Cthulhu's Daughter and Other Horror Tales Read online

  Cthulu’s Daughter and Other Horror Tales

  Rhiannon Frater

  Cthulu’s Daughter and Other Tales of Horror

  By Rhiannon Frater

  Kindle Edition

  Original Copyright 2012 by Rhiannon Frater

  All Rights Reserved.

  Interior formatting by Kody Boye

  Cover Artwork by Claudia McKinny of

  http://phatpuppyart.com/

  http://rhiannonfrater.com/

  http://astheworlddies.com/

  This book is a work of fiction. People, places, events and situation are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living, dead or undead, or historical events, is purely coincidental.

  Cthulhu’s Daughter and Other Horror Tales

  From the depths of the darkest waters of the ocean to the eternal darkness of space, Rhiannon Frater crafts taunt tales of terror to enthrall avid readers of the genre. Each short story explores a different type of monster from the shambling undead to devourers of worlds.

  In Cthulhu’s Daughter explore madness and terror as a young woman’s mind slowly unravels as a hurricane bears down on her hometown. Step back in time to witness one man’s flight from the ravages of war only to encounter a pack of werewolves in Fleeing and slink through the shadows of a mansion where an archaeologist obsesses over the mummy queen residing in her sarcophagus in Amunet. Encounter a sentient nanny robot hoping to escape deletion while struggling to keep her ward safe from her abusive employer in Flesh and Circuits, or rush along city streets as a seeing-eye dog tries to save her blind master in Stop Requested. Witness the struggle between a mortal mother and the vampire who wants to take away her ailing child and turn him into a creature of the night in The Two Mothers. And, finally, discover what terrors lurk beyond the reflective surface of a mirror in The Key.

  Each tale carries Rhiannon Frater’s distinctive stamp of stunning action coupled with realistic characters that the reader either cheers for or fears.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  The Old Ones

  The Monster with the Human Face

  The Vampires

  The Werewolves

  The Mummy

  The Zombies

  The Monsters from Beyond

  Dedicated with much love to those who have believed in me and my writing.

  Introduction

  I have always considered myself to be a novelist. Poetry and short stories are two writing formats that never appealed to me for many reasons. First, I can’t write poetry to save my life (or get a passing grade in school), and, secondly, any story born in my mind always feels like an epic.

  When I finally decided to try my hand at a short story, it ended up a novel. I tried again and ended up with a novella. Finally, I had to accept that though a short story may have a beginning and an end, it’s often just a piece of a much larger tale that we’re not privy to. It was only after I accepted this as my own personal truth that I was able to write a short story.

  The stories in this collection are all dear to me for a variety of reasons. In many ways they solidified my journey to becoming a well-rounded author. Quite a few of the stories previously appeared in anthologies and were written to fit a word count limit and certain themes. Each of these stories has now been unshackled from those constraints and revised to suit my personal vision of the tale. Two other tales have never been published before and one other was published online on a free story hub until the site started charging visitors to read a story I had posted as free.

  The common theme in all these stories is that there is a monster. Some monsters wear human faces while others are terrifying with their inhuman appearance. There are traditional monsters, monsters of my own creation, and one that wears the face of a mother.

  I hope you will enjoy these original tales of horror.

  Rhiannon Frater

  The Old Ones

  The horror tales of H.P. Lovecraft remain some of the most terrifying short stories ever written. Containing an all new mythos created by the author, the Old Ones captured the imagination of readers.

  Writers, filmmakers, artists, and many other creative sorts have expounded on the mythos well beyond the author’s death. One of my favorite horror films of all time, In The Mouth of Madness, is not an actual H.P. Lovecraft story, but bears a strong resemblance to his writing.

  I decided to write Cthulhu’s Daughter after a particularly vivid dream. Most of my stories start in dreams, but this one really haunted me for days afterward. I had started writing for anthologies at that time, but could not find a good fit for this short story. I had scrawled the idea down, but not the actual tale. I found the concept to be quite challenging and wasn’t sure I wanted to take on the story if I couldn’t find a good fit for it.

  When I decided to compile all my horror stories for this collection, I realized it was time to write the story that has haunted me for years. I hope you enjoy my contribution to the Old Ones mythos.

  Cthulu’s Daughter

  I am drawn to the dark waters.

  I stand at the edge of the pier watching the waves lapping against the algae-covered rocks and listen to the wind howl in my ears. Though the people around me admire the glorious blue sky, the brilliant sun, and the calls of the seagulls, it is the deep darkness beneath the waves that holds my attention. I long to be where the sun is banished and only blackness and cold enfold me.

  “Lulu,” a voice calls out, drawing my attention.

  My dark hair whips around my face when I turn to face my aunt. She stands a few feet away, concern etched on her already-craggy face. A hard life of waiting tables at different restaurants on Galveston Island and dealing with me has made her prematurely old and gray. I know I should feel some sort of remorse that life has been so hard for her, but I truly don’t. I don’t really feel anything toward her at all. I try to pretend that I care when she cries and wails about the terrible lot life has given her, but I know she senses my insincerity.

