Held by Puppet Strings

A short story

I

Where once I would have once been able to sleep with the lights off, having overcoming my fear of the dark at the age of 9, now, after all that I have seen over the course of the last two weeks, I fear that I may never be able to even walk outside at night again, for even the slightest touch of darkness makes me recall of the horrors that I had helped bring into this world. It has already taken my best friend, and I am sure that it will only be a matter of time before It finds me, and I shall be made to endure the same fate.

It had all began with my grandfather’s passing, which had happened only a few months before. Having fond memories of his log cabin in the mountains outside the city where I grew up, I was overjoyed to find that that particular ownership of his had been left to me in his will. My parents seemed only interested in selling it, and idea of which I wasn’t too happy with, yet after hours upon hours of pestering me by phone to just listen to their parental advice, I had to give in. Still I wanted to revisit it first, and collect the rest of my inheritance that the old geezer had left for me inside the cabin, as well as possibly spend a night or two there. 25 years had gone so fast that I couldn’t help but want a few days of reminiscing how easy my childhood had been.

And so it was that on one fine weekend, I found myself driving up to the mountains with my best friend, Bernard Keller in his pickup truck. My housemate and colleague from the local university, he had been somewhat forced along on the trip, since he never really felt comfortable staying at home alone. Knowing this, I had invited him to come along, knowing full well that he would follow. Besides, I decided that I could use his company anyway.

Since too much time had passed since I had been to that place, I had to bring with me a series of maps drawn by my father, which, in the end did not prove entirely too accurate. After stopping at the nearby town to ask for directions, we found ourselves driving uphill on a gravel road with a picturesque view of pine trees and fog to accompany us on the way up. My memory refreshed itself along the drive up, and soon I was able to drive faster with more conviction of the direction where we were headed.

We found the place just before nightfall. I let a rush of nostalgia run through me as I parked the truck outside the cabin, its windows now covered with dust and the door looking as though it would fall apart at the slightest push. Indeed my grandfather hadn’t taken much care of the place since the last ten years before his death. He hadn’t lived here most of the time anyway. His house lay only 45 minutes away in the small town near the foot of the mountain.

“Who would want to buy this place anyway?” Bernard asked me as he followed behind me up the porch towards the front door. “It’s just so run-down.”

As I produced the keys from my pockets, I smiled and said, “Personally, I hope no one wants to buy it. I wouldn’t mind having a place I can escape to once in a while. This place is Heaven, Bernard. The silence is a good escape from the city, and the air up here is fresh as it comes.”

I pretended not to notice Bernard roll his eyes as I opened the door.

Where the outside hadn’t looked like much, the inside of the cabin, thankfully, was still in good enough condition. Minus the fact that it could use a good cleaning up, it looked perfectly fine. The fireplace, the sofa, the large wooden space with the dusted curtains at the windows were just exactly as I remembered them to be. We still had running water and electricity, much to my relief. It would make our three day stay here much more bearable.

Dinner consisted of packed sandwiches and iced tea in a thermos. We got it over with quickly before I set about the place, looking for things I would be taking back with me to the city. My parents had been here before I had, and I didn’t really expect to find much left which would be of interest me that they had not taken yet. Yet I was pleasantly surprised, as my grandfather’s hunting rifle was still hung over the fireplace, and there was a good bookshelf full of ancient, dusty looking tomes which I might have time to look over during my spare time. There was also a violin (which pleased Bernard somewhat slightly. Where I lacked musical talent, he seemed to be able to have as much of a passion for it as my grandfather did), an old tape recorder with a cassette in it, and some dust-covered clothes in the dresser. While Bernard complained about having to miss one of his TV shows, reading one of those thriller paperbacks which he was so fond of, I pored over the nameless, leather-bound books.

The pages were all yellowed, so much that they looked as though they belonged in a museum. The ink was clear enough to read in clear English, however, and I found the contents somewhat fascinating. Apparently over the years that I had neglected to keep in touch with my grandfather, he had developed a hobby for reading up on old cults and ancient beliefs. Either that or these books had turned up in the cabin by chance, which I highly doubted. All of them had the name ‘Gerard Cain’ on it, whom I suspected to either be one of grandfather’s friends, or the owner of the garage sale he had picked it up from.

