WE SEE YOU

BY

S.E. ALLBRITTEN

Morrison liked the easy money. Liked it so much he was willing to chase it into the old structure

across the deserted, rain-glistening parking lot. Sothoth Industries. What kind of a name was that?

Thunder exploded out of a moody sky redolent with jagged bolts of lightning.

His contact’s information had been dead on when she‘d said he would be here at this place, at this

time. Almost like clockwork. That’s the way Morrison liked his jobs.

He had a taste for sleeping around, she’d told Morrison once. Her features, obscured by cigarette

smoke and light, came across no less intensely. It was in her catty green eyes, the way they sparked in the

light like sunlit emeralds.

The rain was coming down like nobody’s business. The storm was here to stay and had come

ready for a heavyweight brawl.

So now how to get into that building without…

There! Almost too easy. Morrison ran, huddled close to the ground to avoid being caught in the

lightning‘s glare. He was soaked within moments as he closed the distance to his target: the small window

just to the left of the door in which the man had entered.

Morrison slipped through without hesitation, out of the storm, and down into a pit of darkness.

He dared not draw attention to himself, and so had to rely on his compromised night vision to

pierce the blackness. After a few tense moments of near blindness he was barely able to discern his

surroundings.

His eyes were drawn to three crates stacked against one wall, but only because the strange

Egyptian-looking designs were faintly glowing.

 Okay. Bad vibes. Wow. They came across almost as a physical sensation. He was cautious to

remain a fair distance from the crates.

Shaking his head, he drew his gun and turned toward steeply ascending metal stairs, not happy

with having the damn crates at his back but wanting to get the hell out of this part of the warehouse as

quickly as possible.

Moving with the grace of a predatory animal, he crept through the shadows, carefully placing each

step. So focused on maintaining his silence was he that he failed to look behind him, into that pool of

murky dark, where several pairs of noxious green dots pinpointed to life, glaring with baleful light upward

and then winking out as he reached the top stair.

He heard wooden planks tumbling and making a mad echo from somewhere above.

A metallic clanging reverberated through the structure. Shouted curses followed.

Then gunfire.

The yelling died away. Just ahead, at the apex of the climb, he saw movement. It was low to the

ground, sinuous and quick like oil on water. It was barely visible in the fathomless gloom. It might have

been a cat. He took one more tentative step toward the top, intent on improving his line of fire without

doing the same for his opponent. The cat, or whatever it was, didn’t move.

He took another step.

It hissed at him and twin flares that could only be eyes washed him with a sickeningly green light.

“Jesus Christ!” Morrison yelled, falling back and tumbling onto his ass. Fear motivated his

recovery and he kept the gun pointed at the spot where he’d seen those eyes. They were gone.

An instant later a volley of gunfire erupted from the open second floor landing. It sounded close.

Morrison backed down the narrow metal stairs. He heard movement overhead and saw a sinewy, fluidic

motion accompanied by a ghostly green glow from the catwalk another twenty feet or so up. Holding his

breath, stinging sweat assaulting his eyes, running down the sides of his face.

At the top of the metal stairs he risked just enough of a glimpse to assure himself no ambush had

been laid for him. The shooter had fled.

But not before something had been at him, or vice versa. The mark hadn’t’ been shooting at him.

Drops of blood sullied the metal grid work, led off into the darkness of the second floor landing, vanishing
into the gloom of the vast open space. His eyes were almost level with the floor. From here he could see a

faint light radiate from the blood.

“Get the…fuck away from…me!” the man shouted, and two more shots rang out. Shit. He was in

trouble, period. He’d walked into a trap. Only this one had sprung on both hunter and hunted alike, set by

otherworldly beings with eyes that glowed like sunlit emeralds.

Like sunlit emeralds…

Thunder shook the old building. Rain assaulted the metal roof. The ancient leaded windows. The

sound was deafening, masking. He wouldn’t hear anyone creeping up on him.

“I know you’re there, damn it!” The voice was trembling and breathless. It was heavy with fear. “I

can see you!” To prove this, a bullet threw up a fountain of sparks at the top step not more than a foot from

Morrison’s left hand. “I could have killed you just then!”

