DESECRATED

The thick New England woods boxed in the ancient husk of the Arkham Baptist 
Church on all sides, like the steel walls of cage holding in some terrible beast.  The 
ominous, silent wall of pines was broken only by a narrow strip of packed gravel, which 
beat a dimly-visible path down the massive hill upon which the building was perched, an 
ancient and malevolent bird of prey looking out over the town with its many-colored 
eyes.  The half-moon which shone its pale rays down upon the scene gave it an almost 
Jupitarian feel, making it seem as though the weight of a thousand years laid upon those 
wooden walls instead of a hundred.
At the outskirts of the woods, two small boys crouched in the darkness, holding 
whispered palaver as they looked upon the building with superstitious dread and loathing.
“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” the smaller one, Tommy Christian, 
uttered in a hushed voice.
“There ain’t nothin’ scary ‘bout that old place,” Billy, the larger boy, proclaimed.  
Despite his bravado, he, too, spoke in a harsh whisper.  “Me an’ Ma went here once with 
mah cousin Steve.  T’weren’t no different n’ the one you go to in Castle Rock.”
Tommy was not impressed by this statement.  “Yeah, but you just moved here last 
year, Billy.  You don’t know what goes on down there,” he hissed, never taking his eyes 
off of the church.  The wrought-iron cross, instead of offering protection and sanctuary, 
seemed instead somehow dark and menacing, as though it represented its original 
purpose as an instrument of torture instead of the symbol of salvation.  “Jack Sawyer told 
me …”
“Sawyer’s yellah,” Billy sneered, his voice still not above a whisper.  His hushed 
tone only exaggerated his already-thick Southern accent, so he could barely be made out.  
“I’m goin’ in there right now.  An’ so are you.”
Tommy sighed.  He knew better than to say no; he’d never hear the end of it if he 
chickened out now.  Maybe the other kids would understand, but Billy wouldn’t.  He was 
an outsider, and he didn’t feel the hidden terror that ran just beneath the surface of 
Arkham, terror that seemed to hold its center in this place clearing, where the old church 
stood, thrusting its cross to the sky.
“Alright,” he sighed.  “Let’s get it over with.”
At that, Billy moved forward, into the clearing.  At that very moment, the wind 
suddenly blew fiercely, smashing against the young boy and almost toppling him 
backwards.  The wind was oddly warm in the cool autumn night, with the slightest 
undercurrent of some animal-like stench.  He staggered, surprised, and then the wind 
ceased as suddenly as it began, leaving him blinking at the edge of the pine woods.
“You OK?” Tommy hissed.
“F … fine,” Billy replied, unable to repress the quiver in his voice.  Tentatively, 
he took another step forward.  No wind blew in response.  Reassured, Billy began 
walking towards the church again, the old building staring blindly at him with its dead, 
ebony eyes.  After a pause, Tommy reluctantly followed, glancing nervously around 
every few seconds, as though the shadows themselves sought to snatch him into the 
darkness.
By the time Tommy caught up to his friend, Billy was already at the door and 
looking curiously at the lock.  It was a simple masterlock with a key slot at the bottom, 
and Billy was wiggling a bit of wire around in it.  After several seconds, there was a 
click, and the lock opened.  Billy slipped it off of the metal pieces on the double-doors it 
had held shut and dropped it.  It made a dull, somehow horrible thunk when it hit the 
ground.  Almost without thinking, Tommy stooped and put the lock in his pocket, as 
Billy slowly opened the double-doors.  The rusty hinges creaked as the doors swung 
open, revealing a darkness within the church that at first seemed to be almost animate, a 
pure blanket of night where no luminance penetrated.  
Then Billy flipped on his flashlight, and the illusion was shattered.  The pews of 
the church sat unoccupied, facing towards the front where a pulpit stood upon a stage.  
During the Sunday sermons, the pastor would stand upon that pulpit and violently 
pronounce the sure damnation of the masses, warning his sheep not to stray lest they burn 
with the rest of the world.  Even in the flashlight, that pulpit seemed somehow sinister, 
like a wooden alter upon which forbidden rites would be performed.