Not really interested enough to read through everything, I flipped through the pages to find pictures depicting scenes from certain rituals. Were I more knowledgeable of the area, I probably would have been able to identify where these books, and the strange symbols which started showing up halfway through the book, had originated from. Feeling tired after the long drive, I didn’t give the books much thought as I turned in early that night. Bernard stayed up a little longer, engrossed in his book.

II

The next morning found us waking up late after hardly having a good’s night sleep, partially due to the fact that we weren’t exactly accustomed to the sound of the insects and birds surrounding the cabin, and in my case, due to a nightmare which I could barely recall as I woke up to find Bernard already frying bacon and eggs in the kitchen.

After breakfast, we left the cabin and started to explore the surroundings, as we had planned before. We followed the trails that probably would have been set by ancestors far older than my grandfather. According to my father, the cabin had belonged to the family for more than a century, though the validness of his claim was far from certain. When I thought about me, it made me wonder why exactly my parents would have wanted to sell this place off, if it had been in the family for so long. I remember my father claiming that it hadn’t any practical value, a regard in which he was probably right.

Following the trails took us through many interesting places, which made me think of reconsidering my decision to sell off the place more than once. We hiked uphill to where we reached a peak where we could see the town below. I imagined that it would look completely breathtaking at sunset, and fancied the idea of bring Nina here. I wasn’t sure exactly how appreciative she was of the outdoors, but I was sure enough that she would appreciate a good romantic setting once in a while other than the local Cineplex and a fancy restaurant afterwards. Later we hiked downhill, following a stream which led us to a small creek where we stopped to drink. Throughout the full five hours or so we spent in the forest, we never once stopped to wonder why there weren’t any wildlife about, not that we were particularly crazy about running into a wolf or a stag. Bernard was the one who pointed it out to me, later, when we arrived back at the cabin for lunch.

It wasn’t really a thought that we dwelt on for long, however, as we later decided to spend the rest of the evening at the local town, for some ‘real food’, as Bernard put it.

III

The last time I had been to Hope (that was the name of the town), other than a minor stop the day before to ask for directions, was during my grandfather’s funeral. That particular visit had left me with the impression that the entire population of the town was built out of old grandmothers and grandfathers, whose children had probably just left behind. The one I made with Bernard that night did not in any particular way change my perception of the place. Indeed, the town population was built up mainly of farmers from the surrounding wheat fields. Old men in overalls, and checkered shirts, and only some younger ones at the local bar who had eyes which spoke of leaving the place for ‘bigger things’ in the city.

Having dinner at the local bar eventually led to questions from the local folk, most of which recalled seeing me at the funeral. For some reason, when I told them that I was spending the night at the cabin in the mountain which I had inherited, an air of discomfort seemed to settle in the room. Though most of them did not say anything in particular, they threw looks in our direction which were most unsettling. Where most of them whispered to each other, eyeing Bernard and me with suspicion, one had the courtesy to walk up to us, a man in his late forties with a gruff look on his face, and tell us that staying at the cabin wasn’t a good idea.

“There are dangerous things up there,” he said simply, to which Bernard replied by asking, “Grizzlies?”

Upon hearing this, the man laughed. “There haven’t been any grizzlies up there since before you were born. And even if there were, they’d be the least of yer problems.” Then he looked at me with a dark look and asked, “You wouldn’t happen to know the kind of things yer grandfather used to get involved with, would you?”

“No,” I replied. “But is it seriously something that I need to worry about?”

The man shook his head and said, “I suggest you spend the night at the local inn, then get yer stuff tomorrow mornin’ and get outta here. You boys would be lucky to even survive the night up there.”

By then, I had grown fed up of the man. I didn’t know what he was trying to pull, and pointed out simply that we had spent a night up there, and nothing bad had happened to any of us.

To this he shook his head in a sympathetic gesture, and left us alone. Not wanting to spend any more time there, Bernard and I left as soon as we had cleaned our plates, deciding not to stop by the town again the next day on our way home.

As much as I kept telling myself that the man who had approached us had only been talking bullshit, I couldn’t help but feel a minor sense of discomfort as we returned to the cabin, as though the man’s claims had brought something really dangerous out of nothing into existence.