Damn! He’d exposed himself to his enemy. Yet, he was sure the mark didn’t intend to kill him. If

I’m wrong, he thought, I won’t live to kick myself in the ass for it. Very carefully he began to stand upright.

“We have bigger fish to fry just now, you and me, than this matter of ours. It appears as though

we’ve been duped by the same third party, you and I. Also, if you’ve not noticed, we’re not alone in here.”

“No shit,” Morrison replied, his head barely poking above the top edge of the stairs.

“Please. I could take the top of your head off and be done with this right now, but I fear we need

one another.” One more shot rang out and the spot where the rail met the wall just above Morrison’s head

clanged and threw sparks. “You have no idea what you’re dealing with! You have to trust me! I have some

experience in these matters.”

“Okay! I get the point!” Morrison hated feeling like a trapped animal, but just then the truth of it

held him in check. Like it or not he had to trust this man whom he’d been sent to kill. He wanted

desperately to return fire but was terrified to do so.

The choices were not optional and he didn’t like the possibilities at all. He stood erect, held his

hands upward. A shadow broke away from the darkness ten yards ahead of him. In the gloom the man’s

sharp, angular jaw was barely discernable. His sodden long coat masked a grocery list of risks. His fedora

kept most of his face in shadow. His voice was a rich baritone. “You’d best hold onto that gun, my friend.

I’m sure you’ll not be taking any shots at me.”

 “How can you be? You---”

Whispering, like that of a thousand voices all speaking at once, broken by fits of yowling and

hissing. The sound became one with the rain pelting the roof. A dizzying orchestra of otherworldly

proportions.

“Look behind you.”

Morrison chanced a look over his shoulder. From the first floor he saw them. Hundreds of them.

Pairs of glowing eyes moving about in a mad dance, their light reflecting off the floor and walls. Their

screeching voices were like fingernails on a blackboard.

His knees suddenly felt weak and he was eight years old again and horrified of the monster in the

closet.

“Fuck this.” He took aim with a trembling hand, his face a mask of hate.

“No! Don’t---”

Too late. Morrison pulled the trigger twice. Twin explosions echoed crazily. Two of the creatures

stumbled. For a bladder-pummeling moment all eyes were on the two men. Then the fallen were consumed

in a wave of rabid snarling mania. A feeding frenzy had ensued.

“You stupid bastard! Now you’ve got their blood up!”

A pack consisting of five or six of them broke away from the whole and moved with greasy speed

toward the foot of the stairs. He pulled a tiny Maglite from his jacket pocket and knifed the space with

brilliant light and gave himself his first good look at them.

They were a madman’s version of a cat, a monstrous assault upon the concept of the creature.

They stood as tall and were generally shaped as such, but that was where all similarities ended. Long and

sleek, with fur as black as pitch pulled taught over bunched, exaggerated musculature. The glowing eyes

were bad, to be sure, but nothing compared to the jaws from which dozens upon dozens of jagged, half-inch

long fangs jutted from a lunatic’s grin, curved upward and down like a boar‘s tusks. Ropes of saliva

drooped from those horrid teeth. The hissing sound they made resembled a cross between a lizard’s and a

cat’s. They had no apparent aversion to Morrison’s light as they scrambled closer. Morrison broke into a

run. The other man, fifty or so feet ahead of him, was desperately trying to reach an emergency ladder that

led up to the catwalk. He jumped once, then again, to no avail. He was about to try a third time when he
was attacked from behind. It latched onto his shoulders and a grim dance ensued. The man struggled

desperately to shake himself of his attacker, reaching frantically for a hold on the thing. With a terrible

inhuman shriek it prepared to sink its teeth into the back of the man’s neck. Morrison stopped long enough

to take aim.

It looked at him with hateful intelligence. It’s mouth yawned wide enough to split its skull in two.

His shot was true. The man’s back was sticky with luminous blood. A second shot and the latch

holding the ladder gave way, putting it suddenly within reach. The man grasped the ladder and pulled

himself up.

Morrison turned and fired a volley into the group of things coming at him from behind. Their

numbers had swelled. The gun’s slide drew back. He had one more clip in his jacket pocket but didn’t have

time to risk a reload. He climbed the ladder.

