The Visions Of Azathoth

WARNING: The visions revealed herein depict the darkest recesses of our reality. If you are haunted by past traumas, do not proceed! Every horror of this world is depicted here. This is not a story for children, and it is not a story for those with gentle hearts. Hate, and pain, and suffering are vividly depicted in these stories. If there is any subject which will cause you unbearable pain, turn back now. These visions are revealed to illuminate, not to harm; but some are not prepared to face the darkness. It is with respect and empathy that I tell you: this story is not for you!

Note: Some portions of the original text may be redacted, or censored, so that they may meet the standards of publication. I have done my best to make sure that this story can be told in as uncompromising a fashion as possible, and it is my hope that someday the story may be told in its full and unredacted form.

Zkk enqlr zqd tmqdzk.
GTLC S

Chapter Two: The Drop

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
- Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening, Robert Frost

Christmas Day, 1961

The night wind whispered through the trees. The air was redolent with the scents of pine and alder, elm and sycamore. The moon was full and the stars shone brightly; and between the canopy of the silhouetted trees the cosmos was visible in all its infinitude. The galaxies and nebulae; and stars of red and blue and green. The woods around seemed equally vast, the darkness between the trees impenetrable. It was cold, but for Christmas it was bearable. A light snow covered the ground, but the sky was clear tonight. Chris had never realized how many stars there were, he'd never been this far from city lights. He didn't like it. It was impossible to feel safe in the woods, and the stars made him feel small and vulnerable.

But where he was uncomfortable, Ray was petrified. He shuffled his feet nervously, his flashlight flitting from spot to spot as if he expected some predator to emerge at any moment. His eyes were wide with fright. He looks like a pig, Chris thought, and almost burst out laughing. Ray had a round face and an upturned nose. His skin was pale and he had short orange hair. He had never liked Ray, and now he was regretting his decision to bring him along.

"What time is it?" Ray asked.
"How many times are you gonna ask me that?" Chris snapped back
"He shoulda been here already. Let's head back to the car."
Ray was trying to look tough – and failing.
"We're not going nowhere," Chris said, his arms folded to guard against the cold. "Doc told us to stay till the drop is made, and that's what I intend to do."
"Are you sure this is the right spot?"

Is it? Chris had been certain this was the spot, but now he wasn't so sure. He had been instructed to wait in the clearing near the owl totem pole. Once the had found the owl they took the path which lead into this clearing; but there had been two paths leading from the totem. Did the other one lead to a clearing, too? Though it wasn't too cold, after half an hour it was becoming unbearable. At least Ray had had the sense to dress warmly. He wore a parka and a wool cap. Chris had come in a leather jacket and jeans. He didn't even have a hat. The cold air was nipping at his ears and his nose was runny. They stood around the fire sniffing and looking around impatiently.

The fire they had made was dying out and the darkness was closing in on them. As the night drew on they became more uneasy. Owls were hooting in darkness and other strange birds were speaking in garbled sounds. We're not supposed to be here, Chris thought, there's something… evil… about the woods. He heard a twig snap and spun around, shining his light into the darkness. A pair of green eyes reflected back at him. Chris stood frozen. The pale man emerged from the shadows.

When Chris had asked Doc what their contact looked like, he had told him the man was tall, bald, and very pale. All that was true, but he had never anticipated this. The man was huge, about seven feet tall, and though he wore baggy coveralls, it was clear that man was heavily muscled. And his skin wasn't merely pale, it was almost as white as the snow around them. With the flashlights on him, Chris could see the web of blue veins beneath his skin. His eyes seemed completely black. Doc had said the man was bald; but this man was not just bald, he had no eyebrows or the faintest trace of facial hair. Though he had no hair, he had a hard, angular face, and a broad, strong jaw. Chris found the man both frightening and revolting. He looked… unnatural.

The pale man approached the fire with a large black duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He stared intently into the dying fire, and for a moment know one spoke. Chris was intimidated by the obvious power of the man. He wore a long black jacket of dull wool over grey coveralls. He was more underdressed for the weather than Chris was, but the man didn't seem the least bit cold. His jacket was open and his head was uncovered. Breaking his glance from the fire, the pale man turned his dark eyes on Ray.

