The Merced Cthulhu
(A horror out of the Merced Jungle)

(Forward) Only in ancient manuscripts can the word Cthulhu be found, meaning ‘horror of the horrors.’ A horror that numbs you, one that defies even God and His mercy; the decipherment of the word can entangle both the pawn and the prey, it reduces human existence to a weak and stale plight. Thus, in this following story, one that is based on fact (and considered by the author as historical fiction, since he has added his own descriptiveness to the account, and his own adjectives, that in which he feels belong to the story), that took place in November, of 2008; we will see a jealous mindless monster in motion, and the pawn will be devoured (names have been changed).


(Andahuaylas)

I will tell you of Naomi, She left Andahuaylas, Peru, in the Andes crossing into the Mantaro Valley and Huancayo, on the 3rd of November, 2008, on her way to La Merced. You have heard such stories of horror in bits and pieces, I am sure, as you are about to hear now, where demonic things crawl in the night to do hideous works for hell, but man and woman have their own hell, besides hell chasing them with hell’s demons, but here is man’s own evil substance at work, no need for Satan to interfere, of what truth is or isn’t, for it will not matter, especially when lost—and in this story it gets lost, it passes by, dwells in limbo, forgotten, as jealousy takes over, this was Naomi’s fate, and peril.
As she reached her destination (having taken a bus), in the local called La Merced, in the central jungle of Peru, near Satipo, she went to live with her half sister and brother in law.
She stood at the door knocked, as a man slowly opened the door, and with long parade glimpses stared at her, eyeing her up from heel to the top of her head. She stood back, shadow-like against the sky. “I am Naomi,” she said, thinking maybe Laura’s husband, Cesar had forgotten what she looked like (they had not seen one another in a number of years, and she had come down to the rain forest area to work the fields).
He then asked her in, as glittering visions and the pageantry of glory filled his inners. In his mind, it was not of the drab day to day life he had expected life would be in the now near future, that was going to end, and a gleaming one set into motion, in the next few weeks, he had new intentions.

After the greetings were said and done, and Naomi got her private room, Laura noticed at the dinner table the first night, her husband had faint like glimpses toward her half sister (half sister meaning, both Laura, the elder and Naomi, had the same mother, although different fathers); as I was about to say, these glimpses were not unnoticed.
And so during the following week, Laura put on an invisible mask, to hide her jealousy, not that her sister was feeding into her husband’s scheme, but jealous manifestations of that illusion entangled her imagination to think so (but fundamentally it was not true).

It was during the second week, towards the end of it, that Laura could not bridge the gulf of evil she had created towards Naomi, awful blackness numbed her heart, unstable mind, and her spirit, soul and ego, all spinning, shaking her every bone, behind the shape of her fleshly body, to once and for all settle this account with the black winged creature who came to subdue her husband—Naomi.
She, Laura, was lovingly foolish, insecure with fear of losing her husband, burning like lit firewood in a heath throughout her being, pulling at her hair when alone in a private room, until the roots gave in, and dropped out. It would have seemed she was not a product of today’s ultimate civilization, soon to have a dim and un-guessed future.

Oh, far, far and far off was her mind this night, when she woke up in the wee hours, took a slug hammer, red-eyed, with a slayers heart, drifting she crept into Naomi’s room, in causal reality, she bent over, the bed, lurked with her distorted mind onto the face of her sister, and here is where the story unfolds: she produced in her cerebellum a pointless chaos, horrifically primordial and beast-haunted, recognized the mark she was going to strike, and like a great wind, she struck her younger sister in the head, forehead, temple, nose, she struck several times, bone breaking blows, and sent her into a dark form of existence.

The following day she died, driven only by some restless whim, to show her she did not die instantly, against all cosmic laws, she left this world, not like a crushed worm, but rather, spawning for new life.


Written 11-16-2008, after reading a report in the Correo Newspaper, Huancayo, Peru, the author was inspired to write in part, of its actual events… considered historical fiction—of the account, and murder of ?