But the mention of my grandfather got me wondering. As I drove uphill, I decided that I would take a closer look at the books he had left behind.

IV

Any doubts I had about how much my grandfather believed in all the things that I had until then found preposterous were immediately dispelled when I took a closer, more detailed look at the books that belonged to my grandfather. The scribblings that found at the foot of most of the illegible pages convinced me of this. One particular book, had post it notes on most of its pages, translating the text that was written in what appeared to be archaic Latin, but was something else altogether. Something which had a more ancient feel towards it. From what I managed to understand, the invocation was meant to be for the calling of a God of some kind, a colossal being from another fabric of reality capable of granting immortality.

If immortality was what my grandfather had hoped to achieve, then he must have been sorely disappointed, I whispered to myself. What could have lead him towards believing such bullshit? I could only wonder. Everything seemed way too convenient, in my opinion. A ritual in some ancient text, which would eventually lead to scenes from a clichéd occult horror movie or novel.

Before I could lose all of my interest in the subject, however, Bernard led me back towards it instantly, when he picked up the old tape recorder, and, out of pure curiosity, rewound it back a good deal back before he pressed the play button.

‘Won’t be long now…Gerard has left at the last possible moment, but none of us are going to be deterred. What we discover here today, if everything works out as planned, will utterly destroy what those idiot Catholics from town believe in.’

It was my grandfather’s voice. Noticing the look of surprise on my face as I got up from the dining table and started walking towards him, he set down the tape recorder on the table, allowing it to continue playing.

There were some unrecognizable voices in the background. Along with the usage of ‘we’ in the sentence my grandfather had used made it obvious that he wasn’t alone when the recording was made. Bernard was looking at me curiously now, obviously not knowing about my grandfather’s occult activities, since he hadn’t looked at the books yet. I told him to keep quiet, and that I’d explain what I knew later. For now, all I wanted was to listen.

‘Immortality is within our grasp now.’

I felt my cheeks flush, suddenly feeling ashamed of my grandfather, especially with the look of disbelief appearing on Bernard’s face. What would I tell him? That my grandfather was insane? If so I probably wouldn’t have been that far from the truth, I decided.

The voices in the room began to chant in what I believed, was the language from the book that I had just read. The words were hard to describe. They were almost inhuman, chanted in voices that seemed just as inhuman. I shuddered with the realization that my grandfather was one of them.

What was he thinking? The old fool!

I could explain why, then, it was probably a subconscious form of anticipation, but the hairs at the back of my neck were standing on end, and I suddenly felt cold. There was this unexplainable feeling at the back of my mind telling me that something big was coming, and that It was anything but benevolent.

When the lights in the cabin went out, I decided there and then, that I had heard enough. Picking up the cassette recorder, I pressed the stop button.

Silence.

Bernard looked at me with a look that simply said that the suggestion of leaving the cabin immediately wasn’t so bad after all. And I was inclined to agree.

We had barely made so much as a move for the door before the sound of chanting began again, louder than before. Alarmed, Bernard grabbed the tape recorder from me, and pressed the ‘stop’ button.

Repeatedly.

And still the sound of chanting persisted, growing louder in fact with every passing second.

And so I grabbed the recorder from him, before dropping it onto the floor. Without thinking, I smashed it beneath the sole of my left boot.

And still the chanting persisted.

I realized then, that the sound was no longer coming from the recorder- it was coming from outside.

And just as this realization was made, there was a knock on the front door.

Having watched more than my share of horror movies, I knew better than to answer, or even ask ‘who’s there?’ Part of me believed that something would answer, and I would be better off not knowing who was at the door, up here in the middle of the night.

The knocking grew harder, and Bernard started backing away from the door towards me. If he was hoping to draw any form of courage from me as he usually did, then he would have been sorely disappointed.

It was a mere matter of time before the door gave way, revealing a figure standing at the doorway.

It was a man, or at least, it was a man upon first glance. In the dark it was impossible to make out his exact details. What I could see clearly though, with what little light there was, was that at his waist, there were four long, stick-like things protruding out, bent towards the floor like the legs of a grotesque spider. The spider-like legs were longer than the man’s legs, and from the looks of things, the man used the spider-legs for support, as his human legs were dangling limply a mere few inches off the ground.

