HP Lovecraft's Magazine of Horror - Weird Tales

Lunch with Cedric went well. He always wanted the newest
thing Stephen created. The Black Madonna caused a stir at the
gallery when she was unveiled. “This last sculpture is his best,
Cedric.”
Cedric dabbed at his mouth, removing residual oil left from
his salad. He was a fastidious little man, impeccable in dress and
fashion. Cedric epitomized the art crowd of his studio, from his
extravagant lifestyle to the androgynous look. I liked him because
I never worried about Cedric making a pass.
“There is no way that he could top the Madonna,” Cedric
said. “She has soul and heart that I have never seen in stone.”
I smiled. “Be at the loft tonight by seven-thirty. This one
positively lives and breathes.”
Cedric grinned. “Oh my!”
34%0(%.n The Madonna’s eyes follow me as I drag
my right leg behind me. Breathing becomes difficult and I wonder
if I will be able to drive home, but she beckons me toward
her though she does not move. The beauty of her face amazes
me. To think I created such splendor. The Black Madonna gave
me love and strength as I rescued her from the stone. Columba
sucks life, stealing my soul and my flesh. And then he steals my
wife. The Madonna smiles. I decide Columba must be destroyed
before he destroys me, before Glenda can use him to destroy me.
I pull myself up the stairs to the loft, both legs dragging
behind me. The flesh hardens each leg to the hip, but as I get to
the top of the stairs I can stand and walk in a stiff manner
through the door. He stands where I left him. His sword point
in the stone ground I created. I created. Those become the operative
words. What I create I can destroy. To hell with Columba,
to hell with Cedric, to hell with Glenda.
I walk past Columba. His eyes follow my movement as if he
does not trust me, his creator. You shouldn’t trust me,I think. I grab
the sledgehammer I keep in the utility closet and approach my
nemesis. Hate spears me as he glares. Columba knows. I raise the
sledgehammer and swing it toward his torso.
The stone sword swings up, parrying the hammer. Rock
breaks from the sword and I see steel gleaming in the apartment
lights. A smile forms on Columba’s face. I scream, swinging with
all my might. The sword catches the wood at the handle and
splinters it, leaving me weaponless. My flesh thickens at the legs
and I cannot move. My pants have turned to stone. Coldness
creeps up my body. What’s left of the handle falls from my hands
as they too turn to stone. I open my mouth to scream, but my
mouth shuts with its own volition and the scream is frozen within.
Vocal chords harden. My chest constricts in pain, but my
heart does not stop. Blood still flows to my brain. I see Columba
approach, grinning, wielding his sword. He raises it back to cut
me in half.
“Stop!” I hear Glenda’s voice scream. She has come to save
me. I try to turn but my neck has stiffened and become immobile.
“Columba, it is through.”
Glenda walks into my sight. A gray haze covers her body as
I realize that my eyes have changed. Glenda smiles and I realize
that she shows her happiness at my condition. I feel my brain
congealing in my stone head.
“The perfect self portrait,” Glenda says. “That’s what
Cedric will buy, Columba. Not you, my love. Cedric will buy
Stephen.”
Columba grins and mumbles something in Latin. Glenda
turns and kisses the now flesh-and-blood saint, as my brain finishes
its transformation to stone. Glenda grabs a sheet and
throws it over my head.
Darkness encompasses the gallery. I see the Madonna’s
gleeful stare, the evil eyes. Why did I not see them before? “You
will always be with me,” she says. “Always.” n
Terry Bramlett says: “While sitting in the Episcopal Church, St. Columb’s,
which I attend, I saw the word descant on a sixteenth century hymn. My
wife said descant meant the song had two complementary melodies. I
brought the idea to this short story, which is why the title has little to do with
the story line. Instead, the title describes the story’s structure. Once I had the
structure, the writing followed both melodies.”
H .P . L O V E C R A F T ’S M A G A Z IN E O F H O R R O R 23