The Sad Demise of H. Hattlefield

"What attacked you?" I uttered through shivering lips.

"No god, that is for certain, for gods are immortal. This one I felled with only six shots. Have no fear, Wilcox; they are as much flesh and blood as you and I! Now, I am afraid I must show our visitor to her room. Make yourself scarce, won't you?" Hattlefield replied with a friendly nod. He did not seem unsettled in the slightest by the fact that he had murdered some loathsome monster of the other side now that he had returned safely with his new angelic bride. Hattlefield waved me away with an indifferent sweep of a hand and led the wondrous female creature out of the room and towards Hattlefield's own personal quarters. What lusty thoughts paraded dreamily through his perverse and twisted mind, one can only guess. Left alone, I warily crawled into one shadowy corner of the laboratory and quietly prayed for our souls and the souls of our children.

Some time passed, and I began to hear loud and desperate cries from the vicinity of Hattlefield's room. Frightened that his pseudo-honeymoon had taken a horribly unexpected turn for the life-threatening worst, I made my way down towards the throaty, screaming cries; knowing Hattlefield's cook would have left hours ago for the night and that I was the only one left if there was a need for quick rescue, I moved swiftly through the dark house. I found a suitable knife as my way went through the kitchen, and it gleamed sharply in my shaking hands. I prayed again, only this time that I wouldn't have to use the weapon at my disposal against the unsettling woman of the gods Hattlefield had brought back. Who would want to mark such lovely skin?

As I approached closer, I realized that Hattlefield's cries were not of terror or pain but of absolute and intense pleasure, and I wondered what kind of being could make a grown man cry out so and felt impelled to take a small peak at the proceedings at hand in Hattlefield's room. After all, with such racket going on, Hattlefield couldn't blame me for being slightly curious nor could he expect me to simply ignore the sounds of increasingly audible creaking or the banging bed frame against the wall or the glorious screams of copulation coming from his gasping mouth. If worse came to worst, I could always claim that I feared for his safety after hearing strange and peculiar noises echoing from his chambers.

I carefully and silently pushed the door open just a sliver to allow myself a view of Hattlefield's luxurious bed, and I simultaneously felt my shocked eyes widen and my hardening manhood tighten the crotch of my straining trousers. Such a sight I had not imagined in my most personal and secret fantasies, and my mouth gaped open, my tongue aching to taste the salty flesh of the woman of the gods.

She was on top of him, violently riding him in ways that defied physics and are not easily explained without a set of thorough blueprints and an extensive knowledge of the human anatomy for she expertly used body parts that I did not know existed and probably do not in any medical journal on Earth. Her hands were everywhere, literally; she seemed to be growing more and more arms and hands from her torso to caress and touch and rub everywhere and anywhere like a Hindu love goddess sprung to life. Meanwhile, her legs seemed to be both spread wide and tightly wrapped around Hattlefield at once, her fit silver thighs clapping fleshily against Hattlefield's pale white skin.

"Yes, goddess! Take me to the other side! I want to know its secrets!" Hattlefield yelled, lost in his own passionate alternate dimension, and the creature purred or whirred in its alien language in seductive response.

Her forked tongue fluidly slipped out of her mouth and lengthened by several feet, licking the side of Hattlefield's face and leaving a gleaming trail of green, glowing saliva from her perch on top of Herbert's body. Her hair danced around her, floating on an invisible liquid cloak of air like a wispy shining cloud, and small blue sparks of electricity seemed to blindly zap from one end to the other. I saw that Hattlefield was blindfolded, but it took me a moment to understand that he was not blindfolded by cloth but by a strange thin tentacle that grew from between the creature's bouncing orbs of breasts and wrapped around Hattlefield's head. His straining penis slid in and out of what I assumed was the creature's vaginal orifice, his cock coated in a thick glowing slime and straining for more.

