Love in the Time of Cthulhu

by Gary B. Phillips

“One final question, Cassandra. Why do you deserve to be sacrificed to the great
Yog-Sothoth?”

The candle on the table flickered as she studied the hooded man’s dark eyes and
considered her answer. She hated when the elder gods sent a proxy. How hard was
it to show up for themselves? It made her feel so… unattractive.

But of course, it was a trick question. No mere mortal deserves such eternal
pleasure. Only through the sheer chaos of the universe is anyone worthy to be gazed
upon by him. Or it. Do elder gods even have genitalia? Cassandra had never
considered that question before. Maybe she could ask later.

“He is the gate, the key, and the guardian,” she said. And those eyes.

A subtle smile crossed the man’s lips.

Nailed it.

The bell chimed and thirty chairs screeched across the linoleum floor. The hooded
man rose from his seat and bowed to her.

“Ia! Ia! Yog-Sothoth fhtagn,” he said.

She held up three fingers, emulating the points of the elder sign.

Sam, may the elder gods rest her soul, had always told Cassandra that dating was
the most dangerous game. She was thankful that Sam had not lived to see the day
that the beasts rose from the sea and came from the stars. When the moon was
always gibbous, as if hidden in the shadow of a great monstrosity.

It was only men on the prowl back then, and relatively easy to avoid the monsters
that only had one thing on their mind. Cassandra knew she could count her lucky
stars if these monsters only had that one thing on their mind. Or minds. Hive-mind?

Something squirmed at the next table. She sat down and scooted her chair as far
back as possible without being too obvious. A mass of tentacles swarmed in the
chair across from her. Each time one of the tentacles hit the table, it made a nasty
squelching sound when the little sucker unhinged itself. Cassandra’s breath
quickened in her throat as a single scaled tentacle slid across the table and coiled
around her breast. It squeezed with a surprising gentleness.

I hate tentacles.
She closed her eyes, fighting back tears, willing herself not to grab a dinner knife and
lop it off. The tentacle or the breast, it didn’t matter which.

She waited out the rest of the time in an awkward silence. The bell chimed and she
exhaled. Thirty chairs screeched again and she moved to the next suitor.

“My name is Cassandra. It’s a pleasure to meet you-”

You would not be able to say my name.

It spoke without words.

“Hang on, I’m pretty good with these names. Cah-thu-loo. Wait, no- Coo-too-luh. No,
hang on-”

It laughed, a sound like static rising and falling in the void of space. The thing told
her its name. Just hearing it — sensing it — made her feel intoxicated. Her world
swam.

This was a good trip. I could get used to this. And the sex is probably out of this world.
Literally.

It spoke again, in her mind.

I offer you the first dream.

“What is the first dream?”

Your death in me.

It was a tempting offer.

“I’m sorry. I’m looking for something a little less,” she considered her choice of
words. “Final.”

The last bell rang and it was all over. Now the wait began. The bachelorettes
mingled, drinking deeply from their glasses. The tentacled god approached
Cassandra and attempted to make small talk, or in this case, small squelches.
Cassandra affixed her empty glass to one of its suckers.

“Go get me another,” she said.

It writhed over to the bar, looking like a squid-cum-waiter trying to ever-so-

carefully balance the wine glass. Upon reaching the bar, it lost its balance and
dropped the glass, shattering it. Every eye (including The Great Eye) turned toward
the quivering tentacle god and stared.

It slinked away forlornly and in that moment she almost pitied it. It was awkward.
The results were tallied and names were read from the list. Most of the girls vomited
or fainted when their names were called and had to be carried out.

“Rookie!” Cassandra shouted when the last girl was dragged away by the tentacled
abomination. She was happy that it had found someone. Especially because it wasn’t
her.

She was the last human left. Two elder gods remained. One would be going home
alone tonight.

“Cassandra and…”

Please not Nyarlathotep, the black pharaoh that waits in the moonlight. Please not
Nyarlathotep, the black pharaoh that waits in the moonlight. Please not Nyarla-
“Yog-Sothoth!”

She couldn’t help herself and squealed like a fan-girl. It’s not every day that your
elder-god-crush reciprocates!

They prepared her by removing her clothes, shaving her head and bathing her. Then
they led her into a dark room. Her high heels echoed on the floor, sounding
sepulchral.

Something moved in the darkness and her heart fluttered.