The Man in White stared up at the house through a sleeting shroud of rain and mist, thunder rumbling amidst the dark sky. He held his razor in one hand, and reins in another. The satchel had been stored elsewhere for the time being.
He snarled at the creature held by the reins as it stirred, and turned back to the house and craned his head to get a clear image of it through his remaining eye. The loss of the eye had proved irksome, not merely because it limited the body's vision, but also because the Man in White had been trying to keep this particular body in good condition. He had taken it from a card-sharper on a St Louis riverboat in the 19th century, and had appreciated the nimbleness and co-ordination of it. His previous body, a stocky Italian knight, hadn't been much fun.
Well, he would have ample opportunity to exact revenge for the eye soon enough.
"House," he said to the creature beside him. "People in. Kill. Understood?"
The creature gurgled by means of response.
"Go," said the Man in White simply, dropping the reins and letting the creature slither through the rain, up towards the sleeping house.
It would keep the occupants distracted while the Man in White settled his own affairs.
Titus, Thomas Olney, Joel Manton and John Legrasse sat around the table in the front room of the house, their minds focused on the table's contents.
Olney broke the silence with a cough.
"Mrs Peacock, in the hall, with the candlestick," he said with some satisfaction.
"Now I know you're cheating," said Manton, checking the envelope, "That's the sixth time in a row you've got it right first try without actually playing."
"What sort of man cheats at a board-game?" said Legrasse in some disbelief.
"What sort keeps playing with a known cheat?" said Olney, lighting his pipe.
"You're surely not using that disembodied soul of yours again to peek inside the envelope, are you?" inquired Titus. "Legerdemain's fine and good in any game, but using the soul, that's just unfair."
"'Tis just a God-given gift," said Olney, "Or some god, anyway." He took the cards and deftly reshuffled them.
"Who's up for another..." and then he stopped, and frowned, and motioned for the others to be quiet. Listening intently, they could hear a vague sort of slithering, muffled by the driving rain, growing closer and closer.
Wordlessly, they reached around their persons and into their black suits for hidden pistols and knives and jars of sand.
And they sprang back from the wall just as it exploded in a shower of plaster and dust, the billowing clouds obscuring a huge, seething, pulsing, gibbering shoggoth. The game pieces lay forgotten on the floor as the men and the shoggoth stared each other down.
"You see what happens when you cheat, Olney?" said Manton, uncorking a jar of sand. "Karma. Damn karma."
And as Legrasse drew a bead on a (presumed) limb, and Titus held aloft a silver knife, and Olney aimed down the sights of two revolvers, and Manton dashed out the sand, the shoggoth sprang forward in a tangle of tentacles and amorphous limbs, and chaos ensued.
In Coraline's dreams, the tower rose out of the ice plateau, the shrieking wind buffeting her back and the dark whispering drawing her forward.
"What are you?" screamed her dream-self. "What do you want with me?"
The tower, she suddenly realised, had noticed her, and she felt a vast, alien will turning on her and crashing down upon her own will, examining her mind and soul inside and out while she staggered on powerless.
I?, came the reverberating timbre of the tower. I want nothing. It is you who is drawn to me. Only, and always, you.
Coraline stirred from her sleep , avoiding the door in the tower's base as crashing came from downstairs.
Rising quickly out of bed and pressing her ear to the floor, she could make out the warbling and thuds of the berserk shoggoth, muffled by the floors in between. There also came the sound of gunfire and...was that an explosion?
Forcing the memory of the tower from her mind, she threw an old grey dressing-gown on top of her orange pajamas, and went for the elephant gun. She grabbed it and, opening the door, half hefted - half dragged the huge rifle with her.
There was shouting from downstairs as well; which grew in volume as more and more order members joined the fight.
Coraline wasn't sure why she was making her way to the fight. All she knew that the order seemed to having a difficult time of it, and she had always disliked the feeling of not getting involved while people needed help.
But as she marched down the dark winding corridor, heaving the gun, she heard a cough behind her.
She swivelled, and saw a dapper man with blond hair, a white suit, a pair of sunglasses, and a razor twinkling in his hand.
"Miss Jones," said the Man in White, his cruel smile playing at his lips, "You cannot imagine how pleased I am to make your acquaintance."
He stepped forward, and Coraline brought up the gun.
"Step back," she said, her voice trembling in terror.
"Coraline Wednesday Jones," continued the Man in White. "Born on March the 13th, 1998, to Charlie Heckleburg Jones and Melanie Olivia Jones, nee Llewellyn. Shuffled off this mortal coil today, on September the 14th, 2009." His eyes glowed with satisfaction behind the glasses. "Exactly a week after the murders of her parents. A tragic tale, but with a fitting conclusion. Would you prefer that I finished this quickly, or slowly?"
Coraline stared open-mouthed at the Man in White, her mind buzzing with fear.
Fear giving way to realisation, as she suddenly knew her parents' killer.
Realisation giving way to fury.
