Bird Food

Rot. It drips through the cosmos, splattering viscous ink over the canvas of the universe, swallowing stars and cannibalising minds. A monolithic mass rises from the depths, wet flesh, gnarled bone, amorphous cysts, tendrils clinging to the outskirts of the universe as caustic drool pours between mangled teeth contained within countless dilapidated mouths. The ground screeches and shatters.

Sweat. Screams. Supernovas. A shadow so unfathomable in magnitude that it embodies the night. A wife and her child. Decay. Deceit. Death. The sun replaced by a bulbous eye on the horizon, misshapen by jagged pupils and crimson ravines. It watches, it waits, it warps their minds.

The shadow moves like wind through the trees, rapidly approaching with a squeal of anticipation. The barbs sink in, coiling around the nerves, squeezing, pulsating through the body the toxins that take hold as the day of reckoning encroaches upon an apathetic world…

Dunwich, A Small Coastal Fishing Town, North of London; 1905:

Elliot screams his way into consciousness as he tumbles out of bed, swiftly leaping to his feet with all the coordination and balance of a one-legged gymnast with vertigo. Sweat crawls cautiously down the bridge of his nose as he stares blankly into the full-length mirror of the cluttered inn room, the callous light of the moon shining through a window. His pupils reel back at the sight of every facet of his slender frame utterly drenched in sweat. A sharp chill carves through his body, like nails scraping against a chalkboard. He shivers, his teeth grind against each other with the force of tectonic plates, almost shaving off chunks of enamel. Elliot’s long, curly, black hair drifts across his gaunt shoulders as he darts his head around, surveying the room. His heart feels like it’s about to climb out of his body he can feel it pulsing, lifting up the skin on his chest, rattling against the ribs that imprison it.

“What the bloody hell was that Elliot? You nutter.” Vinny interrogates with a scornful glare, drowning out his otherwise goofy cockney accent, poking his head up from the bed in the corner of the room.

“It was a nightmare, Vin.” Elliot retorts with a posh, sedated tone, rubbing his eyes while he allows the rain pattering against the roof to drive a soothing rhythm through the recesses of his skull. His heart calms itself, returning to its humdrum routine. His blood feels cold, clinical. He takes a deep breath and his lungs shower him with praise.

“A nightmare?” Vinny smirks, “What’re you ten years old, mate?”

“Very funny. I don’t know, I just woke up a bit spooked.” Elliot grins, and Vinny’s expression relaxes.

“No bother mate, just…just interrupted my sleep is all. When’d you get back from investigating?”

Elliot scours his brain to conjure any vague recollection of when he’d returned to the inn, but finds nothing but a persistent blur. “I-I don’t actually remember.” Vinny lets out a boisterous laugh,

“No wonder mate, right hammered you was, too much’a that scotch ay?” Elliot smiles and lets out a brief chuckle, “Yeah, I had a bit too much for my own good.” An image flashes in his mind’s eye - who had he spoken to?

A man wearing an arcane mask had told him something, some justification. A church? Yes, there was something in the church, something that would solve it.

“I got a lead though, Vinny, something in the church supposedly.” Vinny lets out an enthusiastic smile,

“I reckon we’re getting close to the end of all this mate, we’ll figure it out soon, I just know it.”

Elliot solemnly nods, “Yeah, hopefully you’re right. I’ll head back to sleep and we’ll have a look at the church in the morning.”

“Alright mate, try have a good sleep.” Vinny buries his head back into his pillow. Elliot sighs, and curls back into bed, the sweat layering around his body, unruly, uncomfortable. He closes his eyes and ink absorbs his world.

The Scorpion was being chased by a Bird and came upon a river he couldn’t cross. He approached the Frog who sat at the bank and pleaded to let him ride on his back as he crossed the river. The Frog looked at the Scorpion with great suspicion, “How do I know you won’t sting me?” He asked.

“If I sting you then I’ll die too! I’ll drown in the river.” The Scorpion replied. The Frog, his nerves relaxed by this sound reasoning, allowed the Scorpion ride on his back. As they were halfway across the river, the Scorpion buried his stinger into the Frog’s neck, causing the Frog to grow weak and begin to die. As they were sinking into the river, the Frog muttered in his final breaths, “Why?”

“I’m sorry,” the Scorpion cried, “it’s in my nature.” The Frog was a fool.

Once Elliot finished retelling this fable to Vinny as they sat in the only coffee shop in the miserable, monochrome town of Dunwich, Vinny gave Elliot a confused look

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean mate? The scorpion stung the poor thing.”

Elliot retorts, “But why would you blame a scorpion for acting like a scorpion? It’s only in its nature, it’s not like you’d stand in front of a tiger and be shocked when it attacks you.”