  “C’mon, Lulu. You’re going to be late for your appointment,” she says, holding out a hand gnarled with arthritis.

  The water whispers to me, calling to me, but I still don’t understand the words. It annoys me almost as much as my aunt’s watery blue eyes and the tightness around her mouth.

  “I don’t want to go,” I answer. “I want to be here.”

  My cousin, Daniel, scoots around her, his blond curls flying around his tanned shoulders. He is a year older than me and has always been my protector. Though he’s now nineteen and out of school, he always picks me up from the high school and makes sure no one is harassing me. Clad in shorts and a tank top, he is everything that is bright and beautiful in the world. I am his opposite. My black hair and eyes and sallow skin are everything that is dark and dreadful. But he doesn’t see that.

  “C’mon, Lulu,” he says, taking my hand. “We’ll go see the doctor and then go get pizza.”

  “I want to see the ocean,” I protest, trying to pull away. I’m aware of my disobedience, but I don’t care. The wind tugs at my dress and I fancy that it’s trying to topple me into the waves below.

  Blue eyes twinkling, white teeth flashing, Daniel leans toward me. “I’ll take you swimming if you go.”

  I relent immediately. Many times in my childhood I had been caught sleepwalking out into the ocean by family and strangers alike. I am not allowed into the water unless Daniel is with me. He’s a lifeguard and swimming instructor.

  Daniel guides me along the pier, his mother following. My aunt’s blond hair is mostly silver now and her face is heavily lined. I look nothing like the remaining members of my family. My aunt used to call
me her dark little cloud, but she doesn’t anymore. I am a burden she has to bear out of love for my mother.

  Once inside Daniel’s old jeep, I feel the crushing weight of the ground and sky grinding down upon me. I yearn for the darkness that rests at the bottom of the ocean. Tears stream over my cheeks. I tilt my head so my hair covers my face, hiding my despair.

  Galveston flows past the jeep, the city gleaming in the bright sunlight. Twisting in my seat, I stare over my shoulder at the ocean behind me. I see the smudge of grey on the horizon and know what it means. A storm is coming. And with the storm comes the voices.

  ***

  “They found you on the pier again,” Doctor Parker says in his monotone. “Would you like to talk about that?”

  “I like the ocean,” I answer, shrugging.

  Dr. Parker is a shadow to me. He never seems quite real when I look at him. His brown hair and brown eyes blend into his tanned skin. As far as I’m concerned he’s a talking brown blot.

  “But you always go to the pier. Do you know why that is?”

  I shrug. “Because that is where I am called.”

  “Called by whom?” The scratching of his pen against his notepad hurts my ears.

  “I’ve told you,” I say with exasperation.

  “The voices in the storm,” he says.

  “Yes.”

  My fingers play with the edge of my pale blue dress. I hate clothing. I find it constricting and even painful. I only wear the lightest materials and always dresses. I don’t like feeling confined. It took years for my aunt to train me to not undress in public and even more time to teach me to wear underwear. Today I took off my panties and threw them away when she wasn’t looking. I refuse to wear a bra. I smirk when I realize the doctor is staring at the dark patch of hair between my legs. I drop the hem of my skirt, swinging my feet back and forth.

  “Your mother was found on that pier,” he points out. “Do you want to talk about your mother?”

  An image of my mother’s pale blank face unfurls in my mind. Her blue eyes sightless, her blond hair a tangled mess, matted and dark with sweat. She doesn’t speak except to say my name, or so the doctor at the mental institution says. She’s been there since she tried to cut me out of her womb while screaming my name.

  My mother was a professional mermaid, swimming at an aquarium in Florida to entertain the tourists. She had briefly appeared as the stunt double for the star of a short-lived mermaid show a few years before I was born. I’ve seen videos and photos of her, blond, beautiful, smiling happily in her sparkling blue mermaid tail, but she doesn’t look like that anymore. Now she is a drooling madwoman locked away where she can’t hurt me or herself.

  “I don’t care about my mother,” I say at last.

  I really don’t care. My mother is far removed from me, but so is the rest of the world. I exist in a realm outside of the human mind. I know that now. I see the world far differently from everyone else. It doesn’t frighten me. Nothing frightens me.

  “You went to see your mother recently.” The doctor flips through my folder. “Your mother screamed when she saw you.”

  “She always does.” I shrug and slightly smile.

  My mother’s screams live in my dreams. I hear her screaming into the dark water, hear her thrashing in terror, I hear her crying out for help, but only being dragged deeper into the darkness below.

  “Why are you smiling?”

  Again I shrug.

  “The pier is where your mother was found after disappearing off the coast of Florida while scuba diving. No one knows how she got there, or who your father is. The police suspect she was abducted by someone with a boat and that she somehow escaped when it was close to Galveston. Are you looking for your mother? Your father? When you go to the pier?”

  My mother was found naked, bruised, pregnant, and catatonic on the pier in Galveston. My aunt told me that she didn’t say a word after they found her. My mother hadn’t spoken until she grabbed a butcher knife and tried to give herself an abortion while crying my name. My aunt had stopped her, saving me and my mother.

