(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
