The Free Story Friday Collection Volume 2: The Lovecraftian Mythos Cycle: Collections

By Josh Hilden

THE FREE STORY FRIDAY COLLECTION VOL. 2: THE MYTHOS CYCLE

(Collection)

 

The Free Story Friday Collection Volume 2, "The Mythos Cycle," is a compilation of seven tales in a universe inspired by the works of HP Lovecraft. From the ice of Greenland to the suburbs of America, to alternate realities, parallel dimensions, and the sands of the Middle East, this collection ranges the gamut of Horror.

• Language: English
• Publisher: GWSP
• Release date: Mar 27, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224450480

Josh Hilden

Josh is a native of the Metro Detroit region of Michigan and currently calls Dayton, Ohio home. He cut his writing teeth in the role-playing game (RPG) industry working for companies such as Palladium Books and Third Eye Games. Josh married his wife Karen in 1996. They have six children and two grandchildren. Josh writes in a variety of genres, but the majority of his books are in the realms of science fiction and horror.

Book preview

Beneath The Ice

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Part One

The recorder was running on the table. The only indication was the tiny blinking light on the top of the candy bar sized device. The room was comfortable with a soothing color scheme and plush furniture. The tension of the two men in the room sharply contrasted with the sedate atmosphere.

Agent Jensen walked into the room and set his briefcase on the floor next to his chair. Then he sat and removed a few manila envelopes from it. His eyes were itching like mad and had been for almost two days. He’d loaded them with drops before leaving the Hoover building to try and tame the constant itching. Now his nose was filling with snot, the last thing he wanted was a summer cold damnit.

From the other side of the table he could feel the ancient eyes burning silent holes in him.

It made Agent Jensen shiver internally.

Finally he couldn’t stand it. He broke first and looked across the table to the withered old man who’d caused such a ruckus. He locked eyes and was filled with the sensation of being adrift on a storm besieged sea.

My name is Anthony Jensen, he said to the silent man. When he failed to receive a response he continued. You are Mr. Harold Mitchell of Salem, Oregon. If you don’t mind me saying Mr. Mitchell you have traveled a long way. After speaking he reached for a tissue in the box on the table and blew his nose.

That is not my name and you damn well know it, the elderly man snapped.

Jensen opened his fattest folder and turned it to the man. You can see for yourself, this file contains all known information about you sir. It goes back to your birth in 1916. He pushed the folder all of the way across the table. The older man’s eyes never left Jensen’s.

What is your department called these days? the man asked Jensen.

What do you mean? I am an FBI Agent. I graduated- Jenson was cut off. The old man slammed his gnarled hand on the table.

Back in 1941 you boys all worked for Department 27. What is it called now? Did you give yourselves some fancy name nobody will ever know? Did you do it because it makes your peckers hard? the man said it all in a steady monotone voice. Jensen had the impression he was being played with.

I don’t know what you are talking about, Jensen said but he knew the old man could tell he was lying. He knew damn well who he was talking to. The man was a legend. Jensen just hoped this was just the ravings of an old man and not a genuine situation.

He punctuated that thought with a series of sneezes.

Whatever, the man said and waved his hand dismissively. I called the old number because I knew fuckers like you would never let it be used by anyone else no matter how many years have passed. I need to make a report and since my handler has been dead longer than Kennedy it was the only option I had. He took a deep breath.

Jensen could hear the rattle in his ancient lungs.

Could you give me that pitcher or water son? Sometimes my throat and lungs act up, especially after a long plane trip. He took the container when Jensen passed it to him and filled a glass that he immediately drained. That’s better, he said and grinned, the first emotion he’d shown beside slamming his hand on the table and Jensen thought that was for show.

The DPA, Jensen said quietly. His throat was tickling and this game with the old man was getting tiresome.

What? the old man said grinning the entire time.

I work for the Department of Paranormal Activities, the DPA. We haven’t been Department 27 since the 1950’s. Now it was out, time to hear what the man had to say.

Does it make you hard? the old man asked mischievously.

I take my job seriously sir, Jensen said, anger creeping into his normally restrained and professional voice.

The man softened. So did I son. I guess I still do since I am sitting in a Hyatt conference room in DC as opposed to my easy chair in Salem. He sighed and poured himself another glass of water. He held it to the light and watched the prism effect through the crystal clear liquid.

The ice was so clear that day, the old man mumbled before taking a drink.

What? Jensen asked, ears perking up.

