Characters depicted in this short story are from Enter Infernum. Paul, the protagonist of the novel, has insights into the supernatural and he has been instrumental in solving bizarre murders. Ruth is Paul’s girlfriend and works as a librarian at the Indianapolis Central Library. She has a knack for finding tomes to help Paul solve cases. Unbeknownst to Paul, his girlfriend is a witch. The following story takes place before the events of Enter Infernum.
***
The Drowning
Paul Randolph examined the body on the living room floor. The victim was wet from head to toe. The skin was wrinkled and soft, an appearance of someone having stayed in the bathtub too long. The palms were wrinkled as well. The face and the back of the hands, blue. Cyanosis. Foam was evident on the mouth and nostrils. The body’s rigor locked the mouth into a gasp, a final act of the deceased. The eyes bulged in the victim’s head.
Water pooled around the body. Paul tasted the water. It had a salty taste.
Ian O’Brien, head of homicide, stood next to Paul and asked, “Cause of death?”
“Drowning.”
“The bath tub is bone dry,” responded the detective. “He must have been drowned somewhere else and brought back here.”
“That would be quite the drive,” responded Paul.
“I don’t follow.”
“Salt water,” replied Paul.
O’Brien crouched down and turned the body to the side, retrieving the victim’s wallet. He examined the driver’s license. “William H. Odum,” proclaimed the detective.
Paul continued his examination, unbuttoning the shirt and pulling the shirt down from the shoulders. He turned the body on the side to examine the back.
“What are you looking for?,” asked O’Brien.
“Bruising.”
Paul picked up each hand and examined the fingers of the dead man.
“Now what?,” asked the detective.
“I’m looking for skin under the fingernails. He may have fought his attacker. Nothing,” proclaimed Paul.
Detective Kevin Cavanaugh entered the residence and removed his camera from its case. He took pictures of the victim. “Something you don’t see often, a man drowned in his own living room, quipped Kevin.
O’Brien sat in a rolling chair set before a desk in the corner of the room. He rolled up to the desk and rummaged through its contents. In the bottom drawer was a ledger. The detective laid it on the desk and paged through the book. “My, my, my, what do we have here?, remarked O’Brien.
“What is it Lieutenant?,” asked Kevin.
“Angels’ names. Our friend here must be Bruce MacDonald’s accountant.”
“A mob man?,” asked Kevin.
“Yep,” replied O’Brien. “So, who wanted him dead? MacDonald, the Angel’s, or the competition? This ledger should help narcotics track down probable dealers in the area. At least, we’ll have enough probable cause to toss the Hell’s Angels clubhouse.”
“Do you think the Pagan’s are involved Lieutenant?,” asked Kevin.
Paul entered the conversation with, “Their the knives and guns type. This man was drowned. In salt water.”
O’Brien scratched his head, “Yeah, you’re right Paul this doesn’t mesh with the bikers’ or the mob’s MO. They either vanish you or they make it public and bloody.”
“Who called this in?,” asked Kevin.
“Some kid,” replied O’Brien.
Paul shook his head, “How did anyone know, unless it was the killer? The house was locked when we got here.”
“I don’t know Paul. It’s a God damn mystery,” fumed O’Brien. “Paul, bag the stiff up. See if Kapur can get the autopsy done this afternoon. I want to know if Mr. Odum here drowned.”
***
The Autopsy
Dr. Sonny Kapur turned off the recording system and removed his gloves following the autopsy. “Fluid in the lungs. The man drowned. But, Paul, you found salt water around the body?”
“Correct, Dr. Kapur.”
“The man drowned in the ocean? That’s what, five, seven hundred miles from here?,” asked Kapur.
“That sounds about right. This is definitely strange, Dr. Kapur. Why would someone drown this man in the ocean and go through the trouble of bringing him back to Indianapolis?”
Kapur shook his head, “There isn’t even any defensive wounds, scratches, or bruises on the body. Strange, strange indeed. Paul, put the body back in the locker and clean up. I have a call to make.”
The coroner picked up the phone in the examination room and dialed a number. “Hello, Lieutenant, this is Dr. Kapur. We just finished the autopsy. The clear cause of death is drowning. Yes, I agree, this is bizarre. No, no, we didn’t find any other physical signs of a struggle. Had I not known the specifics of this case, I would have wagered he fell off a boat or swam too far and drowned. Most peculiar. Have we had any other drowning cases?”
