Ch.39Ch.4 – The Perfect Human Image (5)

The Southern Cathedral is a bit removed from the city center. This applies not only to “New Main Street” where government offices are located, but also to “Main Street,” which has fallen into a slum.

Around the cathedral were a park, some houses, and a bookstore. Feeling like I might doze off if I stayed in the cathedral any longer, I headed to the bookstore.

Of course, I didn’t forget to leave a note at the entrance of the annex designated as my room.

The bookstore was quite spacious, but there were more staff than customers. A friendly employee approached me, asking if I needed help.

On a whim, I asked if they had any of Lovecraft’s novels. The answer came back that they didn’t.

Clark Ashton Smith. Robert Howard was out of the question too.

“I’ve never heard of those authors. Are they British? Or from a British colony?”

The round-faced male clerk was quite curious.

I smiled and explained that a friend had recently published a novel under a pen name rather than his real name, and the names I mentioned were ones he had used.

The enthusiastic clerk searched through ledgers and catalogs, but couldn’t find anything.

“There are no books by authors with those names. Oh, perhaps your friend submitted to a magazine? That’s another way to publish—compiling submitted manuscripts.”

But while they had “TIME” and “Forbes,” there was no “Weird Tales.”

The chubby clerk guided me to the ‘Pulp Fiction’ section, and I searched through numerous magazines there, but found nothing.

“To be honest, I don’t understand why people pay money for such books. How about ‘The Saturday Evening Post’ or ‘Collier’s Weekly’? They feature selected works by young, sensational writers like Scott Fitzgerald. The quality is completely different. They provide deep insight and understanding of Americans. Isn’t that what literature should be about?”

I asked if he was a college student. Sure enough, he was a student in the creative writing department at Miskatonic University, currently working to pay for his tuition.

The conversation with him was interesting, but in some ways, he was excessively narrow-minded.

He thought for the sake of thinking, criticized for the sake of criticizing, and while he was sharp in dissecting things with a scalpel, there was no purpose to it.

He talked a lot, but lacked conclusions.

“What I’m saying is that all literature should be about humans. It should be a constant exploration of what humanity is.”

When I asked what humanity was, he gave the abstract answer of “the right to choose and self-awareness.”

When I asked what works handled that well, he answered “Moby Dick.”

When I asked where in Moby Dick such content existed, his face turned tomato-red.

The best answer he could come up with was that Captain Ahab was the quintessential human.

When I asked what right to choose and self-awareness a man had who was obsessed with revenge and determined to catch and kill a single sperm whale, his response was beyond what I had imagined.

“He gave up everything. He put everything down and chose revenge.”

It was such an incomprehensible statement that I asked if he was writing a book himself.

Someone lost in their own world tends to talk nonsense even to ordinary questions.

He proudly nodded. He said he had a brilliant idea that would shock the world, but was still refining it.

When I asked how much he had written, he said he hadn’t written anything for fear of ruining his idea if he wrote prematurely.

Completely exhausted, I asked what it was about, and he looked at me with suspicious eyes.

“I’m sorry, but a creator’s ideas are precious.”

Too tired to continue the conversation, I picked up a random book from the display.

As luck would have it, it was a comic book, and even a ‘Tijuana Bible’ at that. The literary youth’s face crumpled.

“That’s an obscene comic book. It sexually depicts characters from famous newspapers. Are you really going to buy such low-quality trash?”

But it was cheap among the display books, and it seemed sufficient to shut this tomato’s mouth.

As expected, he didn’t say another word and just glared at me. I couldn’t understand why he was so angry.

In contrast, the female clerk at the counter, who looked younger than the tomato, carefully packaged it in a brown paper bag.

Though it was a trivial conversation, I was completely exhausted and returned to the cathedral annex.

I hung up my coat, kicked off my shoes, and lay down on the bed to open the Tijuana Bible.

It was filled with crude imitations of famous people and newspaper cartoon characters.

At least they were better than the tomato—even ignoring all human proportions, they had a clear purpose of satisfying the viewer’s sexual desires.

But I was so exhausted that I didn’t feel much enthusiasm, so I drew the curtains on the window and fell into a light sleep.

There was only red sand. Red sand everywhere I looked. From one horizon to the other, just red sand.

In the sky, only darkness and stars. I was the only one walking on the ground.

Looking down, I saw footprints. Much smaller than my foot size, they belonged to a child.

The sand kept swelling and collapsing. With each step I took, massive dunes rose and fell like the fins of a school of sharks.

