Black Wings Of Cthulhu: Volume Two Part 13

THE WIND THAT HAD BLOWNE US CLEAR OF THE Antarctic regions now abates somewhat, the sky still clear but temperature hot. More squid pa.s.s on, flights of many Birds, too-Albatross, Tropick birds, & the Great Petrel Micronectes giganteus Linn., all in a South by Southwesterly fashion. Their Shadowes make a pattern on the deck like a moving lattice, so Numerous are they, and the sound they made was as the whistling of a Great Gale. Whither they go I cannot say, as we found no Land in that Direction.

At mid day the lookout espied a Cloud of prodigious Size on the horizon N.N.E. This bespoke volcanic Activitie and thus an island where Island was not recorded to be. So the Resolution was steered towards this cloud, the Crewe being on short Commons of mouldy bread and foul Water, and nothing loth to find fresh, but the Clowd provd to be of mighty Size and Distance, and by the setting of the Sunne with the wind slackening we had not raisd this land.

To night the schools of Squidd continue by us. Their glowing Spots were so many that we saild thro' a River of Jewells, as it were. The Seaman Isaac Gillis join'd me at the rail to admire this Spectacle, and even claim'd to see a Patterne or Message spelt in the arrangement of the Spots. But this I could not credit, and later some of his fellow Sailors told me O don't mind him, Sir, Gillis is just an ignorant old son of a Pagan Scotchman. He comes from the Western Isles of that Nation (so they informed me) and believes in Selkies and the Like.

But I am arrous'd to Inquiry at this Gillis, for the Patterns he claimed to see were not the same Markings that I could make out. On an Inspiration I later tested him with Mr Hodges paints [William Hodges, expedition artist aboard the Resolution-Ed.] and discovered him to be colour-blind in the Redd spectrum. Thus his Worde is doubly suspect, and I will in future guard myself against his Deceptions.

1774 JAN'RY 8.

HOT AND INCREASINGLY STILLE, BUT WE RAISD THE Island whose Smoke we espied yesterday, in approx. 50 S., 135 W. It is indeed a volcanic Formation, compriz'd of basalt, pumice, & granite, and rises in black & shere Cliffes on 3 sides, viz S., W., & E. Upon its Crest wave a forest of Palms and Cycads cycan circila.n.u.s Linn., and it is from the midst of these that the great Cloud tumbles upwrd into the Sky. The soil eroded from the volcanic Ejecta must have been sown with the above Verdure by pa.s.sing Birds, yet no birds did we see upon this Day. In contrast to the past two Days not a bird was in evidence neither upon the Land nor upon the Sea. They all had fled.

As we approach'd the Island a Wind freshened from the North and blew upon us a Reek such as few of us can have ever known. It was blended of Sulphur from the smoking, thundering Caldera above, but also of a Stench of Corruption so strong as to send some of our stoutest Mariners to the rail. Upon rounding the Island to its North side we discovered the Source of this h.e.l.lish Smell. Here the Land shelved down more gently than the other Sides, and met the muttering Surf in a Beach of black Sande. Strewn as far as Eye could see upon this Strand were thousands of the Bodies of Teuthis megaptera I have described before, all beached and rotting in the Tropick Sun. What can have driven them so to maroon themselves I cannot imagine.

30 yards beyond the edge of the water the Forest began; and as anchor was dropped and the Resolution came to rest, People emerged from those Trees. At that distance (half a mile) little could be discern'd as to their Nature, but that they were typicall in Colouring to other South Sea Islanders we had seen, being dark of skin with black hair curled like that of a Negroe, and that they were a large People. However I was chosen, along with Mr Forster pere, and several Seamen to accompany Capt. Cook ash.o.r.e in one of the boats, and soon had better opportunitie to see them.

