Haggopian and Other Stories

And from Feery’s Notes On The Cthaat Aquadingen—though Millwright had warned that Feery’s reconstructions and translations were often at fault or fanciful in their treatment of the original works—Bart had culled the following cryptic information:

Lest any brash or inexperienced Wizard be tempted to call forth one of ye Drowners—be it Yibb-Tstll or Bugg-Shash—this Warning shall guide him & inform him of his Folly. For ye Drowners are of a like treacherous & require even ye most delicate Handling & minutest Attention to thaumaturgic Detail. Yibb-Tstll may only be controlled by use of ye Soul-searing Barrier of Naach-Tith, & Bugg-Shash may only be contained in ye Pentagram of Power. Too, ye Drowners must be sent early about ye Business of them, which is Death, lest they find ways to turn upon ye Caller. Call NOT upon Bug-Shash for ye sake of mere idle curiosity; for ye Great Black One, neither Him nor His Cousin, will return of His own Accord to His Place, but will seek out by any Means a Victim, being often that same Wizard which uttered ye Calling. Of ye two is Bugg-Shash most treacherous & vilely cunning, for should no Sacrifice or Victim be prepared for His Coming, He will not go back without He takes His Caller with Him, must needs He stay an hundred Years to accomplish His Purpose…

Nuttall supplied the smallest contribution towards their knowledge of the horror lurking in the darkness. This fragment was from a heavy, handwritten tome whose title had been carefully removed from its spine by burning with a hot iron—and it was a fragment. Of the Filler of Space, the book related only this:

Bugg-Shash is unbearable! His lips suck; He knows not defeat but brings down His victim at the last; aye, even though He follows that victim unto Death and beyond to achieve His purpose. And there was a riddle known to my forefathers:

What evil wakes that should lie dead,

Swathed in horror toe to head?

“That’s from the Necronomicon!” Millwright cried when, towards dawn, Nuttall found this piece and read it aloud in the brightly lit study. “It is Alhazred!” The occultist snatched the book from the other’s hands to pore eagerly over the page—then threw it down in disgust.

“Only that,” he grumbled, “nothing more. But it’s a clue! This book is simply a hodge-podge of occult lore and legend, but perhaps the Mad Arab’s Necronomicon—in which I’m sure those lines have their origin—perhaps that book contains more on the same subject. It’s certainly worth a try. Fortunately, the blacker side of my reputation has not yet reached the authorities at the British Museum. They recognise me as an ‘authority’ in my own right—as a genuine scholar. Through them, I have access to archives forbidden to most others. I admit that these scraps we’ve found worry me…horribly! But we must remember that every magical conjuration has its dangers. So far in this business I have—well, I’ve escaped justice, so to speak. Yes, and I hope to do so again.

“If there is a way to…deflect…this horror, then I now believe I stand every chance of finding it, though that may take some time. This clue is the one I needed.” He tapped the book with a fingernail. “If not…at least we know what we’re up against. Personally, well, you will never find my home wanting for a gross of candles; I will always have a store of dry batteries and electric light bulbs; I will always carry on my person at least one cigarette lighter and a metal box of fresh, dry matches. Bugg-Shash will not find me unprepared when darkness falls…”

• • •

Through the morning, Bart and Nuttall slept and, even though daylight streamed in across Millwright’s balcony and through his windows, still the electric lights burned while candles sank down slowly on their wicks. In mid-afternoon, when the occultist returned in cautious triumph, the two were up and about.

“I have it,” he said, closing the door of the sumptuous flat behind him. “At least, I think so. It is the Third Sathlatta. There was more on Bugg-Shash in the Necronomicon, and that in turn led me to the Cthaat Aquadingen,” he shuddered. “It is a counterspell to be invoked—as with many of the Sathlattae—at midnight. Tonight we’ll free ourselves of Bugg-Shash forever…unless…” As he finished the occultist frowned. Despite his words, there was uncertainty in his tone.

“Yes?” Nuttall prompted him. “Unless what? Is something wrong?”

“No, no,” Millwright shook his head angrily, tiredly. “It’s just that…again I’ve come across this peculiar warning!”

“What warning is that?” Bart worriedly asked, his face twitching nervously.

“Oh, there are definite warnings, of sorts,” Millwright answered, “but they’re never clearly stated. Confound that damned Arab! It seems he never once wrote a word without that he wrapped it in a riddle!” He collapsed into a chair.

“Go on,” prompted Nuttall, “explain. How does this ‘counterspell’ of yours work…and what are these ‘warnings’ that you’re so worried about?”