Silvia Moreno-Garcia - Future Lovecraft

“Iris, that wasn’t here the last time I checked.”

“It’s here now, sister, and we’re about to go through it.”

Unblinking, it had followed their frantic attempts to escape. Once they were flat against it, the eye swirled open. Surrounded by irritated buzzing, the girls exploded through the sable pupil into a lightless cavern.

Behind them, the eye clanged shut. Far ahead, violet lights glowed in the darkness. The bees pushed them towards it. “They really like this colour,” mouthed Iris.

“When we get out of here, I’ll never look at a lilac bush in same way again.”

“If we get out.”

They were moving down a tunnel with smooth, slippery sides. Deeper in, it was lit by flashing bees nailed at intervals to the ceiling.

“I wonder how often they change the bulbs,” said Thyme.

“Don’t joke. Those poor things.”

“Those ‘poor things’ may be herding us to our deaths.”

Ten metres ahead, the tunnel widened into a chamber, its walls covered in markings that looked like writing, but indecipherable. A short, man-like creature, dwarfed by four angular stick insects, waited in the centre.

“Iris.” Thyme poked her sister. “Check out the vertically-challenged dude with the basketball-player bodyguard?”

“My, my, he is short. Looks like a jack-o’-lantern plopped on top of a pumpkin.”

“His mother must have had a mega case of carotene poisoning when she was carrying him.”

“I don’t fancy the look of his bodyguard, either. Green stick insect is not this season’s best fashion choice.”

Mr Pumpkin Man strutted up to the twins. “You two have caused me a very great amount of difficulty. That wasn’t nice.”

“What funny noises it makes,” Thyme said. “They sound like they’re being generated by a machine.”

“No talking,” he barked. “When I want to hear your voices, I’ll tell you. Now, be quiet and follow me.”

“Why should we do that?” Thyme demanded.

“Because, if you don’t, I shall have one of my very tall and very hungry friends crunch off your sister’s arm.”

“You and what army?” Iris shifted from human form into a small, stinging creature. “They’ll have to catch me first.” She swooped in and landing a dart, right on the creature’s shiny, orange head.

“Ouch! Get her! Don’t kill her!” Pumpkin Man screamed. “IT wants them alive.”

The tallest of the Praying-Mantis creatures waved a raptorial leg at Iris, its mandible clicking commands. She darted away, but was soon cornered. With all four trying to grab her, she wouldn’t hold out for long.

“Leave my sister alone!” Thyme, shifting as she screamed, swooped at the Mantis Leader’s eye. It roared and thrashed in pain, all four pairs of legs flailing, lopping off feelers and bits of other mantises. Iris tried to escape the melee and flew straight into a wall of nekrobees. Ominous, saw-like buzzing broadcast how angry they were. Once again, they herded the twins, pushing them deeper into the cavern until the girls teetered on the edge of a cliff. Behind them gaped a long drop into nothingness. “Are you ready, sister?” said Iris.

“Ready when you are.” They jumped.

Endless hours, or seconds, passed. It was impossible to tell. All perception of time had vanished. The bottom, when it arrived, did so without warning. They landed—Splot!—in a puddle of sticky, foul-smelling, purple goo.

“I’m really beginning to hate this colour,” said Iris.

“Me, too. What’s that stink?”

Iris leaned closer to the puddle and sniffed. “It’s from the Dragon Arum ( Dracunculus vulgaris) , I think. Euch! Disgusting! The things I do for you.”

“Is it dangerous?”

“Probably. I don’t know. Never touched one before.”

“Then I think we should get out of here as fast as possible. Damn!”

“Now what?”

“I’m stuck. Can you lift your arm?”

Iris jerked her arm upward; rubbery strings wrapped around her forearm pulled it back.

“Damn!”

Taking a deep breath, she bent over suddenly and pulled a knife out of her boot. Bouncing back up, she slashed at the tentacles holding her arm. The puddle creature writhed and hissed, releasing her. As it backed away growling, she moved to cut her sister free.

“That’s better,” said Thyme, rubbing her arm. “That was gross.”

“You two are becoming very tiresome. First, you blind my avatar’s guards and now, you’ve frightened my poor little dragon flower.”

The twins swivelled around to discover an enormous, squishy-looking thing with waving tentacles and beady, purple eyes.

“What the…who or what are you?” Thyme demanded.

“More purple,” muttered Iris.

“Many people have called me by many names; all were wrong and all were right.”

“First, it tries to kill us, complains when we protect ourselves, and now answers our questions with stupid riddles.” Thyme detested inconsistencies.

“If you must possess something as trivial as a name before answering my questions, ‘ The Elder God ’ will do as well as any.”

“Thank you. I’m relieved we have that settled,” said Iris.

“Now, will you have the courtesy to answer me? Whatever are you doing here? Why have you invaded my home?” While the creature was saying this, oily tentacles had extruded from hand-like appendages and were slithering across their faces, caressing their hair and examining their ear-cavities.

“Argh! What in the name of bastard kittens do you think you are doing?” Thyme barked.

“I’m trying to discover your weaknesses—your price. Everyone has one.”

“And you think that rubbing slime and squid spit in our hair will make us reveal it?”

“Do you know a better way?” The mouth part of the monster smirked.

“Stop that!” Iris pushed an intrusive tentacle away from the corner of her eye socket.

“Yes. Why don’t you just ask us what our price is?”

“What an intriguing idea. No one has ever suggested that before.” The monster leaned back, appearing to be deep in thought. “All right, what is it that you care about more than all else in this life?”

“Books!” they shouted in unison.

“Ouch! Not so loud, if you please.” Several tentacles clutched the places on its head where—in a humanoid—ears would be, and grimaced.

“Books, book, books!” they screamed again.

“Books on paper, whole books, old books, new books, books between cardboard covers…” shouted Thyme.

“With leather bindings,” added Iris. “Unexpurgated, uncut, undoctored, unelectronic—real books!”

“Books for children—that they can hold.”

“And young adults and students.”

“All right, I get the point. So, tell me how I can use that to get you to leave my pets, my sweet little nekrobees, alone.”

“’Sweet little nekrobees,’” Thyme mimicked the Elder. “About as sweet as a tarantula crossed with a rattlesnake.”

“You don’t like my little pets?” it asked, as one settled on its frontal area. A tentacle reached down and caressed the bee before popping it into a mouth. Crunch and it was gone. The Elder belched a stench of rotting violets.

“Euw! Don’t you ever brush your teeth?” Iris complained.

“My, you are a silly girl. Answer my question, please. How can I persuade you to stop persecuting my bees?”

“Keep the damnable, flying vermin out of our library,” said Thyme.

“Oh, but I can’t do that. They have work to do there—important work.”

“What’s that, then?” said Thyme.

“And what kind of work causes my books to cry and scream?” demanded Iris.

“Surgery is always painful—is it not?”