A Secret Guide to Fighting Elder Gods Read online

  A Secret Guide to Fighting Elder Gods

  Chesya Burke

  J. C. Koch

  Jonathan Maberry

  Seanan McGuire

  Premee Mohamed

  Lisa Morton

  Weston Ochse

  Stephen Ross

  Lucy A. Snyder

  Josh Vogt

  Tim Waggoner

  Wendy N. Wagner

  Douglas Wynne

  Edited by

  Jennifer Brozek

  Pulse Publishing

  Contents

  Foreword

  Away Game by Seanan McGuire

  The Icarus Club by Weston Ochse

  Stormy Monday by Chesya Burke

  Pickman’s Daughter by J. C. Koch

  Us and Ours by Premee Mohamed

  The Art of Dreaming by Josh Vogt

  Visions of the Dream Witch Lucy A. Snyder

  The Tall Ones by Stephen Ross

  Just Imagine by Tim Waggoner

  Holding Back by Lisa Morton

  The Mouth of the Merrimack by Douglas Wynne

  The Geometry of Dreams by Wendy A. Wagner

  Being Emily-Claire by Jonathan Maberry

  About the Authors

  About the Editor

  Dedicated to all of us who fight monsters every single day.

  Copyrights

  Introduction © 2019 by Jennifer Brozek.

  “Away Game” © 2019 by Seanan McGuire.

  “The Icarus Club” © 2019 by Weston Ochse.

  “Stormy Monday” © 2019 by Chesya Burke.

  “Pickman’s Daughter” © 2019 by Gini Koch writing as J.C. Koch.

  “Us and Ours” ©2019 by Premee Mohamed.

  “The Art of Dreaming” ©2019 by Josh Vogt.

  “Visions of the Dream Witch” ©2019 by Lucy A. Snyder.

  “The Tall Ones” © 2019 by Stephen Ross.

  “Just Imagine” © 2019 by Tim Waggoner.

  “Holding Back” © 2019 by Lisa Morton.

  “The Mouth of the Merrimack” © 2019 by Douglas Wynne.

  “The Geometry of Dreams” © 2019 by Wendy N. Wagner.

  “Being Emily-Claire” © 2019 by Jonathan Maberry Productions, LLC.

  Foreword

  The monsters have always been here. Sometimes hidden. Sometimes obfuscated by a polite or respectable veneer. Sometimes standing in light of day or shadow of night. But always there. Always seeking to take what is not theirs; to damage the mind, body, or soul.

  It used to be that monster hunting was an adult’s responsibility; they were to protect the young, the old, the sick, the infirm—the most vulnerable among us. The most likely to be attacked; to be killed or worse. The adults failed.

  Today’s teenagers are fierce and savvy. In this modern era, they speak up and fight for what they believe is right. They have tools at their disposal—knowledge, weapons, experience—like none of the previous generations. They have not yet been chained by familial duty or jaded by exquisite heartbreak. Even if they’ve experienced both, they still have the energy of youth to buoy their step.

  In truth, there is no greater zealot than a teenager who believes; who has seen the light or the darkness and knows what goes bump in the night. It is these teenagers who will save or destroy us.

  H.P. Lovecraft created a marvelous Mythos. The creator himself was “problematic” at best; racist, bigoted, and misogynistic in reality. Because of this, the Lovecraft universe was rife with such problems in the early days. His lush prose was marred by hateful speech. It turned many readers away.

  Lovecraft did do one thing right. He opened his universe to other authors to make of it as they will. It is a decision that gave the world another chance to tell Mythos stories without the same problematic attitude. To use the Old Ones and Elder Gods as metaphor for more earthly problems that many of us face every day.

  In A Secret Guide to Fighting Elder Gods, thirteen authors bring the Mythos stories into the new millennium with a youthful perspective. Magic, mayhem, and murder no longer reigns just in dusty books in decrepit libraries. Monsters can be called by more than incomprehensible rituals in candlelit basements. Today, madness is hidden within the internet and lives on the football field. It breeds in the backyard parties and ambushes its victims outside the club. It finds the cracks in the mirror and it does whatever it can to break through—often with complicit adult help.

  Teenagers, from every walk of life, use whatever they can to defend our world. Sometimes they win. Sometimes they lose. Sometimes…they give into the temptation of power.

  —Jennifer Brozek

  Away Game

  Seanan McGuire

  The sky above the athletic field was hazy with clouds, painted gray on gray on gray. The threat of rain hung heavy in the air, damp and chilly and clinging to the skin. Despite the weather, the field was alive with moving bodies. Football players ran scrimmages at one end, while on the other a group of cheerleaders in orange and green skirts jumped and danced and flew like bright birds, almost shocking against the monochrome that was the rest of the world. Even the grass seemed muted, dulled down by the fog and the clouds and the impending storm.

  “Ready?” shouted one girl, clapping her hands together. “Okay!” The other cheerleaders began to move in tempo with her, letting her guide them, their ponytails and skirts swaying in their self-generated breeze.