Billy walked down the aisle of the church, Tommy soon behind.  They did not 
bother to close the door, and a little bit of the moonlight was able to shine into the 
building.  The two small boys walked slowly past the pews, their steps echoing hollowly 
on the wooden floor.  They reached the pulpit, and passed it, turning to the right before 
they reached the metal baptismal pool and the great wooden cross that hung solemnly 
above it.  The flashlight wobbled across the wooden, termite-eaten walls until it found a 
single wooden door, church notices and rolls covering its surface.  
Billy turned and looked at his smaller friend, his face for the second time showing 
doubt.  They had gone into the old church, yes, and there were no demonic forces waiting 
to tear the souls from their young bodies.  But this door led down, into the basement of 
the old church, where it was whispered that the darkest of dark rites were performed.  
After a moment, however, Billy turned and, with a hand that trembled only slightly, 
reached out and opened the door.
The hinges on this door were freshly oiled, and not a sound emerged as the 
entrance swung open.  There were steps leading down several feet, then turning to the 
right and going down further into the earth.  There were no windows here, and yet …
“Turn off the flashlight,” Tommy whispered in a voice that could barely be heard, even in 
the dead silence of the church.  After a moment, Billy did so.
The hallway that led downstairs was not pitch-black, as it should have been.  
There were no windows set into the sides of the church, to allow light to penetrate inside.  
And yet, even without the flashlight, the dim outlines of steps could be seen.  It could not 
be, but it was.  And that could only mean one thing … that something was, indeed, down 
there.
Tommy felt as though his spine had been frozen solid.  He began shivering 
uncontrollably, and would have turned and ran, screaming, from the church if he’d been 
able to move.  He tried to speak, but his tongue was suddenly dry.  All he could mutter 
was a low moan.
Billy seemed equally shaken, but after a pause, he moved forward, placing his 
foot upon the first step, testing it.  There was no creak as the wood bent, and slowly Billy 
began to make his way down the stairs, feeling his way through the horribly imperfect 
darkness.
“Billy,” Tommy moaned, but did nothing otherwise.  His feet seemed nailed to 
the floor; he could not have ran even if the devil himself had appeared behind him, 
screaming and jibbering in joy as he reached out to devour his soul.  Billy reached the 
turn, and after a glance up at him, he continued down out of sight, leaving him alone.  
Tommy moaned again, but still did not move.  Time seemed frozen; icy seconds ticked 
by with the speed of glaciers, minutes stretched into entire ice ages.  And still, he was 
unable to move.
Suddenly, from the darkness, Billy screamed in unholy terror.
Instantly, the ice was melted.  He tore out the nails that bound his shoes and ran 
away, smashing his knee into the pulpit, stumbling, almost falling, and then recovering.  
Pews passed him in blurs, and then he burst out into the night, stumbling, gasping, 
sobbing in fear and terror.  He almost made it to the edge of the clearing before his feet 
tangled in each other and he fell onto his face, tears running down his cheeks and 
smearing them with grass.  He could not find the strength to rise, even if to lay here 
would be his doom.  He could only stay, watering the grass with his tears and shaking in 
horror.
After almost a full minute of sobbing, a thought finally pierced the cloud of his 
terror; Billy was still in there.
	Leave him there, a voice inside himself whispered.  It was the voice of cowardice, 
he knew, but the drive of self-preservation was for a moment entirely too strong for his 
undeveloped mind to resist.  He finally scrabbled to his feet, smearing the grass on his 
hands and jeans, ready to run home to where things were still sane …
	From the church, Billy screamed again, a lost, horrible sound of agony and fear.
	Reluctantly, fighting every instinct in his being, Tommy turned back towards the 
church, and ran towards the gaping mouth of its doors.  He almost expected the top of 
door to sprout fangs and crunch down upon him as he passed through, but no such thing 
happened.  The air itself seemed to reach into his lungs with each breath, choking him 
with dust and the smell of moldering wood.  He coughed as quietly as he could, pressing 
his palm against his mouth to stifle the sound that nonetheless echoed through the empty 
chamber.  When his fit elapsed, he walked slowly towards the door, which he could only 
barely see in the near-perfect darkness.  It was still open, and he stood at the top of the 
stairs, looking down into the basement that should have been pitch-black but was not.  