The sight was both horrifying and intensely erotic at the same time. In retrospect, I admit that the vision was not a typical one and even sounds repulsive or revolting when taken in context, but to see it... oh, to see it... words cannot evoke the desire to have the creature at that moment for myself. I wanted to take my gleaming knife and plunge it through Hattlefield's chest to still his madly pumping heart forever, if only the silver, green-haired goddess could be claimed for my own.

Then the thing's head twisted completely around on its slim neck so that it faced me with weirdly shining emerald eyes. Hattlefield could not see this as he was still blindfolded by the obscuring tentacle, and I froze terrified to my spot, the deadly knife useless in my hand. She slipped her hellishly long forked tongue out and licked her green lips in what looked like lusty hunger, and I felt myself calling to her with all facets of my mind, mentally begging her to please me in the ways she was pleasing Hattlefield. As if hearing me, the woman nodded slowly, and in horror I watched as her beautiful head suddenly began to peel itself from the rest of her neck.

I silently urged my eyes with sickened desperation to close, but I could not free them from the sight before me as the creature's severed head forced itself away from its position on the woman's neck. The flesh tore open like dry parchment, revealing the horrid inner workings of the being's neck: crisscrossing veins and arteries and yellowish muscles clenching as they pulled forcefully taut. Some of the veins and arteries tied with one another on their own accord, forming stringy rudimentary legs and feet; and on these bloody and wobbly stilts, the head began to creep towards me in lurching strides, the angelic silver face still smiling its seductive smile and licking it pouty green lips. Hattlefield saw none of this, his own senses drowned by an overwhelming sea of passion and blinded by the tightened tentacle.

I stood rooted to my spot, fearful but also inexplicably wanting to discover what the creature's renegade head had planned for me. I dropped my knife, knowing that I would not use it, and its tip stuck erect to the floor as my own penetrating fleshy tool stood erect in my tightened trousers. I watched as the head crept closer, and two long spindly tentacles slipped out of the creature's ears and hovered in the air like quivering, gelatinous arms before they pushed the bedroom door farther open to fully reveal me in all of my passionate longing.

For the life of me, I cannot decide what is the more revolting thought: the fact that the creature might have held some kind of psychic hold over my poorly evolved mind, melting any sort of inhibition I might have against it, or that she had no hold whatsoever and it was merely my own longing that desired the thing to approach and conquer me completely. The implications of the latter could drive me to madness if I am not at the threshold already.

I observed helplessly as the creature's hideous tentacles reached through the air and unbuttoned my trousers with uncanny prowess and efficient speed. In an eye blink, my trousers and undergarments had been slipped around my trembling ankles, and the head regarded me with a look of explicit desire and need before its tongue lavishly whipped out and lashed around my erect throbbing flesh. I gasped out in unbelievable pleasure, never had I such a wondrous feeling course through my sensitive nerve endings and deliciously curl my toes in my shoes.

The silver head pulled itself over me with its tongue, wrapping its warm green lips around my hardened tissue and devouring me with sweet, tingly strides. I did not cringe, but my needy grasping hands found the sides of her silky face and helped guide her at a breathtaking and sensational pace over my masculine tool as I gasped for air with lunging, unfulfilling breaths. Never had a woman taken me with her mouth so completely or fantastically, and I became absorbed by the creature's spell. How much time passed is a mystery; time became a tangible thing to me deep inside the woman of the gods' infinite throat; minutes slipped around me like fog to be inhaled and exhaled and breezed away by breathy, longing sighs.

Finally climax overcame me, and my clenched eyes popped open to see I had been taken so deep that the helmet of my manhood forcefully pushed back the creature's glittering, silver skin at the back of her marvelous throat; it tented up at the spot like an infected bite of a gargantuan insect. Then my penetrating rod began to spew forth its copious load into the creature's open and willing mouth, her tongue catching every last drop of the oozing cream, and the tent folded back to normality as my emptying vessel became loosely limp once more. The creature closed her mouth now that she had stolen my hot batch of seed and hellishly smiled; a bit of bubbly cum dribbled out like drool but was suddenly licked up by a rapid flick of her snake's tongue.