Having crosst the water we stepped in amongst the decaying Squids and up the beach, and here I was able to view these Salvages more clearly. They were indeed a large People, the least of whom was not less than six feet in hight, and some of whom loomed over our tallest Sailors. They wore skirts of some woven gra.s.s, both s.e.xes, to cover the Organs of Generation, but chests bare, Females too as in the fashion of the women of Otaheite. But notwithstanding this Boldness of attire there was no attraction to them. Rather, all, Male and Female alike, bore a fierceness of expression which precluded any native Charm. This Fierceness was accentuated by Tattews, on arms, legs, b.r.e.a.s.t.s & especially on the Face. Those on the Face called to mind the moko of the Indians of Taika Mowi [the Maori of New Zealand-Ed.], but less individual in character. All the Men before us wore a Tattew design of ropes of vines or tentacles spreading out in curling ramifications from a single Eye imprinted into the forehead. The Skill used in creating these Tattews was impressive, and the Designs might even have been considered beautiful but for the dire Aspect of the Wearers faces. The Men, too, wielded Swords edged with Sharks teeth such as we had found on other Islands, which added to their Wild apperance.

Captain Cook, ever bold unto the point of Rashness, approached them with open arms and offerd them gifts of Paper [a rare commodity in the Pacific-Ed.], but they would have none. One of the seamen, who knew some of the Ocean dialects, went with him as interpreter. The rest of us stayd back, between the line of menacing Islanders and the line of stinking squid Bodies, and I would be hard prest to say which was worse. It was a tense Situation, made worse by a feeling of Unease that had spread thro' the ship, but the Crew were eager for decent food and the water in the Hold green & foul, so it was deem'd worth the Risk.

The Conversation between the Capt. and the Islanders appeared to be going peacefully. Then Gillis, the same sailor who had spoken with me about the Squids, walked to one of the dead Monsters on the sand and bent down as if to touch it. At this 20 Warriors broke from the line and were running towards us, swinging their Swords and bellowing in an access of rage. Luckilly our Men were arm'd with muskets and raised them to fire. Before they could do so Capt. Cook yelled Shoot over their Heads!, which the men did. The explosion of the muskets checkt the Warriors in their charge, but only just, and not nearly as thoro'ly as we had wished. While they stood thus, weapons raised but irresolute, not 20 Feet away, and our Men frantically reloading their Pieces, I could see Cook and the interpreter in converse earnest and swift with the Islanders. You must not touch the Squidd, the Interpreter calld to us, They are sacred to these people. At this, we moved as one a few feet forward and away from the Squid, keeping our eyes upon the Warriors, who watched us likewise. I put up my hands in a Motion of appeas.e.m.e.nt, and all relaxed somewhat. At length Cook and his man came back to us, and we were told that we would be allowd to obtain Water & Comestibles but not stay overlong.

We return'd an hour later with 2 boats and 22 Men, and our reception this second time was reserved but not as hostile as before. In fact, as the Day progress'd, our Primitive Hosts became more amicable and aided us in finding the needed Supplies. In the company of one t.i.tan warrior, a hairy Rustum named A'tai, I was allow'd to roam in their Forest to find animal Specimins, but a poor collector did I make. The Island was remarkably free of most of the higher forms of life, altho' I detected the spoor of many Birds, which now seem to have deserted the Isle. I was put in Mind of all the avian Mult.i.tudes we had seen winging Southwards the previous Days, and wondered.

With the bipedal Population of the Island I had more success. The Interpreter Sailor joined me & Mr Forster and we were able to interview Several of the Salvages upon divers Subjects, & here my inquiries bore curious Fruit. [He is playing with us here, referring to the fruit gathered by the sailors-Ed.] For it was quickly borne in upon me that every Soul upon the Island was Colour-blind. [This is not as far-fetched as it sounds: Pingelap, also in the Pacific Ocean, is another example of an island where the achromatic mutation spread throughout an entire population.] This explained why some of the Selvages, attempting to help our Men gather Fruit, gathered ripe and unripe alike, unable to tell the colour diferences.

Of material Culture they have precious little, besides their Huts (mean in comparison with other Societies we had encounterd), canoos, & sundry tools. In One greater hut, tho', they kept their religion, and this they explicated with Enthusiasm. They believe in a Great Squid (they told us), named Tlulu, who would one Day rise up out of the sea and raise this Tribe of the Faithful to Mastery of the Earth. The North is said to be Sacred to him, and that region is tapu [taboo] to all save the Faithful. To reckon the Time of His rising, they have built Charts of woven sticks & string so contrived to Predict the position of sartain Stars in their Courses. [Townshend may be mistaken-this is very reminiscent of the mattang of the Marshall Islands, used for navigation-Ed.] These they hang about the House of Tlulu like so many Snares set to entrap Time it self.