Wolf Hunt in the Boundary Waters

(The Beasts of the Woods, and the Empty Barn)



The Beasts of the Woods

It was near daylight, out of the darkness came two glary-eyes, spread apart like an owls; scared, looking everywhichway. Then they’d vanish. He could see—had caught a glimpse of—and now was refocusing, could see, a barn in the far-distance, between the naked trees and his shivering body, under naked branches, where he was huddled, and now over him was an emerging dim-whitish blue sky, rising; he was slightly blinded by the pure white snow that surrounded him, and night turning into day (he was in a wooded area, called the Boundary Waters, in upper Minnesota, it was the winter of 1990.)
In the darkness of the night, he walked like an ape, hands hanging along his sides, half arched, like the Hunchback of Notre Dame, a million shadows creeping off from the trees, surrounding him, and sounds, the sounds he was forced to listen to, meaningless cries of the woods.
But now at daybreak he saw a barn, he squatted down, resting on his bare knees, to get a better view. He spat out blood and yellowish slime from his mouth, onto the pure white snow. He looked at it, puzzled.

One little meager barn in the middle of the woods, in the Boundary Waters, sleeping like a mangy mutt, under an empty sky,
‘That’s something else,’ he told himself, as if he never saw it before (in a zoning like stare).
As he moved closer to the barn, he saw an axe, from the distance he was at, it was small yet, and by the axe was a dead wolf, it was chopped up—so it appeared, now frozen in the cold February winter snows. The barn door was slightly wedged open, held open by frozen snow, tucked under it. He got a better look at the wolf, as he drew nearer, “That’s something else…” he said aloud, no one around to hear him.

In front of him, there were raw patches of dirt, earth-patches, that seeped out of the snow, crept through the snow, thus, he was seeing footprints, the snow did not cover up, twelve-hours prior, along with wolf-tracks (or wolf embedded naked paw marks), along side shoe imprints (‘…an attack that took place,’ his subconscious whispered to his awakening soul), perhaps trampled over by wolves, and other wild sources, within those twelve-hours: these shoe imprints, he noticed, that is to say, the marks of soles from shoes, indented into the hard snow against the dirt, the imprints, he was examining, looked like his shoe-soles, his steps, leading into the woods, not out.


The Empty Barn


The path led up to the barn; and along side that path, leading up to those two heavy doors, belonging to the barn, being kept open by the frozen snow, wedged under it—slightly he could now see torn up overalls, shredded pieces, large pieces of the fabric, frozen blood on those pieces, thrown on top of the snow as if a beast had, spin and twirled about wildly, and in the process, whirled it into the air, after tarring it off its prey.
As he looked down into the pathway, still baffled, and profoundly so, full of unknown emotions—slowly nearing the barn, glancing over his shoulder at those shredded trousers—a last look, he got thinking, and thinking deeper, trying to put the puzzle together.

“They are not going to catch me,” he said aloud, and was now wondering why indeed he said what he said, he thought deeper,
“Who is not going to catch me?”
The only living things at this living moment that surrounded him were the tress, those haunting looking branches that looked more like thin arms reaching everywhichway.
He could smell out the dead flesh of the dog, he could see a face of a woman crying, although he couldn’t untangle the riddle in his head, not yet anyhow.

Now he stood, knee deep in snow, crossing over from the path to the barn, some twenty-feet in front of him. He made a sound in his throat, and nostrils, as if to clear them, then listened for any sounds but only the winds came to his ears. He looked in all directions as if he was part of a hunt, and he was the one being hunted, had been the one hunted all night long.
Motionless he stood looking at two thick almost completely closed doors, doors kept open by wedged frozen snow, doors leading into the barn. He felt like one lone lost beast: he remembered now (staring at those doors), a woman had been with him, in her hand, right hand, she held a rose— he had given it to her, it was her eighth anniversary, and he had given it to her; he remembered her fur-like hat.
He looked up at the sky, the sun was slanted, the clouds had a tinge, a tint of red fire in them, red like the blood he saw sprinkled about the entrance of the barn doors (for now he was but ten feet in front of them).

