Nightside 08 - The Unnatural Inquirer

complete with threats and menaces. Clearly the shop had not been doing well.
    A man with this kind of economic pressure hanging over him might well see a way out through fabricating an Afterlife Recording, and then lose his nerve when the time came to actually present it to the Unnatural Inquirer.
    I found a set of stairs at the back, leading up to the overhead apartment. I insisted on going first, just in case, and Bettie crowded my back all the way up. The bare wooden steps creaked loudly, giving plenty of advance warning, but when we got to the apartment the door was already slightly ajar. I made Bettie stand back and pushed the door open with one hand. The room beyond was silent and empty of life. I stepped inside and stood by the door, looking around thoughtfully. Bettie pushed straight past me and darted round the place, checking all the rooms. No-one was home. Pen Donavon’s apartment was a dump, with the various sad pieces of his life scattered everywhere. There were no obvious signs that the place had already been searched. It would have been hard to tell.
    The furniture was cheap and nasty, the carpet was threadbare, and the single electric light bulb didn’t even have a shade. And yet the main room was dominated by a huge wide-screen television, to which had been bolted a whole bunch of assorted unfamiliar technology. The additions stood out awkwardly, with trailing wires and spiky antennae. Some of it looked like future tech, some of it alien. Lights glowed here and there, to no apparent purpose or function. Presumably it had all been brought up from the shop downstairs. I approached the television and knelt before it, careful to maintain a safe distance. Metal and mirrors, crystal and glass, and a few oily shapes that looked disturbingly organic. Up close, the stuff smelled…bad. Corrupt.
    Bettie produced a camera from her embroidered purse and took a whole bunch of photos. She wanted to photograph me, too, and I let her. I was busy thinking. She finally ended up bending down beside me, sniffing disparagingly.
    “Isn’t this an absolutely awful place? There’s underwear soaking in the bath, and no-one’s cleaned up in here for months. Some men shouldn’t be allowed to live on their own. You don’t even want to know what I found in the toilet. This television is very impressive, though. Have you ever seen anything like it?”
    “No,” I said. “But then future and alien technology isn’t my speciality. This could be genius, or it could be junk.”
    “Could it have enabled the television to look in on a broadcast from the Afterlife?”
    “Who knows? But I wouldn’t touch any of it, if I were you. It looks…unhealthy.”
    “Trust me, darling. I wouldn’t touch that if it offered to buy me champagne.”
    I straightened up, and she straightened up with me. Her knees didn’t creak. I looked round the apartment again. For all the clutter, the room was still basically characterless. No paintings or posters on the walls, no personal touches like photos or prized possessions, nothing to show Donavon had ever thought of this place as home. No; it was more like a place to stay while he was passing through on his way to better things. Once he got his lucky break…I was beginning to get an idea of who Pen Donavon might be, one of those desperate dreamers, always chasing that big break, that lucky find that would make him rich and famous and change his life forever. And maybe, this time he had…
    I tried my gift again, hoping to pick up a ghost image of Pen Donavon’s past, so I could follow it as he left…but once again the force from Outside slammed my inner eye shut the moment it started to open. I grimaced and shook my head slowly, waiting for the pain to settle. I was going to find out who was behind this, then do something about it. Something really nasty and violent.
    “So, what do we do now?” said Bettie, who, despite everything I’d said, persisted on looking at me like I had all the answers.
    “When faced with serious questions of a religious nature, there’s only one place to go,” I said. “And that is the Street of the Gods. If only because they always have the best gossip.”

    We took the Underground train. There are other ways of getting to the Street of the Gods, but the train is by far the safest. Bettie and I descended into the Underground system and strode through the cream-tiled tunnels covered in the usual graffiti, not all of it in human languages. CTHULHU DOES IT