The Southern Summer day was long but by the time sufficient Stores were gathered to the Beach the sunn was westering. Our hosts expressed sadnes (by word if not by expression) at our leaving & urged us to sail South, to other Islands far greater than their own. But this we knew for a Lie as we had but lately traversd these Seas and encounter'd naught save Ocean Ocean & more Ocean. We thanked them, said naught of our true destination, and we prepared to embark.

But as the Sun neared the horizon of a sudden our Hosts all faced North and the Men set up a loud chaunt, viz: Tlulu Tlulu Fan glei Ma-glawa na'

Tlulu R'lai waga-nal fata'n and the Warriors stamppd their feet in time on the black Sand & beat their Chests with the flat of their Swords. The Women moaned in unison, such a doleful Sound as of the Winds of the World mourning the Last Day. And as they moaned they sank to their Knees & thence lay p.r.o.ne upon the sand. Now the Men made to do the same, until the whole Population was spred upon the beach like a Congregation of Mussulmen facing Mecca. It was a spectacle I expect to see in my Memory the rest of my life, the Island rising high and green behind us, the volumes of Smoke higher still, into the indigo tropick evening, those giant brown bodies laid upon the Sand, glistening in the last Rayes of the setting Sunne, and the putrescent remains of the squid not washed off by the Tides. All grew terribly quiet-only the soft sudden Clap of waves upon the Strand. Of a sudden the ground beneath our feet commenced to vibrate, and from the smoking Mountain at our back came a deep and angry Mutter. It only lasted some seconds, but impressed us again with the t.i.tanic forces intombed beneath these lands of the South Sea. And when the islanders arose we saw that they were all Smiling, and One pointed to the wide Sea and said Tlulu.

1774 JAN'RY 9.

ILL DREAMS LAST NIGHT OF UNDEFINED HORRORS-all complain of them. The blue-green Abyss beneath us-too many Monthes at sea. We lay at anchor all night, the Captain and Master not trusting to navigate amongst unknown shoals and Reefs in the dark. A guard was placed on deck against any possible Incursions by the Salvages, and indeed in the morn we found the Resolution ringed by canoos. Capt. Cook and Johann Forster spoke the nearest Canoo and were told they were there to protect us, tho' from what they would not say.

Preparations were made to procede Northward, but the Natives would no[t allow it], beseeching us to stay and injoy the Bounty of the Island, though to speak truly those benefits had been scanty Enou[gh]. Cook directed them to move away from the Ship but they would not and brandished their swords & spears. At last the Captain order'd a Cannon fired across their bows, which mighty sound astonisht these Salvages much but dissuaded them not one jot.

Now the brutes paddled towards our ship and showed ev'ry Intention of boarding with consequent Murder & Pillage, but this time it was Captain Cook who would not have it and ordered the cannon loaded with grape[shot] and fired into the midst of them. The discharge made great slaughter amongst the warriors and sank 2 canoes, yet did they come on more Determin'd than ever, blood in their Eyes.

Now it was to be seen that more Islanders, roused by the noise of the Battle, were issuing forth from the island in more canoos. In fact, it seemed the whole population of the Island must be upon the water, so Numerous were they, and armed at all aspects. Our crew was all armed as well and with the Cannon & swivel the Muskets bang'd and clatterd making an unG.o.dly Din in the quiet morning air, yet the Natives came on again and again. Soon it was evident that we must slay All or be born under by their sheer Ferocity and numbers, and this the Capt. was loth to do, so ordered sails set and whilst the Guns kept the most Zealous of the attackers at bay, we made good our escape.

Even as the wind freshened and bore us away to the North the Islanders tried to keep pace with us, paddling furiosly and all the time calling Tlulu Tlulu in Voices made rough by exertion. Now 3 of the Canoos spread Sail also, much like those tall triangular Sails imploy'd by the Indians [i.e., the Maori-Ed.], and bid fair to catch us up, the wind being in their Quarter. And upon these sails we could see an Image of their Great Squidd-G.o.d or Tlulu painted in some red pigment, terribel to look at. But for all their paint & Tattews & infernal shouts & armes the gunners made short work of them, spraying them with lethal loads of grape and round-shot & tearing their pretty Sails all to rags & filling their bilges with the Blood of the slain.