Taking a deep breath, praying to the same God that was supposed to make his home in 
churches like this one, he walked slowly down the stairs, the wood stairs offering only 
the slightest creaks of protest at his passage.
	 Tommy reached the corner, where the stairs continued downward in the opposite 
direction of the first ones.  The light was a little better here, and he could dimly make out 
a hallway at the foot of the stairs.  He descended, hardly daring to breathe as he walked 
slowly towards the source of that light.  He stopped dead when he suddenly realized that 
the blood pounding in his ears had prevented him from noticing that the silence of the 
church was no longer perfect.
	Whispered words echoed in the wooden walls, seeming to come from everywhere 
and nowhere at once.  About halfway down the flight of steps, Tommy stood, blood 
suddenly transformed into ice water, trying to make out what the words were saying.  Try 
though he may, he could not make sense of the whispers, only that they repeated a single 
word over and over--C’thulhu.
	Tommy almost turned and ran once more from that place, and he knew that if he 
did, there would be no turning back.  He even lifted up a foot to take a step backwards … 
when Billy screamed again, in pain this time instead of simple fear.  The scream was 
suddenly cut short by what only could have been a slap, followed by muffled blubbering 
sounds.  He pondered for another moment, then quickly but quietly went down the rest of 
the stairs.  
	At the end of the hall was the source of the light, an open doorway in which 
candles flickered and danced.   The doorway was shadowed by strips of a black, veil-like 
material that criss-crossed the entrance.  The whispering was obviously coming from that 
door, and as Tommy slowly walked towards the it, it grew louder.  Now, he could make 
out some syllables, though they made no sense to him;

		Ia!  Ia C’thulhu!  Telal der farlagh!  
		C’thulhu ragh, domi ix glautra! 
		Nngi banna, Yog-Sothoth, Azag-Thoth, C’thulhu!
		In anu!  Ia enlil!  Ia Nngi!  Zabao!

There was more, but Tommy blocked it out; the very sound of the words seemed 
to chill his soul, though he had not the slightest idea of what they might mean.  The 
whispering rose in volume as he came closer, blocking what tiny sounds his Reeboks 
made on the wood floor.  At last, he stood at the threshold of the door, his view blocked 
by the strips of the material until he moved them aside with a hand that he could barely 
control, it was shaking so hard.
 	Immediately, he wished he hadn’t.  In the center of the room, upon a square altar 
of what appeared to be blackest stone, lay Billy, fresh blood drying on his face, and each 
of his limbs bound to a corner of the altar by rusted wires that cut into his flesh.  Tommy 
could see every drop of the boy’s blood as it ran down his wrists and ankles, collecting on 
the altar below him.  The sense of self-preservation seized him and he turned to run … 
until he saw the statue.
	Between Billy’s legs stood an image whose appearance nearly shattered Tommy’s 
sanity altogether.  About a foot tall and carved out of a sickly green substance that had 
the shine of marble, and yet seeming somehow organic in nature, the horrific figure 
squatted upon what appeared to be the top of a mountain, its misshapen legs drawn up 
against it.  From the figure’s back sprouted a pair of horribly warped, draconian wings, 
which spread out as though the creature might attempt to take flight.  The figure, being 
roughly humanoid, had its arms spread out to either side, seeming to engulf the world 
itself in that horrific embrace.  Above all of that, drawn nearly against its chest, was its 
face.  All at once, it appeared to be human, dragon, squid, and nothing that in any way 
resembled any creature that lived upon the earth.  Tentacles sprouted from this misshapen 
visage, reaching out towards the boy that whimpered and silently cried upon the altar.  As 
the candles flickered in the cool air, the tentacles seemed almost to be waving, as though 
in anticipation.
	Tommy had no idea how long he stood, horrified, staring at that statue with eyes 
that would not turn away, no matter how he tried.  It was almost as though the statue was 
staring back at him, keeping his gaze locked upon the hideous construct.  Whether it was 
a handful of seconds or millennia, at last he saw, from the corner of his eye, a figure 
clothed all in black emerge from the shadows.  Though he could not see the man’s face, it 
was obvious that he was the source of the chanting.  As he chanted, something in his 
hands caught the candlelight as it moved in slow, almost lazy patterns through the air.  As 
he moved towards the altar, around which the candles were arranged in a circle, it 
became apparent what the thing was--a long, very sharp knife.  