“Yeah but that doesn’t make it any less bloody rubbish to attack somebody for no good reason.” Vinny replies with a frown,

“You’re inviting it to happen though, are you not? The frog, knowing how deadly and vicious scorpions are, let one ride on his back. He can’t be shocked when it stings him. It doesn’t justify the scorpion’s actions, but the frog is a fool nonetheless.” Vinny looks to the sky as if he is attempting to roll his eyes back into his brain in an attempt to see why it’s taking so long to respond.

“What does this have to do with anything? I just told you about that nut-job who kidnapped his wife and son in Wolverhampton a few weeks back and you went on that bloody tangent.”

“Well if he kidnapped them, there surely would’ve been some warning signs, right? If he was acting out of the ordinary or being abusive or something.” Vinny stares at Elliot with wrinkles of concern stretching across his face,

“That’s a bit bloody insensitive mate. A family’s gone missing and they haven’t even caught the guy. William Caleps his name is, surprised I remember that.” Elliot looks at Vinny and moulds a self-assured smirk,

“Vin, I’m not supporting that sick bastard, I’m just saying that the wife and son, they’re the frogs. They needed to look for some signs or something. People don’t just snap out of nowhere, there’s always a catalyst.” Vinny nods hesitantly, his eyes clouded with a fog of doubt.

“Well, I’m really hoping the papers like the story we get out of this. A dodgy cult cooped up in a little fishing town sounds like a pretty great find to me.” Vinny and Elliot guzzle the remaining dregs of their coffee and march out of the café, making a beeline for the church.

An unenthusiastic drizzle is wrung from the sombre clouds above, moistening the muddy road that cuts through the middle of the town. Vinny carves out trenches in the mud with his boots, stomping across the road as Elliot sheepishly follows behind him. Drops of water tumble down the sharpened pillars of the church’s spires, coming to rest, only to drip from the teeth of the gargoyle statues that stalk passers-by. As Vinny pounds his way up the stairs preceding the vast oak double doors that mark the church’s entrance, Elliot feels as if the statues are staring, glaring at him with scalding hostility. A shiver writhes through his neck like a leech, burrowing into his upper spine as he jolts his head sideways with a harrowing crunch. Vinny arrives at the grand doors to the church, slowly pushing the door ajar with a creak that causes a grimace to melt across Elliot’s face.

“Aren’t you supposed to be a private detective?” Elliot moans.

“Yeah mate, got any bloody complaints?” Vinny replies in a hushed snarl.

“Well, you’re hardly very stealthy.”

“It’s not my fault that this church is held together by hopes and prayers.” Vinny hisses before slipping between the gap in the doors, with Elliot following suit. The sound of Vinny’s cataclysmic stomps scatter throughout the sanctuary, ricocheting off the stone carvings that envelop the upper levels of the altar. Pointed stone decorations protrude from heights of the building’s internal walls, resembling sharpened ribs, kaleidoscopic stained glass windows remain colourless in the face of a lethargic sun in the rain.

As they carve a path down the aisle, a priest rushes to greet them, ravines of wrinkles flowing through his face as reminders of his old age. “H-hello gentlemen, i-is there any way I may assist you?” He stutters, and Vinny cuts through any possibility of small talk,

“Look, Father?”

“Michael.”

“Father Michael, we have some reason to believe that your church may be hiding something related to a cult of sorts, and we also believe they have been involved in some disappearances recently, so if you’d just be honest with us, that’d be great, mate.” Elliot stands behind Vinny and confirms with a curt nod.

Father Michael’s cavernous wrinkles morph with confusion, “I’m not sure what you’re talking about, we know nothing about a cult.” Elliot emerges from behind Vinny.

“That’s rather ironic, considering the organisation that you work for.” Father Michael’s wrinkles once again distort into a glower, “Just what are you insinuating? Watch your tongue in the house of the Lord.”

“I’m making the rather truthful observation that you’re a band of frauds that use your book of lies to control those too foolish to forge their own path.” Elliot flares. Vinny’s face moulds into a concerned frown, “Look, we’re not here to make a scene mate, we just want to know if you’re hiding anything related to this cult is all.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about!” Father Michael huffs.

“Lying bastard.” Elliot mutters with a look of disgust.

“That’s it! If you insist on being difficult, I’ll call upon the authorities!” The priest cries out before beginning to stride towards the exit,

“Now, now mate there’s no need t-” Vinny’s sentence is abruptly interrupted by Elliot’s fist ploughing into the old man’s nose like a steam engine, a thundering crack echoing through the chamber as the cartilage in Father Michael’s nose is caught off-guard by the assault and buckles under the pressure. Blood spews from his nostrils as he hits the floor with an impact that would put most bombs to shame. Father Michael does not speak another word. “What the fuck was that?!” Vinny bellows in outrage.