She, the woman with the rose, had been feeding a young dog (wolf) in the barn (perhaps the wind carried her sent—to and fro within the barn, and outside the barn—as the wind seeped through the crevasses of the old wood, and seeped out of those two barn doors, one wedged open by frozen snow, and down hill), a delicate woman, she was waiting for her husband to return with firewood, they had been warming themselves up, along with the barn, that is previously to this lone moment, warming it up with splinters of wood found here and there within the barn, then by surprise ‘Attack!’ came (her husband outside of the barn looking for branches he could dry out for burning wood later), consequently, during this interval period, a pack of wolves, hungry, starving wolves, with yellowish eyes, doted with a black marble iris’, and saber like teeth, growling, snarling, paralyzed the twenty-eight year old woman, as they kept circling her.


The Attack


They, her and her husband, came to the barn accidental like, they had gotten lost in the woods, upon noticing it, were warming up in the empty, abandoned barn, perhaps a hundred-years old: away from the elements of the winter snows, and cold; they were not suppose to have been in the park, the Boundary Waters, a geological wonder of the world, but they couldn’t help themselves, it was an adventure, an eight anniversary adventure. They had snuck in.
And then, the wolves came, he now remembered, and he heard her screams, and he came running, he was gathering wood, branches to feed a fire in the barn, it was all awkward to him, but it was now being absorbed into his body like osmosis, as if his subconscious broke down some walls to inform him, all and everything, perhaps for self preservation, for his subconscious knew something he did not know, not clearly anyhow, and he was not yet putting the dotes together, and to his subconscious, time was of the essence.

He remembered now—much more clearly than he had a moment ago, it was his wife, when he arrived, several of those wolves were dragging her around the barn like a rag doll, as if they all were trying to let the others know whose property she was, or was going to be, and he took the axe lying on the side of the barn, one lone wolf to its side, as if it was a guard, and he killed it, bloody like, insanely chopping and chopping almost forgetting his wife was being dragged about, and then refocusing, seeing she was dead, and her limbs half chewed apart, he had ran, and they ran after him, tore his pants off him, he was half naked—(now he looked down at his shivering legs, yet he hand long underwear on, keeping him from complete lower body frost bite). And they hunted him. Had he not dug a hole in the snow, like an igloo, having the snow become his insulation, he’d have died of exposure, it covered his scent likewise.
‘Yes, yes…yes, yes..? it has to be,’ he was talking out loud (standing in front of those big barn doors), perhaps to his subconscious, ‘they were hunting me all night!’
Now tears poured down his face, he had had no time to grieve his wife, and they came automatically, like Nigeria Falls. But his subconscious was trying to tell him something else: ‘…grieve later.’
But why, he asked himself, the tears were still coming, it would only be a few minutes to give homage to his dead wife, who was no more than bone and marrow, and separated, thrown about like the bones at the Killing Fields of Cambodia; don’t my subconscious know I got to grieve! So he told himself as the tears came, pushing his intuition, his instinct, the things the subconscious uses to warn back further into his cerebellum.

He remembered his wife now, as he had peered through the barn doors, her screams—(tears now coming along with the darkness he enclosed with the palms of his hands around his face and eyes)—he remembered now, her trying to get up, and once getting up, she ended up running from the wolves in circles, them chasing her, like ten-cats after a little mouse, but they outpaced her, pulled her down slowly, steadily, until she drew near the floor of the barn and collapsed.


Now he opened up his eyes, drew his palms away, and wiped his tears on his shirt sleeve, and took in a deep breath, let out a sigh, and was about to tell his subconscious ‘…see, it only took a moment (but the moment was more like five minutes),’ and then he shook his head, started looking automatically in all directions, an instinct told him do. He listened to it, and he saw in the far-distance, a wolf, just staring, then he looked to the opposite side, another one had popped his head out of the woods, and then two were creeping down the path to the barn. His heart pumped up the words, “The hunt…” it was not over for the wolves, that was what his subconscious was trying to tell him.