	The man’s chanting grew louder, and despite his efforts to block out the sounds, 
Tommy began to recognize English words in the seeming gibberish;

		C’thulhu alta!  Ia!  Spirit of the Earth, remember!
		Yog-Sothoth alta!  Ia!  Spirit of the Abyss, remember!
		Azag-Thoth alta!  Ia!  Spirit of the Graves, remember!
		Ia!  Ia!  SPIRITS OF THE GODS, REMEMBER!

	As he finished this last, the man’s voice rose into a shout, and he held the blade 
high above his head, the blade smashing the candlelight into shards as it paused for the 
slightest of moments … and then whistled down through the air, implanting itself deep 
into Billy’s chest.
	There was no scream from Billy, only a sickening gurgle as the sacrificial knife--
so Tommy knew it must be--plunged through his organs, causing blood that was 
impossibly bright to leap into the air.  The boy’s eyes opened wide, as though in surprise, 
and did not move as the man suddenly and brutally pulled the knife down Billy’s body, 
ripping him open.  
	Tommy could stand no more.  Too numbed to even scream, he turned away from 
the gastly sight … and looked into the black robes of another man, who had been 
standing silently behind him all this time.  He opened his mouth to scream, but was met 
by a vicious strike across his face, causing him to cry out briefly and fall backwards, 
ripping some of the strips of cloth that veiled the doorway.  The strips were somehow 
slimy, and he brushed them away quickly.
	“You shall not interrupt the ceremony of the Old Ones,” the man whispered, and 
placed a hard boot against Tommy’s chest.  He pressed down, and Tommy felt his air 
pushed out of his lungs.  He desperately tried to suck in air, and was only able to bring in 
a little until his lungs could expand no more.  Rendered incapable of speaking or even 
moving, Tommy turned his face away from the man that pinned him to the ground … and 
saw that the statue was, indeed, moving.
	The tentacles waved in front of its hideous face, the wings stretched and flexed 
their twisted muscles.  As the first robed man presented the blood-soaked knife to the 
statue, its tentacles reached out, rubbing against the metal.  Wherever the protrusions 
touched, there was a horrible sucking sound, and when they moved on, the blood had 
disappeared.  The statue itself was somehow sucking the blood off of the knife, and when 
it was completely cleaned, it fell dormant again.  
	Taking his eyes from the horrific statue, Tommy looked into the shadows.  
Slowly, he saw another figure there, save this one was considerably smaller than the two 
men who towered above him.  It was curled into a ball, and as he looked harder, he saw it 
was a girl, clad in filthy rags.  Her matted hair covered her face, and it was impossible to 
tell what age she was.  Her sides shook silently, as though in sobs.
	“Great C’thulhu is pleased,” the man with the dagger said calmly.  “The energy of 
the young man’s youth has been given to the Old Ones, and they shall remember us when 
they arise again.”  He then turned towards Tommy, his face still obscured.  “Place him 
upon the mantle.  The Gods shall look even more kindly upon us, if there are two 
sacrifices.”
	The foot was removed from his chest.  Immediately, he tried to scrabble to his 
feet, but strong hands grasped his wrists and jerked him up, holding him above the 
ground.  Tommy kicked his feet and uttered a breathless scream, but neither man payed 
him any mind.  The man holding him layed him upon the altar, which had been cleared of 
its previous occupant but was still stained with his blood.  Tommy struggled, but abruptly 
the man with the knife moved, driving his elbow sadistically into his stomach.  Tommy 
nearly vomited, and while he was gasping for breath, the man holding him quickly 
wrapped the wire around his wrists, tying them so tight they cut into his skin.  He then 
repeated the same process with his ankles, the wire slicing through his socks as easily as 
they did his flesh.  He opened his eyes and saw that the statue was now between his legs, 
and its eyes seemed to look at him from beyond time itself.  Those inhuman eyes told him 
the fact that by now, he already knew; that he was going to die.
