The Lonely Shadows: Tales of Horror and the Cthulhu Mythos by John Glasby Page A

word, the charm that made everything so fine and correct. Even when you knew, deep down inside, the proper thing to do was to leave them to stew in their own juice. To sink deeper into the hell of their own making.
    There was a sudden sound outside, above the incessant patter of rain on the grass. A car turned into the drive. Headlights threw the entire room into harsher brilliance as they swung momentarily over the window.
    That would be Fisher coming to see him. He tightened his lips and squared his thin shoulders. A lot would depend on whether he could persuade the other not to go, to turn down this devilish invitation. If he couldn’t—
    His mind stopped there because he could see no other way out. A car door slammed outside in the teeming rain. Feet pounded up the steps to the front door. A moment later, he felt the slight draft as it was pushed open.
    That was Jimmy, all right. He’d been coming here so often now that he never bothered to knock. The other’s deep bass voice reached him from the bottom of the stairs.
    “Peter! Where are you, you old devil-worshipper?”
    The same old Jimmy, he told himself for the second time. He opened the door of his room and stood in the square of light at the top of the stairs.
    “Up here, Jimmy. Come on up.”
    “Thought you were out, Peter.” The other came running up the stairs, two at a time, as he always did, the yellow light shining faintly on his wide features with the dark blue eyes dominating everything else, seeing no evil in the world. That was the trouble, thought Kennett bitterly.
    The other refused to believe in the existence of devils and other things of the darkness. Which was obviously why he had received this invitation to dinner.
    “You got my letter, I see. I didn’t want to go without having another little talk with you. You were quite wrong about Kestro, Peter. Really you were. All that Black Magic stuff.”
    Kennett let him ramble on, leading him gently into the room. A tiny corner of his mind was listening attentively to what the other was saying, but the rest was spinning madly inside his head.
    How to stop him from going? Keep him here by force?
    He looked at the other out of the corner of his eye, as he mixed a couple of drinks, and shook his head slightly. Tall, athletic, well-built, James Fisher had always been the outdoor type, all the time he had known him.
    A complete contrast to his own slight build, and more studious nature. Possibly that was why they had always got on well together. Mutual liking of opposites. No, he decided, he wouldn’t be able to keep the other here by force, even if he were foolish enough to try.
    He walked over to where the other sat, quite at ease, in the high-backed chair in front of the blazing fire. “Here,” he said. “Take this. It’ll bring some of the heat back into you. God! You must be frozen after driving through that.”
    He inclined his head to where the rain was still spilling sheets against the window. Lightning threw a blue sheet of flame across the world, outlining the wind-tossed trees that threshed wildly against the sky. The dull rumble of thunder came an instant later, booming about the walls like an insane thing, venting its anger on the world.
    Fisher had the drink in his hand but did not immediately partake of it. His face was full of an uneasiness that Kennett noted and didn’t like.
    “It would seem that you have already made up your mind to go to Kestro’s place tonight,” he said suddenly, breaking the uncomfortable silence. God! What was coming over them? He had never felt ill at ease with Fisher before. He sat down and sipped his drink.
    “That’s rather obvious, old man.”
    Kennett bit his lip. “I’d rather you didn’t go, Jim,” he said sharply, blurting the words out. “If only you knew what you were letting yourself in for, I’m sure you’d think twice about accepting that devilish invitation.”
    “Peter,” said the other, leaning forward, a smile on his face.