"What is the time?" he asked, his voice deep and hard as granite. Ray tried to answer, but no words would come.
"Half-past ten," Chris said as he glanced at his watch. The strange man turned to face him.
"And the date?" he asked.
"The date?" Chris echoed, confused.
"What is the date?"

Chris and Ray exchanged a look.

"December 25th," Chris said.
"December 25th, 1961." He said.
"That's right."
"You are to take this bag," The pale man said. "Do not look inside, do not ask me what it contains…"

He pulled a folded piece of paper from the pocket of his coveralls and handed it to Chris. He gave the bag over to Ray, holding it out gingerly with one arm. Ray took it with both hands, but it came crashing to the ground. Struggling, Ray threw it over his shoulder. The pale man's face twisted in disapproval.

"It's heavy," Ray said, apologetically. Chris read the note. At the top of the page was a block of strange characters. It looked to him like it might be some eastern language. The characters were intricate. Below the characters a note written in plain English:

To the thief in the night,
Follow these instructions and you'll be rewarded with riches; fail, and you'll be rewarded with death. Take this bag to the church beside the river. Once you've brought it to the alter you may leave. Your companion may not.

He glanced over at Chris who was reading the paper that the pale man had handed him. Chris looked up at the man with wide-eyed terror.

"You are running late," the pale man said, "I suggest you hurry."

For a moment Chris did not respond. He just stared blankly at the pale man. He was trying to understand what the note was saying. Or, rather, he did understand what the note was saying, but he didn't want to believe it.

"I got it," Chris said, trying to regain his composure, "we'll make the drop within the hour."

The pale man dismissed them with a curt nod. An owl hooted in the darkness. They began to make their way back to the car, but as they stepped onto the trail from which they had come, the man called out.

"And gentleman," he said, his deep voice sounded like stone cracking. They stopped and turned. "I need not remind you… You are not to look inside the bag. Understood?"

They nodded and made their way down the trail. When they got back to the parking lot, Chris opened the trunk of his red Buick Skylark and Ray placed the bag inside. For a moment they stood silently, looking down at the bag.

"Whaddya think it is?" Ray asked.
"I don't give a damn what it is," Chris replied, closing the trunk.

It was a lie. Chris was just as curious as Ray was, or more accurately, he felt equal parts curiosity and dread. They climbed back in the car and drove out onto the highway. Jonnie Ray was on the radio, singing his hit song, 'Cry.' Ray was delighted by this, saying he hadn't heard this song in years. For a moment he seemed at ease. The road was all but deserted tonight, which was all the better, so far as Chris was concerned. They had driven for some time in silence. Chris felt as if he was dreaming. After the song had ended, Ray broke the silence.

"Where are we going, now?" Ray asked.
"There's a river to the south of here," Chris said, his voice shaking as he spoke, "Our drop off point is next to the river."

Chris was so scared that he felt sick. His stomach was in knots. Keep it together, Chris. You're almost done… He had been a drug runner for years. He'd had deals that turned deadly. Nothing he'd encountered had shook him like this. This was something else, and what was written on that note had made his blood run cold. They had insisted that he bring a partner, but until now he didn't understand why. Doc had been insistent though, and he was forced to find someone to accompany him.

Ray was in his circle of friends, and they all knew what Chris was doing, so he figured one of them would make a likely candidate. He never really liked Ray, but he knew that he was having serious money problems, so he seemed like the obvious choice. It wasn't until two weeks ago that Chris first offered to take Ray on one his "runs." He didn't need Ray for those transactions anymore than he did for this one, but he had to ease him into it to earn his trust. "You're a little on the short side," Chris had told him, "but you're big… I could use somebody to pose as my muscle. The guy who usually spots me is outta town." Ray had laughed at the suggestion, confessing that he was a coward; but Chris said that all he'd have to do is sit in the car. And when he had told him what he'd get paid, Ray said yes. The deal went off without a hitch and all he had to do was sit in the car and try to look tough. Ray had gone with a Chris a few more times before tonight, eventually convincing him to stand at his side while he made a deal.

