Cthulhurotica Read Online Free PDF

churning at what I heard, I reached my hand out towards Anna. She took it.
    I felt better.

Cody Goodfellow
INFERNAL ATTRACTORS
    “Turn it on,” she said.
    When he didn’t move, she cocked the gun. Even so, Marc hesitated, his hand over the knife switch at the heart of the sprawling machine.
    “It’s not safe,” he said, trying not to whine.
    “I know,” she replied. The raw silk in her weary voice turning to rusted steel. “That’s why I need it.” She laid down the gun, certain of his obedience, and began to unbutton her long black dress. It slithered off her angular, hungry curves to pool round her feet. Her stockings were the color of smoke. She wore nothing else. The sheen of her perspiration made her pale body glimmer in the moonlight. Her long burgundy bangs hid her eyes. “Turn it on, and open it up all the way.”
    He had built it for her, with the weird old components she always seemed to find just when they were needed, and the yellowing circuit diagrams stamped PROJECT BIFROST: ABOVE TOP SECRET. Whenever he asked her about it, she had fucked him until he forgot his questions. But this morning, he had done some digging and found out just enough about what he had built that he tried to destroy it.
    Thus, the gun.
    She’d told him some of it, when she had to. She didn’t have to spell it out. She had to be an idiot or crazy, not to realize how far out of his league she was. When they’d met on a makers’ message board thread about teledildonics and orgone generators, he’d played along with what he was sure was a joke. Something that’ll make Sex and Drugs obsolete , was all she had to say. Meeting her in person was a shock. Her picture didn’t begin to do her justice.
     
    Like most girls who dyed their hair a new color every week and covered themselves in tattoos, there was damage behind her intriguing façade, desperation and despair between the whirlwind binges of thrill seeking. She warned him she was “a bit of a nymphomaniac,” and there was a sleepy confession that she’d been to rehab, been committed, experimented on. He didn’t care about her past, any more than he cared if she really loved him, or what the hell a Tillinghast resonator was, until it was too late. 

They had played with the freaky machine for a week, enjoying the crystallizing buzz it conveyed, like a half-tab of acid with a vasopressin chaser, the weird hallucinations that only got more intense when you challenged them, the sense of the walls of the world withering away from the glowing bones of something hidden in plain sight, and more real than reality itself. Sex in the resonator’s field was a mystical experience – the visible sparks of Shirley’s orgasms coursing up her spine and out the top of her skull like latent lightning – but perhaps too mystical, for he always felt as if something was watching them.
    He threw the switch and instantly felt the itching in the front of his brain, felt it become a tingling long before the eccentric acceleration of the activated resonator became a bowel-tickling hum. He consulted the mildew-spotted researcher’s journal she’d brought him, something she “found at an estate sale.” He turned the master frequency dial up until the hum became a throbbing, subsonic roar.
    The moonlight outside the windows dwindled and died. The warehouse loft was enfolded in a gray void, but within, the air itself seemed to glow with a nacreous, magenta light. The resonator’s hum became a sinusoidal cascade of chimes when all the other electronics shorted out and stopped dead. Distorted by rippling currents like heat mirages in a desert, the room seemed to rot away, and a host of shadowy shapes swam through the ghostly walls. By turns, the room became like the floor of a pre-Cambrian sea, as the phantasmal shadows took on a terrible solidity.
    Great whorled nautiloids floated past, regarding them with lambent spotlight eyes. Razor-winged lampreys slithered past, gulping the ionized