Elliot flails his hand in an attempt to remove the vestiges of pain that still concentrate in his knuckles, before glancing up at Vinny.

“I was stinging a frog, Vin. Now get looking for a panel or something, anything out of place, it’ll be in some compartment.” Vinny snarls under his breath.

“I’ve just about had enough of your nutjob behaviour mate.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll be happy with it when you’re getting a commission from The Times for your juicy story and free advertising for your business. Now, let’s get moving.”

After fifteen minutes of investigating the altar, Vinny finds something. His palms glide across the jagged stone carvings, becoming familiar with the antique pattern that they form before that pattern is abruptly halted by a thin groove. Vinny runs his hands along the groove, the serrated stone edges scratching his fingertips until his fingers come to rest on a peculiarly smooth circle that he immediately pushes.

The altar cracks and buckles as a stone tablet swings open, revealing a stairwell cloaked in ominous shadow that leads into the depths. Elliot appears by Vinny’s side.

“Brilliant job, Vin. I knew those bastards were hiding it. Let’s get down there.” Vinny splays his hand in front of Elliot. “I’ll head down first mate, not particularly confident in you defending yourself from anything.” Elliot summons an offended grunt before replying, “Fine.” The two men traipse into the abyss before them. As Elliot follows behind Vinny, he can feel the sodden stone steps squelch beneath his feet.

The flick of Vinny’s lighter is enough to make Elliot shriek in terror, his vocal cords nearly sprouting limbs and climbing up his throat. The meagre flame offers the only salvation from the endless dark void that lies before them. He hears the clicking and fleshy footsteps of the rodents and insects that fester in the dark beyond their vision, the amber light of the flame occasionally illuminating the cardinal eyes of various rats. A liquid of ambiguous origin lands on his arm, Elliot gags. His Adam’s apple bulges against the bottom of his chin as he suppresses the compulsion to vomit. They stop. “We’re not going down anymore, the stairs have stopped,” Vinny informs, “and, if you’re going to be sick, please try to aim it away from me, mate.” Vinny flails his lighter around before suddenly igniting a torch, light exploding into the room as the rats and insects scurry into holes in the stone walls. Putrid green moss covers the grey stone of the rather plain room, and all that lies there is a thick, black book mounted upon a frail wooden desk.

Vinny and Elliot dart over to the book. Vinny lifts the front cover with a grunt, the book opening with a blast of air as the weighty cover hits the desk, dust fleeing from the desk, colonising the air around them. As Elliot coughs, Vinny reads. The pages look worn and old. Non-existent words scatter across the paper, forged in ink that seems centuries old. He flicks to the next page. It seems the scriptures have been translated into a multitude of languages. Vinny flicks from page to page until he finds something resembling English. His eyes skim the page; rituals, ingredients, prophecies - they all revolve around the existence of some ancient deity. The tomes describe a gargantuan entity that has remained in a slumber for millions of years, dwelling in the depths of the water just beyond the town of Dunwich. Though it isn’t conscious, its presence and aura is enough to drive people in the town off the cliffs of insanity. When it awakes from its slumber, it will mean the end of mankind. Vinny smirks with the utmost scepticism, and continues flicking through the book before finding writing that seems much more recent, describing the abandoned lighthouse on the fringes of Dunwich as a meeting ground and a place of worship. As Vinny’s head remains buried in the book, Elliot investigates a noise he heard coming from the stairwell. The moment he glances up the stairwell, he’s met with a figure wearing robes directly in front of him, a fiery torch illuminating the cross that they wear around their neck. “Vi-”. Before Elliot is able to call Vinny’s name, knuckles rattle against his chin, his teeth slamming against each other as they threaten to recede into his gums, his head jerking upwards as his brain smacks into the top of his cranium. His vision is blurry. He can’t hear, he can’t feel his face. Elliot’s previous observation about being unable to feel his face is disproven when another fist slams into his temple, bony knuckles feeling as if they’re burrowing into his eye-socket. Everything hurts. Elliot topples like a house of cards as his brain decides to take a well-deserved rest, shadows penetrating his vision, consuming everything.