	Once again, the man with the dagger began chanting, moving the dagger through 
the air in elaborate passes.  Tommy looked around desperately, for anything that could 
save him.  There was nothing.  Once again, he saw the girl, only this time, she had raised 
her head.  The tears in her huge eyes caught the light, making them almost seem to float.  
She couldn’t have been more than twenty.  Unlike him, there was no one binding her; she 
simply crouched in the corner, trembling, apparently too terrified to move.  He met her 
eyes, begging her silently to help, and she turned away with a tiny sob.  There was no 
help there.  Exhausted of all other possibilities, he closed his eyes and prayed.  
	After another expanse of time that seemed to stretch into infinity, the chanting 
rose once again.  Tommy opened his eyes, staring up at the ceiling.  No help was 
forthcoming; he was going to die here, with his blood running down his wrists from the 
rusty wire binding him and that horrible statue staring at him.  He looked at the knife that 
swished designs in the air, and closed his eyes once more, waiting for the end.

		C’thulhu alta!  Ia!  Spirit of the Earth, remember!
		Yog-Sothoth alta!  Ia!  Spirit of the Abyss, remember!
		Azag-Thoth alta!  Ia!  Spirit of the Graves, remember!
		Ia!  Ia!  SPIRIT OF THE G…

	Suddenly, the man’s voice was cut off, a dull clunk replacing the end of the chant.  
Tommy opened his eyes, shocked that he still lived, and saw the girl from the corner 
holding a tin cup in her hand, backing away from the man with the dagger, who was 
shaking with either rage or fear.
	“Idiot girl!” the man snarled, and now the fear in his voice was quite clear.  “Do 
you have any idea what you’ve done?”
	The girl only stared back, defiantly … and Tommy suddenly noticed that the 
temperature of the room had suddenly raised quite a bit.  From everywhere there came a 
hissing sound, as of an enraged snake that senses prey.  Wildly, the man turned away 
from the girl, turning towards the door and starting to run, leaving them to face whatever 
had been inadvertantly summoned …
	Suddenly, the floor in front of the alter exploded upwards, sending chunks of 
wood and bedrock flying up to smash into the roof of the chamber.  Soon behind it, 
twisting and quivering in rage, a gigantic tentacle rose into the air, its waving motions 
matching that of the statue between Tommy’s legs.  The statue, he noticed, was no longer 
facing him, but had somehow turned to face the man with the knife that even now 
sprinted for the exit, his companion had already fled.  
	Impossibly fast for such a massive structure, the tentacle whipped through the air, 
wrapping itself around the man in black robes.  He screamed in horror and pain, and there 
was a massive sucking sound as the tentacle wrapped itself tighter around him.  Tommy 
could only stare, horrified, as the man in the robes seemed almost to shrink, the skin 
around his hands slowly drawing tighter around him and then finally splitting open, 
showing pink muscle and white bone.
	Suddenly, he saw the glint of the knife again, and winced away before he realized 
that the wires binding him had been cut.  Looking up, he saw the girl staring back down 
at him, terror in her eyes.  Quickly, she went to the other side of the altar, cutting the 
wires binding his ankles.  She stayed quite a distance from the statue, he noticed, even 
though it was still turned to look at the man who was now little more than a skeleton, but 
was somehow still screaming.  Once they were cut, she yanked him to his feet, where he 
stumbled but did not fall.  Suddenly, he realized he could smell smoke, and that the 
tentacle had knocked down several of the candles when it swung after the man that had 
summoned it.  The room was swiftly catching fire, especially the strips of material that 
had once covered the entrance.
	“Hurry!” the girl screamed, and Tommy needed no further encouragement.  The 
man in the robes had now been reduced to nothing but dust, and the tentacle squirmed 
and writhed in its portal, seeming to search for more food.  Without a single glance back, 
they ran into the darkness that was no longer perfect, but lit by the flames of the chamber 
behind them.
	They emerged into the chapel, stumbling in the near-perfect darkness and with the 
screams of the black-robed man still ringing in their ears.  Tommy tried to stop for a 
moment there to catch his breath, but the girl that had saved him yanked him forward 
again.
	“Hurry!” she hissed.  “C’thulhu can’t move very far from the place he’s been 
summoned, but we’re still in his range!”
