HP Lovecraft's Magazine of Horror - Weird Tales

76 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
“I’m through talking. I haven’t slept in a week. At this rate
the bum is going to cost me my job. Nobody likes an assistant
office manager who can’t stay awake. No more talking, now it’s
time for action.” Don stood up, feeling a surge of adrenaline.
“Where are you going?” asked Meg.
“To buy a gun,” said Don.
“You’re going to murder our neighbor because he plays his
stereo too loud?” she said, as she followed him into the bedroom.
“You have a better reason?” he said, putting on a pair of
boxer shorts.
“Don’t do anything you might regret.”
“Oh, I won’t regret this, I’ll like this,” said Don, slipping
into a pair of jeans.
“It’s only been going on a month, maybe it’ll stop.”
“It’s a month and half since he moved in and you know it.
It’ll stop when he drops dead and not before,” said Don, as he
buttoned his shirt.
“I don’t like this,” said Meg. “What am I going to when the
police arrest you and take you to prison?”
“Nobody’s taking me anywhere, and by the time this weekend
is over we’ll both be able to get a good night’s sleep.”
“That would be nice,” said Meg, wistfully.
$on got off the subway near the financial district and
walked into a dark side street. As he passed a few
antique stores (which were closed), he wondered if
Meg was right. Maybe it was a crazy idea. He was a law-abiding
citizen, not a killer. Then it occurred to him that instead of a
gun maybe he should buy a knife. He rejected the idea on the
grounds that the sight of blood made him barf. He was considering
purchasing some poison when he happened to walk by a
metaphysical book shop. Ordinarily, Don would have kept
going, but something in the window got his attention. There,
among the crystals and toy pyramids was a little book whose
title was, How to Get What You Want With Magic.
Don walked into the store and asked the bearded man at
the counter where he could find the book. The man produced
a copy from under the counter and said, “It’s one of our best
sellers.”
“What exactly is in it?” said Don, who, up till that moment
had had no interest in the supernatural.
“It’s a single spell, so powerful, that once said, can get you
whatever you desire,” said the salesclerk.
“Why doesn’t everyone have a copy?” asked Don. “I mean
politicians, crooks and people like that?”
“Who says they don’t? We have a big mailing list. One dollar
and it’s yours.”
“One dollar? What’s the catch?”
“I can jack up the price if you prefer.”
“No, I’ll take it. But does it really work?”
“Let me put it to you this way,” said the man, “two months
ago, I was working at a hamburger joint mopping up after kids
with zits and now I own my own bookstore. Why? Because I
found this book.”
Don wasn’t convinced, but for a buck, he decided it was
worth a look. He gave the clerk a dollar and the man put the
book (which was really no more than a pamphlet) into a small
brown paper bag.
“Perhaps you’d be interested in something else?” said the
man, “I’ve got some powder made from a unicorn’s horn that’ll
put lead in your pencil.”
“I’m very satisfied with the current status of my pencil,
thank you,” said Don, and left the store.
A few hours later, Don sat on the couch in his living room,
silently reading the pamphlet in the fading sunlight. Meg
walked in, sat on a chair next to him and said, “Why didn’t you
just trade the family cow for some magic beans?”
“Quiet,” said Don, “I’m almost done reading this.”
“Do you really think that you’re just going to mumble
some words and he’s going to stop playing his stereo?”
The dull thud of “music” continued to pound through the
walls.
“We’ll see, “ said Don, as he closed the book and stood up,
“now help me with the furniture.”
“What are we going to do, throw a chair at him?”
“No, we’re going to move everything to one side of the
room so I can draw a circle on the floor, just like it says in the
book.”
“I’m starting to think a gun was a better idea,” said Meg.
HALF an hour later, the living room was cleared of furniture
and rugs, and Don had drawn a chalk circle on the floor.
Meg looked at it and said, “I don’t think chalk is good for
parquet.”
“They laughed at the Wright brothers too,” said Don, as
he sprinkled a few spices around the circle.
“Hey,” said Meg, “are those from my spice cabinet?”
“Do you want him to stop making noise or not?” said Don.
“I d, but I don’t see how putting my oregano, cumin and
sweet basi on the floor is going to make him do it.”
“It’s all part of the spell.”
“This is wonderful,” said Meg, “I’m married to a thirtyfour-year-old
man who sprinkles spices on the living room
floor. What are you going to do next, toss a salad in the bathroom
sink?”
Don lit a few candles and said, “I’m ready.”
“Well, what do you suggest I do about it, give you a drum
roll?”
Don looked at her, sighed, then turned out the lights and
read from the book. The words were in a strange language
which had been printed phonetically in English. Don chanted
for five minutes and then stopped.
“Now what?” asked Meg.
“Now something is supposed to happen.”
“I see something happening all right, you’re dripping candle
wax all over the floor.”
Suddenly there was a puff of smoke and a slimy green,
scaly humanoid creature with big purple eyes, and a reptilian
tails appeared. It smiled, revealing a mouth full of sharp piranha-like
teeth. “Hi Don,” said the creature, “I’m Mardarth, you
can call me Mard, all my friends so, not that I have many left. I
ate most of them,.”
“Hi, Mard,” said Don. “Say hello to Mard, honey.”