Luciña (18+)

Jonah awoke to a world that rocked back and forth. He could hear a rhythmic creaking noise and, as his vision focused, he found that he was in a rusty, barnacle-laden, sea-beaten cage. It was night and pitch black all around him. Though, he knew he was outside; the stench of the sea as it came upon the ocean breeze was almost unbearable.

“Help. Help us!”

Voices from Jonah’s vicinity parted the night in between the sound of ocean crashing on the rocks below. A breeze came in from the sea and rocked Jonah.

“Where are we,” another wailed.

Another voice, more distance and broken than the others came seemingly from the oceanic depths below.

“Breathe.”

As if by instinct, Jonah inhaled and then exhaled, releasing Luciña’s name from his lips. Just then a light from the mouth of the tunnels. The spark of a torch burned brighter as a gust of wind caught it, sending light and sparks towards the West, illuminating a small horde of those abominations that flopped and wheezed and spoke in their strange, guttural dialect. Jonah swallowed hard and squinted. It sounded like mucus speaking and his ears recoiled. Out of the corner of his eye Jonah saw the other two captives shift and squirm and fight the painful discomfort of their cages. Jonah worked to do the same. Another crash came from below and a strong wind enveloped the three in a peppered spray.

Jonah looked to the light, it burned brighter now and he could see that it was a torch, held by some kind of gelatinous hand whose fingers resembled tentacles; great sheets of webbing folded between each digit. The thing, its face still hidden from the torch’s light, slunk up to a long stony pillar that opened up at the end like a clam shell opened wide and skyward. It stretched out its arm, groaned sloppily, and touched the fire to it. Within a few seconds the pillar burst to life and Jonah could see the other two captives more clearly. One of them was a young man, nearest to the flaming pillar. And between him and Jonah, a young woman.

“Please. Please let us go,” the young man pleaded. “We’ll give you whatever you want.”

The creature just ignored him and ambled awkwardly to the next pillar; the one in between Jonah and the female captive. As it came to life the woman leaned forward and pleaded once more.

“Please, please. We came here only to help you. Let us go. Let us help you.”

Suddenly the thing before her stopped murmuring and looked up. A wind blew and the light exposed its face. Jonah’s eyes grew wide with disbelief. The thing’s head was shaped like an egg. Barnacles came up from under its ragged, water-logged shirt, which hung along him like ribbons. They continued along the side of his face and then disappeared behind its one human ear. It had a distinct feature of a human nose, which was big and bulbous and about its long, amphibian lips was the remnants of a once proud red and white beard. But its eyes where like the fish Jonah had seen before. And they were the most unsettling of his features. Black eyes stared at the woman, looking her up and down until they stopped and it shrieked and slithered back, dropping the torch as it recoiled. The light coming off of the pillars were bright enough now for Jonah to see where it had retreated to. It was back with the others, a small group of maybe fifteen gathered around another, who was conversing with the torch bearer. Before long the conversation stopped and one—like the others, but clearly elevated in status—ambled up, struggling to move with its one, good human leg. As it reached where the woman sat and swung, it reached down and grabbed the torch, Jonah could see upon its face as it raised the burning stick. In part, it looked quite human. Its two ears were still fully apparent and its nose was of a similar composure to its captives. However, its eyes sunk in deeper than the one Jonah had seen before him. They were just as black, though, and sunk in like onyx discs planted firmly in sand. Its decadence was strange and alluring to the witnesses of his hierarchy. He was surely some sort of priest or other religious leader. Upon its elliptical head sat an alien ornament of frightful splendor. Along its cylindrical base crudely-carved designs of marine life marched, forward head to tail, twisting ever so often to raise their heads up and about, as if anticipating the arrival of something glorious. From this base five long, golden spikes shot skyward with vines or tentacles of some kind twisting their way from where the spikes had rooted themselves. This leader of theirs—this priest—was adorned in a long robe that covered most of its body below its neck. It was lined in a queer gold color like its crown and boasted the same disturbing, enigmatic parade. The rest of its clothing was of a dark gray and relatively unflattering compared to the rest. As it shifted the torch in the female captive’s direction, its crown and garb trim shimmered like the moonlight upon the sea. It moved forward towards the woman’s cage and she pressed herself against the backside of the cage in hopes of staying out of its sight. The priest came up pushed its face to the bars and a wave from below crashed against the rocks.

The priest’s clergy stayed huddled in the middle of the rocky plateau, murmuring in wet gurgles, waiting in anticipation. The priest rapped the torch against her cage three times and, in that instant, everything grew still. The woman shivered and shifted in discomfort. The priest cocked its head and moved the torch closer to the center of the cage. It cocked its head and then leaned in, pressing its head against the bars so hard it seemed it would squeeze right through. Then it recoiled and snorted unrecognizable words of disgust. It slung its arm inside, its fingers—like tentacles—stretching towards the woman; wrapping its digits around her leg.