Paul whispered, “Jack brought in that drowning victim last week.”
Kapur put his hand over the receiver and whispered back, “Thanks.” He removed his hand and said, “Yes Lieutenant. Last week. One minute.”
The coroner opened the filing cabinet, pulled out a stack of folders, and leafed through them, pulling aside the one with the cause of death, drowning. He returned to the phone with the folder. “I have it right here Lieutenant. The victim’s name, Mark Ripley.” Kapur scanned through the notes in the report. “The body was recovered from the victim’s residence.”
Kapur’s face turned red as he listened to the caller. “Look, Lieutenant, it was a busy week. Three heart attacks, a stroke, stabbing, and one gunshot victim. It’s summer. We get a couple drownings every month. Why would I find it suspicious? Yes, I’d have found it strange regarding where the body was recovered. Again, we were swamped. Uh huh. I’ll have Paul search through the files to see if there are any other cases like this. I’ll let you know.”
He hung up the phone and turned to Paul.
“I heard. I’ll go through the records and see what I find.”
***
More Cases
O’Brien read the three case reports. All three drowning victims were found in their homes. Scratch that, two found in their homes. William Odum, the living room. Mark Ripley, sitting on the can. James Buchanan, seated in his car. Mrs. Ripley had phoned in her husband’s death. A patrolman had discovered Mr. Buchanan parked in Garfield Park. The detective fumed over Kapur and his office missing this. He barked from his office, “Willy, get in here.”
Willy entered his boss’ office and took the chair opposite O’Brien. “What gives, chief?”
“Willy, I need you to find out what you can regarding Mark Ripley, James Buchanan, and Willian Odum.” O’Brien pushed the three files across his desk to Willy. Detective Willy Becker jotted down notes.
“Got it, Lieutenant. I’ll let you know what I find.”
Several days passed before Detective Becker returned to O’Brien to provide an update on the case. He sat across from O’Brien and said, “For starters, all three are clean as a whistle. Nothing on file. No arrests. No complaints. Odum was an accountant, Buchanan a lawyer, and Ripley owned a trucking company.”
“We found a ledger tying Odum to organized crime. Maybe there’s a mob connection. Worth investigating.” Willy nodded as he took notes. “See what you can find.”
Willy interjected, “I did find one thing in common.”
“What’s that?”
“They’re collectors.”
“Collectors of what?,” asked O’Brien.
“Weird shit, Lieutenant.”
Perplexed, O’Brien asked, “Like what?”
“I don’t know, occult stuff.”
“I want you and Kevin to check out this, collection. Bring Paul. He has a nose for weird shit.”
***
The Totem
Paul stared at the strange totem sitting on the bookcase of Odum’s living room. “What are you staring at so intensely?,” asked Willy.
“This,” said Paul, pointing at the strange object on the shelf. It was a six inch tall figure. Part man, part fish. It had a fish’s head, webbed feet and hands. The figure was dressed up like a doll, sporting a black tuxedo suit.
Kevin followed Willy to the bookcase, “Hey Willy, we found the same dolls at the other homes.”
“Weird,” whispered Willy. “Kevin, get a pic of the fishman. We’ll take it with us. See if we might find the seller.”
Willy turned to Paul, “Any ideas who might sell this?”
“Gladstone Antiques. I’ve been with Ruth. They have bizarre shit like this. I know the owner.”
Willy turned to his partner Kevin, “I guess we’re making a trip to Gladstone Antiques.”
As they entered the antique store, Paul said, “Let me do the talking.”
An old man stood behind a counter and smiled at the trio, “How may I help you gentleman?”
“Mr. MacPherson, we’re working a case. We have a strange curio that might be tied to three deaths.” Paul pulled the doll from his overcoat pocket. The proprietor turned pale upon viewing the bizarre totem.
“Where, Where, Where did you find this?,” stuttered the proprietor.
“At the homes of the deceased. Do you happen to carry this or know someone who does?,” asked Paul.
MacPherson shook his head no.
“Mr. MacPherson, what is it?,” asked Paul.
“It’s an imp. A bad one. Kulullû.”
“You mean it’s a totem depicted as this fish demon, Kulullû.”
“No. It’s Kulullû. Touch its face.”
