*** Spoiler Alert: if you’re planning to play through the (excellent) Call of Cthulhu Starter Set as an Investigator stop reading! ***
Was that a shuffling sound from the cellar below? Jones had heard it too apparently, for Wentworth saw him glance to the stairs that descended to darkness and then back at him. Wentworth nodded to the front door. They both moved towards it.
“You heard that too then?”, asked the aging professor, seemingly dressed for a lecture or maybe a funeral.
Nevada nodded, “Let’s get the flashlights”. He moved to the car and began to rummage around the trunk.
Thudding footsteps came from within the farmhouse, then a pause, then a bang…
Nevada had heard none of it and he was a little surprised by a wide-eyed Wentworth tapping him on the shoulder.
“I fear we may not be alone”.
The instructions seemed clear, though so too were the warnings. “Read that last part again”, Nevada asked.
“It suggests ‘a watcher be posted, lest the sorcerers be disturbed by the nuisances and distractions of malevolent spirits’…”
“Sounds a might ominous. Tell ya what, I’ll draw the pentagram, throw that powder in the fire and keep watch with my trusty .38, if you read that Latin chant. Deal?”
Wentworth looked him in the eye and nodded solemnly. This was madness, but they were committed now.
The window frame shook under repeated blows. The remains of the woman, animated by some horrible powers sought entry. Meanwhile the thing in the attic hurled insults, dripped some gooey acidic substance, hurled dead things from the trap door and emitted the most foul odours. Nevada had succumbed to the horror of it all, desperately moving all light sources near the undead woman in some vain hope of dispelling her… dispelling it.
Wentworth just kept chanting. The Latin gave him power.
“O Spiritus, vos per Pontentiam Sapientiam Virtum exorcizo, per scientiam divinam inanemque tenebrosum, per nomen Veterum, per radicem, truncum, fontem, originem alium nominum divinorum omnium, unde vitam potentiamque suam traherunt…”
Over and over he repeated. He was entranced. Everything outside of those words seemed somehow distant. Somehow unreal. These words… his voice… that’s all he could attend too.
A wispy, liquid-like smoke began to swirl downward from the trapdoor. He kept chanting.
Nevada’s voice joined in… weak at first, but gaining in strength with each repetition. Wentworth noted the page from his notebook in the Archaeologist’s hand. The page held the same words, but he had included indications of how each syllable and word was to be intoned.
The words had power. The power to banish a great evil.
Nevada was still in shock. Wentworth kicked embers into the corners of the room, gathered the materials from the trunk and led him to the car. He’d never driven one before. Knew the theory and had seen it done. Getting it started was more physical than he’d anticipated, but he knew not to flood it… be patient and eventually it would come to life. It did, though the engine roar gave him a start. Of all the things tonight to unsettle him. Decidedly mundane.
Flames began to lick up the interior of the farmhouse window, outside of which lay the now stilled remains of the woman.
Wentworth clambered aboard and fumbled with the gears, Nevada now pointing when something needed doing. He was still mute, not saying anything since the Latin exorcism, but at least he was aware of what was going on.
The car moved… forward, which wasn’t the plan, but it’d have to do. Something squelched underwheel, a squash in the overgrown food garden he suspected, but he lurched the vehicle unheeded towards lightning struck tree and the entrance to the property. Right lay Ross’s Corners. He turned left, Nevada clicking on the lights as they left the glow of the burning farmhouse behind.
Until next time,
Owen