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

Mad Arab.  A villainous gleam was in his eyes.  There was no sound, but their lips were moving.  Abdul was doing his best to pitch a sale.  Another portal materialized.  Amelia didn’t notice the man approaching behind her, but Macky recognized him.  He’d seen him on the farm with the coveralls and pitchfork, the man in the museum: Wilbur.

He moved like a cat.  He put his hand over Amelia’s mouth, wrapped his other arm around her waist, picked her up off the floor, and dragged her back to the portal.  Her eyes went wide.  She tried to scream.  She kicked and clawed, but Wilbur was too big.  Abdul smiled and hurried into the portal after them.  It closed and disappeared.

The spider thing that was Asenath appeared next.  She settled into the chair, pulled the blanket off its back, and across her legs.

“Where did they take her?” Macky asked.

“Dunwich,” Asenath said.  Her eyes were glowing.

Millie reached into her purse and pulled out the gun.  She fired at Asenath.  As she did, the spider woman turned into a puff of smoke and vanished, leaving the smell of brimstone.

—

Whatever was in the basement started banging on the door.  Macky, Millie, Capshaw, and Armitage turned.  Mr. Kalabraise ranted off a series of barks.  The thing moved along the doorframe, trying to find a way out.

“Something tells me the world of guns and bullets won’t have any effect here,” Macky said.

“Why do you always have to look at the negative side of things?” Capshaw asked.

“It prepares me for the worst,” Macky told him.

They turned and hurried from the bookstore.  The 9th Gate, Sefora, was outside—a swirling matter of mass releasing a nameless mist into the city.  The tear in the night sky over Innsport grew wider.  Mi-gos filled the sky, cyclones of what could only be bats screeching in a mad cacophony.  In the distance, as if on cue, came the baying of the hound.  The smell of tarry stickiness was stronger.  The misty fog was growing.  The insect-like drone rose in volume.  The orbs of Yog-Sothoth appeared.  They were on sidewalks, in windows, in front of buildings, and in cars parked along the street. All of them pulsed a greenish-blue color.  Shadows darted back and forth behind the fog.  Macky imagined they were the kangaroo monsters.

Beyond it, Yog-Sothoth, the Lurker at the Threshold, swelled to life under the stars.  A discernible face was visible—teeth, obsidian eyes, an unnatural head, the side of one arm made entirely of spheres.  The rest of the Outer God was out of sight.  Yog-Sothoth was appearing and reappearing on both sides of the cosmos.  When the 13th Gate opened, the Eradication would begin.

“How do we find these Elder Gods?” Macky asked.

The wind picked up, forcing him to talk over the din.

“I have no idea,” Armitage said.

“Doesn’t that book have any useful information?” Macky asked.

“I’ve given you a bunch of useful information,” Armitage said.  “We have a direction.”

“But I don’t know which way to go,” Macky said.

“I do,” Capshaw said, staring at the thing in the sky, the multi-dimensional, Yog-Sothoth.

Everyone looked at him.

“Are we pausing for dramatic effect?” Macky asked.

“Perhaps,” Capshaw said.  “There is a great deal of suspense in the air.”

“What are you talking about, Creighton?” Armitage asked.

“I’m talking about the Elder Scrolls,” the curator said.

“What are those again?” Macky asked.

“Scrolls that tell of the history, the prophecy of the Elder Gods, their origin, wants and dislikes.  A gateway, you could say.  A communicator.”

“How do we locate them?” Macky asked.

Capshaw grinned.  “They’re on display.  At the museum.”

“You’re kidding?”

“I’m not.  I’m rather proud of myself at the moment.”

“What are we waiting for?” Macky said, running toward the coupe.  “To the Detective Mobile!”

“You had to get him started,” Millie said.

—

Duke and Newt were on the trail of something wicked and elusive at the same time, a labyrinth of alleyways, streets, complexes, businesses, but it was toying with them.  Duke could hear it laughing.

He paused, peering through the fog.  The setting had changed.  He saw a small church to the west.  The moon was high above.  The fog was moving.  In front of them, the creature howled.  The temperature dropped.  Duke and Newt could see their breath as they moved along. Silhouettes were visible behind the fog, a robed cult of some kind.

“Do you see that, Duke?” Newt asked.

“Figures.  Yes.  I thought I saw . . .”

People. Figures.  Monsters.  They were robed—eating out of their hands, something that looked like human anatomy.

“Dear God,” Newt said.  “Let’s get out of here.”

The fog continued.  The chill.  They followed the hound through the city, which was looking more and more like another graveyard.  The jangle of the collar sounded.  The jade flashed and disappeared.

“Chasing an unknown creature further into the unknown,” Newt said.  “Is that what you signed up for, Duke?”

“Not in the slightest,” he said.

—

Frye W. Fields was busy typing up his latest article for the Innsport Gazette when a knock sounded at the door.

“Who on earth could that be?” he said.

He sighed, pushing back his chair.  Just as quickly, his imagination ran wild.  Maybe it was a policeman.  Maybe it was someone wanting to give him information, someone who’d stopped by with some credible news that would make his story fly.

He even entertained the thought of a girl . . .

Excited by the prospect, Fields opened the door.

The hallway was empty.  He looked down.

A book lay on the doormat, something out of Medieval Europe.  Fields frowned and picked it up.  It was voluminous, weighty.  The cover was made from some material he didn’t recognize.  It wasn’t leather.  Could it be . . . skin?  He put it to his face and took a whiff.  It stank.  It smelled like decay and death.

It