He stood there looking, and the more he looked, and the longer he looked, the more wolves that appeared…and closer and closer they came, as if testing the water, he even noticed one wolf, a lone wolf, his subconscious told him, ‘This one, this wolf you are looking at, the one staring you in the face some ten feet away, this wolf is also looking at the dead wolf behind you, the one you killed yesterday, they are related,’ and now he noticed the wolf had revengeful eyes, and he noticed the several other wolves, were surrounding him, combing out a perimeter…!

Notes: written in the evening of 11-14-2008

'The Black Zone Horror'

Index

Part One: The Seatmate
Part Two: The Court Case
Part Three: The Dirge (Or poetic Justice)
Part Four: The Priest and Entity

Part One

The Seatmate

(September, 2007) Juan Carlos Perez left Huancayo, Peru, high up in the Andes, in the Mantaro Valley, after spending several days at a booth (stall) which his aunt had set up at the San Jeronimo festival of the Avelinos. The twenty-two year old boy caught a bus, with some forty-passengers, heading down the Andes, a seven hour night ride to Lima. He put his head phones on, found a window seat in the front of the bus, and fell to sleep.
In La Oroya (about one third of the way to Lima, the bus' destination), a miner's town, Manuel Pablo Silva, had purchased a ticket to Lima, and became a passenger; he sat in the back of the bus, put his baggage under the seat, and sat back. Ricardo Vila and his wife Maria, sat by him, he was calm, but his reactions seemed somewhat robotic.

The bus' journey had started at 1:00 PM, and got to La Oroya, at around 3:15 PM, where it had stopped for ten-minutes, and now was at Casapalca, a small village of miners high up in the Andes, almost at the highest point in the region. There the bus stopped to pick up more passengers, and most everyone got off the bus to stretch, buy bread and other things for the long trip. Matter of fact, Manuel had departed the bus, and was talking to one of the young woman he had seen on the bus, Ricardo and Maria nearby watching, but not assuming anything was awkward, or going to be awkward. Juan Carlos remained on the bus, tired from his long days of making and selling trout at the fiesta, one of the areas renowned foods. For the most part, the young man remained, or continued to remain obvious to his surroundings, and made no noise, consequently most of the passengers figured he was sleeping, and he was to the best of Manuel's knowledge.

From outside, leaning against an adobe (mud brick) building, waiting for the driver to give the ok to board, Silva noticed the calm reserved lad, peacefully in slumber, and upon embarking onto the bus, he, Silva, went back to his original seat, and pulled out his sack-looking as if it was filled with cloths and travel items, and went to sit in the seat by the young man, put the sack this time above in the overhead luggage area: and waited for the bus to go.

Someone had taken Ricardo's seat, and so he and his wife found one across from Manuel Pablo, thinking nothing of it, that it was just a seat change. In front of Perez and Silva, was a young woman, in her early twenties, she turned about looked at the two, smiled, she had talked to Silva a moment before, as they waited outside the bus, her name being, Ana Maria Zevallos, she had actually taken a liking for the so called minor.
((Interlude)(There was some kind of force that took over Silva, even his body seemed to shape change, acting more like a robot than a human, like something from outer space; nothing nature made on earth anyhow, he was made into a devil at that moment, at this juncture, a precocious monster, about to give out a terrible sight, in a way he was going to drag all those folks passengers, nameless passengers on the bus to his purpose, to inflict his doings, his gore, into their memories forever, they to him were the outsiders.))
Silva got up from his seat, no one really took notice, but then he opened up his bag, and pulled out a large butcher's knife, one used often for cutting up lambs and pigs and so forth, especial at festivals. Ricardo Vila, saw something metallic from his peripheral vision, and as he went to turn his head to get a better view, Manuel Pablo Silva, had stabbed Juan Carlos in the chest, he moved back hard in his seat, put his arm across his wife, woke her up, then Manuel stabbed the young man again, and again, rapidly (and swiftly Ricardo jumped up, pulled his wife out of harms way), as the man continued to stab Juan Carlos Perez.

