Henry Kuttner - The Book of Iod

And Dean saw, for the first time, the ghastly thing he had kissed, as the sinking moon sent a pale shaft of radiance creeping through the cave mouth. For something rose up before him, a serpentine and seal-like bulk that coiled and twisted and moved towards him, glistening with foul slime; and Dean screamed and turned to flee with nightmare fear tearing at his brain, hearing behind him a quiet splashing as though some bulky creature had slid back into the water—

2. A Visit from Doctor Yamada

He awoke. He was still in his chair before the window, and the moon was paling before the grayness of dawn. He was shaken with nausea, sick and shuddering with the shocking realism of his dream. His clothing was drenched with perspiration, and his heart hammered furiously. An immense lethargy seemed to have overwhelmed him, making it an intense effort to rise from the chair and stagger to a couch, on which he flung himself to doze fitfully for several hours.

A sharp pealing of the doorbell roused him. He still felt weak and dizzy, but the frightening lethargy had somewhat abated. When Dean opened the door, a Japanese man standing on the porch began a bobbing little bow, a gesture that was abruptly arrested as the sharp black eyes focused on Dean’s face. A little hiss of indrawn breath came from the visitor.

Dean said irritably, “Well? Do you want to see me?”

The other was still staring, his thin face sallow beneath a stiff thatch of gray hair. He was a small, slender man, with his face covered with a fine-spun web of wrinkles. After a pause he said, “I am Doctor Yamada.”

Dean frowned, puzzled. Abruptly he remembered his uncle’s cable of the day before. An odd, unreasonable irritation began to mount within him, and he said, more brusquely than he had intended, “This isn’t a professional call, I hope. I’ve already—”

“Your uncle—you are Mr. Dean?—cabled me. He was rather worried.” Doctor Yamada glanced around almost furtively.

Dean felt distaste stir within him, and his irritation increased.

“My uncle is rather eccentric, I’m afraid. There’s nothing for him to worry about. I’m sorry you had your trip for nothing.”

Doctor Yamada did not seem to take offense at Dean’s attitude. Rather, a strange expression of sympathy showed for a moment on his small face.

“Do you mind if I come in?” he asked, and moved forward confidently.

Short of barring his way, Dean had no means of stopping him, and ungraciously led his guest to the room where he had spent the night, motioning him to a chair while he busied himself with a coffeepot.

Yamada sat motionless, silently watching Dean. Then without preamble he said, “Your uncle is a great man, Mr. Dean.“

Dean made a noncommittal gesture. “I have seen him only once.” “He is one of the greatest occultists of this day. I, too, have studied psychic lore, but beside your uncle I am a novice.”

Dean said, "He is eccentric. Occultism, as you term it, has never interested me.”

The little Japanese watched him impassively. “You make a common error, Mr. Dean. You consider occultism a hobby for cranks. No”—he held up a slender hand—“your disbelief is written in your face. Well, it is understandable. It is an anachronism, an attitude handed down from the earliest times, when scientists were called alchemists and sorcerers burned for making pacts with the devil. But actually there are no sorcerers, no witches. Not in the sense that man understands these terms. There are men and women who have acquired mastery over certain sciences which are not wholly subject to mundane physical laws.”

There was a little smile of disbelief on Dean’s face. Yamada went on quietly. “You do not believe because you do not understand. There are not many who can comprehend, or who wish to comprehend, this greater science which is not bound by earthly laws. But here is a problem for you, Mr. Dean. ” A little spark of irony flickered in the black eyes. “Can you tell me how I know you have suffered from nightmares recently?”

Dean jerked around and stood staring. Then he smiled.

“As it happens, I know the answer, Doctor Yamada. You physicians have a way of hanging together—and I must have let something slip to Doctor Hedwig yesterday.” His tone was offensive, but Yamada merely shrugged slightly.

“Do you know your Homer?” he asked, apparently irrelevantly, and at Dean’s surprised nod went on, “And Proteus? You remember the Old Man of the Sea who possessed the power of changing his shape? I do not wish to strain your credulity, Mr. Dean, but for a long time students of the dark lore have known that behind this legend there exists a very terrible truth. All the tales of spirit possession, of reincarnation, even the comparatively innocuous experiments in thought transference, point to the truth. Why do you suppose folklore abounds with tales of men who have been able to change themselves into beasts—werewolves, hyenas, tigers, the seal-men of the Eskimos? Because these tales are founded on truth!

"I do not mean,” he went on, “that the actual physical metamorphosis of the body is possible, so far as we know. But it has long been known that the intelligence—the mind—of an adept can be transferred to the brain and body of a satisfactory subject. Animals’ brains are weak, lacking the power of resistance. But men are different, unless there are certain circumstances—”

As he hesitated, Dean proffered the Japanese a cup of coffee— coffee was generally brewing in the percolator these days—and Yamada accepted it with a formal little bow of acknowledgment. Dean drank his coffee in three hasty gulps, and poured more. Yamada, after a polite sip, put the cup aside and leaned forward earnestly.

“I must ask you to make your mind receptive, Mr. Dean. Don’t allow your conventional ideas of life to influence you in this matter. It is vitally to your interest that you listen carefully to me, and understand. Then—perhaps—”

He hesitated, and again threw that oddly furtive glance at the window.

“Life in the sea has followed different lines from life on land. Evolution has followed a different course. In the great deeps of the ocean, life utterly alien to ours has been discovered—luminous creatures which burst when exposed to the lighter pressure of the air—and in those tremendous depths forms of life completely inhuman have been developed, life forms that the uninitiated mind may think impossible. In Japan, an island country, we have known of these sea-dwellers for generations. Your English writer, Arthur Machen, has told a deep truth in his statement that man, afraid of these strange beings, has attributed to them beautiful or pleasantly grotesque forms which in reality they do not possess. Thus we have the nereids and oceanids—but nevertheless man could not fully disguise the true foulness of these creatures. Therefore there are legends of the Gorgons, of Scylla and the harpies—and, significantly, of the mermaids and their soullessness. No doubt you know the mermaid tale—how they long to steal the soul of a man, and draw it out by means of their kiss.”

Dean was at the window now, his back to the Japanese. As Yamada paused he said tonelessly, “Go on.”

“I have reason to believe,” Yamada went on very quietly, “that Morelia Godolfo, the woman from Alhambra, was not fully—human. She left no issue. These things never have children—they cannot.”

“What do you mean?” Dean had turned and was facing the Japanese, his face a ghastly white, the shadows beneath his eyes hideously livid. He repeated harshly, “What do you mean? You can’t frighten me with your tales—if that’s what you’re trying to do. You—my uncle wants me out of this house, for some reason of his own. You’re taking this means of getting me out—aren’t you? Eh?”