"Bastard," she screamed, as the Man in White stepped forward with the shining razor, and the elephant gun roared forth fire and lead. The gun's recoil bashed into Coraline's belly, and the red-hot bullet thundered into the Man in White's chest. He was carried backwards off his feet by the force of the blast, his chest a red ruin and his face a mask of surprise, the razor jerking out of his hands and onto the floor next to Coraline. She dropped the gun, her stomach aching from the blow, and scrabbled for the razor as the Man in White convulsed on the floor. She seized it and ran, her footsteps echoing down the corridor as the Man in White pulled himself upwards, slowly, painfully, inch by bloody inch.
"Urk," he said, and spat some blood that had flowed up into the body's mouth. He grabbed the fallen elephant gun by the barrel, and hefted it onto his shoulder as he set off after her.
This, he felt, had ceased to become amusing when she had irreparably harmed the body. Now she would die by inches.
He wondered how the shoggoth was faring. The people downstairs were putting up a suspiciously good fight against it, judging by the noise. Ordinary humans normally didn't last that long against an Outer Realms creature.
Lovecraft stopped on his way down the stairs after he heard the distinctive bark of the elephant gun.
He looked at the situation before him. Nobody was injured or dead as of yet, and Abra seemed to have the situation under control, shouting orders this way and that as order members milled, directing fire onto the shoggoth which had temporarily trapped itself in a doorway.
"Gautreau, Lavinia," he said, turning to the two behind him, "Back the way. We must investigate that shot."
"But the shoggoth..." began Lavinia.
"Is being dealt with," said Lovecraft. "But I have my fears about that shot. Follow me." And back up the stairs he went, Gautreau and Lavinia trailing behind him.
They went on up the stairs and through the first floor, and rushed up the staircase to the second floor. Lovecraft was sure he could hear talking, but he couldn't place the voice.
When they came upon a large patch of blood a few yards outside Coraline's room, a patch which left a trail down and around the corridor and corner, Gautreau drew his long, sharp, double-edged rapier and Lavinia her revolver. They followed the trail, rounding several more corners before they saw it vanish through an ajar door, which led to a storeroom. Stepping closer, Lovecraft could hear the voice more clearly.
"...cannot hide here forever, girl. Step out and your passing will be swift. Else I shall show you the same mercy I showed your parents..."
Lovecraft breathed out, and took out one of the two jars of Kadath sand he kept in an inside pocket in his suit jacket. He and the other two opened the door. They saw the Man in White, hefting the elephant gun with one hand, standing in the room's centre and scanning the sides of the room for the lurking Coraline, who had concealed herself behind a convenient grandfather clock. A flickering electric light on the ceiling cast the room into patches of shadow and gold.
The Man in White turned at their approach, and his eyes narrowed.
Lovecraft suddenly had an entirely bad feeling about this. Gautreau and Lavinia didn't.
"Aim for his arms and legs, Lavinia," commanded Gautreau, brandishing his blade and striding towards the Man in White.
"Gautreau, be careful, this isn't..." said Lovecraft to no avail.
Gautreau leapt forward at the same time as the Man in White, the sword glancing off the swung gun stock and the two colliding together. The Man in White aimed a vicious left hook at Gautreau's kidneys, a blow which Gautreau avoided with an easy dodge and which he responded to with a flurry of swipes and thrusts at the Man in White. Two shots rang out from Lavinia, clipping the Man in White's elbow and leg, and Gautreau pressed forward with a relentless assault, his sword a grey ghost in the air.
The Man in White ducked or parried or dodged most of the sword blows, taking those he could not avoid on his arms and across his chest. He slammed the gun stock up into Gautreau's chest, sending him reeling backwards. The Man in White stepped forward to take advantage of the opening, leaving his middle exposed. Gautreau took the chance near-instantly, the sword sliding up and through the Man in White's gut.
"Was that your worst, Monsieur?" enquired Gautreau, his face slick with sweat, his hand tight around the handle of the blade jammed into the Man in White's stomach. "Was that the entirety of your skill?"
"No," said the Man in White with a leer, "This is." His right hand dropped the gun, and clamped tight around Gautreau's sword hand, crushing it. His left hand shot out, and buckled the reality of Gautreau's chest before it.
Gautreau's face paled, his eyes dulled, his mouth dribbled blood. He spat it onto the Man in White's face.
The Man in White's right hand dashed out and snapped Gautreau's neck at a ninety degree angle. Gautreau's ruined body collapsed backwards onto the floor, the sword sticking out of the Man in White's chest like a standard. The Man in White grasped the handle and swept out the sword in one movement, sending an arc of blood flying against the wall. He ducked under another shot from the revolver, and span the blade up to connect sharply with the gun, knocking it out of Lavinia's hands. He followed the curve of the blow, bringing the blade around and tip, scoring a red line across Lavinia's arm. As she stumbled back, reaching for a knife, the Man in White stepped forward and poleaxed her with one smooth blow to the throat. She crumpled into the wall, and lay still.
"And then there was one," said the Man in White, turning to Lovecraft, the upheld blade scarlet in the flickering light. "Tell me, sir, how do you wish to die?"