In an hour we had left them behind and stood on at a fair pace, some 8 knotts under a cloudles Sky. With the fair weather & Sun and our escape from the islanders our mood should have been lighten'd, yet our Crew were still surly and recalcitrant. As we progressed thro' the foaming Water I felt this choler spreading even to me, and I observ'd Mr Forster pere more disputatious & ill-favoured than usual. Seaman Gillis is on the edge of Hysteria, and sadly his Mood conveys easily to the other seamen. Many now speak in Low Voices of the Squidds and their possible meaning. They do their ch.o.r.es faithfully but without the Alacrity of former days. There is nothing so plain as Mutinie, but it would be fair to say their hearts are not in their work. We saw few fish and no Birds at all on this day, altho' an occasionall Squid of the ubiquitous megaptera species shot past us, ever South. And it was plain to me now that Bird and Beast alike had not been migrating to anything, but fleeing from Something. And we are ploughing thro' the waves towards that Something.

To night Gillis was clappt in irons and will be flogg'd upon the morrow. He had been becoming more erratick all day, and as Night fell he clamber'd into the shrouds, there to observe the squid beneath the Waters. He began yelling down that now he could see the Patterns intire, he had learnt the cipher of the Squids maculations and it told him we should arrive at our Destination in a day and a nights Time. With the Mens mood already wound to a high pitch the Boatswain called for Gillis to Come down out of there, be a good lad and shut it, but he would not, and finally the Mate and a couple Hands must needs climb the rigging as well and chase him even to the Topsail yards before securing him & returning him to the deck where he was restrain'd. My heart is mov'd to sadness and regret at the Poor man and his plight, yet he seems the most sanguine and Cheerfull of our company antic.i.p.ating Great Things to come. That he is mad is without a doubt, but I am reminded of his colourblindness and that of the Islanders, and I now ask myself not What is it that they do not see, but What is it that they DO see?

1774 JAN'RY 10.

WIND CONSTANT, NEARLY A GALE OUT OF THE S.S.W. SUN and hotter, the Mood on deck sombre. Gillis brought up to Deck this morning, bound to the shrouds and given 12 lashes. Still he complaind none, and when the doctor applied salves to his Back, and a new sail was spread upon the mainmast, disclosing a gigantick Squidds head and tentacles he had painted in tar upon it, he laughed like to burst his Lungs. The Mate secreted him far below Decks, in hopes that his Laughter will not further annoy the crew, who are become surly for lack of Slepe. All complain of bad dreams, my self included, of the Depths of ocean & of Somthing rising to be seen, a great and awful Revelation. The text And the Sea gave up the Dead which were in it [Rev. 20:13]

revolves in my mind again and again tho' I try to silence it. There is no wholesome Distraction to put in its place, however, as the Crew are silent, the Forsters are silent, the Captain is silent, and the sea is become a wide and featureless Desertt devoid of Life of any kind. For even the strange squid have quit these Waters, responding to Who knows what Stimulus or warning. Yet our Captain has set his aquiline face and implacable Will towards the Unknown North, as resolute to discover what is undiscover'd as to go where he has been forbidden, tapu or no. The Wind seems to manifest his intent, pressing the sails until the Masts creak and groan in a most worrysome Manner. He is, indeed, the Captain of Resolution.

As I write this in my berth before a Sleep which I dread, the only sound of Human activitie is the hoa.r.s.e laugh of Gillis, secured deep in the Hold.

1774 JAN'RY 11.

IN THE LAt.i.tUDE OF 47 DEGRESS 9 MINUTES SOUTH, Longitude of 126 Degrees, 43 minutes West. Sun, hot, the wind dyed in the Night. The Sea the colour of Pewter, the sky a steely blue such as I have never seen-a vast Slate upon which anything may be written. V. early this morn awaked by a shout. As I lay in my berth wondering if it emanated from the Captain's cabin or no, I heard the rapid thumping of bare Feet running upon the deck above my head, and soon divers Yells and Alarms. I rose quickly, glad to be free of the Gripe of unspeakable nightmares, and came up on Deck.

