Chapter 6 - Let's Learn Magic (3)

The pottery workshop worked like this: you shaped the clay yourself, then the studio fired it and delivered the finished pieces to your home.

That was a relief, at least. Since I'd handled the clay and shaped it myself, it would count as something I'd made, right?

While waiting for the delivery, Yohan read a book at the library.

This wasn't killing time. It was gathering information.

[The Cthulhu Mythos—The Complete Works of Lovecraft]

Nothing I'd read so far had anything to do with the Cthulhu Mythos, but Mysteries of the Worm had gone out of its way to mention Abdul Alhazred on its first page. Its author also claimed to have learned magic in Damascus, a place connected to him.

I decided I needed to familiarize myself with the relevant lore.

But something surprised me a little as I read this short-story collection...

'It's the Cthulhu Mythos, but Cthulhu himself... never shows up again after getting bonked on the head by a steamship!'

Well, getting rammed by a steamship at full speed would hurt.

I fall over in pain when I stub my little toe on a corner, too. I should be understanding.

So this wasn't the right way to think about it:

What the fuck! How could Cthulhu, supposedly the strongest of the Great Old Ones, lose to a steamship! (×)

This was how I should understand it:

Oh, a fully charged steamship attack really hurts. (○)

Of course, I was joking. Looking at what actually happened in the story, the steamship's charge prevented Cthulhu's resurrection but didn't inflict any meaningful damage.

The police had raided the cultists performing the resurrection ritual, leaving it incomplete. While he was being summoned as an imperfect mass, the steamship punched through his head, and he was dragged back to his home in R'lyeh.

... When you put it that way, the authorities really are powerful. The police are strong.

Oh, and I'd thought this was just cosmic horror, but unexpectedly, I also found something that celebrated humanity.

That brave Norwegian sailor.

His companions went mad and died at the sight of the incomplete Cthulhu, and he was half-mad himself. Yet when he realized he couldn't escape, he decided—perhaps out of instinct—that this monster couldn't be left alone.

I liked the scene where he accepted the possibility of death and drove his steamship at full speed, dodging Cthulhu's tentacles to ram into him.

... And honestly, rather than the stories featuring Outer Gods or Great Old Ones, I preferred the short stories that had little connection to Cthulhu, like these:

The Picture in the House—a story in which the narrator takes shelter from pouring rain in an old house and talks with an old man obsessed with cannibalism, who owns a disturbing book illustrated with people being killed and butchered.

Herbert West—Reanimator—a story in which the narrator, Herbert's friend and fellow medical student, watches Herbert West tinker with corpses and experiment with bringing them back to life.

Those were more to my taste, and I found them more entertaining.

I wasn't saying the monster stories were badly written. It really was just personal preference.

Whenever a being from outer space, some unknowable horror, or whatever else appeared, the descriptions were far too long and elaborate.

They lacked simplicity.

I closed the book and stood up. Through the window, I could see the sun setting.

In the end, I'd simply enjoyed reading rather than gathered information.

Still, if I'd learned one thing, it was that the Cthulhu Mythos was fiction—a body of stories built from the lore created by Lovecraft and many other writers.

I looked at Mysteries of the Worm in my bag.

Then why did a grimoire written back in at least 1272 contain the name of Abdul Alhazred, a fictional character?

Was he actually a real person? Or was Mysteries of the Worm also a fictional creation from the Cthulhu Mythos?

Or was all of it actually true?

"..."

I thought about it for a moment, then stopped. There was no point.

Continuing to pour time and energy into a question that couldn't yield a definite answer was a waste. I had to know when to stop.

What mattered was that magical power really existed, and I'd gotten caught up in it.

If I insisted on speculating based on all the pop-culture lore I'd absorbed over the years, perhaps the stories themselves had gained power.

Magical... energy wearing the skin of a myth?

"... Ha."

I snorted at myself, returned the book I'd been reading to its shelf, and left the library.

Enough pointless speculation. Time to go home.

Today was Wednesday, the day my finished earthenware bowls were being delivered. They should have arrived by now.

That's right. Wednesday—the day of Mercury.