From above his head came a series of blasts, and more of the things fell dead below him. Food for

the others.

Breathless and trembling, Morrison reached the catwalk. Yet more of the things attempted to climb

the ladder. Morrison watched in numb horror as they gripped each rung with claws that moved and acted

much like a human hand. The eyes never left their prey.

The other man defiantly tossed his unloaded weapon down into the writhing mass. Their ranks had

swollen amazingly. Morrison emptied his last clip and could only stare, his guts writhing, his lips drawn

back in a rictus of terror.

The other man kicked at the ladder, trying to shake the creatures off. A few fell back into the

throng and were devoured. Two had reached the apex only to be kicked away. One of them managed a

swipe at Morrison’s foot with a splayed paw. At the tip of each “finger” was a hooked claw nearly an inch

long. The paws clenched and unclenched like fists.

Others made it onto the catwalk. Some lost their grip and fell. The creatures ate their own with the

voracious fervor of demons.

The catwalk turned sharply to the right just up ahead. The men rounded that corner and were faced

with a hundred-yard-long stretch which terminated near a small window set at a verticle angle against the

sloping roof. Both men, fully to heel, made the run in mere seconds, yet the catwalk reached its terminus
some twenty feet from the window. Morrison slid to a stop and let out a curse. Behind him, the other man

caught up in a breathless bluster. Beneath them, the floor was an ocean of madness.

Morrison pointed at the glowing crates, visible from their position at the terminus of the catwalk.

“Look! They’re glowing.”

“It’s their power. They’re too close together. Christ, I should’ve known she’d figure it out…”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“I never would have thought she’d be capable. Damn! She had me fooled this whole time!”

The catwalk shook violently, as though someone were trying to pull it down. A great many more

of the creatures had climbed up onto it and were hoarding space amongst themselves. They snapped

viciously at one another, causing riotous injury to themselves in the process. The hissing, yowling

maelstrom intensified as more of them found their way up. Soon the catwalk became dangerously burdened

with weight. Morrison’s sanity slipped a notch as the support rungs high above began to let go. “It’s going

to collapse!” he shouted.

A moment later it did.

With a scream born of desperation he felt himself toppling over the rail as the entire structure

loosened and broke away. Morrison gripped the rail as if welded to it. The other man flipped over the side

and Morrison watched as he tumbled head over feet to the floor below.

The creatures fell upon him and covered him completely in a matter of seconds. The man’s

screams rose to an inhuman pitch. Morrison watched helplessly as he flailed and battered at the things even

as the flesh was torn from his arms in ragged strips. Blood splashed across the creatures’ backs as they tore

into him like a pack of piranhas. Yet he continued to fight them, pushing some away only to be attacked by

yet others. Within moments the battle had been lost. They continued to feast upon the motionless form.

Morrison caught sight of red-white bone, then part of the man’s skull, then nothing. He was lost in their

embrace.

The ruined catwalk, juddered and trembled and let go with a final scream of twisting metal.

Morrison was shaken loose and toppled into empty space. Twisting and turning in the air, he caught a

nightmare glimpse of the floor racing up to meet him. Then impact.

Then nothing at all.

 Consciousness crept up by slow degrees and was fraught with bone-deep pain. He was barely able

to turn his head but it was enough to discern the remains of the metal framework to his left. He tried to sit

up but his body wouldn’t follow orders.

My back’s broken, he thought with a jab of panic. Oh, my god, I can’t move!

“That was a terrible fall,” came a distinctly feminine voice from somewhere beyond his vision. “I

wouldn’t try to move.” The voice was maddeningly recognizable, but he was unable to put a face to it. A

vicious stabbing pain radiated from his lower back just then, blurring his vision. He blinked to clear it and a

moment later a figure stepped into view. “It will only delay the inevitable.”

“Jesus Christ, you’re…” he began, but his voice was lost in a fit of choking. He felt blood welling

up in his throat.

“The ex-wife. Yes.”

“What the hell’s going on?”

“Funny you should put it that way, Mr. Morrison.” She smiled down at him. “It’s your own

personal hell, from the looks of things.”

“Why? I thought you wanted me to…to kill him.”