Ana Maria, heard a bloodcurdling sound behind her; from the assailant came a hissing like sound as if from a snake or rat, from Juan Carlos, a shallow and thin cry, like a whimpering, and dying cat; then louder sounds came from the young man, sounds like a child's cry to the agony of a howling dog (the boy never knowing what really had happened, what was taking place, his murder in essence, at hand, at its most raw form; Ana Maria had turned about, choked on the scene and had made her back steps a noticeable distance from the assailant, toward the bus' driver.

The bus stopped, people started moving rapidly off the bus, not really knowing where they were, someplace between where they were and their previous last stop, about an hour from Lima, someone said Morococha, a small village close by; it was 7: 00 PM, and dark, and as one person after the other calmly disembarked the bus, Manuel dug his knife deeper into and around the neck, the collarbone, cutting through flesh and spine that linked to the neck and brain, cutting through its nervous system, and soft tissue, decapitating the young man right there and then.

The bus driver tried to get close to the assailant, but he swung swiftly the knife his way, he was now a madman looking for an escape route.

((Interlude)(We don't know what is in the brain of the one person next to us, the stranger that is; is it filled with superstitions perhaps, transcripts of some eternal evil spirit, who at a time and place will hum to the brain to wake it up and inflict pain at its will, these terrors are of an older standing, they date beyond ones own remains, the soul is covered up in these individuals, it can't even peep out to see the shadow's pre-existence, before it enters the core of the brain, hidden in some vault not even he can enter. And so it would seem this was the case here, as strange and misguided as it seemed, and senseless.))

Now everyone was outside of the bus, everyone but the corpse and Manuel, who was pacing back and forth on the bus, while a truck driver gave the passengers wrenches and crowbars, to protect themselves, as well as to keep the killer at bay, and on the bus. Within the hour, several police cars were at the scene, and the media came in by helicopter. Manuel tried an attempt at escaping out of a broken window he broke, which was to his dismay, for then he was subdued by several police officers.

((Afterward)(He, Manuel, paused exhausted before he tried to make his escape, breaking the bus window; fatigued, he saw the whole group of cars, and familiar passengers outside of the bus, the media, almost in bewilderment: he knew what he did, what he had done, he was holding the young man's head in his hands, then placed it back onto the open cavity called once a neck, onto its torso, it was actually pre meditated, he planned it, found the weakest link in the chain, Juan Carlos, and crystallized his mission with the exact moment, with no hesitation, by anointing him to be the sacrifice, he would produce fresh terror, he did do that, he who had been silent heretofore, spoke only in painful cries, while the murderer rambled on, hissed like a snake, interrupted the whole bus. There was no twin brother here to say 'I did it, not him.' That face, now with red eyes, that half face, the other half belonged to someone else, not man. Strange gestures, incantation culminated in his pacing back and forth on the bus, in obscure consciousness, he was in an ultimate frenzy. No one dared get too close to him. But that was all, except, not a syllable could anyone understand that he said, it was as if he was uttering another language, not Spanish, nor English, and those deafening hisses, a shattering ringing seemed to be in his head, he held it several times.))

Part Two

The Court Case of: Manuel Pablo Silva


Manuel is acting as his own lawyer, spokesman, and addressing the Jury, on a retrial of his case.

(Two years later) "It is true, I put six stab wounds into my seatmate's chest on the bus, and beheaded Him, yet I wish to show you in the following statements I am not the murderer. You have called me a madman, but the jury never looked at the whole picture two years ago, now I hope they will. You need to look at the horror that was inside of me, the one Father Bruni has now expelled out of me, and this is the murderer.

"Of the two years I spent at the sanitarium, weekly the priest, Father Bruni saw me, and worked with me on ridding me of this ghastly creature whom I was servant to, and now I am freed of his infinity or credible doom.

"Therefore I plead to you, during this retrial, not to look so much at Juan Carlos Perez, who was the victim, he has been revenged, twice over, because I have served two years in jail, and now this demonic force that was in me, cannot enslave me again.

The priest has in actuality, expelled, this demonic force, and sentenced him to go back into a black zone, where he came from. I repeat, I personally was the tool for the murder of Juan Carlos, but the force in me was the murderer. In so saying, I purged myself of this horror that used me to avenge mankind.

