The Dark Rites of Cthulhu

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Authors: Brian Sammons
time. “How much will it be?”
    “Seventy-five bucks, and you’re in luck, only two rooms left,” Jim said as he turned around and reached toward the key rack. Indeed, two old fashioned metal keys, not the plastic key cared you usually got in hotels these days, were all that were left on the rack. One was numbered three and the other nine. Without hesitation, Jim reached for room key number three.
    “Well then it appears that we’re both lucky,” a cheerful voice called out from behind him. Dennis turned around to look at a man with long gray hair tied in a ponytail, a wisp of a soul patch beard, a gold Egyptian ankh dangling from one earlobe and eyes of undetermined color as they were behind honest-to-god, rose-colored glasses. Dennis pegged the newcomer as another magician, as only someone in showbiz could get away with dressing like that. The only thing that threw him off was the suit; it looked to be authentic Armani. No one in the trade who didn’t have his own television specials or a gig in Vegas could afford that, and this guy was neither Penn nor Teller.
    “Well I guess you are,” Jim said and then added, “just a sec, let me get the vacancy sign.” He then turned around to flip a switch on the wall. The stranger took the opportunity to smile at Dennis.
    “Looks like fate, you and I arriving when we did.”
    “Yeah sure,” was all that Dennis could think of as a reply. The stranger was starting to give him the creeps for some unknown reason. An air of oddness seemed to all but waft off of him, so Dennis turned back towards the reception desk.
    “Where do I sign?”
    ID was checked, a registration form signed, and crumpled bills changed hands before Dennis collected his room key and asked, “Does the motel have anywhere to eat?”
    “Sure does. Just around the corner there,” Jim pointed, “is the diner. It should still be serving.”
    “Thanks.” Dennis turned to pick up the suitcase and saw Mr. Rose-Colored Glasses staring a hole into the back of his head. Caught in the act, the odd character smiled again, this time revealing a gold-capped incisor. Dennis nodded, collected his bag, and then headed to his room to drop off his suitcase before getting a bite to eat.
     
    Dennis put the fork down and wiped his mouth. There were still three bites of pie left – pumpkin, in keeping with the Halloween theme – but after his big and surprisingly good dinner, there was no way he was going to finish it. For the tenth or so time since coming in, he looked around the diner at his fellow customers. At a guess, he would say that three-quarters of them were in the trade, and of them, fully half of the pretentious asses still wore either some part of their costumes or had their ‘look’ going in full effect.
    Maybe they’re just having fun for Halloween , his inner voice suggested. You remember fun, don’t you?
    Once more, Dennis’ eyes searched out the good-looking woman with the spiky green hair. She was wearing a leather skirt, a studded belt, and a barely-buttoned tuxedo jacket with nothing on underneath it. 
    If you like her, you should go over and say hi. She’s obviously in the business, so you can start out talking about that, the little voice began, but was cut off when someone at a booth near the diner’s windows shouted; “Would you look at that shit?”
    The man’s three friends, one of whom wore a purple cape and another a black domino mask, were just as drunk as the astonished shouter, so all their slurred voices carried far.
    “Yeah, look at that,” said domino mask.
    “It’s like that one movie, with all the birds. What’s that called?” Mr. Cape said.
    “It’s called The Birds , you dumbass,” the first man said.
    The fourth man said nothing. His head was down, his chin on his chest. He was either drunk or dead.
    Mr. Cape grinned as only drunks, babies and the feebleminded do. “That’s it - The Birds .  It’s like The Birds out there, all right. How many you think are

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