When Chris had told him that they'd be leaving city limits tonight, Ray got nervous. And when Chris told him that they were to meet someone at ten o'clock in the middle of the woods, Ray lost his nerve and backed out. It took Chris the better part of the day to coax Ray into making the trip with him. Reluctantly, he accepted. Poor bastard. The whole day Chris had a dark, foreboding feeling, and now that feeling was justified.

'Mr. Sandman' by the Chordettes was playing when Chris announced that they were almost there. They followed an unlit, unpaved, narrow dirt road branching off from the highway. Chris drove slowly. The road was dark and narrow and full of twists and turns. Finally, the trees parted and they saw their destination.

The gibbous moon was reflected in the placid river which was flowing in the distance. In the darkness of night, the river looked black as ink. In front of the river stood a large, barren willow tree. The tree was massive, its bare branches hanging down in a huge umbrella. Next to the tree, near the snow-covered banks of the river, stood a solitary church. Worn down and abandoned, the church looked as if it were about to collapse. All of the windows were broken and there were holes in its tiled roof. The cross that once rose from its steeple had long since disappeared, but there could be no doubt that this was a church. Fragments of coloured glass still clung to the windowsills. Chris couldn't see anyone in or around the building, but it was clear that someone was there – a faint light was shining from within. A chill ran down his spine.

"You didn't say anything about a church," Ray said, his voice cracking as he spoke. He had gone as white as the pale man.
"I told you we'd be picking up a package and delivering it," Chris snapped, "What does it matter if it's a church or a fucking office."

Ray could see that there was something Chris wasn't saying. He knew that something was wrong, but he wasn't sure what. Chris tried to look as though everything was going normally but his façade was less than convincing. Mr. Sandman was ending as Chris pulled the key from the ignition. He was the first to get out of the car, Ray following reluctantly. They came around to the trunk of the Skylark. Chris popped the trunk. For a moment they stood there silently, looking down at the black duffel bag.

"What do you think it is?" Ray asked, almost in a whisper, "It's not drugs… It's way too heavy."
"It doesn't matter," Chris said, though his tone said otherwise.

They stood there for a moment before Ray came to a sudden realization.

"Chris," he said, "… Can I take a look at the note he gave you."
"No." Chris replied, in a tone that would brook no argument. He could see the panic on Ray's face. He looked as if he was about to cry.
"Why not?" Ray said, his voice trembling with fear.

Before Chris could think of an excuse a raven landed on the hood of the trunk. They both jumped as bird landed with a shrill squawk, stepping back with raised hands. It hopped back and forth, quorking and peering down at the bag. It looked up at Chris, squawked, and took flight. He flinched as the bird flew past him, sailing through the air and landing in front of the church doors. It spun around and screamed at them, hopping around impatiently and flapping its wings frantically.

"Grab the bag, Ray," Chris said. He cleared his throat, "Let's get this over with."

Ray grabbed the bag and slung it over his shoulder and Chris slammed the trunk shut. We're almost done, Chris told himself, we'll drop off the package, finish the job, and then I'll go home. Side by side they climbed the stairs that lead to the front door of the church. The raven took flight as they ascended and flew off towards the river. The faded black paint on the doors had mostly peeled away, but the doors seemed to be in otherwise good condition. Chris couldn't help but wonder what was in the bag. Gold? He thought. Maybe it's just drugs, but they stuffed it with something to make it heavier… but why would they do that?

Chris turned the knob and pushed the two doors open. The air inside was moist and smelled of smoke and mildew. Candle light filled the room with a ruddy light. It was a small church, with five rows of pews and a small, raised dais. What the fuck? On the dais was a dark stone slab, and around the slab there was a ring of red candles. A thin woman stood behind the slab, waving a censure above it, incense smoke rose from its silver globe. He could hear the woman chanting, or praying, though he couldn't make out the words. What the fuck is going on here? She looked up at them.

"You're late," she said, her tone reproachful.
"Not our fault," Chris replied, trying to keep his composure, "your guy was late… We got here as quick as we could."
"Hurry then," she said, "put it on the altar."

They approached the dais together, but when Chris stopped near the base of the stairs, Ray turned back in wide-eyed terror. Chris gave him a furious look and shoved him forward. Reluctantly, Ray climbed the stairs onto the dais. He put the heavy duffel bag down on top of the altar. He had gone completely pale and looked as though he were about to faint. He stood face to face with woman behind the altar.

