House of Cthulhu Ch. 02

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A long second night for Sibyl.
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Part 3 of the 6 part series

Updated 10/29/2022
Created 01/15/2012
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~Second Night~

Crossing the Dead

From her vantage point on the steeple Sibyl could overlook the whole area. It was colder than the night before, partly because the sky was not clouded, partly because very little in this surrounding emitted heat. For more than five hundred years people brought their dead to this place. This soil was blessed by decay.

Why is it me sitting in the dark two nights in a row, freezing and thinking about all the nice things I could do instead -- or the nice things that could be done to me? Oh, right: rookie...

The gothic steeple belonged to the Eastern Cemetery Chapel, which was actually a small church. All around, the graveyard lay painted in monochrome contrasts by the hard moonlight ("yes, full moon -- good thing we are avoiding clichés at this point").

Lurking over the northern balustrade, Sibyl had a clear overview of the awry lines of graves. More importantly, she was able to watch both the funeral parlour and its two accesses.

It had not taken László much time to find out to which mortuary Suydam had had referred.

"I don't like being the fun wrecker all the time, but whatever Suydam was up to, he failed. So why should anybody show up?" she had asked during her briefing.

"His hosts still are not aware that he is cold. We have reason to believe that he gave very specific orders as to his working conditions. That's why he was quartered in that tower, and not in a place owned or controlled by the High Houses of the Elders."

László had felt rather confident of this, and so it was now for Sibyl to feel rather chill. She had positioned herself at the leeward side of the steep roof, yet it still was more than a little bit draughty.

"As soon as I see which way whoever is coming, I'm down from here."

The funeral parlour could be reached from the southwest and from the east. The first way led through almost the whole cemetery and was used by the bereaved. The eastern, however, was meant for... delivery.

But the sound that alarmed Sibyl came from neither of these directions. First the noises of breaking twigs, then suppressed talking reached up from the southern side.

"What now...?!" moaned Sibyl and sneaked over to have a look.

In the moonlight, the group of three was clearly visible between the ancient graves. The boy in the lead had a skull under his arm, the girl following him was carrying several black candles. The second bloke, finally, was in charge of the most crucial ingredient of any Black Mass: booze. The three hobby Satanists had chosen a leaning tombstone not fifty metres away from the chapel's portal. The girl placed the candles along the outlines of the grave and lit them. Under mystical murmur the leader positioned the skull on top of the stone, while the booze man was busy sacrificing the first bottle to his liver.

"I can't feel any presence yet," the black-haired lass stated. Sibyl suspected that -- unlike her own -- the girl's hair was dyed.

Booze-boy looked over his bottle: "Maybe we're not doing this correctly."

"Shh! I can feel presence," the leader exclaimed. "Yes! I can feel your presence, Dark Lord!"

Even twenty metres above ground Sibyl heard the rumbling coming from the ivy-covered crypt just behind the trio. A moment of silence followed, then the door flew open, creaking in its rusty hinges. From the dark rectangle a ghoul appeared, tramping backwards and pulling a rather new lead coffin into the open.

"Oh, shit! Oh, shit!" -- "What is that thing?!" -- "Run! Oh, fuck! Keep running!"

Sibyl had trouble assigning the hysterical voices. The three teenagers kept yelling as they took flight through between the gravestones, tripping over tomb slabs and tree roots. Not that the ghoul was chasing them. It let go of its loot, probably more scared than the lads and lass (ghouls were cowards by nature). When the coffin bumped to the ground, the creature had already disappeared in the nearest grove. Nonetheless it could be heard clamouring being mulcted of its midnight snack. It wouldn't be a threat for any of the cemetery's nocturnal visitors. No, the threat came from someone else.

Whilst his good-for-nothing friends were running south, back the way they had come, the booze-boy headed northwards, straight towards the parlour. Well, right now he was lying on the ground, knocked down by a low-hanging branch, but as soon as he was on his feet again, he would be bound to this direction once more.

Crap!

Sibyl leaped into the steeple's staircase, hastened down the steps, took two of them with her bum as she slipped on the clammy stones. She could not have that boy run into Suydam's overdue hosts. The Nightbringer did not care much whether they would kill him -- most probably they would. But then they might investigate from whom or what he had tried to escape and who else was waking this holy ground. Rushing out of the portal, she jumped down the entrance stairs, her coat waving behind her like a bat wing.