“I did. I really did, Mr. Morrison.” She knelt, so much like a cat herself, so that she could look into

his face. “But then, that wasn’t my only reason for leading the two of you here.”

“Leading…?”

“I wanted him dead because he was an abusive, money-loving asshole, Mr. Morrison. He was

always going out of his way to collect his little trinkets and prizes.” She stroked his hair. He was barely

aware of the sensation. “And it was on one of these trips that he found these.” She moved out of his field of

vision but returned a moment later. She held some kind of strange object in her hands. An idol. Fashioned

to look like a sitting cat. The statue wore the same bestial expression that the living beings themselves

possessed. Writing on the thing’s chest and forehead resembled that which he’d seen on the crates.

“The crates were my idea, Mr. Morrison. I didn’t want him to recognize his prized find.” She

smiled. It was cold, predatory. All trace of the warm, sad, moppet he had taken the job from so many

months before was gone.

 Morrison coughed blood. The pain was beyond excruciating now. It was almost religious.

“For almost a year he went on about these things. He worshiped them almost as much as the

Egyptians, Mr. Morrison. They so worshiped cats in their heyday. Worshiped them, imbibed them with

supernatural attributes.”

“I almost…had him,” Morrison struggled. He cold barely think through the agony. “Had him in…

my sights.”

“Yes. I know. But really, Mr. Morrison, you of all people should understand the necessity of tying

up loose ends. I can’t just have one of the richest men in all of Denver murdered and leave an evidence trail

behind. Can I?” She sighed. “Of course, you really didn’t do your job at all. They did it for you.” She

gestured toward a place beyond his capacity to see, but he could hear. Oh yes, he could hear them now.

Their hissing, babbling, yowling orchestra of dripping-fang insanity. They were close. Oh, so close.

“So I guess that annuls our contract, Mr. Morrison. Or, should I say, your contract.” She laughed

then. It was cold. Hateful. Almost inhuman. “The dumb bastard kept his research notes in his wall safe. I

knew the combination, and from them I was able to summon the Influence. That which brought the beasts

to my doorstep, so to say.” A few of them approached warily, as cats are wont to do, and began to rub their

loathsome bodies against her legs.

“What do you think of them, Mr. Morrison? Aren’t they wonderful. A side-effect of the statues’

power. Though not singularly. It’s a concerted effort, you could say. Keep them apart and the demons won’t

appear. Put them together, and every cat within miles answers the call.”

“I don’t…I don’t’ understand.”

“Of course not. But one thing I’ve come to understand, at least about the Egyptians, is that they

were bloodthirsty for sacrifice.”

Her grin widened until it nearly resembled the beasts’.

“They see you, Mr. Morrison. And so do I.” Now her eyes were as green and lamp-lit as the beasts

she commanded. “As that sacrifice.”

She placed the statue by his head. He noticed through is diminishing consciousness that her hands

were pulsating with the dreadful illumination. She placed another by his feet. The third, she held high

above her head. This third object flared like a miniature green nova, sent shockwaves roaring throughout
the building. “All praise the Great One, our master, the oldest of them all. Great Yog-Sothoth, hear my

words and bring your faithful minions to this man so that I man know endless wealth and unquestionable

power!”

Her voice was imbued with thunderous power. Morrison felt himself slipping deeper and deeper

into a permanent state of sleep, but not before the final horror broke from their ranks in the shadows and

moved with stealthy feline grace toward his fallen, broken body.

“So note it be!” she shrieked, her head raised to the darkened ceiling. No longer darkened, as

roiling green clouds gathered beneath the confines of the building’s roof. Jagged bolts of sickening light

and gale-force winds blew her hair and tore his desperate pleas from his bleeding lips.

“Come forth, my children, my hoard. Come forth and feast upon your fallen offering in the name

of Yog-Sothoth, the Fallen One! The sleeper in the dark! I am the key and he is the doorway. THE POWER

IS MINE!”

Morrison found at long last the voice to scream, shaking his head back and forth. He screamed and

screamed, his voice lost in the growing maelstrom of nature and supernature as they clashed far above.

And the gods answered her call and crept up to the table that was Morrison’s broken body, at long

last, to sup.

THE END