My name, my real name, is Dr. Mark Jackson, 1st Lieutenant United States Army Department 27... I guess deceased, he said putting the glass down.

Yes sir, you were officially declared dead in 1950, Jensen said dropping the last of his official pretense.

Good, I knew Mary would eventually receive death benefits I just didn’t know when. His eyes teared up a little at the mentioning of his former wife. But the tears did not fall. Mark Jackson had not cried since being rescued from the ice back in 1944.

Jenson nodded but did not speak. The fan boy in him just wanted to hear this living legend speak. The agent in him didn’t want to interrupt the flow of Mark’s thoughts but he needed some answers.

Why am I here today Mr. Jackson? he asked.

I haven’t been sleeping well for the last few weeks, Jackson said.

Frustration filled Jensen’s voice. Sir you are almost a hundred years old. I would think that would be a common occurrence.

Anger flashed across the old man’s face and for a second Jensen wanted to reach for his gun. Do you think I would have made contact again after all of these years if this wasn’t different? I have been trying to forget what happened in ’44 since the day my feet hit American soil again. Now he sounded angry as well as looking the part.

I’m sorry, I didn’t think, Jensen said lamely.

No you didn’t, Jackson said but the rage was already leaving his system. "What do you know about ‘Project Greenland’ Agent Jensen?" he asked.

Not much sir. I know it was a US Navy project. I know Department 27 piggybacked onto the operation to put assets onto Greenland without arousing the suspicions of the Nazi SS. He reached down and pulled a thin folder from his briefcase on the floor. This is all of the surviving data on Project Greenland, he said and pushed it over to Jackson.

This time the man picked up the folder and skimmed the contents.

There is a lot of information not in this report, Jackson said putting the folder back on the table.

A lot of records from the early years of the organization have been lost, Jensen offered lamely. He braced for another outburst but was surprised.

Maybe it’s better if most of that shit is forgotten, Jackson said in a rough whisper.

What happened sir, what happened on the ice? Jensen asked. He didn’t care if the old man could hear the eagerness in his voice or not. In the back of his mind he thought he could almost see the younger Jackson and the men of Project Greenland.

Tears were collecting in the corners of his dry itchy eyes.

Jackson seemed to take pity on Jensen. He pushed the pitcher of water to the younger man along with the box of tissues. It was the dead of winter and dark when we landed. I have never felt so isolated in my life like I did that day in Greenland...

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Then

Move your asses! Sergeant Wilkes screamed at the men hustling on and off the amphibious halftrack. Each man exited the vehicle carrying some piece of essential gear.

Sarge, get the men working on the shelters. The harder they work the warmer they will be until we have someplace to sleep, Colonel Lasiter said looking at the clip board and checking off items as they were removed from the massive machine.

Yes sir, the grizzled veteran said. He never took his eyes off of the fourteen enlisted men as they manhandled boxes and crates onto the ice of Greenland.

Why the fuck do they call this place Greenland when it’s covered with ice? one of the soldiers asked.

Marketing Corporal, a softer voice answered from behind the Sergeant and Colonel.

How’s that Doc? the corporal asked handing a large canvas bag to another man.

LT. Jackson, Doctor of Physics, entered the circle of conversation. The short broadly built young man looked more like a miner than a highly educated scholar. That was an image which was shattered whenever he opened his mouth and began to talk though.

When the Vikings were trying to convince their kin to relocate from balmy Scandinavia to here they had a problem. Nobody wanted to live here, he said.

The Corporal laughed. Why not doc, it’s a fucking paradise! The rest of the men laughed, even the Sergeant and Colonel chuckled.

Some smart Viking decided that if he called this place Greenland it would get more people to move here, Jackson said grinning.

Did it work Doctor? the Colonel asked.

Yes sir, but the last Vikings either died or had returned home by the 15th century. He used his index finger to push his army issued glasses back up his nose.

Fascinating sir, the Sarge said never looking at Jackson.

Colonel, the civilians sent me, Jackson said. He braced himself for a cold reaction. The trip from St. Johns, Canada to this god forsaken part of the world had been fraught with tension between the civilian scientific team and the Army contingent.

The Colonel sighed and shook his head. Want to know something Doctor Jackson? he asked the younger man.

Of course sir, Jackson responded. Doctorate or not if your superior officer asked you if you wanted to hear what he had to say your only response was, Yes Sir!.

"I should be in England right now. In fact this entire squad should be in England right now preparing to set off for the continent.