It calls his name. The ocean creeps up his frame, and he floats, weightless. An indifferent light illuminates the ocean surface. A ball of light. The moon? The sun? The ocean turns bloodshot, as veins of crimson germinate across the liquid wasteland, absorbing him. It soothingly bobs around the perimeter of his ears, the occasional stream emptying itself into his ear canal. The cold runs through his head, flowing around his brain before being pumped around his body by the heart. Something strokes his naked back. Wet, rubbery flesh grazes across his shoulder-blade, suction cups removing blood through his pores. The water becomes treacherous, waves crashing into him, with the tendrils that envelop him, holding him still. The tides crash into him like brick walls, and the leathery arms that bind him don’t falter. His limbs buckle and break under the pressure, but he doesn’t scream. Mangled bone protrudes from his skin, wrapped in muscle fibres, the red sea blending with the blood. He looks up to see the ball of light, to see the sun. In the sky is a blackened silhouette, wild tendrils, mouths that secrete viscous, septic drool that drips from the heavens. The sun replaced by a single bulbous eye, beaming red light onto the surface of the ocean, its retina serrated like teeth, its pupil wildly contracting and dilating. The shadow darts through the sky towards him, tentacles complimented by haunted, twisted ivory. The barbs sink in, he…

Screams as his eyes jolt open. He’s in a rowboat, on the deck. He violently lurches over the gunwale as a saffron stream of vomit jettisons out of his mouth into the water below.

“Well, I’d ask if you enjoyed your beauty sleep, mate, but I feel the answer would be obvious.” Vinny chuckles, as he digs the oars into the ocean, pushing them along. Elliot rubs the remaining, persistent chunks off his mouth. “What happened? Where are we?”

“Well, after you got your ass knocked out by the choir boy, I took care of him and tied him up. When I read that book, it said something about the cult meeting at that lighthouse.” He points ahead to highlight a lighthouse that lies barely twenty metres away. Panic takes hold of Elliot’s eyes,

“Did you bring the book?” Elliot cries out.

“Yeah of course, here it is.” Vinny tosses the heavy book on the deck as Elliot sits down. Vinny continues, “I reckon we’re finally near the end of all this.”

“I think so too, Vin.” Elliot replies. The boat scrapes onto the shore below the lighthouse, rough gravel is buried beneath their shoes as they stride towards the entrance of the building, Elliot holding the book tightly between his hip and his arm. Vinny turns around before entering the door. “Well I suppose, this’ll be it.” His eyebrows morph inquisitively. “Why did you hire me, Elliot? Not that I don’t appreciate it, but I feel that you’ve been collecting most of the clues in this mystery.” Elliot looks upwards with a smile,

“Well, you were the only person who could’ve found the secret door in that church.”

“Oh yeah, I guess you’re right. Well, I feel a bit better about myself now.” Vinny’s brain reanalyses Elliot’s statement. “How could you have known we had to go in that church? You only found out about that the other night.” Elliot shakes his head,

“Yeah you’re right about that, strange how that works out.” The lighthouse door opens and with the crack of a brick against the side of his skull, Vinny’s consciousness is stolen from him.

Vinny awakes, crusty dried blood collated on the side of his head. He’s in a room, dimly lit by candlelight. There are two figures in front of him, and as he attempts to move, he feels the binds on his legs and hands press into his skin. The two figures in front of him become clear, a woman and a young boy, also tied up. As he looks around, he realises that they are surrounded by a circle of robed silhouettes, the candles arranged around them in a tome of sorts. Vinny’s mouth is dry. Two men step into the foreground, a man in an arcane mask and Elliot. “Elliot!” Vinny booms.

“First, my name is William Caleps, this is Elliot Caleps.” He places his hand on the head of the boy,

“I took the boy’s name as to not be recognised as the kidnapper.” He then directs his eyes towards the woman, “And this is my darling Elizabeth. They’ve both accepted their role in the greater good.” Vinny realises that they are gagged, terror gripping their gaze, his eyes drift over to an old, curved dagger that William juggles in his right hand as he holds the book in the other. William continues, “the scorpion never had to cross the river you see. That’s what it didn’t realise, he only ran because he was being chased by the bird. He could have survived if he had thought to kill the frog and leave it for the bird to devour.” William wildly opens a previously boarded up window, and revealing the ocean, points out into the black waves, flailing his arm. “The bird awaits us, out there! It’s chasing us. And we can only survive if we sacrifice a few frogs.”

“You’re fucking insane if you believe that bloody thing actually exists!” Vinny snarls.

“I’ve seen it! The bird is coming closer! And you were the frog who let me ride on his own back.”

William gestures at the book and then to Vinny with a delirious smirk, he takes a deep breath, sucking all the oxygen out of the room. The woman and boy begin to writhe in an effort to escape.

The circle of robed figures start to chant, “V’oulteritus f’ngahn f’on N’gark War’g.” Vinny roars,

“Let me go you sick BASTARD!” William calmly strolls towards Vinny, the candles flickering in the background. The ocean’s tides become more unruly, as he presses the point of the dagger to Vinny’s neck, the skin stretching to prevent its penetration. A devilish grin runs streaks down William’s face. “The frog was a fool.”

The Scorpion buried his stinger into the Frog’s neck.