All the Crew were awake and running hither and yon, many crowding along the bow rail and cat heads forward, staring Ahead. I joined them, close by Captain Cook himself. Like his Men, his Countenance was set & grim & intent upon the Sea before Us.

There, several miles distant, the Ocean was heaving up in a wide Circle, a smooth, silvery shield betokening some t.i.tan Current upwelling from unguessed Depths. A Hand in the rigging guessed it to be 2 miles in diameter, and contrary to its evident dispersal of water we were being drawn towards It. Still we remaind unmoving, fascinated by this Irruption from a World beyond our most acute philosophies. This is What we have been drawn towards, the Captain said quietly at my side, This is What the Salveges tried to discourage us from reaching. And still we drifted towards It, and the only sound on that flat, immeasurable Plain was the gurgling of the uprising waters.

We should have stayd thus and, G.o.d help us, have been caught by that unholy Current but that at that moment there was a Commotion aft. Gillis had contrived to escape his bounds, evade his Captors, & run pell mell up onto the Main Deck, calling and screaming in a most hideous Manner, Tlulu! Tlulu! So aghast were we at this apparition, his hair disheveld, his eyes distended, shirt in flying tatters behind him as he ran, that for a moment no one thought to restrain him. In that moment he grabbed up from beside one of the Canon two of the six-pound b.a.l.l.s, careen'd to the rail and throwing his Hands holding the shot straight out before him, dove over and down to splash into the Sea. We watched as his body, still clutching the b.a.l.l.s, legs kicking, faded and faded into the Green waters, faded, dwindled, and Gone.

Then Consciousness returned to us as with a slap, and the Captain ordered the Boats over the side Immediately. Cables were strung betwixt Ship and boats, and the doughty Sailors manned their oars, bent their backs to the Task, and turned the Resolution about and away from that nightmare Fountain in the Middle of the sea. They rowed like men possess'd or reborn, reborn to Sense and Duty, and rowed us until the Upwelling had disappear'd back over the horizon. Then a clean, fresh Breeze arose from the N.W., the boats were pulled in and stowed, and the Captain directed us on a course as near due South as could be attain'd without nearing that Island of Evill People. He speaks now of returning to find the Southern Continent, for which even the most Profane among us praised G.o.d Almighty, officer and man.

THUS ENDS THE DISPUTED PORTION OF MARGATE Townshend's ma.n.u.script. It should be noted that there is no Able Seaman Isaac Gillis on the ship's list for the Resolution for the voyage of 177275 (nor for any of Cook's voyages, for that matter), nor is there any island in the location Townshend indicates. However, papers may be recopied or revised during the long, quiet watches at sea (as we know Cook himself did in journal entries dealing with cannibalism); and the unknown island seems to have been an unstable formation of recent origin. Things that have risen may sink, and those that have sunk may rise again.

Casting Call DON WEBB.

Don Webb's most recent book is Do the Weird Crime Serve the Weird Time (Wildside Press, 2011). He has been nominated for the Rhysling Award and the International Horror Guild Award and expects to be nominated for other awards he will not win. He teaches creative writing for UCLA Extension and has fifteen books and more than 400 short stories published. You can see him in the plutonium weapons doc.u.mentary Plutonium Circus.

NIGHT GALLERY, ORIGINALLY TO BE CALLED ROD SERLING'S Wax Museum, ran on NBC from 1970 until 1973. Serling as host would introduce the segments with reference to one of Tom Wright's paintings of macabre or surreal subjects. Wright had to produce almost a hundred paintings. In the first season he worked with oil on canvas; in later years he resorted to faster-drying acrylic on particleboard. Here's a fact you won't find elsewhere, my little cryptlings: several artists would show up at the studio each week with their own paintings (not understanding that NBC commissioned Tom Wright for each painting to match an existing script). Their horrorific art, they felt, could have inspired the writers for the gla.s.s teat. Some of it, I recall, was pretty dang horrorific.