~

He had almost felt relieve when he had looked back and not seen the crypt-thing hunting him. But then this dark-clad woman appeared out of nowhere, and he doubted that he was capable of outrunning her. She was faster by far and jumped over gravestones in one fluid move (actually, she did not jump but stepped over them like a hurdler). Cold air burnt his lungs, and his legs simply ignored his order to move even faster across the uneven ground. Roots and fallen twigs reached for his ankles at every step.

"More cardio, Dark Lord?!"

But too late: A smooth hand was laid on his shoulder, then pulled him back viciously.

~

"Surely such a nice lady won't hurt me?" The teenager made a poor job of sounding nonchalant, and not just because he was still out of breath.

"No, but she cannot speak for them."

Sibyl nodded to somewhere beyond the pedestal of the forlorn statue behind which she had dragged her prey. Between the un-right angles of half-sunken tombs a group of shades was coming the south-western way. Its members were still too far away to make out any details, but surely they were not heading to the parlour for condoling. She had actually expected them to come along the eastern road, mayhap in a hearse or a small lorry to transport a coffin including body.

"Who are those blokes?" he whispered.

She did not answer. So he tried a different approach:

"If I called them over right now while jumping up and down, would this action result in dire consequences for one or both of us?"

Sibyl couldn't stifle a smile.

"I am at enmity with them, if it is what you want to know."

"What are they up to here? Are these Satanists -- I mean, real ones?"

"That's none of your business."

He ran a hand through his blonde hair, which hadn't seen scissors for quite a while.

"And that crypt-thing, did it belong to them, too?"

"The ghoul? No."

Sibyl didn't want to exclude that other Houses summoned these vile creatures now and then, too. But the one interrupting the trio's candle-light boozing had certainly just been hungry.

"That was a ghoul?! Damn, I knew I shouldn't have come tonight! It almost gorged me!"

"Hardly. A sole ghoul is more or less harmless for a healthy living person -- apart from all the aetiological agents it carries. What are you guys doing on a cemetery at night anyway?"

"Uhm... school project."

"Mm-hmm."

The boy examined his... what? Captor? Rescuer? Not that he was complaining: The woman, actually more a girl, was quite a looker. Lithe and lissom, in excellent physical shape. Maybe a bit on the pale side.

"And you? I could ask you the same."

"But you would not get any answer."

He gave it a try nonetheless:

"Are you a vampire?"

"Do I look like one?"

"Kinda."

She frowned at him.

"Silence now. And keep your head down," the Nightbringer ordered as she pulled the pistol from beneath her coat. Just in case. The legation sent by the High Houses of the Elder Gods would not hesitate to kill her -- or take her prisoner, which would be considerably worse.

The teenager gasped at the sight of the weapon, partly in consternation, partly -- and that astonished his opposite -- in fascination. He had already wondered why her coat had not been buttoned up, but this...!

"That's—"

"What part of 'silence' didn't you understand?!"

The four shades were about to pass Sibyl's hide-out in a distance of not more than twenty metres. And she did not have to tell him again to shut up as they were closing in. To the boy they looked like plague doctors walking in a dark procession.

~

After they had passed, he dared to glance again, watching them silently following their moonlit path. Sibyl, though, was still sitting with her back pressed against the mossy pedestal.

"Aren't you following them?"

"Let them have a little bit of a head start. It is risky following them too closely. Besides, I know whither they are going."

The boy lowered himself next to her again.

"Whilst we are waiting, I like to return to that vampire thing."

Sibyl groaned.

"Stop distracting me with such nonsense."

"I need some closure on that topic," he insisted.

Sibyl rolled her eyes, yet pursed her lips.

"That proofs nothing. Vampires don't necessarily have fangs."

"Did you ever see a vampire using guns?"

"Well, Blade uses guns, but he's only half vampire..."

Of all nights, of all graveyards...!

Meanwhile, the four silent visitors were getting closer to the parlour through an aisle of impressive family tombs. Without any noticeable signal, the last two paced away to the left and right, obviously to secure the parameter of the parlour building itself and the small crematorium attached to it.

