Cthulhu - Something in the Mud (short story) Read online

Cthulhu

  Something in the Mud

  Copyright 2014 Nikolai Bird

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  Acknowledgements

  Story

  About Nikolai Bird

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  Acknowledgements

  Thanks primarily to H.P. Lovecraft but also others for Cthulhu and his kind.

  What is Normal?

  “I’m getting old,” said Jack. “31 years last week and feeling it, and I’m bored.”

  Cooper chuckled the way he always did when Jack talked rubbish, when the man had nothing to add.

  “I’m bored, you hear?”

  “I heard you, sir. Perhaps a game at the club?”

  “Suppose I could,” said Jack looking at his wristwatch. Nearly lunch time.

  It had been nearly four years since the Armistice. Four years of getting back to normal, but there was no more normal. The England of old was no more and the world had changed. What had he accomplished since then? Not much. His father wanted him to join him in the world of printed news, but Jack would not have last a week. He tired too quickly of work and got distracted by any little thing, especially the kind with long legs and a pretty smile.

  “I need to find a proper job, Cooper.”

  “I thought you had a job with the Foreign Office, sir.”

  “No, they just call on me… us every now and then.” When they want something done on the quiet. A little snooping, a little clandestine diplomacy. Jack rather enjoyed that, but they did not call often. It was due to his efforts in the war with the “Odd Jobs” and his talent for the lingo, having always been one for languages. French, German, Latin, a little Greek, some Spanish and even a smattering of Arabic too. Mandarin, now that was a language he needed to master, but he had yet to force himself down to the library to make a start. It would have been useful in the case of the Black Finger.

  Of course he did a little snooping outside of the diplomatic service too, but little is ever that exciting. Recently Lady Penelope Young asked him to investigate her husband, Sir Lawrence, a proper boor, whom she suspected was having an affair. Jack could have told her there and then that he was, but chose instead to decline the case. He had not fallen so low yet, but he did need a good case; something to get the blood pumping. Something to challenge both mind and body. Or was that entirely true? Did Jack really crave the chase? He had not forgotten the horrors he had seen. Perhaps it was duty? There was a war going on beyond that of nations, a war that had yet to be won, if there was such a thing as winning. At least the inevitable could perhaps be delayed. Some things are too big fight; too horrible to even consider challenging.

  “Get the Bentley ready,” Jack told Cooper, his soldier servant, a good man who had been with him since the beginning of the war. “Tell Sally I’ll be eating out.” Sally was Cooper’s wife and a dear girl, full of wit, charm and beauty. If she had been born into money she would have worked her way to the higher echelons of nobility by then, but she seemed happy with Cooper whom she obviously loved, and Cooper adored her, the lucky blighter.

  Lucky? Lucky because she had married him, and they had each other. Jack too had been in love once, but that was another story. Now he made do. Lady Penelope Young did for a while.

  On returning from the club after having lost a game of cards to that oik, Archie Brown, whom Jack actually quite liked, he found the afternoon post had arrived and threw himself down into the white settee and picked out what looked like a letter of possible interest, postmarked the day before.

  “Postal service is slowing down, Cooper.”

  “So you keep saying, Captain,” said Cooper from the other room. The cheeky sod.

  This one was sent from West Wittering. That meant that it was probably from Jack’s former Odd Jobs commander, Colonel James Sinclair whom he knew to have a summer house down there which Sinclair had often said he should visit.

  On opening the letter, Jack was proved right. It was an invitation to come and spend the weekend at Marsh Sand House, his “little getaway” as he called it. There would be other guests for dinner on Saturday too, including the Colonel’s granddaughter, Olivia. How old must she be by now? In her twenties probably. The weekend had potential.

  “I shall be away for the weekend, Cooper. Pack my bags will you?”

  “Of course, sir. Will you be requiring my services?”

  “No. Going solo, old boy.”

  “Should I include the kit?”

  The kit - a pack of essential gear that can and often had come in handy, but never for a spring weekend away. “No. Perhaps just the Webley in the glove compartment.” Jack never liked going far without his trusty service revolver. It had seen duty on more than one occasion since the war. Of course, the only danger round West Wittering was the sucking mud and the risk of losing a shoe, but it did no harm to have the pistol to hand.

  It would be nice to see the Colonel again. It would be interesting to see Olivia too.