-Tycho Johansen, I Was Rod Serling's Bodyguard

(North Hollywood Books, 1983)

FELIX RAMIREZ'S FIRST THOUGHT WHEN HE SAW IT WAS horrible. Not bad-taste/bad-art horrible. It might have been that. The colors were perhaps a little garish. The graveyard mold a little bit too much on the slate blue side. The ghoul's doglike face seemed (to Felix) to be a little too elongated. Felix tried to think of the painter that did that, but Amedeo Modigliani's name eluded him despite Art History 102 two years ago. But he certainly thought of Goya's Saturn Devouring One of His Sons. The ghoul's gore-smeared mouth, clamped down on the naked figure's thigh, seems to have a leering grin. Felix watched Rod and the big dumb Dane look at the painting. Felix thought Rob would love it. Partially because the ghoul's staring eyes looked more than a little like Richard Nixon's and Rod, the "angry young man of Hollywood," wanted to punish Nixon for the war. Felix wanted to walk over to Rod, wanted to introduce himself, but you didn't just walk up to studio execs in NBC. Felix was waiting with the other cattle for a screen test. But he clearly heard Serling say something about "Pickman's Model" and express some regret. The great man's elevator came, and Rod and his bodyguard boarded.

It was 1971 and big things were happening. Eighteen-year-olds could now vote as well as die for their country. We went to the moon twice. The World Trade Center was opened a few weeks ago and they've started building the Superdome in New Orleans. And Felix Ramirez had a plan. He is ready to be one of the first Chicano actors to make it big. Everything points to go. They've got that new show All in the Family. They axed Hee-Haw, Green Acres, Mayberry R.F.D., and The Beverly Hillbillies. The Lawrence Welk Show was replaced by The Sonny and Cher Comedy Hour. What did you not see? Mexicans. Felix knew at some point, Mexicans were going to be interesting. So he had a plan: monsters, then villains, then heroes of his people, then finally the serious actor. He would do it for Momma. Momma had died the same week as Kennedy, so it wasn't a big deal, not even to the nuns at school. Probably that November he had begun to hate the world.

His cousin Guillermo had called him from Mexico City and told him to try out for Night Gallery. He figured it out; n.o.body will care if a monster eats enchiladas on its off-time. Then it is a clear step to villains, and then when Mexicans become commercial-there he would be.

The trouble for the grand scheme is that Felix was not drawn to macabre (unlike Guillermo). He tried watching Karloff stumbling along in Frankenstein. He tried his best Romanian accent imitating Lugosi. He just wasn't scary. But the painting leaning on the guard's desk. That was scary.

Felix had a "call back"-he was being considered for a ghoul. He would get the painting as a model. He almost ran to the guard's desk. A bored African American guard reading a comic book, The Forever People. The painting was gone.

"Excuse me, sir," said Felix.

"Yeah."

"There was a painting here."

"Sure was."

"Do you know what happened to it?"

The guard looked up. Felix saw that one of the superheroes was black, the other ones looked like hippies. It was a sign. We were in a new age.

The guard said, "The artist came and got it. At least she told me she was the artist. Why?"

He sounded a little worried; maybe he realized that he should have asked the "artist" for some ID. But on the other hand, who would want that monstrosity behind their couch?

"I thought it looked really scary. I wanted to study it. For my next role."

"Oh, you're an actor. Well, I will agree with you on the scary part. That thing gave me the w.i.l.l.i.e.s. It had been against my desk for a week. At night I would turn it against the wall." He gestured. "A lot of people leave stuff here. They think that Serling buys art for his show. The first season we wouldn't let them leave it. He looks the stuff over now. I think he does that to annoy the network artist. He can be a d.i.c.k sometimes."

"He ever buy any of it?"

"He doesn't even run the show. Laird runs it. Serling got tired of doing everything over at CBS."

"So what's he looking for?"

"He does his thing. I do my thing." The guard began to pick up the comic book.

Felix persisted. "I really want to meet that artist. Maybe she can help me out with makeup tips."

The guard reached into a trash can. "I had just filed her phone number."

He handed Felix half a torn envelope.