“Let go!” She screamed and attempted to kick at it, but her free leg just slipped off the slimy wetness of its arm. Jonah shook his head in disbelief at how fast it had happened and the leaned forward, as if privy to a Serengeti show of the lion and the gazelle.

“No!” The other captive shouted at the priest. But it paid him no mind. The man looked around and, in anger and desperate fury started rocking its cage. The other clergy members took no notice, as well; too focused on what interested their leader so.

Within a few swings, the male captive’s cage struck the burning pillar just enough to do some damage, but not enough to garner attention from his captors. The cage swung towards it, but less this time. He could see that the hit knocked a rock loose. He put his might into the cage’s momentum and it began to swing more.

“Let go!”

The priest continued to pull as the woman held onto the bars. But it was too strong and she let go, her legs sliding through the bars and her head coming to rest against the front ones. It phased her and she had to shake her head to rid it of the disorientation. She felt a pull around her neck and when her vision cleared the woman saw the priest looking at something in its hand. Her cross necklace. There was a thick, wet thud and the sound of metal clanging. The priest lurched forward but caught himself on its way down. It grunted and its clergy shrieked and cried angrily. Lying in front of the priest was its crown and to the side of it, the loosed rock that the man in the far cage had broken free and hurled towards it.

“Don’t you touch her, you cowardly slug!”

The others rushed towards his cage and grabbed him, threatening to pull the young man out, limb by limb. The priest grabbed the crown and checked it for damage, then put it on and ambled over to him. The others backed off. The priest held out its clenched hand and opened it. The woman’s cross falls out and its chain caught on the thing’s fingers, swinging daintily about from them. It looked at the woman and then over at the young man. It cleared its throat.

“You think this will save you?”

Jonah and the others share an expression of shock.

It spoke!

It spoke English!

“Many years ago this was looked on with fondness, with hope.” The priest spoke again.

“But we were starving. Fish didn’t come. The nets were empty. Empty as this… thing.” The priest looked down at the cross and scowled.

“But then, then a strange man appeared and told us of a hope. A hope that wasn’t empty.” From below the waves crashed, louder than before.

“A hope in Dagon. A hope in C’thulu!”

Behind him the crowd chanted.

“Ia! Ia! C’thulhu fhtagn!

Ia! Ia! C’thulhu fhtagn!”

The priest flung the necklace towards the cliff’s edge and it fell into the darkness below. It hit the water with a glorious plunge and drifted silently in defeat down to the abyssal depths of submission. The priest opened its gaping mouth.

“Ia! Ia! C’thulhu fhtagn! Ph’nglui mglw’nafh C’thulhu R’lyeh wgah-nagl fhtag—”

“For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten son.” The woman’s voice stammered and grew.

“So that whoever believeth in me shall not perish but have everlasting life!”

The waves from below crashed again, more violently than before.

“I will not go with these false prophets, Lord,” the woman cried. “They do not tempt me away from your word.”

A bellow came from below, practically shaking the plateau. The chains on their cages rattled and the priest smiled widely, its black eyes seemed to brighten as they bulged in proclamation.

“Where is your god now? I hear my lord Dagon!”

“He is everywhere. He is in me and I know he’s in all of you.” The frightened woman retorted, voice still shaking from new-found courage.

“Well, I don’t feel or see him,” the priest mocked, gesturing to two clergymen, greater in size than the rest.

The two grabbed the captive man’s cage and one, holding keys, opened it. The man kicked through the opening and landed his foot square on one of the assistant’s face. It grunted briefly and grabbed his legs, pulling outward. The man fell upon the cold, hard ground and grimaced in pain. Jonah just looked onward, fearing what was to come next. The woman did the same, silenced by this display of authority.

The priest looked over at a few others and motioned. They left the crowd only to come back within seconds with some kind of crudely-built crane apparatus. When its wheels stopped, the priest’s two hulking assistants dragged the kicking and screaming man to the device.

“Marcus,” the woman cried. Marcus!” Jonah waited for her to plead with them, to say something more, but she couldn’t. She watched speechless as ropes from the two wooden rods—arching upwards from the base of the device—were looped around Marcus’s arms. He lifted his head and spit on one of the things that had just secured him. It grunted in anger and threw a bulky, knotted appendage square into Marcus’s face. The world shifted and voices came and went as he fought to stay conscious. Blood poured out of his nose in one stringy gush. The priest held up its hand and the two released their hold on him, leaving Marcus to dangle from the wooden arms, knees dragging on the ground.

The priest looked at the woman.

“Now we’ll see which god comes when you call.” The priest put its arm under its robes.

“You called to your worthless, do-nothing Jehovah.” The priest smiled.

“Now, call to Dagon.”