Paul stroked the surface of the doll’s face, then tapped the grotesque totem’s eyeball. He jerked back his hand once he felt the mucus. He shivered and exclaimed, “Those are real fish scales and,” shuddered when he said, Good God, the eye.” Paul held the doll in front of his face and inhaled. “Damn! It has a fishy smell too. Mr. MacPherson, what can you tell us of Kulullû.”
“It’s supposedly Babylonian. No one is sure. Many say it’s a Djinn.”
“A what?,” interjected Willy.
“A genie. Many believe that’s what it is. You know, grants you wishes. But it’s not. It’s a trickster, an imp.”
Paul turned to Willy, gave a nod back at Mr. MacPherson and the detective responded by nodding, “Yes.”
“Mr. MacPherson, the three men who owned this, imp, were found dead. Drowned.”
The old man whispered, “Oh dear God.”
“Any ideas what happened?,” asked Paul.
“There’ve been rumors of an incantation that calls Kulullû back from the spirit world. Summoned, it must grant the caller his or her wish. The other rumor circulating around this imp is it dumps you in the sea to drown.”
“Any ideas Mr. MacPherson who might be peddling this trinket?,” asked Willy.
“I don’t know, but you better find him.”
“We’re all about preventing more of this,” replied Willy.
“No. You don’t understand. With enough sacrifices, Kulullû can enter this world and spread his dark magic.”
As they walked to the patrol car, Willy huffed, “Great we have an evil salesman hocking devil dolls. You know Paul, O’Brien is not going to buy any of this.”
“I know. Can you drop me off at the Central Library? I have some research to do.”
Willy smirked at Paul, “I’m sure you do.”
Paul blushed in response to the detective’s comment.
***
Miss Ruth Has All the Answers
Paul strolled into the main room of the library. He spied a pretty redhead manning the main desk. He asked the librarian, “What’s shaking, Buttercup?”
The librarian looked up from a book she was reading and smiled, “I almost didn’t recognize you without your lollipop.”
“I went to the dentist last week. Another cavity. He told me to lay off the sweets,” explained Paul.
The redhead leaned across the counter and said, “Not everything sweet tasting give’s you cavities.”
Paul turned red.
The woman whispered, “I have something sweet for you tonight, Mr. Lollipop.”
“I’m looking forward to it Ruth. In the meantime, I need your help.”
Ruth perked up, eager to help. “I’m all ears.”
“Old Babylonian gods.”
“Any particular one?,” said Ruth.
“Kulullû.”
“Yikes,” replied Ruth. “A sea god. Nasty. Legend is, his worshippers drowned women and children as sacrifice to the god. I know a book. I’ll be right back.”
While Paul waited, he went over the periodical section to read the morning paper. Today’s headline read, “Three drowned in home.” The paper had details behind the bizarre deaths that only homicide and the coroner’s office knew. He looked for the by-line, “Of course, Dave McCallister,” thought Paul. He knew O’Brien would blow a gasket.
Ruth brought a large book, placed it on the reading table and opened the tome to the chapter on Kulullû. As he read, Paul learned worshippers of the sea god summoned their deity through an incantation. There was a photograph of a tomb discovered in Iran that bared the inscription. He called the librarian over to the table.
“I need a photocopy of this page, if not too much trouble,” asked Paul.
Ruth smiled and said, “Not a problem.”
The librarian returned with the photocopy and sat next to Paul. “So, Mr. Lollipop, what’s the case?”
“We found three men drowned, in their homes. Well, one was in his car. I found evidence of salt water at one of the crime scenes. All three seem to be dabblers in the occult. We found the same totem at each residence. A doll with a fish’s head. We talked to Mr. MacPherson, you remember him from Gladstone Antiques.” Ruth nodded acknowledgment as Paul continued. “He named the totem “ Kulullû.” I touched the damn thing.” He shivered as he said this. “It’s real. It felt alive.”
“So, someone is pawning off these dolls, and the customers end up dead.”
“Exactly,” responded Paul. “I think if I can get this translated,” he picked up the photocopy, “We’ll be one step closer to solving this case.”
“Professor Frederick Schneider.”
“Excuse me?”
“He’s a history professor at Indiana University, here in town. His specialty is Mesopotamia,” replied Ruth.
Astonished by his girlfriend’s revelation, Paul asked, “How do you know this?”
“I’ve sat in on a lecture or two,” said Ruth. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have books to check back in. Don’t forget, I get off at seven tonight.”
“I shan’t forget, my love,” smiled Paul.
