Free Gathered Dust and Others by W. H. Pugmire

against my chest, and the texture of the flesh near to the daemonic eye chilled me to my heart.  That cold sensation slowed the pounding of my organ and seemed to seep into my veins, where it flowed toward my brain and blessed me with unholy vision.  I squatted within a vaulted chamber.  Strewn before me were the dry bones of offerings devoured long ago.  In lethargy I sat and dreamed, recalling a time when I had known the succulent taste of sacrifice.  Near to me was the dry husk of one long-dead offering, its skeletal hand stretched toward me.  Within the palm of bone were pale gems that had been offered in obsequious veneration.  I discerned upon their smooth surface my hoary reflection.  I gazed for an eternity at the semblance of a forgotten god.  And when at last I shut my weary eyes, I dreamt of sacrifice, of cindery human substance.  And when I awakened it was to the scent of living flesh, which I but vaguely recalled.  I gazed at the empty palm of bone, from which my gems had been pilfered.  Sniffing air, I found a fragrance of mortal flesh and tangy blood.  It brought to my senses a memory of sacrificial slaughter. 
    And then the scene melted and became dark.  I lay within a shadowed chamber with my lover in my arms, his throat pressed against my mouth.  I sucked at his salty flesh and bit into it.  He moaned softly as I moved my tongue into the new wound.  Outdoors, the night was haunted by the undulate song of numberless toads.
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    He awakened me before dawn and took my hand.  Naked, we walked into woodland, to a ring of sacrificial stones.  Legend told that the poet and sculpture William Davis Manly has chiseled the large rocks into the likenesses of things seen in disturbed dreaming, faces that called for blood and death.  I had brought my lover to this place when first I lured him to Sesqua Valley and taught him our ways.  He had been a dreamy boy, lonely and forsaken by those he loved and on whom he had depended.  I nurtured his wounded psyche and taught him of the Old Ones who would not desert him.  He did not disappoint me.  Alone, he journeyed to the places outside the valley where he could find the arcane things.  Now he had returned, to share with me the lore that had educated him.
    Together we knelt within the ring of stones, and he whispered to me the unwholesome name.  “Tsathoggua.  I can see him, waiting patiently for when the stars come right and he will grow strong and liberated.  Ah, how he hungers for cosmic freedom, to seep toward starlight and find his home.   But he is weak – only sacrifice will make him strong.  Let us assist him, Adam.  Look, this discarded stone here, it’s heavy and will do the trick.  Hold it high above my head as I lay down my life for the thing that begs for veneration.  Let us offer him a new sacrifice, my love.”
    I took the heavy stone from his hands as he reclined upon the ground.  His smile was a beautiful thing.  I took in his handsome face and then smashed that beloved visage with the weighty rock.  Sighing, I took from the remains of his pulp the filthy gem that had usurped a living eye.  I gazed hard at the shadow within its pale surface and saw the bestial face that smiled.

Time of Twilight
    (For Quentin Crisp)
    The small apartment smelled of age.  A single window allowed a partial view of a city bathed in mellow late afternoon sunlight.  I went to that window and watched the setting sun as the elderly man removed his velvet hat and jacket, his scarf of white silk, his battered cloth shoes.  I turned and watched as he stopped before a mirror so as to reapply lipstick to his painted face.  He wore his withered beauty well.  “This is a wonderful rouge,” he told me, “moist and creamy, and the color stays vibrant for hours.  Would you care to try it?”
    I laughed.  “No thank you.”
    “Ah, well; your lips wear youth’s beauty, but at my age I need assistance.  Not that I wish to look