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

“You’ve been mixing with devils and black magic for so long now, you see it where it doesn’t exist. You seek inhuman shapes lurking in every corner. You even read things into a normal, simple, everyday invitation that aren’t there. I remember what you said about Arnold Kestro the other day, and I have no doubt that you believed it all quite sincerely. But this is London, man. In the middle of the twentieth century.”
    “And what difference do you think that makes?” muttered Kennett with a sharpness beyond his intention. He felt suddenly on edge. “The worship of the Devil is as old as Christianity, at least. Probably older. And you wouldn’t say that that had died out, would you?”
    “No. But—”
    “There are two sides to every road, Jim. Just as there are two sides to life itself. The black and the white. Good and evil. Both of them are always with us, and both are forces to be reckoned with. Believe me, I’m not speaking without some knowledge of the subject. If you’d seen as much horror and pain as I have and as much terror as I’ve been through, you’d realise why I’m trying to keep you from that place tonight.”
    Fisher rumbled out a loud laugh. But the other detected a faint, forced quality about it. “So because you studied these things, you actually credit their existence? Well, I won’t argue with you. I suppose you know what you’re saying. But coming from anyone else, I’d have to say they were mad. All I’m saying is that I know Arnold Kestro. I’ve spoken with him, studied him, watched his movements, met some of his friends. And I can see no evil in the man.”
    “And so,” went on Kennett slowly. “You intend to go out there, to disregard my warning.”
    The other spread his hands in a gesture of resignation. “What else can I do, Peter? I can quite see your point. But I can’t simply refuse to go, just because you don’t like the man. What would they think?”
    “It would appear,” muttered Kennett in a quiet, ominous voice, “that what they think of you matters a lot more than what they can do to you.”
    “How do you mean?”
    “You’re walking straight into trouble if you go to that dinner, Jim. Bad trouble. And I’m not joking.” There was a chill in his voice, hard and brittle, like ice.
    “Nonsense,” said the other. He seemed a little shaken but there was a new look of determination on his face, that Kennett hadn’t noticed before.
    “Just because you’re obviously afraid of the fellow, it doesn’t mean to say that I am.” He stood up. “To hell with all your imaginary devils, Peter. I’m going to that dinner at Kestro’s and nothing is going to stop me. And I’ll come back—and in the morning I’ll come round to see you and laugh at your fear and stupid superstitions.”
    “Then you’ve made up your mind to go despite anything I can say?”
    “Certainly.” Fisher nodded his head emphatically. “I refuse to run away from these things of the dark that exist only in people’s overwrought imagination. I don’t believe in them, and until I see them for myself, I refuse to credit the fact that they exist.”
    “You’ll see them soon enough.” Kennett reached for the heavy overcoat that lay neatly folded over the back of a nearby chair, waiting. He pulled it on and buttoned it up above the neck. Then he walked towards the wooden rack where his hat lay among the sticks and umbrellas. The other watched him in surprise.
    “Why the coat?” he asked finally.
    Kennet regarded him steadily a few moments before speaking. Then he said quietly: “Because since you refuse to accept my advice to stay away from this place, I consider it my duty to come with you. Perhaps, by being there, I may be able to divert some of evil that is sure to come of this meeting.”
    “But you can’t come.” His companion cleared his throat, fighting down his surprise. “You’ve received no invitation. How will you get in?”
    The other nodded slowly. “A good