***
A Meeting with the Professor
Paul coerced Willy to come with him to the university. He was afraid, alone, the professor might be dismissive, being Paul is black. A white cop on the other hand might generate assistance, especially in the matter of Kulullû.
The duo was lucky to find Professor Schneider in his office. The professor greeted them and offered both a seat in front of his desk.
As rehearsed, Willy sat his briefcase on the desk, retrieved the doll, and planted it on the professor’s desk. “We need you to help us with this.”
Paul noticed the slightest twitch. A recognition. But Professor Schneider professed, “Not a clue. What is it? Some novelty trinket?”
Willy continued, “What can you us about Kulullû?”
Again, there was the same twitch. Paul thought if he played the good professor in poker, he’d be walking away with the man’s paycheck and then some. He saw the tell as clear as day. Professor Schneider was hiding something.
“A Babylonian god. A sea god to be exact. A minor deity, really.”
“We found a faint inscription at a victim’s house, a murder investigation we’re pursuing. My colleague, Paul Randolph, here matched it with this writing.” The professor blanched when he heard, “Murder investigation.” Willy pulled out the photocopy and handed it to Professor Schneider. The photocopy shook in the professor’s hands.
“Professor Schneider, can you translate this for us? It will help our investigation.”
“Give me a day or two, Detective?”
“Becker, Willy Becker. Oh, where are my manners.” Willy fished in the pockets of his sport jacket before he procured his business card and handed it to the detective.
“Professor Schneider, call me at either number, once you learn something.” Willy signaled to Paul they were leaving.
Outside the campus building, Willy said to Paul, “That bastard knows something.”
“What now?,” asked Paul.
“Are you up for some breaking and entering?”
***
Sleuthing Professor Schneider
“Are you sure this is the right place, Willy? Why not ask the departmental secretary for his address?”
“I don’t want to tip our hand, Paul. That’s why.”
The two men sat in a patrol car parked in the alleyway, two houses away from their destination. Willy said to Paul, “Let’s get this over with.”
Willy looked over the fence of the professor’s property and whistled. He whistled between smacking sounds as he called, “Here, pup, pup.” Nothing.
“Come on Paul.”
Willy and Paul climbed over the fence, crouched low, and duck walked to the backdoor. They wore black leather gloves, so as to avoid self-incrimination, if they were to return with a forensic team. The detective retrieved his burglary tools and probed the lock until it clicked. They snuck into the home quiet; gentle in closing the door.
Willy whispered, “Go find any evidence linking the professor to the drownings. Start with the study.”
“Where are you going?”
“The basement.”
“For what?”
“The dolls, remember?”
“Oh yeah.”
Willy retrieved a small flashlight from his sport jacket and proceeded down the stairs, from the landing, into the basement. Paul continued up the back stairs to the kitchen.
The kitchen opened into a dining room, which transitioned into the living room. Paul went down the hallway to his left, in search of the professor’s study. He tried the room to his left. The door opened into a bedroom. It was unremarkable. Large queen sized bed, flanked by oak nightstands. A large dresser faced the bed. Paul closed the door and investigated the room across the hall.
Tall bookcases lined the two inner walls. Paul examined what appeared to be a closet on his left. The back wall was lined with shelves. Shelf after shelf contained an eclectic collection of items. A shrunken head, human skull, mummified hand, a stuffed raven, black candles and a dagger. The top shelf held four totems; the same ones found in the victims’ homes.
Paul retrieved a small camera from the pocket of his overcoat. He attached a flash bulb and took a picture of the closet’s contents. Advancing the film, he focused on the top shelf with its fishmen dolls. Finished, he closed the door and investigated the professor’s desk.
It was a grand desk made of cherry wood. Paul rifled through the drawers looking for more evidence. The bottom drawer was a mess, cluttered with books, folders and notepads. He removed the contents of the drawer, placing them on the surface of the desk, from left to right, in order of their placement, from top to bottom. The last item retrieved was a small black book.
Paul leafed through the black book. It was handwritten and entries were dated. “The professor’s diary,” thought Paul. He skimmed the book, page after page, searching for one word, Kulullû. A quarter of a way through the diary, he found the sea god’s name and an interesting entry.
