The Lurker at the Threshold : A Horror Mystery Brandon Berntson (children's ebooks online .TXT) 📖

the good graces of Yog-Sothoth.  Higher standing.  Thus . . . more power.  He’s a sycophant.”

“That tired old cliché?” Macky said.  “Don’t you guys long for anything with deeper meaning and more substance?  You’re no different than anybody else.  You chase an elusive goal.  It’s in all the history books.”

“The same can be said of your own kind,” the figure said.  “Longings, shallow needs.  Immature in your faith.  Worse than children.”

“Evolving doesn’t come easy,” Macky said.

“You learn nothing.  The Mad Arab is filled with knowledge.  He has experience.  He has seen things no mortal ever will.  But it comes with a price.”

“And what is that?” Millie asked.

“Insanity.”

“Are you here to help us or not?” Capshaw said.

“The way to the Elder Gods is through the dreamscapes,” the figure said.  “Kadath will get you there. It is not certain.  But Kadath is the only way.”

“And how do we get there?” Macky asked.

“Through the witch-house, which is its own gateway.  A nexus.  The crux.”

“I don’t understand,” Millie said.

“That means the center of it all,” Macky said.

“I know that, Dev,” Millie said.

“Then why did you ask?”

“The Thirteenth Gate will open,” the creature said.  “The Lurker at the Threshold will be free to roam.  The eradication of the human race will begin.  It is called, Nye’l’a, the celebration of extinction.  All things long for freedom, do they not?  But another is also on the way.”

“Another?”

“Cthulhu.”

“There’s that word again,” Macky said.  “I don’t know what it means.”

“There will be death.  That is only the beginning.  Beware of the Thirteenth Gate.”

“You still haven’t told us how to get to the witch-house, or what we’re supposed to do once we get there,” Macky said  “Do we bargain with them?  Do we have to offer something?  Is Mr. Kalabraise willing to sacrifice herself?”

“Dev!” Millie said.

“I was joking.”

“They cannot be bargained with,” the black god said.

“But they’re . . . what’s that word again, Mill?”

“Benevolent.”

“Yeah,” Macky said, turning toward the creature.  “Benevolent.”

“That depends on who they come into contact with.  And the context of the meeting.”

“Are we going to keep talking in circles?”

“I wasn’t aware we were.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!”

“If you’re lucky,” the thing said. “They can be summoned.”

“What’s your name, anyway?” Capshaw said.

“I am one of the Outer Gods,” the creature said.  “My name is Nyarlathotep.”

Chapter 17

“What do we got here, boys! A couple of gumshoes looking fer trouble?  Is that what yer saying?”

Two oversized goons backed Rocky and Bullwinkle.  Rocky and Bullwinkle were the two trouble-boys in the front.  The oversized goons in yellow pinstripe suits and hats stood behind them. Rocky and Bullwinkle weren’t their real names, but that’s how Duke referred to them.  Their real names were Frankie Corleone and Muggins Avelone.  Frankie was the smart-mouthed one wearing the polka-dot black and white vest, gold chain, smart shoes, and dapper hat.  Muggins Avelone was the other one in a not so suave suit.

The two goons in back had smug looks on their faces.  They weren’t smiling or frowning, but they looked amused.  They all wore fedoras, crisp and clean.  Glad rags, they called them.  Frankie’s socks were bright white under the lampposts, polka-dotted like his vest.

Running into gangsters in the middle of the night wasn’t what Duke or Newt had in mind, but here they were.  Rocky and Bullwinkle’s gaudy jewelry flashed in the amber light.

These boobs were a dime a dozen.  They filled the city streets, shot Tommy guns, dumped bodies into rivers, smoked fat and stinky cigars, and played poker every night all night.  They liked to talk smart and jab roscoes into the small of your back just to watch you jump.

They had their own language, which only they could understand.  They liked to make concrete shoes, or drench you in syrup, then leave you in the hot sun and let the ants devour you.  They were known to interrogate you all night and make you walk home naked through rain, sleet, and snow.  It was how they amused themselves.  They had secret handshakes, passwords, secret smiles, and all sorts of secret stuff no one was supposed to know about, but everyone did.  They had their own brand of liquor and cigarettes. It was the same crime-ridden, underground, festering vomit throughout Innsport, and for Duke and Newt, it got nauseating fast.

“Look, we don’t want any trouble,” Duke said.  “We got enough on our plate as it is.  How about stepping aside and letting us through.  That sounds like a great way to spend the evening, doesn’t it?  Getting along.  It’s a new concept, Rocky.  You should try it sometime.”

“I told you not to call me that, gumshoe,” Frankie said, looking peeved.  “Whatcha doin’ walkin’ round late at night fer if you don’t want any trouble?  You get an earful of this fairytale, Muggins?  They don’t want any trouble.”

Thick-lipped Muggins was right beside him, otherwise knowns as Mugsy.  It was the ongoing saga of gangster meets flatfoot.

“Uh-huh.  Yes, boss,” Muggins said.  “That’s the stuff.  Sure enough.  Got it where its hummin,’ and it’s hummin’ fine.  Stick and stash.  You got the jim-joint.  They serve the bushmaster.  Greasy part left out to dry, but no one wants it, so who’d gonna leave it?”

Rocky smiled and nodded, as if ‘How could you argue with that?’  The two goons in the yellow pinstripes nodded, elbowed each other, and chuckled.

Duke frowned and shook his head.  The other goons didn’t understand what Muggins just said.  They spewed out nonsense and chuckled as if it were a secret code.

“Where did you get that boob, Rocky?” Duke asked.  “From the animal shelter?”

Bullwinkle, otherwise known as Muggins, chuckled.  “That was funny, wasn’t it, boss?”  He elbowed Frankie in the side.  “A corker!”

Duke was amused.  Newt raised his eyebrows.

Frankie frowned.  “He’s insulting