The Hunt

Stephanie Powell held onto the recurring dream. It began when she was fourteen, but this time it didn't end with Him just asking for her hand. This time she held on, forcing herself to give her answer.

The Dark One's gleaming smile was all teeth as he whispered her name, and she responded with his. Three times they did this and He materialized before her. He stroked her hand, her hair, leading her to a meadow ringed with thick trees. With a word they were both naked and writhing in passion.


She woke to her husband's frenzied chant.

“Ia! Ia!” High Priest Jeremy Powell yelled as he smashed the jar of dirt on the ground. “By mysterious Shub-Niggurath, in the withering light of the Creeping Chaos, I summon the terrible Messenger from beyond the Spheres, the Great and Horrible Nyarlathotep! The stars are right!”

He put his torch to the pyre. Flames gathered strength and began to lick Stephanie's feet, then her calves.

A gust of wind blew her hood back and the priestess glared at her husband.

“You DARE speak His name?” she growled, “You insignificant shit! He is no demon to be bandied about. Your sacrifice is nothing to His Unrighteousness! You'll never get it right, you miserable pisser.”

Her voice changed to her sweetest tone. “Heed the word of the Messenger's betrothed: I command the Gatekeepers to allow passage of the Goat with a Thousand Young, escort to my beloved Nyarlathotep, Voice of Azathoth the Blind God. Let the locks be sundered and my heart forever open!

The trees swayed as if in a fierce wind, branches thrashing, grasping whatever they could reach, impaling and clutching the acolytes, lifting them and pulling arms and legs from torsos. Three or four heads fell to the ground, still alive and shrieking.

The pyre exploded into a blue-green conflagration and embers the size of small logs shattered against Powell's followers. A gray-blue vapor rose from the mound of dirt, coalescing, taking form.

Stephanie laughed as two acolytes felt their own hearts burst, but couldn't die.

“Greatest Nyarlathotep,” Jeremy said in the sulfurous cloud, his composure gone. “All my life I have served only You, building my fortune and influence to aid in the destruction of these heathens. I've searched the world for the means to bring You, my Master in All, back to this realm. This I have done, and more, for Your grace. Now I demand more political influence so I will be better able to serve Your Unholiness and put into practice the lessons I have learned.”

“You demand?” the Dark One thundered, his voice that of countless tortured souls praising his name. “You seek to command ME? You belong to Me, maggot. I leave your fate with She who thrice called My name.”

Stephanie stepped from the fire, her cloak long since destroyed, blackened flesh hanging from bones and tendons.

“Now you will know your sacrifice, insect,” She said.

The woman's flesh was restored even as his own burst into flame, with just a little smoke at first, then tiny puffs of bursting blisters. Soon large chunks of burning meat were peeling off and falling to the ground. The pain was unspeakable, but the priest knew he would not die.

“My love,” Stephanie said, taking Nyarlathotep's arm. “I would have you let the innocents pass on. End their torment.”

“Granted. What of this unworthy turd?”

Stephanie giggled when she gave her answer.

Jeremy's tortured wails echoed down the hill.


The orderly rinsed the soap from the former congressman's unblemished skin, trying in vain to ignore the patient's tortured litany.

“Why won't she put out the fire? I love her. Why won't she let me die? I love her.”


Word Count: 635