Friday, November 9, 2012

The Repulsion of La Merced

(A Cthulhu Account!)

Found only in ancient manuscripts is the word ‘Cthulhu’ meaning ‘horror of horrors.’ A horror that numbs you, one that defies even Satan the Devil, the decipherment of the word can entangle both the pawn and the prey; it reduces human existence to a weak and stale plight. Thus, in this following story, one that is based on fact and considered by the author as historical fiction—in that he was not present, and nobody can put the whole story together completely and honestly. Hence, having to add or fill in the gaps, he has fictionalized with his imagination the areas of this account with his own descriptiveness, his own adjectives, that in which he feels belong to the story. This account takes place in November, of 2008, we will see a jealous mindless monster in motion, and the pawn will be devoured (names have been changed).

       I will tell you of Naomi, She left Andahuaylas, Peru, in the Andes crossing into the Mantaro Valley and Huancayo, on November 3, 2008, on her way to La Merced, her troubles forgotten—for the most part— unknowing as she neared the city of La Merced, once there a jealous and dangerous threat would engulf her life.
       As she reached her destination (having taken a bus), La Merced, being in the central jungle of Peru, near Satipo, she went to find the domicile of her half-sister, and brother-in-law, to live with them as she sought work in the planting fields, assuming she’d be welcomed wholeheartedly. Once she found the residence, she knocked on the door. A man slowly opened it—and with a long silent stare, and a long parade of glimpses from the soles of her feet to her bosoms, all the way to the top of her head, eyeing her every inch, she said “I am Naomi,” for a moment thinking perhaps he, Cesar, Laura’s husband had forgotten what she looked like. They had not seen one another for a number of years.
       He had then asked her in—smiling, giving her a kiss on the cheek, as his mind and inners whirled with glittering visions of romance. His eyes read: it was not going to be the drab day (or days to follow), as he had expected. Life would soon change; she was to his liking, with nice features, and with a youthful attractive shape, even a tinge on the meek to timid side of life—again to his liking.
        With the greetings over and very little said, her half-sister brought Naomi to her private bedroom. Then as evening developed, while at the dinner table, Laura noticed her husband had taken the liberty of returning faint like glimpses toward her half-sister, although there was a misconception here, Naomi was not participating in this game—these glimpses were  unnoticed by Naomi—for the most part, or not taken seriously. In addition, Laura’s husband continued this most serious game, nightly.

       And so during the following week, Laura put on an invisible mask, to hide her jealousy, not that her half-sister was feeding into her husband’s scheme, but jealous manifestations of that illusion entangled her imagination to think so (but fundamentally it was not true).
       It was during the second week, towards the end of it, that Laura could no longer bridge the gulf of evil she had created towards Naomi—the hatred that was boiling within her fiber—an awful blackness, layers of numbed blackness—the ‘Cthulhu’ kind. Her heart now pounding, pulsating like voodoo drums, an unstable mind unable to  bridge the gap back to sanity, her spirit spinning, shaking her every bone for vengeance to stop this creature from subduing her husband, she had devised her plan—
       Laura was now overcome, mad if not possessed. Moreover, seemingly obsessed with the picture she had drawn inside her brain. Along with an insecure ego, and fear of losing her husband; blood burning like lit firewood in a heath throughout her bubbling hot veins, pulling at her hair when alone in a private room, until the roots gave in, and dropped out, she was ready for her ‘Cthulhu’ misdeed. It would have seemed—to an onlooker, a spectator—she was more a product of a lost primitive race, a dim and long forgotten evolution of the Neanderthal.   

       Oh, far, far—far off was her mind this night, when she woke up in the wee hours, took a heavy handled slug hammer, red-eyed, with a slayers heart, the hammer swaying back and forth, as she crept into Naomi’s room. Causally she bent over the bed her half-sister lay sleeping in, lurking, laying in wait, with her distorted mind for the Cthulhu moment. Now staring at the face of her half-sister—mumbling quietly ‘banshee  whore, banshee whore…’, listening to her-half sister’s  breathing, she lifted the sledge hammer with one hand, as if it was a feather, as if she had found a hidden strength somewhere inside her body, for this very moment. Then with the other hand, she grabbed the long wooden handle to secure it, to aim it perfectly over her head. She wanted to produce in her cerebellum an inane chaos, before she stepped into the horrifically primordial everlasting darkness, called death. It was as if a beast haunted her and that beast  recognized the mark she was  to strike, and  like a great wind, she struck that mark: once on her younger sister’s forehead, the temple, the nose, she struck several times, bone breaking blows, and sent her into an outer darkness, yet she  existed.
       The following day she had died in the hospital. Yet, driven only by some restless whim, to show her half-sister, her slayer, she would not die instantly, against all cosmic laws—to leave a lasting remembrance for her half-sister’s brain—thus, I repeat, she  remained in this world, one day longer—thereafter, like a crushed worm, she passed on.

Written 11-16-2008, after leaving La Merced, a few weeks later, the author was inspired by actual events turning up in newspaper reports of a killing that had taken place, thus following up on the murder, he was inspired to write the short story, “The Repulsion of La Merced”; if for anything reason, for posterity; reedited and slightly revised for publication, 10-23-2011, and again on 12-1-2011, dedicated to License (Director)  Nola and Dr. Sebastian (done in a semi form of Poetic Prose).   #553