Today's sunrise was at 06:45. If I set the start of Mercury's day at seven in the morning, then Mercury's hour with the moon in the sky would be nine in the evening.

All I had to do was go home, eat dinner, and get ready.

I had the ingredients prepared, and both the planetary day and hour were right.

It was finally time to experiment with magic.

* * *

Though calling it a magical experiment made it sound grander than it was.

I planned to make holy water, an item the book described as an aid to magic.

I wondered how it differed from church holy water, but according to the book, it was magical water.

Holding the book open in one hand, I read through it and reviewed the process.

The first step in making magical water—holy water.

On the day and hour of Mercury, prepare clear, cold water and pour it into a bowl.

Getting clear, cold water might have been difficult in the Middle Ages, but it was easy in the modern world.

I poured water from a bottle I'd kept in the refrigerator into the bowl.

Second, take a handful of salt. Don't grip it too tightly.

Then, holding the salt, recite the incantation written in the book.

"Tzabaoth, Messiah, Immanuel, Elohim Gibor, Yahweh. God who created truth and life."

"Bless and consecrate this salt. Grant me aid and protection in the magic I am about to perform."

Sprinkle the salt in your hand over the water in the bowl.

Now, watching the salt dissolve, recite the final prayer.

"Hear my prayer, and let my cry come unto You."

"Hide not Your face from me in the day of my distress. Incline Your ear unto me; in the day when I call, answer me speedily."

That was it.

'That's a long incantation. I'll have to practice my pronunciation so I don't slur the words.'

Thinking that to myself, I waited for something special to happen.

You know, something like glittering light and an outpouring of holy-looking energy.

"...?"

But nothing happened.

I narrowed my eyes and looked down at the holy water in the earthenware bowl.

'Isn't this... just salt water...?'

No. For now, I should move on to the holy-water sprinkler.

Wasn't that why I'd specifically chosen the evening?

A holy-water sprinkler was a tool made from plants or branches to use with holy water. It was used to sprinkle droplets of it.

Hyssop was the best choice, but if none was available, herbs such as lavender, vervain, fennel, valerian, or rosemary would do.

Making a holy-water sprinkler was simple. No incantation was needed.

Instead, it had to be made on the day and hour of Mercury while the moon was in the sky. That was why I'd chosen the evening.

I took out the hyssop I'd bought ahead of time at a flower shop and wrapped it with cord to make a handle.

I dipped the hyssop into the holy water and shook it off once.

The holy-water sprinkler was complete.

Ta-da! I'd finished my holy water and sprinkler set.

"Haa..."

I had no idea whether I'd done it right. Sighing, I carelessly tossed the decrepit grimoire onto my desk.

CLANG

A sudden, crushing reality check hit me, and I lay down on the bed.

"... What am I even doing?"

"Gyaa?"

Apparently deciding I was finished, Grizzly approached from the corner where it had been crouching quietly and rubbed its head against my hand.

"Geee~."

It was asking for a snack because it had waited so patiently. I stroked Grizzly's head and pushed it away.

"No. You just had dinner. That's fake hunger."

"Geee..."

"Damn it."

Maybe it was because I'd gone without food I wanted as a child, but I didn't want to give it a hard time over food.

"Haa..."

With no other choice, I got up and checked the refrigerator.

'I'll have to buy meat and milk again tomorrow.'

Making the other magical tools would cost more money, too. My spending had increased far too much lately.

In the end, money was the problem.

After giving Grizzly a snack, I lay back down on the bed and browsed websites and apps for short-term jobs.

... I wondered if there was anything decent.

Then a post caught my eye.

[Urgently Seeking a Night Security Guard for Tonight.]

There was nothing particularly strange about the post, but its preferred qualifications were unusual.

Applicants with strong nerves... and people who didn't believe in ghosts were welcome.

Reading between the lines, that sounded like a warning: ghosts would show up, so take the job at your own risk.

I sat up in bed and looked at the holy water and sprinkler I'd left lying in the kitchen.

I checked the night security job posting again.

Then I quietly turned my gaze back toward the holy water.

"... Should I give it a try?"