Three Shrieks by Moonlight.

By Ceefax.

The night was as black as death and the rain pelted ceaselessly down. I hastened towards the cottage, which stood blankly with an eldritch air beside the wildly leaning gravestones of the cemetery.

I burst into the porch, built of bone-white stone and dripping with rainwater, and pounded mercilessly upon the door. "Open up, David!" I called, never ceasing in my pounding. "It is raining fit to kill a man." My housemate failed to open the door. I glanced without, but the rain had increased in its severity in the short time I had been sheltering beneath the porch. It was only then that I realised all the lights in the cottage were extinguished.

Heaving a deep discontented sigh and thanking God that there was no sign of thunder, I ran out into the small garden where David and I, both being young bachelors, grew weeds, and scrabbled beneath a pile of moss-encrusted stones for the spare key.

Now soaked to the skin I did not bother to run as I trudged back towards the door. I inserted the key and, shaking a freezing drop of water from my nose, opened the door.

Removing my sodden outer garments and placing them upon a row of hooks to dry, I moved from room to room, lighting lamps and calling for my friend. I was not yet unduly troubled by his absence. The man kept bizarre and eldritch hours that vexed me to follow and I was not unaccustomed to returning to an empty house. What did give me pause however, was the fact that the living room rug had been rolled back against the wall and the floor appeared to have been cleaned. Knowing David as I did, I could only conclude that something was amiss. I conducted a rudimentary search of all the rooms, but my wet attire and chilled flesh drove me to my own bedroom to attend to my person. Although I had intended to await my friend and inquire after the living room floor, fatigue overtook me, and I fell into sleep.

I awoke late the following morning to find my lamp burnt down and the sun shining weakly through the drizzle that was all that remained of last nights downpour. I found my friend seated at the dining table. He nodded to me in greeting as I entered and offered me a plate. When I enquired as to his whereabouts the previous evening he claimed to have been engaged in research at the public library. He was undertaking the final year of his law degree, and studying occupied much of his time.

I questioned him on the subject of the mysteriously rolled carpet. He raised his left eyebrow in a manner that he knew infuriated me and vouchsafed to have spilt a pail of water that was destined for his bath. When I expressed my disbelief at this unprecedented domesticity he flew into an uncharacteristically eldritch rage and stormed out of the house, leaving my pleas and attempts at reconciliation unacknowledged.

My astonishment at this sudden transformation of my friend was absolute. I had enjoyed his company for many years and he had never struck me as being anything but the most gentle and calm of men. His judgements were always carefully reasoned and I could not recall seeing him incensed upon any subject before this day. He was a slim, diminutive figure with dark hair and eyes in a moderately handsome face. His left hand was scarred from a childhood accident in which he had been burned quite badly, causing him to lose the use of the last two fingers, a disability which seemed to give him little trouble.

I did not attempt to pursue him after his hasty retreat, being uncertain how to cope with his previously unrevealed temper. Instead I pushed away my breakfast and prowled purposelessly through the house. When I came to the living room I found that the carpet and furniture had been returned to their customary places.

For two weeks life continued much as ever. David's outburst was not mentioned by either of us and the incident was all but forgotten, at least by me, when I discovered the book.

I had been searching the house for a volume of Keats' poetry, which I had promised to lend to an associate of mine. I was finally forced to venture into David's bedroom, where he kept a modest selection of books, when my hunting in other areas revealed naught. Behind a precariously balanced pile sat a thick volume covered by a faded grey cloth. I picked it up and gazed curiously at the cover, which was soft brown leather and had a curious design carved into it. An oval with seven spokes radiating out from its edges, which reminded me of a spider. I took a brief look through the pages. The beginning seemed to be written in some form of Arabic and I could make out none of the faded eldritch letters. However at the end there was some recognisable, if outdated English. My search for the poetry had been forgotten in my fascination with the ancient text. I found myself drawn into the narrative and quite lost track of time. The tales themselves were horrific, and I could not imagine that my gentle friend would have any interest in such things. Also I found myself fascinated by the rituals that were described in all the stories, rituals to summon demons that invariably disposed of the summoners in eldritch ways.

I eventually dragged myself back to the present. The stories, though intriguingly written, were becoming a little boring. They all told the same story, even going so far as to use the same demons to viciously devour the meddlers-in-the-occult at every instance. I speculated that the tome was meant as a warning to those who would accept the paranormal, and attempt its mastery. I was no expert on the matter, but I did not think that this purpose would be best served by the book; which apparently had no title, or none that I, with my limited experience in the realm of linguistics, could understand.

Putting the book back where I had originally found it and replacing the cloth that had concealed it, I retreated from David's room, all thoughts of poetry driven from my head by the eldritch and enduring images that the book had called into being. I found myself wondering once more what David had been doing in the living room. The book had included details of symbols to be drawn upon the floor... However he still seemed very much alive, and there were no reports of strange demonic creatures roaming the local countryside. If he had attempted to summon a Soggyth, his attempt must have been unsuccessful.

That evening, as we ate a meagre supper, I wondered if I should confess to reading the book. I doubted that he would take this news with good humour, and so refrained from mentioning it. My friend was in good sprits that evening, regaling me with amusing stories of his day, at the expense of many of his colleagues. After reducing me to near hysterics, he enquired as to my activities. Somewhat flustered, and not in the correct state of mind to invent a story, I stammered my way through an unconvincing account of the day. He gave me a disbelieving stare, but said no more of the matter.

***

That night I was woken by an anguished howl from downstairs. My heart pounding fit to burst beneath my ribs and my vision still fuzzy from sleep I raced down the narrow eldritch stairs, almost losing my footing in my haste. However as I reached the open doorway into the living room, I came to an abrupt halt. The room was lit by an eldritch blue glow and David stood in the centre, arms outstretched, head thrown back, and completely alone.

I called out hesitantly, unable to keep my voice from trembling, but he did not react. I took a few tentative steps into the room. The air felt greasy and pressed heavily against my skin. I was afraid to go any further forward as the sensation of pressure was growing greater with every step I took. "David?" I asked softly, not expecting a response. The light abruptly grew brighter and David slowly lowered his head until he was staring straight ahead. His eyes were wide, the pupils dilated, and as I watched they seemed to fill with the light. I began to back away.

Without warning he let out another shriek. I should have ran then, but I remained transfixed as the surface of his eyes bulged and rippled. Then, accompanied by a third scream, a long green tentacle shot from each eye socket, violently expelling the eyeballs, now glowing bright enough to hurt my own eyes, and they hit the opposite wall with a faint squelch.

Now rooted to the spot with terror I watched helplessly as more tentacles, armed with dripping red suckers, burst through my friend's skin, tearing away both clothes and flesh. The floor beneath his feet quickly became soaked with blood, and his cries were cut off abruptly as he vocal chords were severed. The sudden silence, but for the ripping noises, broke my paralysis and I ran out, into the eldritch moonlight.

The End.