The Death of Ithaqua

I still remembered the way Sarah looked at me when I killed her twin brother. She seemed—happy. Her mouth turned into a smile as I sank my dagger into his chest. I remember the cold of that day and my shivering hands as I released the blade from the wound. I could never forget her smile.

I moved to a town far away, in the freezing depths of the Artic and left those memories in my past. That was until the sheriff asked me to accompany him to a strange, abandoned house in the outskirts of town. It was located close to a taiga forest, and very far from the nearest street. It was mostly build out of wood, hand-made years ago by whoever resided there. It was beautiful on the inside, intact and organized—with attractive furniture and paintings covering the walls.

“Mister Johnson!” The sheriff said as we arrived. “What I’m about to show you, you probably already know about.”

“I don’t follow you.” I answered.

“Don’t you know about the pond?” I nodded.

“No.”

“Well…” he said. “You might just be able to help us with this then.”

“Help with what?” I asked.

Three deputies were already beside the pond when we exited through the terrace door. I still did not know why he had picked me up—I only knew that my help was needed. I had all intention to help keep the peace in this town.

“Do you believe in the weird mister Johnson?” The question startled me.

“I’m not sure what you mean.” I said as I followed him to the pond. He didn’t have to say anymore when I peeked down at the frozen surface and saw what he needed me there for. A gargantuan, skeletal hand was pressing upward against the ice from within.

The hand couldn’t have been less than a hundred square feet in length. It was completely pressed against the transparent ice, as if trying to push up.

“What is that?” I asked.

“Who knows?” said the sheriff. “We’re surrounded by nature, son. And nature has its secrets.” He took a puff of his cigarette.

“Why do you need me for this?”

“Come here.” He nodded and I followed him towards the side, where he crouched and pointed towards the ice. “You see that?” I crouched beside him.

“See what?” I asked.

“If you see, the arm is still attached to the hand. It goes down.”

“Yeah, I see. What of it?”

“Ponds aren’t deeper than 24 feet, son and whatever that hand’s connected too is much larger than that. That can only mean one thing…” I interrupted and finished his sentence.

“There’s a tunnel.” He pointed at me, letting me know I was right. “I still don’t understand how I could help, Greg.”

“I’ve already had enough problems with the news and the media when they found those Yeti footprints years ago. I can’t allow that to happen again, and with something like this it’ll just be worse. This is a small town, the people like their peace.” I agreed, that’s what motivated me to move here. “If anyone can go down there, it’s you.” He smiled. “You know, an ex-marine.”

“Just cause I’m an ex-marine doesn’t mean I can do that type of stuff. Plus, I don’t have the equipment.” I answered.

“Oh, the equipment’s no problem, we have that at the station.” He said. “Look, we have a buyer. Some big-shot museum down south offered us ten mil for the body. We just need to know if the rest is down there. If you do it, two million are yours. What do you say?” I couldn’t hide a slight smile that escaped from my face—I agreed.

We met there the next morning, Greg was with two deputies and a variety of cargo boxes holding what I assumed was the equipment. I tried on the dry suit, the fit felt a bit loose, but it was enough for the job.

“You ready?” asked Greg, but I had already covered my mouth with the mouthpiece, and prepared myself to dive. The deputies had drilled a hole into the ice, enough for me to go through and not touch the hand. The last thing I saw what the smoke coming from the sheriff’s cigarette before surrounding myself with the cold void of the water.

I kept still as I descended, rushing my mind with thoughts to ignore the cold—I wondered how some people did this for a living. The arm of the giant was indeed attached to the hand, some tissue was still enclosed in the bone—it had only recently putrefied. As I began to reach the bottom, I noticed a current that led to a tunnel. The arm had been detached from the shoulder—yet some of the tissue and skin floated in and out of the passageway. As I perched through, I saw a light at the end—an entrance. Something hit me and I lost consciousness.

I woke up no longer in the cold water. I was lying down against a sweating rock, inside a large cavern. I could hear the sound of crashing waters, and the walls were filled with metal torches—lighting the room. An old man sat next to me. He was drinking what seemed to be a cup of tea. I could not make out his appearance fully. I sat up, caressing my bare head.

“I’d take it easy if I were you.” Said the old man. His voice seemed peaceful.

“Where am I?” was the only question that escaped my mind at the time.

“The important question is. Why are you here?” He said. I didn’t answer. “You seem to be searching for the owner of the bones floating above, aren’t you?”

“Yes. You know about it?”

“I know everything about it, Foster.” I felt surprised at the sound of my name. I noticed the man’s appearance, he had long hair and beard—both white as paper. He showed signs of old age, but didn’t seem fragile. His lips were bright and his eyes were so dark that they reflected the light of the torches.

“I just want to find the corpse.” I said. “I don’t want any trouble.”

“Oh, but the trouble comes from not knowing what you’re looking for.” He placed his finished cup on the floor. “Do you know of Howards Philips Lovecraft?”

