Inside Information
2
8:52 PM
153 Tsang Street.
The SWAT team batted down the door and rushed into the house, guns drawn. "Police! Get down on the floor!" A small, ugly bald man who seemed to be made entirely of solid muscle rushed forward with a machete, a shot to the chest brought him down. The bullet lodged in muscle, he was only winded and still put up a fight. It took five officers to get the Tcho-Tcho cuffed and manacled while the rest of The Police Special Cases Squad rushed into the suburban home. "The Basement!" Harrison shouted. A door flew open, striking the cop and flinging him against the opposing wall. "May The Curse of Derz-Hophza be upon you!" Another short, heavily muscled figure hissed, his voice filled with malice. He flung himself at Harrison, who used a Judo move on the creature, ramming his near-unbreakable skull through the drywall. As the Tcho-Tcho pulled his head out Harrison hit him with the gun. The man crumpled, out cold.
Under normal circumstances, such actions would be considered excessive force, but the law recognized that Tcho-Tcho were tough enough to shrug off just about anything, and these guys were vicious as hell. He didn't have time to cuff the creature, more officers moved in with manacles as Harrison and his team moved toward the back of the house.
They didn't get far.
Shots rang out from the kitchen, and the officers responded in force. The shooter was a wizened old woman with teeth sharpened like knives, calling down curses from shriveled lips in the names of Azathoth, Nyarlathotep, Derz-Hophza and a dozen others. Harrison threw in a tear gas grenade. The Tcho-Tcho were built like Fort Knox, but they still had to breathe like everyone else. The old woman stumbled from the kitchen, coughing, and the police jumped on her. She fought like a wild animal and her wicked teeth tore deeply into an officer's arm before she was secured in a straightjacket and protective mask. The bitten man was rushed out at once to a waiting ambulance. Who knew if her teeth were coated in some sort of poison?
Harrison hated dealing with Tcho-Tcho.
He kicked open the door to the basement, knocking back another knife-wielding Tcho-Tcho who had been rushing up the stairs to join the fight. He fell about fifteen feet onto hard cement and got right back up, more angry than hurt. Half a dozen men and women glared hatefully up from the candle-lit basement at the intruder. Harrison leveled his Glock at the small group of cultists gathered below, "Freeze! Police! Put your hands in the air! Get on the ground!" No one complied. The Tcho-Tcho had the apparent advantage, the police would have to come in one at a time, while they had already gathered below.
One of the Tcho-Tcho, presumably the officiating priest, picked up a gilded bone dagger and made his way toward the stairs shrieking curses as the others rushed up to greet the policemen, unarmed save for their supernatural strength. These small, compact people could rip a man limb from limb with their bare hands. Harrison tossed in another tear gas grenade, then another. The police waited until the cultists were retching on the floor before moving in with heavy manacles and straightjackets. Judging from their garb, or in some cases, lack of, these people were getting ready for a major ceremony.
Well, the party was over.
A cursory examination of the room told Harrison all he needed to know.
It was all there, the bloody stone altar and the blood-smeared idol of Derz-Hophza, Chaugnar Faugn, a bloated, elephant-headed monstrosity carved in mockery of the Buddhist Sitting Lotus. The room was dimly lit by greasy, foul smelling candles. Experience told Harrison that they were made of human fat. He scowled in disgust. At least there wasn't a body, this time. He doubted they'd find any past victims, the Tcho-Tcho cultists were usually cannibals. No, a cannibal is someone who eats his own kind. Ghouls were far more closely related to humans than Tcho-Tcho.
He didn't care to think what that said about ghouls.
"You . . . Have no right . . ." The High Priest gasped, "In . . . This country . . . Rights . . ."
"You're right. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do can be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney, if you cannot afford . . ."
"You . . . Prove nothing . . ."
"And when we test the blood on the altar and that fat, ugly elephant god of yours, what do you suppose we'll find? And the candles? No, you're going away for a long time . . ."
"May The Curse of . . ."
"Yes, yes, I've heard it all before. I've been cursed by Cthulhu, Azathoth, Dagon and too many others to name. And I'm still here. And as long as I'm here, I'm going to fight you and your perverted gods."
The police dragged the shrieking, cursing priest away as Harrison turned to look at Chaugnar Faugn. The idol's deep set eyes conveyed a sense of utter malevolence. "If your followers are any indication, you're one sick son of a . . ."
"Detective Harrison." An officer came up to him, "We found bones in the kitchen . . ."
"Human?"
Even through the gas mask he could see her face twist in disgust. "Yes, sir. It appears so."
Harrison cursed and walked out. He needed some fresh air.
11:25
"We got them all, thanks to you."
Thomas Longtooth smiled, revealing fearsome teeth, "We are always eager to help the authorities."
Harrison shuddered despite himself.
The End.