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

might be the thing he’d been hoping for, a clue, a window to another world.  He didn’t know why this thought entered his brain, but it did.

Someone had left it for him.

Fields hugged it to his chest like a baby and carried it inside.

—

“What are we looking for again?” Macky asked.

“The Elder Scrolls,” Capshaw said.

“Never heard of ’em,” he said.

Mr. Kalabraise barked.  It was a friendly bark.  Millie scowled.

“I wonder how much time we have before the last gate opens?” Capshaw said.

“At the rate we’re going, it looks like three an hour,” Macky said.  “Pretty fast.  That being said, maybe we have an hour or more.  Maybe none at all.  Things happen, and then they don’t.  Let us pray.”

Millie raised her eyebrows.  “You’re so dramatic.”

“I thought you’d be happy?” he asked

“I’ve given up on you, Dev,” she said.

“That’s disappointing.  Nothing is ever lost but becomes a thing of great beauty.  I read that somewhere.”

“If only you read,” Millie said.

“Where is this thing anyway?” Macky said.

Capshaw lead them toward the main floor, a display illuminated by lights, staged upon a pillar with a flat surface.  The pedestal was five-feet high.

“Oh, no,” Capshaw said, eyes going wide.

“Don’t tell me . . ?” Macky said.

“I’m assuming there was a book there at one time,” Armitage said.  “And now it’s gone.”

“Yes,” Capshaw said.  “The Elder Scrolls have been stolen.”

—

“She’s not here, Duke,” Newt said.  His face was glistening with sweat.  Duke could see the lapel of his suit bouncing where his heart was.  The man was nervous and scared and with good reason.  His eyes were wide.

“We’ll find her, Newt,” Duke said.  “I promise.”

“Something feels weird.  Do you smell that?”

“Yes, some kind of acrid stench in the air.  Almost like . . .”

Newt raised his eyebrows.

“Someone’s been here,” Duke said.

“I don’t think she left willingly,” Newt said.

“There’s nothing willing about this entire night . . . except for the monsters.”

They were quiet for a second.

They turned toward the basement door.

“Did you hear something?” Duke asked.

Newt nodded and went to the door.  A sloughing, heavy shifting sounded.  Something much larger than a human being.  He put his ear to the door and listened.

“What is it?” Duke asked, stepping closer.

Newt didn’t wait for an answer.  He wrapped his fingers around the knob.

“Newt, I don’t think that’s a good—”

Newt opened the door.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Duke said, reaching for his gun.

All Newt could see was blackness.  Another smell was coming from below, something that wasn’t brimstone.  It was a fresh smell, amphibious, and rotting.

“Close the door, Newt,” Duke said.  “She’s not down there.”

“How do you know that?”

“It’s a feeling but one I trust.”

“But . . . what is that?” Newt said, leaning over the staircase.

“Are you sure you want to find out?” Duke said.

Newt peered into the darkness.  He wanted a better look.

“Newt?”

Something moved along the bottom steps.  All he knew was that it was heavy and large.

Newt nodded.  He closed the door and locked it.

“I think we should get down to the precinct,” Duke said.  “We need to report this, make it official.”

Newt nodded.  He was reluctant.  “We have to find her, Duke.  Promise me, okay?”

“I promise.  You know I do.  Now let’s get out of here.”

—

Macky saw the long, shadowy figure he’d been seeing all night, and for the first time, realized it wasn’t the Mad Arab.  The creature was standing back from the pillar where the Elder Scrolls had been.  It took Macky a second before he realized the thing was a shadow.  He could see the white of its eyes, slightly illuminated.  It was like looking at two dim candles in an amorphous black shape.

“Uh,” Macky said.  “You guys see that . . . shadowy figure?”

They turned.  Mr. Kalabraise refused to bark.  She didn’t growl.  The shape demanded a sort of reverence.

“You seek the Elder Scrolls,” it said.

“Who are you?” Macky asked.  He stepped forward.  Armitage put a hand on his arm.

“No, Dev, don’t,” the doctor said.  “It’s a god.”

Macky frowned and looked at him.  “An Elder God?”

“Outer God,” the figure said.

“Do you have the scrolls?” Macky asked.

The figure performed a sort of magic trick.  It held its hand out, the scroll within.  It put its hand behind its back, brought its hand in front of him, and now its hand was empty.

Macky raised his eyebrows.  “Parlor tricks?  Is that the best you can do?”

“It’s not in my nature to intercede with mortals,” the figure said.  “I find your species tiresome.  But I despise someone else even more.”

“Who’s that?”

“The Mad Arab, author of The Necronomicon.  This is his doing.  Very clever on some levels.  Not so clever on others.  His perseverance has paid off.  His sacrifices.  He’s been awarded a darker wisdom.  That’s to be expected.  Something only the Outer Gods share with one another.  Many of us aren’t happy about it.”

“They don’t seem like a very joyful bunch as it is,” Macky said.

“You are not mistaken.”

“What do you want from us?” Macky asked.

“Abdul Alhazred has forced the book into innocent hands.  They are used as a conduit to the other side.  The power obtained in The Necronomicon must come into contact with an innocent.  By doing so, it allows a gate to open.  If an innocent reads from its pages, a dimension will reveal itself.  The book only has to come in contact with someone.  Anyone.  In some cases, all one has to do is hold it.  The Mad Arab longs to hurry the process.”

“What process?” Armitage said.  “For what purpose?”

“It depends on your perspective,” the creature said.  “Pride for some.  Arrogance.  He longs to be in