasn’t a dream.  And like most dreams, when you knew you were dreaming, it was fun to play along.

A glowing orb was visible beyond the window.

The hound bayed again.

The longer he was in the store, the more defined the shelves became.  The books as well.  Abdul seemed more real, as if he were gaining solidity the longer Macky stayed.  He noticed the pores on the man’s dark skin, the shimmer of black hair.  Or was that the fog lifting?

“What are these symbols?” Macky asked, indicating the symbols throughout the store.

The Arab nodded.  “They go with the tomes.  Some are portals.  Gateways.  Sigils to other worlds.”

Macky looked around, nodded, and smiled.  “So, what’s the gag?”

“Gag, sir?”

“Sure, you know.  Gag.  What’s the catch, the gimmick, the trick?”

The man frowned.  “There is no . . . trick, sir.”

Macky shrugged.  “Have it your way.  What’s the book, exactly?”

“It is called The Necronomicon.  A book of the black earth.  Ancient knowledge.”

“Enlightenment, you say?”

The Arab smiled wide.  “You could say that.”

“Ought to be good for a few laughs at least,” Macky said.

“The roads weren’t easily traversed,” the Arab said, caressing the cover of the book with a fondness Macky found disturbing.  “These dominions are far from Earth.  I’ve scoured the globe for this ancient knowledge, darker dominions of the world, Outer Darkness, and worlds beyond the Outer Darkness.  I have stared into the eyes of ancient gods, the Old Ones, Outer Gods, and learned their history.  I have walked the paths—”

Macky held up his hand to cut him off.  “Sure.  Sure.  I get it. It’s a great sales pitch, mister.  You’ve sold me.”

“Perhaps you would like it gift-wrapped?”

“That won’t be necessary,” Macky said.  He was smiling and looking around, the candles, sigils, and books.  “Yes.  Definitely a gag shop.  Halloween being right around the corner and all.”

“You’re too wise for me, my friend.”

“Yeah.  That’s the catch.”

“No catch.  Just baptism.”

“One of the anointed, is that it?”

This warranted a huge grin from the man behind