Squid Pro Quo 1

It was purely an evolutionary quirk that had made the thing, which appeared to be pulling itself through a tear in the very fabric of reality, resemble a giant squid. Apparently reality was akin to a crystalline structure suspended in some liquid hyperreality that the varying membranes separating different multiverses hung in like ice in cold water. This thing was born out there in the intense pressure regions of ultimate truth and this form was the one most suited to navigation. Others might have considered it a god but he considered it a damned nuisance.

The belief gun, charged up with oneiric energy from the dreamcatcher, barely made a dent in its cohesion matrix. This one seemed a lot more robust than the last one. It was ironic that the fact he had experience with these things may actually be the determining factor in their increased strength. If belief was a key sequence that unlocked the upper dimensions, if it was indeed a beacon which drew these creatures in, then every time that he encountered one he was going to become a stronger draw for them.

He had been sleeping so he supposed that he must have been dreaming. Becoming an anchor for the bloody things was kind of antithetical to someone who spent most of his life dealing with supernatural infestations. He wasn’t sure what this bugger was called because he rarely stopped to note their names down in his little black book before he shot them point blank between the eyes.

He reached into his backpack by the bed and produced a null-bomb. The tentacle slapped wetly against the wall leaving a trail of gelatinous goop hanging. Shit – he’d only just decorated. The bomb hit the thing in the eye and blew up – the blast wave was a strange phenomenon: the null-bomb healed reality by planting disbelief in the wielder and detuning the immediate area so that any intruders lost their purchase. What could you say it was? A reality enema? The existential equivalent of an electromagnetic pulse generator?

He wondered whether or not the thing might actually taste like what it resembled – he liked calamari so if it proved to have a nice flavour then he would be well in. It did not bother him that he may be eating one of the elder gods. He picked up his cellphone and hit number 1 on the speed-dial.

‘Bailey?’

‘Yup? Wass cookun, Deek?’

‘This Cthulu-type thing that manifested in my bedroom, can I eat it?’

‘Maybeso, not sure as I’d chance it, mate, but maybeso.’

‘You have any recipes?’

‘I’ll text it over ta ya. Do us a favour though, eh? Be careful – never know what eating that shit might do ta ya.’

He picked up the huge snake-like limb and made his way to the kitchen. It was going to involve some chopping to get this down to the right size for frying. It was still wriggling slightly and he was praying to whatever agnostics prayed to that it possessed no sentience. He put the oil in the pan and got it so hot that it was spitting – so hot that it would be a fight to stand to near it. The smaller, finely chopped pieces were then flung into jaws of this frying pan contained hell.

‘Nuke the fucker!’ he cried, having at the remains of the animal he had slain and intended to eat.

It tasted, even with lemon and some garlic salt on it, what you might call rum. Not entirely good in a slightly unnerving way.

He hit 1 on the speed-dial again.

‘Erm, Bailey.’

‘Yes, Deek?’

‘I think I may have made a mistake.’

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One Response

  1. Hah, cool. Continuing the tradition of continuing the tradition of Lovecraft. A ultramodern take on the mythos with humour. Cool mindwarp techno existentialist scifi waffle jargon too. Like this one a lot.

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