  Becoming captain of the Fighting Pumpkins cheer squad was not something that came easily, or without effort. Jude had been studying videos of the team since middle school, when she’d cheered for touch football games as a member of the Johnson’s Crossing Middle School Scarecrows. All she’d ever wanted was to graduate from Scarecrow to Pumpkin, and once she had achieved that glorious brass ring, she’d pushed herself, and her squad, ever higher, ever harder.

  They jumped and cheered and tumbled and moved as one being; a single beast made of many bodies, sometimes in unison, other times breaking into disparate but complementary parts as they went into their acrobatic routines. It was the sort of performance that would never win so much as a participation trophy at Nationals, but would wow the crowds at the night’s away game, which was honestly all that mattered. The more impressed the crowd was, the louder they would cheer. The louder the crowd cheered, the more they would inspire the football team to greatness. On the field, the role of the cheerleader was facilitation, inspiration, muse. Jude didn’t believe in fielding a team that gave anything less than one hundred percent.

  Normally, Jude would have been moving with them, performing her own tumbling passes and assisting Heather in stabilizing the pyramid, so that Colleen and Laurie could perform the sort of terrifying flying moves that got the crowd on its feet. At the moment, a cool assessment of the squad’s skill was more important than her own place in the pattern. They were cheering against the Morton Goats tonight, and they needed to be perfect. No—more than perfect. They needed to be on fire.

  Marti had tripped at the start of practice, skinning her knee against a rock hidden in the grass. The smell of blood was still hanging in the air, putting Jude’s nerves on edge and making her skin jangle with little pinpoints of heat, like ants were walking all over her. The others noticed, she was sure of that; it was why they’d been so willing to agree to do the routine without her, letting her observe until she got herself under control.

  Ordinary cheerleaders couldn’t smell blood
. Their teeth didn’t ache at the thought of it. But since when had the Fighting Pumpkins been willing to settle for ordinary?

  “Miss Feldman!”

  Jude turned. The team’s staff sponsor, Coach Harrison, was walking across the field toward her. As always, Ms. Harrison was dressed in clean blue jeans and a Fighting Pumpkins sweatshirt. Jude wondered sometimes if the vague disdain the other teachers seemed to have for the gym teachers was less related to any slight on their intelligence, and more sheer jealousy of the fact that the gym teachers were allowed to wear things that looked like they were actually comfortable, and not just on casual Friday.

  “Yes, Coach Harrison?” The rest of the squad kept moving. They had performed this routine so many times that they could probably have done it in their sleep.

  “How’s your team?”

  “They’re good,” said Jude, and smiled, the ingratiating smile she always used when Coach Harrison seemed to be taking too much of an interest. They needed a coach. The law said so, and so did their need to grow, improve, and learn. No one could be an athlete without someone to teach them what not to do.

  At the same time, the routine they were doing tonight had been developed under Coach Harrison’s supervision, rehearsed while she sat in the bleachers reading romance novels and amiably ignoring them, and refined in a hundred practice sessions while Colleen checked their physics and Heather broke their falls. They were a single organism now, and as any sideshow manager could easily explain, most organisms functioned better when they only had one head.

  Coach Harrison turned an assessing eye on the cheerleaders, taking their measure. “Do you think you’re ready for tonight’s game? The Goats have been undefeated all season.”

  Part of Jude wanted to point out that the football team was really going to be in charge of beating the Goats at their own game: her cheerleaders were there to jump high, yell loud, and try not to break their own necks. The rest of her understood that talking back to the woman who was legally in charge of her squad was probably a bad plan.

  “Yes, Coach,” she said firmly. “We won’t let you down.”

  The routine was over. The other Pumpkins began drifting over, drawn by the nerve-racking sight of their captain speaking with their coach.

  Marti was the first to reach them. Looping an arm around Jude’s neck, she put her chin on the slightly shorter girl’s shoulder, batted her eyelashes, and said, “What’s up, coach?”

  “Checking in before the bus leaves,” said Coach Harrison. “You’ll all be on your best behavior tonight, correct? I need you to make me, and your school, proud.”

  “We’re always on our best behavior,” said Colleen indignantly. “It’s just that sometimes the world decides it should behave badly around us, and we have to make it stop.”

  Coach Harrison looked at her flatly. “See that it doesn’t happen tonight.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” said Colleen, shrinking back.

  Coach Harrison returned her attention to Jude. “We’re going to have a good, clean game, and I need you to be a large part of that. I’m putting my faith in you. Don’t let me down.”

  “We won’t, Coach,” said Jude.

  Coach Harrison nodded before turning and walking away across the field.

  Above them, the sky finally fulfilled its promise of rain and tore open, dropping a fine drizzle down on them. The Fighting Pumpkins didn’t move. All stereotypes about broken nails and hairspray aside, they were competitive athletes: they understood that sometimes, they were going to get wet, and dirty, and less than poised and perfect. Most of them had been covered in blood or worse at one point or another. On one remarkable occasion, Laurie had broken her nose on her trip up the pyramid, only to complete the stunt she’d been on her way to perform, resulting in her effectively transforming into a blood sprinkler as she spun. The entire squad had come away looking like extras in a production of Carrie: The Musical.