She was Mexican. She was a maid. And one of her weirdo clients had the biggest collection of science fiction and horror s.h.i.t in all the world. His home was in the fashionable Los Feliz section of Hollywood. Her name was Carlotta Rotos, and the first time Felix met her was on a driveway with a sign that said, "Hollyweird, Karloffonia." Carlotta spoke to Felix rapidly in Spanish. She had invited him here because she didn't want to meet him first at her tiny home. Her boss had encouraged her to try and get the painting on the show. He was a little weird.

She was dark and very pretty and in an actual maid's outfit.

A super-energetic man introduced himself as Forrest J. Ackerman. He asked Felix what he was interested in and Carlotta said, "Lovecraft." Felix had no idea who Lovecraft was. Ackerman was ushering him into the house, the "Ackermansion." At the doorway he pointed further up Los Feliz. There appeared to be a Mayan temple. "Frank Lloyd Wright's 'Maya House'-it was the exterior for House on Haunted Hill. That starred Vincent Price. Some people think I look like him. Lovecraft, eh? I've got a postcard from him."

Ackerman ran to an overstuffed desk. He couldn't find it. Then he handed Felix a copy of Dracula. "Signed first. But that's not so rare; there are five of those. Look at the next page."

It was covered in signatures from Bela Lugosi to Christopher Lee. Everyone that had been the Count.

For the next two hours there were props from TV and movies and books, books, books. And magazines. And more magazines. At one point Ackerman had shown him a copy of Weird Tales. "This was my first magazine. I kept buying them. My mother actually told me that if I was not careful, by the time I was an adult I would have a hundred of them." The crazy laugh that followed would have done any mad scientist proud. The "Unique Magazine" showed an Egyptian scene, a brown man and boy were coming over an outcropping toward a crude sphinx with pyramids in the background. "Imprisoned with the Pharaohs" by HOUDINI. Thrills! Mystery! Adventure!

Felix was a little dizzy when he walked out into the Los Feliz twilight. Ackerman hadn't been able to find the postcard. "Things walk out of here all the time." He had explained to Felix that "Pickman's Model" was a short story by Lovecraft. When he had heard that NBC was filming it, he suggested Carlotta try and submit the painting. "I've got a few items that Lovecraft used to own." Carlotta looked very guilty when he said that. He showed off Lovecraft's annotated copy of The King in Yellow. Felix could tell that he was supposed to be impressed, so he acted impressed. He was, after all, an actor. At the end of the tour, Ackerman pointed to the Maya House again. "That little number is pretty Frank Belknap Long itself. Bad angles. Bring bad things. Frank Lloyd Wright had been putting the finishing touches on it when his houseboy went berserk at Taliesen and killed seven people. It was said the house was cursed. He built it for a shoe magnate, and the man lost everything in the Depression. The next owner's wife jumped off the parapet. Tindalos hounds, Chihuahua style, if you ask me. I've got a book on that too somewhere. The Mexicans knew. Six owners in forty-four years."

Carlotta looked as if she was going to cry. When she walked him to his car, she gave him her East LA address.

It was brown stucco and had four floors and was on a different planet from the Ackermansion. But it was the planet that Felix had grown up on. Planet Barrio. There was a cop car parked in front of the liquor store on the corner. It was Tuesday, the smog index was high, and it was hot. He buzzed her box, she buzzed him in. Her room was on the third floor. It had horrorable and fantastic studies of ghouls hung on its tiny walls. Some were scenes from Egypt or Rome, others were modern; on the easel was a mainly finished study of a human male being initiated into ghoul society at Forest Lawn. Two ghouls were painting his naked body with a blue-green liquid. A female ghoul with rows of small b.r.e.a.s.t.s like a dog reclined on a tombstone holding a broken human skull. Gore ran down her lips, and she stared lewdly at the human. Her face was Carlotta's.

"I am not sick, Mr. Felix," she said. "I used to paint normal things."

She pointed to two small canvases up in the corner of the room. One was a reproduction of Van Gogh's Sunflowers. The other was a somewhat insipid seascape.

"It was because of my brother and the book."

And so Felix heard Juan's story.