“The writer?”

“Yes.”

“Um, yeah. I do.”

“Do you know anything about his work?”

“Giant monsters with tentacles.” It was all I knew. The old man laughed at my response.

“I guess that is a good way to summarize it, yes.” I still contemplated what the old man wanted. “Please…” he said. “Come with me.” I followed fearfully.

We walked through the settlement he called his home. The citizens lived in huts. They all wore primitive clothing, as if they’ve never seen modern civilization.

“Who are you people?” I asked.

“We’re a group that has existed since Himalayan Folklore was considered a basis of reality.” I felt confused. “You wonder why I asked you of Lovecraft’s work.” I didn’t. “Do you have any theories as to why Lovecraft created his mythos?”

“Nightmares? Insanity?” I answered.

“Yes, at the most part. But, there are some aspects that come from real life.”

“I don’t seem to follow.” He stopped, surprised at my answer.

“You seek the bones of a giant, and yet you question of Lovecraft’s inspirations?” He smiled, and kept walking. “Lovecraft spoke of Great Old Ones, eternal entities of great power that reside for all time in the cosmos.”

“So, gods.”

“Most of them, yes. Don’t get me wrong, many of Lovecraft’s gods are exaggerations to present the horror of the unknown, but in reality Great Old Ones have roamed Earth for millennia.”

“That seems a little farfetched.” I said.

“It does, doesn’t it?” he answered. “One of the least known Great Old Ones resided in the Northern, cold parts of the world. This gathering of followers devotes itself to him. And many folklore and myths have taken his presence as inspiration.” He looked at me, a serious look in his wrinkled face. “Have you heard of the Yeti?”

“Yeti? As in Bigfoot?” I asked.

“Yeti as in Yeti, Foster. The Meh-Teh, the wind-walker, the monster from the depths of the icy landscapes, you know who I speak of.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Well, those tales might not exist, but the god of the cold, the Great Old One which dwells in the Artic, he exists.” He paused as we began to walk towards an opening on the wall. As we entered, I saw what he meant. In front of me, the cadaver of a giant, humanoid figure sat decomposed. It was a skeletal body, missing its left arm—its head resting towards its side. It bared large and sharp teeth, and the cheekbones where immense, with the eye sockets being smaller in proportion to what a human’s would be. “This…” said the old man, interrupting my trance. “Is Ithaqua.”

“It’s going to be hard to move that body.” I said—my whisper rebounded through the walls. “How did he die?” The man chuckled.

“Great Old Ones don’t die, Foster. This is nothing more than a rebirth, a sacrifice for a better reappearance. They are eternal, always and forever among the confines of ones wonder.” He looked at me just then. “But you knew that by now, didn’t you?”

“I’m sorry?”

“You know of the strange things in life.” His gaze met mine. “For a person who knows nothing of the cosmic wonders, you gazed directly upon a Great Old One and did not even flinch, your eyes did not melt out of your sockets, and your mind is certainly still intact.” I kept my calm.

“What are you trying to say?” the old man seemed tranquil. He answered blissfully.

“What was her name?” He asked. “The name of your loved one.”

“Sarah.”

“Ah, yes. What a beautiful name. Lovecraft’s mother was named Sarah.” He joined his hands. “How much are they offering for the body?”

“Ten million.” I answered. “It would’ve been two, but I killed the policemen above.” I felt strange, revealing what I had done for the money—what I had done for love. The old man nodded.

“So Ithaqua promised you wealth to raise his offspring in the upper class.” He looked towards the body. “Who did you have to sacrifice?”

“Her twin brother.” His expression grew serious.

“I see. The high priestess was always keen of you, she knew you would do anything for her, for your new family.” He put his hand on my shoulder. “Make me a promise, will you?” I nodded. “Take care of my daughter, and my grandson.”

“He’s a boy?” I whispered, and my mind flew to that day—the day of the sacrifice. I remembered thinking how much I wanted a boy when I killed Sarah’s brother. I remembered Ithaqua’s glowing, red eyes in the distance. “He’ll keep his word” she said. “He’ll give us his body, so we can raise our child in prosperity.”

“Yes.” The voice of Sarah’s father drifted me back. “Now promise me, Foster.”

“I promise”

He had given me a gun that was tucked in his coat pocket. The sound of the gunfire bounced through the cavern walls—no one moved a muscle. From behind me, two shadows emerged. Sarah stood, she had not aged a day—she was perfect. Beside her, a small boy held her hand and looked up to me. His face was smooth, and his cheeks beautifully round. He spread his hands towards me, and I carried him, pressing him upon my chest. Sarah caressed my hair, letting me know the sacrifices had worked, and our lord Ithaqua will provide for our beautiful son. I connected my gaze to his face, his eyes were dark like his grandfather’s—within them I could see dashes of Ithaqua’s red glow.