The wind blew toward me, and small grains stung my face and arms with scratches.

Yet the child’s footprints remained unchanged.

The wind and pain became so severe that I walked forward with my arms shielding my eyes. Because of this, I discovered the massive cliff in front of me too late.

No, it wasn’t a cliff. It was a long, thick green pillar that could be mistaken for a cliff.

Some buildings in the world are so tall that even if you bend your back as far as possible, you can’t see the top.

Rather, it feels like it’s looking down at you. That’s how it was with what I was looking up at.

A single leaf split from the pillar was about the size of a decent warship. At the tip, instead of a flower bud, sat a skull.

In the shape of a human skull, it was about the size of a Mount Rushmore sculpture.

Arms sprouted from the skull. Palms spread like petals on straight-extending forearms.

The fingers seemed to curl, and then skulls sprouted from the fingertips. The skulls, arms, and fingers continued to grow and extend endlessly.

A girl stood where the footprints led.

With her back to me, wearing a flower crown on her head, her left leg under her dress had no skin, exposing the muscle, and her right leg was just bone.

As if she heard something, the girl turned toward me. She was a girl with empty eye sockets.

As a whirlwind passed by, the girl’s face changed.

Venus flytraps grew inside her eye sockets, wriggling around. Below her almost non-existent nose and short philtrum, a long red tongue undulated like a hanging vine.

[I remember you]

[I wait for you]

[I dream only of you]

The surrounding sand stirred. An elongated centipede emerged above ground.

It was made by connecting people together. The face of the person behind was connected to the buttocks of the person in front.

As if intelligence remained in each segment, they struggled and clamored to go in all directions.

But when the girl waved her hand, the centipede approached me in a semicircle.

There was no chance to escape.

Because it started circling around me. The foremost centipede smiled at me.

It was my face.

I writhed. I couldn’t bear the laughter. My limbs combined are only four. The human centipede ahead has thirty-six.

Centipedes continue to spring from the floor. The number of limbs increases.

Those genitals dragging on the floor, those flat and enormous breasts with different shapes on the left and right, protruding and recessed, showing teeth while giggling.

Undulating, undulating, undulating, those massive humans, humans, humans, collapsing toward me! Humans connected like insects!

[Let’s become one]

[Let’s become one]

[Let’s become human]

[Let’s become human]

I screamed. I screamed to become human, to become one.

The scream didn’t leave my throat but was pushed down into my stomach.

My belly swells.

The centipede-like humans and human-like centipedes rub my hands, arms, and legs against their genitals.

Sticky, elongated secretions like thread from a spider’s anus cling to my body!

A naked being with my face swallows my head with a throat filthier than a sewer manhole!

“It’s okay.”

Something strokes my forehead. I writhe, letting out a silent scream.

“Beast. It’s okay. I’m here. Everything’s fine…”

A piece of ice flows down my forehead, temples, and cheeks.

Coldness. Touch. Sensation. Only what touches the skin is real.

It was Abassina.

She had placed her hands on my forehead and chest, softly reciting a prayer.

Though small and quiet, there was a sense of stability in the repeated verses.

I slightly turned my head to indicate I had come to my senses, but,

“Stay still.”

Abassina said only that and continued praying.

Until my breathing stabilized and I let out a deep sigh, she stroked my forehead, placed her hand on my shoulder, and smiled gently.

Only then did she stand up.

There was a small bowl with a wet towel on the desk. Abassina wrung it until not a single drop fell.

Then she carefully wiped my forehead, face, and neck. Even then, my body was still trembling intermittently.

When I barely managed to smile at her, she raised her finger and,

Flick.

She flicked my forehead.

“You’re being punished, Beast. Who told you to bring such lewd things to a cathedral?”

Looking to the other side, I saw the Tijuana Bible lying open. Feeling somewhat embarrassed, I pushed it off the side of the bed.

Then I asked what had happened. Abassina rewet the towel, wrung it out, and answered.

“I came to say hello before going to work, but there was no answer.

I looked through the keyhole just in case, and my goodness, you were moaning in pain.

I was so worried when you wouldn’t wake up even after I shook you.”

I said I was fine now and that she had been helpful. But that was unlikely.

Abassina had placed her left hand on my stomach and wiped me with her right hand holding the wet towel.

Whether it was to calm her own anxious heart rather than mine, she was exceptionally thorough and attentive.

Finally, Abassina neatly folded the wet towel and placed it on the desk. Then she crossed her arms and sat on the desk.

“Are you really not going to tell me what happened in Arkham?”

