Litany of Dreams: An Arkham Horror Novel by Ari Marmell

Author:Ari Marmell [Marmell, Ari]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Tags: Fantasy, mystery and detective, Arkham Horror
Publisher: Aconyte
Published: 2021-04-13T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

The sound began in that instant, as if summoned by Woodrow Hennessy’s declaration. It came from overhead, somewhere on the darkened second floor: an uneven pattern of thumps, like staggering footsteps, but not quite.

Thump… thump-THUMP. Thump… thump-THUMP.

Slowly growing louder as they neared the broad staircase.

Thump… thump-THUMP.

Billy turned his flashlight on the stairs, but the beam was weak, illuminating only a tiny pocket beyond the topmost step. He swept it, first to one side, then the other, hoping to see whoever – whatever – might be moving along the landing, but between the feeble luminescence and the shadows cast by the wood-barred railing, anything up there remained invisible.

In the far reaches of his mind, nearly as distant as the litany he fought constantly to keep locked away, Elliot wondered if that felt right, if the light hadn’t seemed more potent mere moments before.

Then they heard the voice.

It was low, quieter than the shouting of the other corrupted they’d encountered, yet somehow stronger, more zealous.

Thump…

“Isslaach thkulkris, isslaach cheoshash…”

…thump-THUMP.

“Vnoktu vshuru shelosht escruatha…”

Elliot recoiled, crying out, the chant pounding against his skull, against the magics warding him. Billy’s flinch and the sudden pallor of his skin made it clear he felt it too.

Thump…

“Svist ch’shultva ulveshtha ikravis…”

…thump-THUMP.

“Isslaach ikravis vuloshku dlachvuul loshaa…”

Though the flashlight now shuddered in his hands, Billy kept it trained above – and finally the figure stepped into the woeful puddle of light.

Elliot’s scream was one of a horror confirmed, not a horror discovered, for he’d already known. He’d recognized more than the words; he knew the voice that uttered them.

Thump…

“Ulveshtha schlachtli vrulosht chevkuthaansa…”

Chester Hennessy stood unblinking, hair and skin and tattered clothes stiff with dried mud, blood, and God knew what else. With every second step he seemed to fall forward, barely catching himself with the opposite foot before he completely toppled. The effect was a peculiar, almost alien back-and-forth sway that no thinking man could have maintained for long.

And still the venomous liturgy poured from him, phrase after phrase, verse after verse, at least twice as many as Elliot had heard from any of the corrupted before. They hammered at him, called to the partial echoes already embedded in his soul. He shook, his skin clammy with cold sweat. This was a power he’d never experienced, as far beyond the chanting he’d heard so far as that chant had been beyond ordinary speech, and he knew the protections on which he and Billy were counting could hold for only minutes at best.

“Chester!” His cry was loud, carrying despite the tremor in his throat. “Chester, it’s me. It’s Elliot.”

Chester heard, he must have. Yet he showed no reaction at all, let alone a hint of recognition. He took two steps down the stairs, again catching himself well beyond the point where physics and human anatomy demanded he fall, and the litany continued without interruption. When he finally reached its conclusion, some dozen or more lines beyond those Elliot had heard before, he simply began again from the start.

“Isslaach thkulkris, isslaach cheoshash…”

“Damn it, Chester.

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