	A thousands questions swirled in his mind--who or what C’thulhu was supposed 
to be among them--but before he could say anything, another tentacle erupted from 
directly beneath the pulpit, sending it flying into the air and crashing through the roof of 
the church.  Harsh moonlight speared downwards into the chapel, as the tentacle waved 
and writhed, seeking them.  The girl screamed and yanked at him again, and he came 
along quite eagerly.  The tentacle was soon joined by more, as they ripped through the 
ground, uprooting pews and the large baptismal pool, seeking out their prey.  They 
dashed out of that place, and a tentacle snapped close enough to Tommy’s ear that for a 
moment he was sure it *did* have him.   And then, they were out into the clearing, the 
moon shining down on them with its pale light.  Once they reached the edge of the 
woods, they finally stopped, panting.  
	Finally, Tommy managed to collect himself enough to pant out, “What … was 
…”
	The girl didn’t bother to let him finish.  “What you just saw was C’thulhu, the 
keeper of the Elder Gods.  He protects their slumbering bodies until the day they awake, 
and destroy the earth in their great rage.  The men you saw were members of a cult that 
has existed for as long as humanity has … you and your friend were meant as sacrifices 
to appease the Elder Gods, so that they will not be destroyed when C’thulhu calls them to 
rise again and consume humanity.”
	Tommy’s mind spun.  “How … do you know all this?  Who are you?” he panted.
	“The man you saw with the knife …” the girl began, hesitantly.  “That was … my 
father.  He wanted me to join the cult, and when I didn’t, he planned on sacrificing me to 
his Elder Gods.  He didn’t think I could fight against him … but he was wrong.”
	Silenced, Tommy looked at the church, which by now was slowly being 
consumed from within by the flames.  Some of the grass around it became singed, but 
almost nothing except for the building was burning.   It was strange … and yet, 
somehow, made sense.
	For the third and final time that night, it seemed as though time ceased to have 
meaning.  He sat, watching the church burn from within, and then … the ground began to 
shake.  An unholy scream came from within the building, and the building itself seemed 
to implode until, without warning, it burst open like an egg, sending shards of blazing 
wood everywhere.  The girl beside him screamed, and Tommy threw himself on the 
ground, trying to avoid being hit by the flaming shrapnel.  When he looked up, he saw a 
living nightmare … the statue that had horrified him now stood in place of the church, 
only its torso up revealed.  It had now grown to nearly thirty feet in height, and glowed 
with a light that seemed to mock life itself.  Its eyes were on the sides of its head and 
turned from side to side, searching them out as its feelers writhed.
	Tommy could feel his sanity slipping, as he realized that this was not the statue 
that had so terrified him … it was the thing that had inspired the sculpture, and the reality 
was far worse than any craftsman could create.  It was somehow unreal and real at the 
same time, its dimensions entirely wrong.  Still, it could not be doubted--what swung its 
malefic gaze across the clearing was C’thulhu himself.
	The girl suddenly whispered into his ear.  Oddly enough, her voice was steady, 
and without fear.  “Run,” she hissed.
	“But…”
	“Quickly,” she hissed again.  “I read in my father’s journal how to expel these 
creatures from the world.  Its simple existence in this plane is tearing it apart … can’t you 
hear it?”
	Indeed, Tommy realised, he could, a low, slobbery growl that came from the 
abomination in the clearing.  It was totally alien, but in it, two emotions could still be 
made out.  The first was hatred, and the second … was pain.
	The girl stood, looking up at the massive beast, and C’thulhu finally saw her, as 
well.  The two paused for a moment, looking at one another, as the girl whispered, for the 
last time, “Run!”
	Tommy needed no encouragement; he ran.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

	The next day, a group of police, accompanied by Mr. and Mrs. Christian, 
advanced upon the clearing where only yesterday a church had stood.  There was no sign 
of either the massive beast from beyond time that had ripped its way into this existence, 
nor the young woman that had stood to face it.  There was only the burned foundation of 
the ruined church, a black stone altar … and, buried in almost three feet of ashes, a statue 
of a creature that was beyond the ability of a human mind to understand.


THE END