Feeling it would be impolite to keep lying down, I sat on the edge of the bed. And I answered that I truly couldn’t remember.

Instead, I told her about the dream. About the strange, dark, twisted dream. Abassina looked at me with concerned eyes.

“That’s a warning. Something inside you seems to be warning you. Or perhaps a truly dark and evil force is coveting you.”

Abassina got down from the desk. She approached me, reached out, and cupped my cheek. She seemed to pull away for a moment, then gently pressed down on my nose bridge, philtrum, and lips.

“Don’t you trust me yet?”

It’s not Abassina’s problem. The problem is on my side. I couldn’t tell Abassina what even I didn’t know.

Moreover, Abassina is not just a simple nun. As she says, she’s a beast, and behind her is the Vatican.

That’s why I remained silent.

Understanding my answer, Abassina nodded and backed away. She grabbed the doorknob but didn’t turn it.

“Still, I’m glad. To know that you have desires too. Like real humans. And.”

Click. Abassina locked the door. Then she turned around.

“Like me.”

She put her hands inside the side slits. The movement of her hands was visible even through the skirt.

She seemed to caress the inside of her thighs and calves, then lifted a holster belt with one hand.

With each step she took, the marks pressed red by the belt were clearly visible.

Abassina gently placed the leather belt on the desk.

She grabbed my thighs and spread my legs. Abassina, who had come inside, wrapped my waist with her left arm and my back with her right arm and hand.

I asked if this wasn’t a cathedral.

“It doesn’t matter.”

Abassina lightly kissed my lips. Then she whispered in my right ear.

“I’m a beast in a nun’s habit. Just like you’re a beast in human clothes.”

Abassina kissed me again and gently pushed me back. As the bed received my back, Abassina threw off her outer garment.

Even the thin short-sleeved T-shirt couldn’t hide her voluptuous curves. Abassina gently brushed her hair, which had fallen forward, behind her ear.

“Even when I was human, and after becoming a monster… I’ve never done this.”

Abassina bent down deeply.

Clink.

The silver cross hanging around her neck swayed outside her shirt.

“I just want to understand you. And I want to help you.”

Abassina closed her eyes tightly and kissed my lips again. A twilight rose in her two moon-like eyes.

She kissed me again.

“Because you are mine. No one else can have you. No one can take you from me!”

I couldn’t say anything as her mouth devoured my lips. Her rough tongue pried my lips. Sticky saliva flowed into my mouth.

Abassina’s hand forcibly pulled my head back. The moon in her eyes trembled. Eyes too cold and painful to look at directly.

She inhaled sharply and took her eyes away. Her cracked, cold lips, her moist, pointed tongue. She lightly bit my lower lip and flowed to my cheek, neck, and shoulder.

I felt a stinging pain in my shoulder.

The sensation of a sharp, pointed fang pressing against the skin.

The tender, thin skin was still resisting, but if I pulled away, or if she became a little more daring,

We would cross a line and never be able to return to how we were before.

Her chest, pressed against mine, swelled. Her arms pulled me more strongly.

Suddenly, I muttered.

Surprised, Abassina removed her mouth and leaned back.

“…What?”

I muttered again. I said you can still choose.

A beam of light fell through the curtains. The silver cross glimmered pitifully. Abassina’s white hand grabbed the cross and roughly pulled it.

With a snap, the leather strap broke.

The torn strap left a long mark on her neck.

Abassina’s lips trembled finely.

“I’m sorry.”

Abassina backed away. She roughly put on her outer garment and hung the belt on her leg. In her haste, the holster kept slipping down.

After several attempts, when the belt kept slipping, Abassina sat down on the floor. And she covered her face with both hands.

“I became a nun because I still wanted to be human. I thought if I devoted myself to something greater and good, I wouldn’t be called a monster.

If I could help someone, do good deeds, I thought I could become human again.

But I… just now, like a monster. Trying to hurt you.”

She was sobbing.

“Am I like a monster?”

I got up from my seat. I stroked Abassina’s head again. I told her that wasn’t the case at all.

Two times, three times. I intended to do so until she calmed down. Eventually, Abassina got up and wiped her eyes with her collar.

Then she playfully pinched my side.

“At times like that, you’re supposed to just say I’m pretty. Got it?”

Abassina bent down to pick up the belt. As she unlocked the door and left, she looked no different than usual.

Looking around my room, I saw the broken cross shining on the bed. I put it in my coat pocket. I plan to replace the cord and return it when I get the chance.