"You must understand there are black zones and shadows, close to all our daily activities, where evil spirits lurk and seep into, searching for bodies to operate in, thus the evil spirit has now a passage once he enters his victim, and through man, he operates in the physical. In such cases man becomes possessed and has little to do with the reckoning, or consequence thereafter. He must follow and strike like a robot, lest he himself becomes consumed by the diabolical phenomenal within him.

"Yes, it is morbid, but this evil spirit that is reclusive within a person, produces an ongoing weakness within him, which creates, in time, a secret life between him and you. At times you dismiss him as simply your imagination, because of your noticeable bizarre behavior and thoughts, despite the greater sense of right and wrong, you fall victim to him again, and march to his tune, the one who came out of the black zone, I am talking about, found an opening for him to enter and he did, namely me. He may at this point, even call you kindred, and think that he actually is. But he really is just an ancient subduer, who crumbled eons ago with his kind.

"His breath, goes into the deepest and darkest zones within your mind, spirit and soul, deceptive he is, and has in essence homesteaded your body, half-yours and half his, and he takes your half when aroused. He has become retarded from his long existence in an uncoddled world, in the black zones, which parallel ours.

"He knows the veritable code that you are made up of, and he has used it to his advantage with me: to the people of the Jury, I say with this dubious conduct he used on me, place guilt where it belongs, Judge me not for this murder, and give it to him, for you have punished me, because you cannot capture him."

The Juries deliberated for eleven hours, in as much as they wanted to keep Manuel incarcerated, they believed his story, and Father Bruni backed it up. As a result, his case was somewhat dismissed, he was left in the care of Father Bruni, and the probation department for the following five-years, and should any criminal charges be filed against him in the meantime, he would be subject to a third trial, and most likely, be subject to the full crime of murder and its consequences, but this time with no insanity plea.

Part Three

Poetic Justice or the Dirge


Manuel Pablo Silva, firmly believed he was dealing with an individual that had once inhabited the world long before mankind, a race you might say, of another era, who in having pseudomemories (and secrets given him from a supernatural race, even more powerful than his), who at one time inhabited the earth, and lost it, by being ostracized from it, and cast into this so called black zone.

With this entity within Manuel, it is obvious he wanted control, a priority that shows power, as all demonic imps or devils, evil spirits, want; but during the interim, they go searching window to window, creeping to see who is the most vulnerable, the weakest ling in the chain, this was how they discovered Manuel.

It is often funny I think but for every man alive, there seems to be an available woman, no matter how strange, ugly or bloodthirsty the man may be. And Manuel found this lovely Argentine girl to keep him company, down in Miraflores, a section in Lima. And they saw a lot of each other for several months. But something did take place, she got pregnant, and she got scared Manuel might go tell her parents. Not a real good reason to do what she was going to do, but often times our selections are like to like, meaning, you don't necessary pick out a mate that would be good for you, but one to suite your fancy, and that is what Manual did, picked one to his fancy, like two peas in pod. And when he was sleeping, he was stabbed to death by his new girlfriend, she cut up his body, put the parts into a suitcase, and went downtown Lima, to the Rimac River, and left the suitcase there, until it stunk to the high heavens.


Part Four

The Priest and the Entity


He, Manuel had told the priest during one of their sessions, before he was killed, told him, Bruni, of his weird dreams, more on the order of pseudomemories of his entity. These dreams were extracted by the entity within him, who told him, he had come from the Paleozoic Age, and had hid in the underground chambers throughout the world, for 125,000-years; here he lived amongst the cyclopean masonry, and megalithic walls that had sunken with the many earthquakes throughout history.

Through his dreams, the entity, explored his path with Manual, he was taken into the same objective reality, deeper and deeper into the crust of the earth.

Around this time, the entity got curious, and Manual's sleeplessness prevailed, inflicted by the demon, and next came impulses in his brain, the entity knew how to shut it down, almost like having a renter vacating the premises, and the black zone, with its horrors took over.


Written August 1, 2008© Dlsiluk