The thing spoke, but whatever language it was using, it was not one that I could comprehend. It sounded like the language used in the chanting. The voice, however, I could distinguish clearly.

It was my grandfather.

Screaming, I tossed myself out the window, crashing down onto wet grass outside. At that moment, I knew only that I had to escape, no matter what the cost. As I got to my feet, however, the sight that awaited me only served make me panic.

Whatever it was that my grandfather had become, he wasn’t the only one. In the darkness I could make out at least twenty other figures which were mostly human-like in shape save for the spider-like appendages sticking out like obscene growths from their waists.

I made my way for the truck, fishing out the keys from my pockets as I ran. The things made no move to chase me, a fact I didn’t give much thought for at that time. Upon starting the engine, I reversed away from the cabin so that I could turn-

And then I stopped the truck, my eyes wide with disbelief at what saw then.

The things were standing in a complete circle around my house, looking upwards at what lay above it.

In the sky right above the wooden roof, there seemed to be a large, round hole in the sky that seemed to tear through the fabric of reality itself. Through the hole I could see what it was that lay beyond it. I saw a vast white city of sorts with structures that couldn’t possibly be man-made. But it wasn’t what lay beyond the hole that made me scream, it was what was coming out of the hole.

To call it a giant spider wouldn’t be exactly accurate enough, but it was as close as I can get to describing it. Colossal in size, with countless pairs of huge, black legs that set down all around the house, its body itself seemed to be comprised of nothing but a huge, black cloud of sorts, with a giant red eye gleaming in the darkness. The eye was peering directly at the house below it, much to my relief. Whatever it was the thing was after, I wasn’t it. At least, not yet.

Meanwhile the chanting began to grow so loud that it was deafening. The things started moving in a circle around the spider-like deity, in a rather grotesque form of what would possibly be described as dancing. Round and round they went, and as they did they made loud, moaning and howling sounds, their eyes fixed in worship of the god that had given them their immortality. It was like they were held by puppet strings. Their jerking movements gave off the impression that they were really just dead bodies being manipulated by invisible string. But their moaning, the noise that they made was enough to tell me that their souls were still there. Bound somehow to the precious bodies that they had fought so hard to keep.

Deciding that I had seen enough, I drove off in a mixed state of horror and revulsion. So caught up, I was in saving myself from them, that it was only when I was an hour or more away from the site, that I realized that I had left my best friend behind.

V

Every hour I spend asleep is every hour I dream of that thing. And I can tell full well that it’s searching for me, for I was there when the cassette was played. Bernard and I had unwittingly ‘requested’ for the thing to grant us immortality by playing that tape. If my grandfather had been hoping for immortality, then he probably won’t be disappointed in the sense that he has it now. Of course, for everything that you gain, there is a price. And the spider-God’s price was faithfulness. Those who have invoked it are now bound to its will, dancing in an eternal spiral, singing wordless songs of worship. Bernard and my grandfather are among the dancing dead now. The police are searching for Bernard, and I have been forced into hiding, both from the authorities who would suspect me of being the cause of my friend’s disappearance, and from the monster that would come to claim me soon. I realize, of course that from the second thing, there will be no escape. My dreams remind me of that fact.

The days that followed the incident were spent vainly trying to find a way to escape the terrible curse I had brought upon myself by summoning It. I had dug up my grandfather’s grave to indeed find it empty. Grave robbers, others might say, but I know better. I tried returning to the cabin under broad daylight to try finding the books, hoping that it would contain a solution to my problems. The books, of course, were gone. On the table where I had last seen them was a note from ‘Gerard Cain’, saying,

‘Welcome to the club. I’ve taken back the books, in case I find new members who are interested.’

If it’s searching for me, then it is getting close. Only yesterday I had looked outside my window at night to see Bernard standing by a lamp post by the street, looking up at me with a cold smile on his face. I blinked, and he was gone.

Now I’m getting tired, and by tomorrow I’ll probably have to cross a few county lines before I can feel the slightest bit safer than I do now. If there is any Heaven, or life after death, then I shall not know its feeling, for I know that by my death, It is waiting for me, and I shall join its servants in an eternal dance of worship.