Her pistol already holstered again, Sibyl rose, and so did the boy. She gave him a suspicious look over her shoulder.

"Where do you think you are going?"

"Uhm... coming with you?"

"No. You were already close to screwing it up with your jump-and-run interlude."

"But—"

"Stay here," Sibyl hissed, slightly running out of patience. Before he could even start a discussion she turned and followed the shades.

~

Not much a surprise, the parlour's front doors hadn't been locked, and the two cloaked figures had entered the building without difficulties. From behind the large oak Sibyl could see one of the remaining shades at the south-western corner. Where the fourth was she did not know. However, she did know who was hiding behind the nearest tombstone.

"Come out -- and quietly, or else!" she whispered.

The boy appeared next to her: "Sorry, but I thought I heard the ghoul again."

Maybe I should tell him that I could kill him in seven soundless ways right now.

"See these?" Sibyl showed him her handcuffs.

"Wow! What are they for?" His dirty grin did little to calm her.

"Stay out of my way, or I drag you out of earshot and chain you to the graveyard gate."

"You can chain me to whatever you want."

It is unbelievable: Here is the prospect of being helpless, with no ability of defence or fled -- and all he can think of is kinky sex!

With a quickness that left him truly speechless she painfully seized his arm.

"Obviously we suffered a communication deficit behind yon statue. I have other duties than baby-sitting a loon with too much time and too little—"

"Hey, I wasn't prepared for that freak show either." Noticing her ice-cold glance, he hurried to add: "Not you! I mean the cloaked blokes and that ghoul-thing, not you!"

She let go of him; something else had grabbed her attention. A distinctive sound reached her from the crematorium; a low, somewhat hollow hissing. The cremator being fired up.

They never have intended to recover the body...!

Nobody had ever said anything about a cremator! Although being adjacent, the funeral parlour had nothing to do with the crematorium. The former lay in private hands, the latter was owned by the city.

Sibyl pulled the teenager closer to her, not caring about him tensing up again.

"How long does that cremation chamber need to heat up?"

He looked at her in bewilderment .

"How I am supposed to know?"

"You are the one spending his spare time on graveyards."

She sighed, and then moaned in bitter disbelieve; in the darkness Sibyl could see the light cones of electric torches see-sawing across the ground. Two policemen were seeking their way through between the graves.

What is fucking wrong with this graveyard?!

Most likely it had been two good-for-nothings screaming and climbing over the southern gate in the middle of the night that had attracted the attention of the local authorities.

Just a theory...

Sibyl's thoughts raced. She had to know what the legation was about to incinerate. Had to overcome the guarding shades. Get to that cremator (where she most likely had to deal with the rest of the hostile party) -- and all this before the policemen would reach the parlour.

As if he were reading her mind, her new greatest fan came up with an offer: "I can distract them! I can do that. Please let me help you!"

Almost automatically Sibyl wanted to turn his idea down, but then thought of the time he would buy her. And what was the worst thing that could happen to him? That they would be getting him for public nuisance. Well, actually, the worst thing that could happen to him was getting beaten up; the local policemen weren't known for their sense of humour.

She eyed him sternly. His face was showing a mixture of willingness and utter adoration.

"Alright," Sibyl decided. "Bait them to the western side. And play it safe! Don't shy sticks at them or shit like that."

"Understood!" He froze in the move. "With the freak show: I didn't mean you, okay?"

"Okay."

And off he was.

~

That beat spending the night drinking cheap beer and listening to Taavi misquoting Aleister Crowley by far! This hot lady and the creepy guys she was after, they were the real deal!

From the small, damp hollow behind ivy-overgrown tombs Andrus was awaiting the two constables. Sounds of leaf being stepped on announced their approach, and finally he could make out their moonlit forms.

Not allowing himself to get second thoughts, Andrus emitted a long, guttural croak. The reaction from beyond the tombs came immediately:

"You hear that?"

Andrus continued his frog sounds, and the second policeman helpfully clarified: "Sounds like a frog."

"There are no frogs here."

From his makeshift hide-out, Andrus croaked once more, then imitated Kermit's distinctive laugh.

"Get that punk!"