"For preference," began Lovecraft, his voice as cold and flat as a glacier, "My death will be in a comfortable bed, at an advanced age, after a superb meal, and many decades after your own," and his hand flew out and a trail of sand leapt from it to the Man in White's face. The Man in White screamed and recoiled as if scalded, and Lovecraft drew out the second jar of sand. The Man in White stared at him through a veil of pain, not the trivial sort pain that the body endured, but a deep, striking pain at the essence of Nyarlathotep. The grains tugged at the Outer God, and tore at the connection that kept him in this reality.
"Who are you?" hissed the Man in White. "How did you acquire Kadath sa...?" And behind the sunglasses, the remaining eye bulged in sudden realisation and shock.
"But you're meant to be dead, Lovecraft!"
"I'm very much alive," snapped Lovecraft, "As are many of those you believed dead or insane at your hands." The sand from the second jar shifted from hand to hand, and Lovecraft's gaze became glassy as he began to drone "Kth'nalkyr sar itha'lakr'tal kacch..." the grains now buzzing and glowing with sorceric energy as they blurred between his hands.
The Man in White snarled, and brought the rapier whistling down through the air...
...and Coraline struck.
She stepped out from behind the clock, the razor in hand, and dropped to one knee. She'd only get one shot at this, but she'd always been good at throwing things, whether they were rocks or snowballs or flashlights or startled Elder Gods. She kept one eye open, narrowing her focus on the Man in White's throat, and grasped the razor by the handle. Her hand swept forward and opened, the razor spinning out and into the air.
For a moment, it was frozen in the air, a tiny steel messenger. It sliced through the air, through floating dust particles, and through the Man in White's jugular, embedding itself in the carotid artery for good measure.
The Man in White staggered and gurgled, frothing and gouting blood every which way, and Lovecraft had the time he needed to finish the incantation.
"...yrr aduin'eklkn hshalt!" The sand leapt for the Man in White.
There was a brilliant flash of pure blinding light, so bright that it hurt even when Coraline hastily shut her eyes, a smell of blazing pyres, and a sound of thwarted fury, fading as if cast away by a wind.
And when the flash faded and Coraline opened her eyes, there was nothing but a trembling Lovecraft, a prone Lavinia, a crumpled Gautreau, and the body of the Man in White prostrate on the wooden floor.
His sunglasses had fallen off, revealing the left side of his face, and a dull, china-blue eye.
"He...it is not dead," coughed Lovecraft. "The host is dead, but Nyarlathotep is banished, and only for a month. Even Kadath sand is not sufficient for an Outer God, and it can only banish in any case, and..." He ceased rambling, and turned and hurried to Lavinia, who was beginning to stir.
"Hurts," she croaked, as Lovecraft knelt down and examined her.
"Superficial cut to the arm, a badly bruised throat – don't exercise that too much - , and likely a concussion from the impact against the wall." He patted her shoulder. "We'll have you back and fighting fit in no time, my dear."
"The fu' hit me?" managed Lavinia.
"An Outer God. Now, as for...oh," said Lovecraft, turning to Gautreau. He examined the duelist from every angle. He checked for a pulse, he checked for breathing with a mirror, with only a glimmer of hope. Finally he stopped, sighed, and closed Gautreau's eyes gently with the tip of a finger.
"Damn it all," he said. "He was one of our finest." Standing up, he then noticed Coraline, who was as still as a statue.
There was blood everywhere.
"There, there," said Lovecraft, as comfortingly as he could as Coraline retched. "I do believe that you can now claim to have vanquished two Outer Realms creatures, Coraline. Abra was right to recommend you. An Outer God, of all things." He laughed, a dry, bitter laugh.
"He killed my parents," said Coraline, after the retching had ceased. "But he isn't..."
"Only banished. Hah, I say only. That took more out of me than was healthy. And it killed one of us. And it knows of us. Damn my pride." He helped Lavinia up, and placed an arm around Coraline's shoulders. "Let's find out how the others have fared."
They made down to the ground floor, and saw devastation. Walls caved in, plaster and masonry strewn across the intact floors, and a great many pieces of exploded shoggoth. No dead bodies, thankfully. Some of the order were clustered at the sides, groaning and grumbling over battered limbs. Miss Alhazred, nursing a broken arm, called out more orders, her eyes flickering with an alertness only normally seen on collies. Some other order members were collecting and preserving bits of shoggoth.
"Here's a nice squamous bit," called Titus, as the three descended.
"Howard," cried Miss Alhazred, turning and wincing. She hobbled over. "The shoggoth must have been directed to us, it couldn't have just..."
"I know. We fought the directer. Gautreau is dead," said Lovecraft grimly.
"More "got the tar whipped outta us by the directer"," muttered Lavinia.
Miss Alhazred stared.
"Gautreau dea...what happened? Who led the shoggoth?"
"The Crawling Chaos," said Lovecraft. Coraline moved away and sat next to a disembodied shoggoth eye, which stared up accusingly. "Banished for a month with most of my Kadath sand, and the actions of Coraline."
"But he knows of us now," continued Lovecraft, "Just as we know of him. I fear things are about to become very complicated indeed."
He stood and swayed amidst the sudden storm of questions and fear and excitement.
"Before I answer anything else, could someone get me a brandy?"