"The masters of great Yuggoth thank you for your worthy sacrifice," the head croaked in an unspeakable voice, one not at all like the inarticulate chanting music it had uttered only minutes ago in Hattlefield's laboratory; this new voice was throaty, scratchy and somehow infinitely ancient, and it chilled me to the core of my being.

With mounting horror, I realized too late what I had done by giving my essence to this alien siren of untold and terrible worlds. For what despicable and detestable purposes the Old Ones and their minions could use my potent semen, one does not dare to guess without risking a short trip and a long stay at the nearest lunatic asylum. I think I went mad then and ran screaming insanities through the house with my arms flailing to a far dark room, where I flung shut the door with all of my prevailing strength before collapsing to the floor in a dead faint.

III. A Message in Blood

I awoke to the sound of thunderous gunshots and a scream, Hattlefield's voice crying out in harried desperation, "You will never take me to the audient void, foul thing! For if I go, I take you with me!"

The explosive crack of more shots, then Hattlefield again: "Stand behind me, darling! They are not immune to death, and neither of us shall perish without a fight!"

I at first thought Hattlefield had been speaking to his hideous bride, but the wet sucking sounds and clumsy footsteps resounding through the house belonged to some unwholesome beast that I had not yet experienced but Hattlefield had mentioned during his tale at dinner, a thing from the other side crossing over to claim what was rightfully its: the woman of the gods.

I pulled myself up with aching arms just in time to hear a terrible shriek, the inevitable death cry of my fateful friend followed by a cracking of bones and the wet splat of blood splashing across the walls as he was torn apart. I knew then that Hattlefield was no more, and I could do nothing to help him. In sinister fright and mortified terror at the loss of Hattlefield, my world went black once again as I fainted to the floor.

When my bloodshot eyes fluttered open for the second time, the entire house was dark and silent, no sound but that of the ticking grandfather clock in the hallway. I knew that I must discover for certain the fate of my friend and pulled myself up on wasted legs, exhaustion deadening my senses and allowing me to not think too closely on the sights I had seen and noises I had heard that unfortunate night. I worked my way to the door of Hattlefield's bedroom and with hesitant hands, I pushed the door open and peered at its repellent contents.

There was no sign to be found of Hattlefield or his alien bride in the bedroom or anywhere else in the house when I later investigated it room-by-empty-room, but written in dripping blood on the mirror hanging above the headboard of Hattlefield's bed was this horrendous couplet:

"That is not dead which can eternal lie,

And with strange aeons even death my die."

Filled with unholy trepidation, I recognized it from some of the blasphemous writings that poor Hattlefield had disastrously inherited from his suicidal uncle, and some of Herbert's words deftly rang in my pulse-pounding ears:"No god... for gods are immortal. This one I felled with only six shots... they are as much flesh and blood as you and I!"

The madness must end with me. It is for this reason that I washed away the message written in blood and destroyed every last bit of Hattlefield's machiavellian machine with a blunt instrument; nothing is left but a few metal shards and ripped electrical cords limp on the ground like split snakes. His house I doused with gasoline and set aflame, and now it is but a few flickering ashes that remain where it once stood. All that is left is me.

But I, too, shall perish. My task is complete for now the madness has been passed onto you with this very writing, and already your soul has been corrupted as your eyes have absorbed the madness that runs through my veins. I naively thought I could escape without finishing what the gods have called me to do, but my will is gone and now that I have completed my task, the end will come. Forgive me, for my will is now theirs, and I hear them at the foyer... slimy, sluggish, squishy steps... at my door now...

Praise to the Old Ones! Hail Dagon! Hail Yog-Sothoth! Hail Almighty Cthulhu!

The void... I see it now... the void! THE VOID!