For the second time in this night, Andrus was being chased across the graveyard. Yet this time his feet felt lighter, his breath smoother, every muscle strong and rested. No upcoming panic threatened to suffocate him.

~

The repulsive creature's neck had snapped with a sound one would associate with wet plywood. With a moan of suppressed disgust Sibyl shoved its rapidly decaying corpse into the nearest shadow. She had been able to sneak up from behind and finish the first shade with utmost discretion. Now, a good hundred and fifty metres to the west, she could hear the policemen clamouring.

Sounds like the boy keeps them busy.

Behind her, from the crematorium, the hollow hissing had turned into (or drowned out by) a low-frequency rumble. Sibyl peeked around the south-western corner. Mayhap the second sentry, alarmed by the police activities, had abandoned its hidden post. But no, there was only the entrance to the parlour, unlocked and unguarded.

Her attacker pounced at her from behind -- and failed bitterly. With a single turn of her body Sibyl let it dash into empty space. The shade let out a shrill, unnatural shriek, loud enough to be heard all over the graveyard. A non-human hand that sported only three fingers -- thumb included -- stroke at her and missed. Then its counterpart emerged from under the cape, holding an ancient Mauser automatic pistol.

You don't want to do that!

Sibyl charged at her opponent, a swift motion of her hand unwound the gun (not so much a problem, considering the creature's digital shortcoming). Simultaneously, the woman brought her knee up into the shade's abdomen. And almost automatically, her free hand fell to the hilt of the weapon within her right boot. Even while doubling over, the abomination clawed at her anew. Sibyl evaded it with ease, and a guttural noise of frustration built up behind the grotesque plague doctor's mask. However, the new screech was snuffed out within the creature's throat as Sibyl's blade cut through its voicebox.

Like before she withstood the temptation to examine what lay underneath the beak mask, for surely it hid something even less pleasant to the eyes.

Something less describable.

Sibyl threw the captured Mauser onto the parlour's roof, getting rid of it while diminishing the chance that it would be found any time soon. It clattered on the roof tiles and was forgotten.

This second shade, this second Screecher, as she thought of them now, was collapsing inside its garment as well, emphasising its decomposition with a miasmatic mist.

That's why I always want to stay as far away as possible.

As proofed some seconds ago, mêlée did not pose a problem, for Sibyl was trained well in the martial arts. Her moves still showed the stiffness of sole drill, later they would become more fluid, when practice would complement training. Nonetheless she would always prefer the distance that came with the use of a firearm. Clean and surgical -- well, clean at least on her side of the rifle. Close combat invariably bore the danger of being injured by sheer chance, no matter how well one was trained. However, in the face of the two Screechers' remains -- smouldering puddles of ineffable colour -- this was a highly hypothetic consideration.

~

Twice Andrus had almost been cornered, but had finally been able to outrun them. Now the two policemen were rushing in the wrong direction, the light cones of their—

An eerie sound echoed across the graveyard.

"What was that?!" the boy exclaimed to himself.

The screech -- there was no better description for it -- sounded even more pissed off than the noise the ghoul had produced. He saw the constables turn and heading towards that cursed funeral parlour once more. Andrus hesitated a split second and immediately scolded himself for it.

"What the fuck are you afraid of?!"

~

Knowing

The air inside the parlour was chilling and carried an antiseptic taste. Sibyl took great caution to find her path through the main hall that came after the small vestibule. Windows, high and slender, threw curtains of moonlight across the marble floor and the three empty coffins which served as exhibits. Between them, there was nothing but shadow. So, on her way through the room she nearly knocked over a vitrine informing about which urn style was in vogue this season. But at last, after valuable seconds she experienced as hours, Sibyl reached the far end.

A door.

It opened at once, and that hissing, hollow noise -- the cremator's taunting -- grew louder. After a quick check with her pistol ready she rushed down the short corridor, alongside another row of windows to the left. She ignored the office to her right. Yet she glanced into the next room, the one with the glazed door labelled SURNUKAMBER. The stainless steel fronts of refrigerators, sparkling with moonlight, brought Suydam's last entry back to her mind.

"Indeed my body shall be found in yonder mortuary..."

The Screechers had found it. And then? Sibyl looked down the corridor. Another door. Heavier. Like a door between two individual buildings which just happened to stand adjacent.