Carlotta's mom was a maid. Her father a Zoot-suiter. A pachuco. Mom worked for Hollywood go-getters. Dad was in and out of jail. Sometimes Dad was Juan's hero, hater of the Anglo-culture machine. Sometimes Dad was Carlotta's villain-drunk, womanizer, s.h.i.t-disturber. Momma was Thanksgiving. Papa was Cinco de Mayo. Papa got a knife in the side, Momma got to dust an Oscar. Momma was the real world, working hard every day. Papa was Juan's world.

As a teenager he was in gangs. He tried to find common cause with the blacks. Six years ago he had been in the Watts Riots. Then Juan changed. He buckled down. He went to school.

Juan Rotos wanted what every American wants: gold and knowledge. You go to school to learn stuff and get a good job, comprende? All good Americans want Faust's deal. A Peruvian named Carlos Castaneda had found it. Carlos was an Angelino. Just a couple of years ago he had published The Teachings of Don Juan: A Yaqui Way of Knowledge. Don Juan was a "Nagual," which comes from the Nahuatl word nahualli, one who could turn himself into an evil animal-like being for the purposes of sorcery. He made a bundle off the books. In Aztec mythology the G.o.d Tezcatlipoca was the protector of nagualism, since he governed the distribution of wealth and the powers of black magic. Juan discovered that shortly after the Conquest, a certain "Black Friar," Thomas de Castro, had written an account of the magic involved. Dioses Malvados del Laberintho. The book had a litany for invoking Tezcatlipoca in his forms as Cetl, the Night Axe; Huemac, the Double; Eihort, the Demon of the Labyrinth; Nyarlathotep-Metzli, the Messenger of the Moon. The book then explained how certain drugs could be smeared on the body in cemeteries, how teeth could be pulled, and how certain s.e.x magic rituals could make you into a Nagual or Brujo Negro.

Juan had decided de Castro's book could be his meal ticket. Anglos would love the drugs and s.e.x-and dominant cultures are always fixated on the magic systems of the people they conquer. It was making millions for Castaneda and it would make millions for him. Now it seemed that the bad priest's book had vanished, so Juan was forging one. Then he spotted a little article on the books that inspired a horror writer named H. P. Lovecraft. It mentioned de Castro's book Dioses Malvados del Laberintho. There was a copy in LA in the Ackermansion.

Juan asked Carlotta to steal it. Borrow it at least until Juan made a copy.

Sure, what was the harm? Juan might make his millions. She picked up the book, she could return it after a copy was made. Juan wouldn't be a jailbird like Papa, he could make good money for Momma's retirement. Mr. Ackerman wouldn't even miss it.

Then Juan decided that it was for real.

The hexes, the spells, the visions, the power. Juan wasn't going to return the book. Juan was going to become one of Them. The shape-shifters. The flesh eaters. The ghouls Mr. Lovecraft wrote about could be the vanguard of the Revolution. Juan found E. Duran Ayers's report of the Zoot Suit Riots. The guy that the LAPD had as an expert witness against Papa and the other pachucos. He taped it to his mirror: Mexican Americans are essentially Indians and therefore Orientals or Asians. Throughout history the Orientals have shown less regard for human life than have the Europeans. Further, Mexican Americans had inherited their "naturally violent" tendencies from the "bloodthirsty Aztecs" of Mexico, who were said to have practiced human sacrifice centuries ago.

Juan got a tattoo over his heart: Yo soy un Azteca sanguinario! I am bloodthirsty Aztec. He also had a white football-looking sigil added, the sign of Eihort. His Momma decided that he was going to h.e.l.l. She died a few weeks afterward.

Juan began reciting the litanies, buying the herbs. He got a few of his friends to break into a vault at Forest Lawn. Carlotta broke into tears at this point.

"One night he came here, very late. His face was all black. He had pulled his teeth and put in black gla.s.s. Obsidian chips. He gave me the book. I don't know if he was crazy, or not really human anymore. I never saw him again. But I have these."

She went into her tiny kitchen and pulled open a drawer. She had a handful of newspaper clippings. Graveyard vandalism. Disappearing children. Bodies stolen from morgues. A criminal gang in Halloween drag.

"So I read this horrible little book. At least the parts in Spanish."