When it took its arm out from under its robes he held in it a knife. Its handle had the same design like that of his crown and its blade looked as black as tar, but as sharp as glass as the fire slid along its edges, which meandered delicately left to right like a serpent’s glide.

The woman shook her head and looked up to the sky. The priest retreated to Marcus and held the blade to his chest.

“Call to Dagon.” The waves crashed once more against the rocks below. The blade glinted in the firelight. Marcus swallowed hard.

“Call to Dagon and he will release your friend.”

Marcus shouted.

“Don’t do it, Anne!” The blade went in just below the surface of Marcus’ flesh. He whimpered.

“See,” the priest reassured. “Not so bad.”

“Now call out for Dagon.”

Marcus shook his head. Anne did the same, then looked at the priest square in the eye.

“No.”

The priest pulled the knife across Marcus’s chest. He cried in pain as blood was freed and flowed in gentle trails down towards his belly.

The priest looked at Anne, beckoning her to do as she was told. She kept her mouth tightly shut and looked the other way in defiance. The priest sliced again, this time in the opposite direction and a little deeper. Marcus cried out once and spit at the priest. It landed squarely on its crown. In anger the priest put the knife to Marcus’s throat.

“Fine, maybe she won’t call out to Dagon. But I know you will.”

“Fuck you,” Marcus replied assertedly. “And fuck Dagon.”

The priest turned its back on Marcus and ambled with frightening speed towards Anne’s cage. It grabbed the bars and pulled them free with surprising strength. The abomination grabbed her and tossed her out onto the cold, wet stone. Its bulky assistants grabbed Anne and lifted her to standing position. The priest took out its knife and put it to her throat. Tears welled up in Marcus’s eyes and his lips quivered in frustration; too proud to cry for mercy. The priest smiled and slid the knife down. Anne’s shirt dropped revealing her ample, alabaster breasts. The priest looked at Marcus, holding the knife to one of her nipples. Marcus grimaced and just stared him down. It took the knife off of it and gestured for its assistants to hold her tighter. The priest then pulled off her pants and cut away her underwear, leaving her completely naked in the chilly night air. Jonah sat, trembling in his cage, almost wondering why they had completely ignored him.

“Pretty girl,” the priest said, looking her up and down. “A fitting sacrifice for Dagon.”

The others chanted.

“Ia! Ia!”

The waves crashed against the rocks loudly once again and a wind picked up. Jonah’s cage rocked lightly back and forth.

“Your wills are weak.” The priest ambled over to Marcus and put the knife to his chest just above the wounds it had recently inflicted.

“You’ll call. You’ll cry out to him.”

The priest slid the knife in and under Marcus’s flesh and he struggled in pain. To other clergy members closer to the apparatus to which he was still tied held him still. The priest continued cutting. Up along his collar bone and over and behind to his back. Marcus cried out once more and so did Anne.

“Stop this! You’re torturing him!”

The priest stopped slicing. Marcus’s head drooped down in exhaustion and he whimpered and cried.

“Who commands it? Your god?”

Anne nodded.

“He commands all that is good. You know it in your heart.”

The priest stuck the knife in deeper and resumed cutting. Marcus came alive with pain once more and tried, in his weakened state, to struggle himself free.

Within about a minute the priest brought the knife back to where it began and pulled it out of Marcus. It walked forward to the two holding Anne and commanded that they let her go. The obeyed and she fell to the ground. The two then walked to Marcus and the two that had been holding him let go. The priest leaned in to Anne.

“He commands nothing.”

Just then Marcus cried out louder than before. The two hulking clergymen wriggled their fingers under the long slit the priest had created and—gripping his flesh—began to pull upwards. Jonah averted his eyes, looking down towards the dark waters below as a peal of thunder arrived just offshore. But Anne looked on in disgust and horror as the priest’s muscle continued to pull and pull and pull. In among Marcus’s screams, the priest held up its hand and the two stopped.

“Now, young lady,” the priest walked towards Anne, pointing the knife at her. “It’s clear your Lord will not be joining us this evening. Will you reject your worthless Jehovah, hmm?”

Anne swallowed hard and looked at Marcus and then looked away. A second or so later the priest could hear her whimpering, like she was trying to muster the energy to speak. It leaned in.

“Never.”

The priest recoiled and shot back to where Marcus was. It motioned at a few other members of the clergy and they started working the apparatus, pulling the rope into the machine and raising Marcus just a slight bit more. The priest looked over at Anne, who was staring daggers into its eyes.

“If your god won’t join you, then you can both join him!”

“No!” Anne found her voice and cried out.

The priest stuck its blade into Marcus’s belly and drug it along his gut. White hot pain shot throughout Marcus and exited his body through a blood-curdling cry of pain. Lightning hit close and Marcus passed out. Anne was screaming. She wanted to run towards the priest and take it on, but her body was frozen from horror where she sat there on the rocks.

