Sleeping with the Squidses!

There is a knock on the door. Brother Jeremy looks both ways before opening the slit on the door to see who is outside. "Who seeks entrance to the halls of the great sleeper?" Whispered Jeremy as he tried to keep his eyes as scrutinizing as possible. The figure outside spoke out of a hood laden by droplets of the New Jersey rain, "Tis I Initiate Robins, who seeks to call Him from the land of R'lyeh." The door opened with the obvious creaks of an old abandoned warehouse spending years upon the water front even though it was a small dwelling near the middle of town.

Initiate Robins stepped in and walked into the parlor, where he expected and was not suprised to see the other members of the Brotherhood standing around trying to be as secretive as they could, even around each other. He didn't even know what any of them looked like. Removing your hood during the meeting was punishable by excommunication. He did know where the all lived though. Initiate Robins led quite a boring life and filled it by trying to know as much as he could while knowing nothing at the same time. It seemed much safer this way.

The meeting went as normal. Nothing new ever happened at their meetings. Always the same rituals. Always the same praises to ol' squid face. It's not that he didn't think it was possible that C'thulu existed but just like everything else he didn't really want to commit to it. Every Sunday he went to church and sang the hymns to Jesus, every Saturday he spent at the temple with his yarmulke just in case the Christians added too much, and he at least got up and looked to the east 5 times a day. Maybe Mecca would know he looked.

The meetings usually ended with any promotions that had happened. Brother Dingle was promoted to Tentacle first class or whatever they called it these days. Initiate Robins had made quite the effort to never go beyond Initiate. He had been in this cult for quite a long time and had been here longer than most of the people. At least he assumed he did. It's quite possible that the old members just moved to where these new people went home to every night. He knew most of their names. The Grand Master's name was Grand Master Poobah. He wasn't sure if it was meant to be ironic or just a happenstance. Names were given to you by Seer Christopher and the never got changed unless giggling happened every time your name was said.

As the meeting let out, the members shuffled slowly and quietly into the street. They didn't really worry about anyone seeing them. The street was notoriously populated with the, how you would say, "Lifespan challenged." They were all in bed before the meeting started. The police hardly patrolled this section of town as well. One, it was full of old people. Two, it was near the scummier parts of town. Most of the inhabitants were old thugs that had just retired with the stripper who no longer could keep her breasts above her belly button. Most of the people here didn't worry about crime either. They had enough connections or still knew enough about the right way to bust kneecaps with a lead pipe that no one really messed with this street.

Now, in obvious fashion, this night would have to be different. Why would there be a story otherwise. As all the members exited the building, two cars sped around the corner, tommy guns outside the windows of the latter vehicle blasting at the one ahead. A well time bullet hit the tire and sent the front vehicle into a skid, crashing into a light post. A body climbed out the driver's window trying to crawl away. His leg or maybe even legs broken with bones not even trying to conceal themselves.

The attackers screeched to a halt about a dozen paces passed the demolished vehicle. The man that got out of the car had the type of features that you expected from a cheap fiction novel bought at the corner magazine stand. He had a large bulbous nose, but deep set dark eyes behind narrow wire rim glasses. He had a scar that crossed from the left ear and curved across the nose up under the right eye. The imagination went wild with ideas of what could have caused a wound like that and left such a monstrous proboscis intact. His thin lips held a long lean cigar that burned as though it was running as fast as it could from the brisk night air, seeking refuge in his mouth. Robins blinked and the cigar was renewed with a new cherry burning at the end.

This man walked over to the man crawling away. You were hoping to see some sort of emotion cross his face, such as hesitation or remorse, but he just pointed his pistol and shot the man dead. Not a word was spoken by either and then the world was still. No one wanted to move as if encountering a wild animal and wanting to play dead. The murderer turned towards all of us for the briefest of moments. He did not focus on us. He didn't even car that we saw; you could tell by the look of him. He knew what he did and it wasn't going to change by what we saw. He had the air as though he knew he was untouchable.