by Mr. Scratch © 2002

"From the Wells of Night to the Gulfs of Space, and from the Gulfs of Space to the Wells of Night, ever the praises of Great Cthulhu, of Tsathoggua, and of Him Who is Not to be Named..."

...the High Priest's voice boomed out like a cannon in the night. Pulling back the cowl of his black robe, he turned from the blasphemous idol to face the gathered legions of cloaked cultists, who rhythmically chanted an ancient passage in a forgotten tongue -- the obscene, unpronounceable litany of a madman's scripture.

Now the celestial bodies stood in conjunction, and the aethers had aligned: The Gates would be thrown open at last, and the despicable slate of history would be swept clean in a vengeful purging fire! Now they, the outcasts, the shunned, those cast aside from their rightful places of dominion, would stand before their Terrible Lord, and be rewarded for their faithfulness!

Tonight He would speak to them at last, and communicate His desires, that they might triumph over the forces of mediocrity for all time. This night He would give to them the secret words by which to herald His return upon the Earth! The moment was at hand for the whispered voices of deranged lunatics, and the ghastly visions of psychopathic dreamers, to burst full forth upon all of unsuspecting humanity.

The darkened cultists encircled the primitive stone altar, encrusted with the blackened blood of a thousand criminal sacrifices. The High Priest touched his fingers to the planchette of the wooden oracle, and the assembled figures held their breath in trembling anticipation as the small platform began to slide. But then, anticipation gave way to confused murmurs, and finally a wail of surprised anguish as the oracle slowly spelt out "JIMMY LOVES HEATHER".

* * *

Heather, seated on the bed in her best friend's bedroom, snorted in mild disgust. "Omighod. This game is like, SO stoopid. I ask it a simple question about Jimmy, and all it wants to talk about is some silly plan to conquer the world. Lame!"

Sheryl shook her head in disappointed agreement. "You can never tell with these dumb wee-gee board things. Sometimes it's like the spirits get their wires crossed or they're answering someone else's questions instead of the ones you asked."

"Pssht! Yeah...'Cause they're stooopid," Heather added snidely, tossing the board aside with a dismissive flick of her wrist. "Hey, your mom says there's still pizza downstairs! Let's go get some more!"

And there in the darkness, amid the stuffed bunny rabbits and the N'Sync posters, while the giggles of teenage girls drifted up from downstairs, the abandoned Calling Cthulhu Mystic Summoning Board lay radiating its evil like a glowing ember -- like the sullen glowering of a distant god, whose moment had come, but whom fortune had passed by.

x x x

Read more Flash Fiction?
Chat about this story on our BBS?
Or, Back to the Front Page?