“Down,” the priest commanded and the wheels of the machine controlling the ropes spun maniacally, dropping Marcus down hard on his knees. The jolt of the impact shook loose his entrails and they poured out in a wet, heaving lump; slapping carelessly on the rocky ground at his knees. Anne vomited. Marcus’s guts began to steam and Jonah, still sitting in that cage, almost retched as well. Suddenly, a burst of primal energy took hold of Anne as she saw a few obedient clergymen shuffle towards her, mumbling in their guttural, incoherent ways.

“Seize her,” the priest pointed.

Anne was on her feet and looking for an exit. The one entrance out of here was blocked. She looked around and then looked behind her. The torches burned brighter now as a great wind rose up. Jonah’s cage started rocking and, in the chaos, he took advantage of the distraction; taking a cue from Marcus to rock his cage back forth to increase its momentum.

“Faster now,” the priest commanded. More incoherent speech followed.

Anne ran in the opposite direction, nearly falling a couple of times. Her feet felt like boiled pasta from the adrenaline. She ran to the far end of the cliff’s edge where Marcus’s cage was and stopped. She looked down, then looked up, then looked back and down again. Her pursuers were closing in. Anne touched her chest where her cross necklace once lay and said a quick prayer. Then she jumped. Jonah, still swinging, saw her leap, falling into and under the darkness of the sea. The grotesque assortment of aggressors stopped at the point from where she jumped and looked down. It was as if they knew where she would surface. But Jonah couldn’t see the sea due to the concealment of night.

“No,” the priest instructed to a couple who were readying to jump. It continued in something unintelligible and then returned to English.

“Dagon has her now.”

The group watched, completely unaware of the momentum Jonah had built. A gust of wind game and thunder broke free from the stormy canopy of night. All seemed to go silent for just a minute and then there was a scream—Anne’s— and two great trunks suddenly came out of the darkness below. Jonah’s heart seemed to stop as he realized what the trunks were; tentacles. And they cradled something at their ends.

“Anne,” Jonah whispered, his cage continuing to swing. The clergymen fell flat on their faces and chanted like they had before.

“Ia! Ia!”

“Lord Dagon!”

Anne screamed again. In a split second there was a great tearing sound and the two tentacles swung free, each holding one half of Anne. A great gush of thick, hot blood that had been freed painted the prostrating group and Jonah, who sat there breathless. One of the tentacles that swung had, seemingly from carelessness, brushed against the rusted, iron rod that attached Jonah’s cage to the side of the cliff. In its swinging, Jonah could see the his cage start to lean towards the water.

“Shit!”

Jonah kicked at the door in hopes that it would open and allow him the opportunity to vacate but it was no use. The cage swung more erratically as it lowered over the water and then suddenly seemed to stop. All was quiet for a second. The tentacles had retreated into the abyss from where they came and the cluster of prostrating abominations now looked down towards an even more helpless Jonah, who remained perfectly still.

“Oh, shit.”

As Jonah tried to adjust himself in a strategy to escape, the metal would creak and he would stop. He was close to the rock and felt that if only he could—

Suddenly the whole construction gave way and Jonah saw the ocean now, rushing up to greet him. It slapped him with such force that he almost passed out. And then everything was different. He held his breath as he saw a nightmarish blue open up in great expanse all around him. He was singing fast, but it felt like forever; a watery oblivion. All around him he could see strange, horrendous creatures swimming around him. But never approaching the cage.

Breathe.

You’re home.

Luciña?

“Breathe, Jonah. You’re home.”

He opened his eyes and there she was, at the door of the cage. Luciña’s hair moved and danced with the current as it suspended itself above her naked body. Around her neck Jonah could now see what he had felt that night on the boat. It was blue and silver and shimmering like the stars. Her hands and her feet were longer now, and webbed like those of his captors above. She looked into his eyes; suspended there side-by-side with him. He returned her gaze and found that he was looking into the same black eyes that was shared by the other inhabitants of Innsmouth. But there was something about her eyes. They appeared empty, but were filled with everything Jonah desired in her. Luciña pointed to his neck and he felt something like slits along the vital parts of it. Suddenly, Jonah felt frightened. Had they actually killed me up there? Was this all a dream?

“Just take a breath, Jonah,” Luciña nodded.

“Trust me. You’re home now.”

Holding his breath was painful and he knew the cost of breathing in water. Drowning. He didn’t really have a choice now. His lungs burned for oxygen and he would at the point of no return; a catch-22. So, he trusted Luciña and inhaled. To Jonah’s surprise, fresh oxygen rushed into his system. Lifesaving, salty oxygen. A great bellow came from the darkness below, shaking and stimulating every molecule of Jonah’s being. The cage door opened and Luciña—naked and breathtaking—entered and they descended together, making love all the way down to Dagon.

END