Slayers Fan Fiction ❯ The Doorstep on the Thing ❯ The story ( Chapter 1 )

[ P - Pre-Teen ]

The Doorstep on the Thing

Robert was a prosaic man. A boring man, to be more precise. He was a
chartered accountant, and while within the heart of many a chartered
accountant lies a dashing spy, or mastermind criminal, such was not
the case with Robert. He had no interesting hobbies and his interests
were limited to tax law and the history of bookkeeping. Others in his
office referred to him as Boring Man, able to put large crowds to
sleep with a single sentence. He believed in nothing he could not see
or hear. If he had an imagination, he might have refused the job he
was offered as head of the account department at Miskatonic University
in shadow-haunted Arkham.

Now, Arkham is a town to set anyone's hair on end. Its nearest
neighbor, Innsmouth, has been burned to the ground by the government
twice, and no one ever figured out why the government keeps doing
underwater nuclear bomb tests near Devil's Reef. Of course, the
radiation has mutated most of the fish around Arkham, so fishing of
any kind is forbidden. That's probably a good thing. As far back as
the 1600s, none were willing to eat fish caught near Arkham, so the
govt. ban hasn't affected much. Besides, Arkham's a dying town anyway.
Very few outsiders go there nowadays, and Robert was not a welcome
visitor.

He was shocked at the property prices. He got a Gregorian mansion for
less than he was paying for his apartment in Melbourne. Of course, it
was haunted, but he didn't care. He got the bloodstains off the
stairs, and the ichor off the upstairs bathroom, and the
unidentifiable decaying mass out of the altar through the secret
passage behind the fireplace. He also managed to get the imprint of
the ?????'s* face off the attic window using some Windex. The only
thing he couldn't get rid of was the weird smell. It was strongest in
the front hall, but it spread throughout the house. He tried
disinfectants, soap, bleach, and even acid, but nothing worked. When
he asked others at his office if they had any suggestions, they all
just said that it had been there since the house was built, and no one
had ever managed to get rid of it. Some even hinted that it might be a
good idea if he just gave up trying or something awful would happen to
him. Never try to hint anything to Robert. It doesn't work at all. He
won't get it.

Finally, Robert decided enough was enough. He was going to get rid of
the smell if he had to tear up the entire hall to do it. He'd been
thinking about changing the floor anyway. Laminate is so much more
practical then wood. He tried to find some workers to do the job, but
no one was interested. They just kept dropping veiled and not so
veiled hints about how he should leave well enough alone. He ended up
deciding to do the entire job himself. It'd be cheaper that way
anyhow. He started prying up the floor at the back of the hall. There
was another floor, this one marble, underneath it. Once he got the
wood floor up, he started on the marble. There was another floor under
it. This one was brick. Robert decided that whoever built this house
was a bloody idiot. He knew he was making progress, because the smell
kept getting worse and worse. He opened all the windows, and still
could barely breathe. So, he got a gas mask. Robert is nothing if not
practical.

Under the brick floor was a concrete one, and under the concrete was
flagstone, and under the flagstone were huge cyclopean blocks of solid
stone. Once he hit the stone, Robert had to rethink his plan. It was
possible that there weren't any floor joists at all, and that this
house was not up to code at all. He decided to bring in an expert. He
called his cousin Finny from New York, a demolitions man for the city.
Finny took one look at the floor, and suggested dynamite, or moving.
Robert decided on the former. Finny set the charges, and then left to
go back to work. Robert walked a few blocks away, and then set off the
dynamite. The resulting explosion was quite impressive, and broke
every window in the house. When he walked back inside the house,
Robert groaned. Every block in the floor except the one from under
which the smell was coming had been blown up. He was now at his wits
end.

Perhaps the floors had driven Robert a little crazy, or maybe he was
just too stubborn for his own good. He grabbed his crowbar and started
trying to pry up the doorstep stone. His frustration gave him
strength, and he pulled the stone up. He propped it up, and looked
underneath. There was something under there, but he couldn't make out
what. He ran upstairs and grabbed a flashlight. He ran back downstairs
and looked under the stone again.

Robert now lives in Melbourne, in a nice new apartment. He works for
the government as an accountant, and by all accounts is quite happy.
Just don't mention Arkham to him, unless you like hearing a grown man
scream. And as for what was under the stone, he's not telling, but I
know. My curiosity got the better of me, and after he ran screaming
from the house, I went and looked. I guess Robert has something
against 200 year old pastrami sandwiches on rye with pickles. There is
a happy ending to this story. I found my sandwich.

* Possibly some kind of weird ape