  “Well?” demanded Heather. “What was all that about?”

  “I don’t know,” said Jude, with a thoughtful look at Coach Harrison’s departing form. “She said she wanted to be sure that we’d cheer a good game.”

  “We always cheer a good game,” said Marti. “We’ve cheered for every game this season, and we’ve never cheered a bad one. The football players are another story.”

  A murmur spread through the rest of the squad as they agreed, with varying degrees of conviction. In the end, it was Laurie who summed things up:

  “She looked like she didn’t trust us tonight, and that doesn’t make me comfortable.”

  “I agree,” said Jude. She looked up and squinted, seeming to notice the rain for the first time. “Oh, for…let’s get inside. The last thing I need is to be down a girl because we were too stupid to get out of the rain.”

  They trailed toward the waiting gym, a stream of girls in orange and green, and no one seemed to notice them going. The rain continued falling on the field, washing the imprints of their feet away, until nothing remained but the muddy grass where they had been.

  As a rule, the cheer squad preferred to avoid the team buses when they were going to away games. There were always cheerleaders with licenses, and the football team could get downright gross when they were trying to pump themselves up for the gridiron. It only took one spitting contest for the most team spirit-oriented new girl to flee for the relative comfort and safety of someone’s back seat.

  If they had been in the bus, they would have been safely lifted above the landscape, able to tune out and focus on the little pre-game rituals, like doing their nails and adjusting their spirit bows. As it was, they had to watch where they were going, which meant paying attention to their surroundings.

  Colleen, sitting in the passenger seat next to Jude, frowned as the car rolled past a small barn with a sign identifying it as an independent butcher shop and meat market. “That’s the fourth non-chain butcher I’ve seen since we reached the city limits.”

  “Are they ‘city limits’ when you’re talking about a sign in the middle of a field, without a visible house in any direction?” asked Heather. “I’m asking for a friend who’d really rather not wind up missing the football game in order to star in a horror movie.”

  “Who?” asked Laurie guilelessly.

  Heather scoffed and rolled her eyes.

  “Morton has its own style,” said Jude. She glanced uneasily at a copse of trees that looked distressingly like screaming human forms, somehow elongated and wrapped in gowns of bark. It was an eerie trick of light, shadow, and geometry, and she couldn’t blame people for refusing to build houses within a mile of them. She would have spent all her time checking the locks on the windows, making sure the trees couldn’t get in. Not exactly the sort of thing that leant itself to a good night’s sleep.

  “Is that style ‘early Addams Family’?” asked Heather.

  “I think the Addamses were less evil than this,” said Colleen. Something flashed across the road, all long legs and bristling fur, there and gone before Jude even had time to slam on the brakes. Colleen grimaced. “I don’t like it here.”

  “That makes four of us,” said Jude. She squinted at the GPS. “I think our turn is coming up.”

  “Is it a U-turn?” asked Heather. “Because we could turn this car around and head straight home. I have a box of microwave popcorn with our names on it.”

  “The rest of the squad is probably there by now,” said Colleen. The car grew very quiet. “They’re probably wondering where we are.”

  “Crap,” said Heather.

  “Fighting Pumpkins forever,” said Jude, and hauled on the wheel, sending them down another narrow, tree-choked street.

  The town began to appear. Slowly at first—one or two houses slotted in amongst the trees—and then with more and more frequency, until they were driving through a normal-seeming neighborhood, with normal-looking homes and small businesses to every side. There were even flowers blooming in the yards, although they looked somehow wrong, like brightly colo
red bruises nodding on long green stems.

  Jude found herself staring at one bush covered in leprous roses and shuddered, looking away. Morton was a town like any other. It was perfectly normal. She was being silly to think anything different.

  “How far to the school?” asked Heather.

  “Not far,” said Jude.

  “Isn’t it weird that we’ve never had an away game against these people before?” asked Laurie abruptly. Heather and Colleen both turned to look at her. She shrugged. “I’m just saying. We’ve been playing the Goats forever, but they’ve always come to us before. Everybody else, we take turns. Why is this the first time we’ve been to their school?”

  “I—” Colleen began, and stopped, frowning. “I don’t know. The rules say that we should have been there before now, but I’m sure we haven’t been. I have a list of all the games we’ve attended off-campus, and Morton isn’t anywhere on it.”

  “Of course you have a list,” said Heather.

  “How else would I know if someone had been messing with our memories?” asked Colleen matter-of-factly. “Writing things down is a level of protection against an uncaring universe, as long as you’re sure nothing’s changing what you wrote.”

  “This is where I feel like I’m supposed to say something about normal cheer captains not having to deal with this kind of crap, but since I’m pretty sure normal cheer captains don’t exist, I’m going to say this instead: we’re here.”

  The girls turned. The girls stared. An uncharacteristic silence fell over the car, heavy with the things they weren’t saying, as all-encompassing as the Morton fog…the Morton fog which had, inexplicably, disappeared as they came around the final curve, leaving their destination framed by the sun, shining like a jewel in the brightness of the autumn afternoon.