She had pale, hollow eyes, which were deep set within a boney face. Her lips were thin and colorless, her hair a ragged tumble of grey-brown locks. She wore a bright, white gown which was cinched about the waist. A dark hood, speckled with stars, hung about her head. There was something unnatural about the woman, though Chris couldn't say what. She watched Ray with the blank curiosity of a cat. For a moment they stood there looking into each other's eyes, then Ray turned around to leave…

And froze. Chris had pulled his gun and pointed it square at Ray's chest. As Chris stood there with his finger on the trigger, he realized for the first time that there were more people in the church. Two stood in the far left corner, they were dressed in gray robes, and there was someone seated in the front row. Ray started to cry.

"What are you doing, Chris?" Ray said, his knees trembling, "What the fuck is going on?"
"We can't let you go just yet –" Ray spun back around to see the strange woman smiling at him. "There's still something we need you to do."
"What?" Ray asked in a high, tremulous tone.
"Die." The woman replied.

Ray spun around to run, but the moment he turned a Chris pulled the trigger. The light from his gun had blinded him for a moment, and the deafening bang had made his ears ring. Ray fell back, the edge of the altar slamming into the small of his back. He staggered to his knees. With his hand clutching at this stomach, blooded welled up between his fingers, a dark stain spreading outwards. He stared at Chris with wide-eyed terror. Smoke rose from the barrel of his gun.

"You shot me!" He held out his bloody hand and looked about the room, "What's going on?! I don't understand… Please! Just let me go! I just want to go home!"

The two robed figures came to the front of the church, climbed up on the dais, and grabbed Ray, hoisting him back to his feet. They turned him around to face the altar. The woman was untying the bag. Ray was crying and pleading with them. Slowly, Chris began to back away. It was you or him, he told himself, you had no choice. The woman upended the bag, spilling its contents onto the altar. From this angle he couldn't see what it was, but it had a wet, meaty sound to it – a heavy thumping.

"What… What the fuck?" Ray's voice cracked. "W-w-what is this?" he stammered.
"A goddess," she replied.

The third cloaked figure stepped up behind Ray and pulled a knife from his robe. Ray began to scream. "Heeeelllp! Somebody help me! Chris! CHRIS!" Weeping, he pleaded with them to let him go but his assailants made no reply.

"I'm sorry," Chris whispered, more to himself than to Ray. The robed man drew the knife across Ray's throat. He opened his mouth to scream, but only manage to cough up blood. It spattered across the priestess's face. She smiled. The revolting gurgling sound Ray made was sickening. His body was jerking grotesquely, but the cloaked men held him still. The priestess began to chant.

"My heart, my mother!" the priestess sang, waving the censure above the altar, "My heart, my mother!"

The candles seemed to brighten. It's done! Chris thought, Go… NOW!. Chris ran from the building., but as he flew out the door he missed the first step and came crashing to the ground. His leg twisted violently as he landed and he fell face first into the hard-packed earth. As he scrambled to his knees he cried out in pain. It felt like he'd torn a muscle in his thigh. Fuck! Fuck! He struggled to stand. His nose was throbbing and he could taste blood in his mouth.

The muffled sound of the congregation's chanting was growing louder. Limping, he rushed back to his car. Chris took the keys from his pocket, his hands trembling. He almost dropped the keys before he found the right one. It seemed like hours had passed before he unlocked the door and sat inside, slamming the door behind him. Panting heavily, he looked back at the church. The orange light shone ominously through the window. Still he could hear the chanting until, finally, it suddenly stopped.

Part of him wanted to start the car up and get out of here as quickly as possible, but another part of him wanted to know what they were doing in there. What he heard next made his blood run cold. It was a scream, but not from Ray. It was a woman's cry – ragged, primal, and so loud it sounded like nothing a human being could make. It sounded like the shrieking of a dozen discordant fiddles.

"AAAAaahAAaaAAhhhAaaAaAaaaAAahhAaaAAAAAHhhhaAaAhhhhhhhh!

When he put his key in the ignition, and engine began to roar, the radio came back on. Mr. Sandman was playing, but scared as he was, Chris never realized that this song had only just ended.