  The doctor sighs when I don’t answer. “You were ordered by the court to come to these sessions after you strangled a boy at school for mocking your father. Do you want to speak about your father?”

  My gaze shifts to the window. I can see the storm is spreading out on the horizon. Inside myself, I can feel the power brewing out in the ocean. I smile.

  “Lulu,” the doctor says trying to grab my attention.

  I slowly tilt my head toward him. “My father dwells in the darkness.”

  “You’ve said that before,” Doctor Parker says. He tries not to sound irritated as he flips through my folder. “When you say that what do you mean?”

  Closing my eyes, I let my dreams fill my mind. They’re always the same. My mother screaming into the murky water while the darkness consumes her and fills her with the seed that will evolve into me.

  “Lulu?”

  I open my eyes and lift my shoulders. “It’s something I know.”

  “How do you know it?”

  I’m bored with the session. Bored with his face, his voice, with everything. I hate the room we are in. It’s making it hard to breathe with its four walls and glass windows keeping out the sea air. I gaze with yearning at the storm that is approaching.

  The voices have started to call to me. I didn’t notice when they actually began, but now I can hear them growing in volume.

  “My father dreams,” I say at last.

  The doctor leans forward, his chair creaking. He studies a piece of meaningless paper in the folder that is full of lies. “You’re taking your medications on time according to your aunt. This is true, correct? You’re not spitting them out, Lulu? Schizophrenia is not something that will go away on its own. You must take your medications.”

  “I sometimes see his followers,” I say, ignoring the stupid man’s words. “Their eyes are black as the deepest water. They stare at me when I walk past them. They want me to say the words that will waken him.”

  “Lulu,” the doctor’s voice is sharper now. “Are you taking your medication?”

  I stand and stretch, my arms raised above my head, my hair falling to my waist. I can almost feel the dark water encompassing me, pulling me down to where my father dreams.

  “Lulu, sit down,” the doctor orders.

  I shrug off my dress and walk to the window. My pale fingers slide over the cooling glass. The storm is growing wilder. The water will consume Galveston and wash people into the sea to devour them like it has before. The dead are buried all over the island, their ghostly voices adding to the chant.

  Laughter bursts from my lips as I am dragged away from the window by my aunt and cousin.

  ***

  “She’s been taking her pills!”

  Daniel sounds so angry. I sit in the backseat of his jeep, my hands pushing up on the roof. I hate it. My nails rake at the canvas with agitation. I don’t like that he’s put the roof on.

  “Look at her, Daniel. She’s worse!” My aunt sounds defeated. She’s done dealing with me. She said as much when she forced me into my dress in the doctor’s office. She wants to place me in the same institution where my mother awaits my father’s rise.

  A bark of laughter erupts from my lips.

  Daniel pauses in packing the back of the jeep and comes around to make sure that I am still belted to my seat. I touch his face when he bends over me.

  “I don’t want you to die,” I tell him.

  His blue eyes fringed with golden lashes fill with sadness, not fear. Smoothing my hair with his hand, he says, “We’re not going to die.”

  “As soon as we get safely out of the way of the hurricane, we need to get her admitted,” my aunt says when he returns to the rear of the jeep.

  Daniel remains silent while they pack the last of the possessions they are taking with them to Austin. The hurricane that was supposed to hit Mexico has changed course and is speeding toward Galveston.
Everyone is afraid. I can see it in their wide eyes, frantic movements, and the swiftness of their words.

  The chanting on the wind is growing louder as I wait for them to finish. We’ll have to join the long lines of people escaping Galveston Island. We’ve done this before, during Hurricane Ike. That storm devastated the island, but I know it is nothing like what will happen when my father awakens.

  I close my eyes, swaying, listening to the chant.

  “Lulu,” my aunt says sharply.

  I open my eyes to stare into her face. “When the water comes, just close your eyes. It’ll be faster that way.”

  My aunt silently thrusts the water bottle and granola bar into my hands. I watch her climb into the front seat and I giggle. She stares straight ahead, ignoring me as Daniel drives us away from our squalid little house.

  The chant is growing louder now. I can feel it in my pulse and beating inside my heart. For years I have tried to discern the words of the chanters, but always failed. My mind struggles to grasp the words, to understand, to unlock the darkness inside of me so that I can become what I was born to be.

  “She’s family,” my cousin says from the front seat after a very long silence. “She’s like my sister. I can’t lock her away like you did with yours.”

  “My sister is catatonic. Her daughter is schizophrenic. They’re sick, Daniel! Nothing we’ve done is helping her. She’s getting worse.”

  I laugh with delight, grasping some of the words of the chant.

  My aunt casts a frightened look in my direction.

  I snigger.

  “What’s so funny, Lulu?” she asks worriedly.

  “My mother wasn’t calling my name,” I answer with amusement. “She was saying my father’s name.”

  “What?” My aunt frowns, lines deepening around her eyes and on her brow.