Cthulhu on the Rocks, Part 3
S.A. Garcia
Today's second major explosion rattled the cooling night air. Dirt, wood, nails, glass, portraits, scales, guts and too many other grisly things hit Claude's aching back. He was completely exposed when he tried to protect Pete.
What? The nasty assault halted hitting him. Ugly bits still thudded around him but not into his flesh.
What had stopped the attack? Claude peered back. Huh, Death's black cloak protected them from the unseasonal body parts shower. Death's generous gesture supplied Claude with a Full Monty view. Odd to see that Death pranced around sans even skimpy black silk underwear. The view made Claude decide he'd never kick Death out of bed for jerking off against his back. The glowing red eyes still gave Claude the willies, but after that, Death looked mighty fine.
Death grinned in cliché toothiness before he winked at Claude.
Ulp.
The shower lessened until nothing else burrowed into the abused ground. The cloak snapped shut. Death turned toward the house or, Claude corrected his thought, where the ugly house had stood. A smoking rubbish pile met Claude's startled stare. No surprise, the pile looked more attractive than the ugly house had on any given day.
Why did Death appear thoughtful? "Lord Death, who won?"
"I call the contest a draw, but at least Cthulhu yanked Gorgotha to his dimension, which was why his body exploded. It will be a long time before we see Gorgotha again. As you like to say, they don't take kindly to Gorgotha in R'lyeh."
"Where's that?"
"Misguided people claim it's a city deep in the Pacific ocean. They're the same people who think Cthulhu isn't alive and munching. Trust me, R'lyeh is in another dimension, one you don't want to plan a vacation in any time soon.
"Right." At this point Claude decided to agree and smile. All this talk of other dimensions and bizarre realms aside from Georgia made his teeth hurt. Here he thought Florida's panhandle was untamed and savage. At least folks down there didn't eat other, well, at least not in public.
"Grand, looks like we're done here." Death tucked his silver scythe under his armpit, wiped his pale hands, spit, clapped five times and stomped his left foot.
What an eccentric performance. "Is that a magic spell?"
"No, I just needed a little shake out. Call it a nervous tic." Death adjusted his cloak. His glowing stare focused on Claude. "Well, this has been rewarding, but now I need to collect souls."
Now wait just a second! Claude patted Pete's uninjured cheek. Sweet Pete seemed more oblivious that normal. "Wait! Pete hasn't stirred yet. I fear he's in serious trouble."
Death cocked his head in mocking consideration. One bony finger gestured to the heavens. "Ah yes, I believe the serious trouble is called a coma."
Rage much like Claude had experience when the tentacle still wiggled in his arm flooded his senses. "Nooooo! You said he had passed out."
"He then he slipped into a coma. You never asked me what would happen next to the dunce."
The condescending answer fanned Claude's rage. He scrambled to his feet, tripped and almost crushed the prone Pete. Dramatic gestures just were not his forte. Once he managed to stand, Claude waved a meaty fist at Death's smooth face. "You dirty trickster, you said you had marked him. Why do that if you plan to let him languish in a coma? Don't you regard Pete as special aside from him acting dumber than a stump? You foul sonabitch! We don't like your kind—"
Death held up a threatening hand. His glowing eyes seemed to grow larger and redder, like a vampire's after a serious blood bender. The gruesome sight shut Claude up.