“I’ve finally decoded and the meaning behind the Babylonian inscription. It is a prayer to Kulullû. From piecing together, the history of Elam, Kulullû is a sea god, the equivalent of Poseidon. Women and children thrown into the Persian waters as an offering to the sea god, in return for calm seas and plentiful fish. Kulullû granted his priests enormous powers. Great were his priest powers that the regions rulers paid homage to his temple, sought guidance in political matters, and bestowed fortunes for favors. As legends and myths go, there were whispers of Kulullû bestowing immortality to his faithful servants.”
“Empires came and went, but the Cult of Kulullû lived on until Mohamed, when the last priests went into hiding. Sometime during the Middle Ages, the sect reemerged. The ceremony changed. According to legend, Kulullû gave his flesh to be fashioned into the visage of their god. One thousand idols were made. These totems were required in the ceremony. A prayer to Kulullû was written in the sand. With each ceremony, the sea god was summoned and presented with a willing supplicant. God and supplicant returned to the sea. After one thousand sacrifices, Kulullû’s reign would return and his priests exulted.”
“I have found the prayer. Do the totems exist?”
Paul skimmed through the handwriting in search of an answer to the author’s question.
“I found a dealer in London who dabbled in medieval antiquaries from the middle east. Fortune was with me as my department paid for a plane ticket to attend a conference in Salisbury. All roads lead to London. It took considerable effort to find the shop. The owner was a creepy sort. His skin was wrinkled and pulled taught over his skull, eyes sunken, and the lips, dear God. HE HAD NO LIPS!!! The man has a perpetual grin. If that wasn’t frightening enough, the owner greeted me, “Professor Schneider, I’ve been expecting you.”
“He reached beneath the shop’s counter and produced seven totems of Kulullû. They were dressed all in black tuxedos. The shop’s owner noticed my puzzlement over the dress. “Sorry Professor. The missus couldn’t stand looking at their nakedness. Needed to dress them up a bit.” I hesitated to inquire about the price. The owner must have read my mind when he said, “Make an offer.” The price popped into my head and I replied, “Five pounds.” I was surprised when he answered, “Sold.” As I peeled out thirty-five pounds the owner said, “No, no. no, A fiver for the whole kit and caboodle.” He took the note and boxed up the totems. Before I left the establishment, the owner said, “Be forewarned, you have one year from today to find new, uh hem, owners,” he winked as he said owners. I had to ask what the consequences if I had not found seven offerings for Kulullû in a year. “You will be the offering.” Of course, there was another infuriating stipulation, “They must buy the totems from you, but less than what you paid, for each one.” 1.4 British Sterling. Whatever the currency conversion rate to US dollars. “With each sale, the price must be lower than the previous.” Frustrated by the ridiculous stipulation, I said, “What is this? The Robert Louis Stevenson story, The Bottle Imp?” The man answered, “Where do you think he got the story from?”
“Where do I find someone to buy these totems? Collectors? I’ll need to trick them into invoking Kulullû. How? Genie? Maybe.”
The next entry of note had seven names, three of which matched their three drowned victims. Before Paul could continue, he jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder.
“Easy Paul, it’s me.”
“God damn it Willy, you scared the shit out of me,” replied Paul.
“What did you find?”
Paul stood, held up the diary and opened the closet door to reveal the four remaining totems. “We can bag up the evidence and be on our way.”
“Hold your horses pardner,” replied Willy. “They stay.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know, the law maybe. Illegal seizure. You know, that kind of thing.”
“So, how do we get a warrant?”
“Paul, I don’t know, but we’ve overstayed our welcome. Time to go. We need to fill the Lieutenant in on what we’ve found.”
***
You Did What?
Paul and Willy sat in O’Brien’s office detailing what they found and a likely suspect. Then came the uncomfortable question from the Lieutenant, “How did you come upon this conclusion?”
Willy was silent, not unusual for the taciturn detective. Paul girded himself and started the conversation. “Our three victims have one thing in common, they are collectors of the occult. We found a fishman doll dressed in a black tuxedo in the residence of all the victims.”
“OK Paul, I’m listening. What’s the significance of the object?,” replied O’Brien.
“We visited a shop that does business in curious curios. The proprietor identified the totem, doll if you will, as some Babylonian sea god.”
Dismissive, O’Brien said, “Wonderful.”
Paul plowed forward with their discovery. “We approached an IU history professor whose specialty was Mesopotamian history, Old Babylon. The professor was uncomfortable with the conversation about the doll and the sea god Kulullû. We thought that he knew something that he wasn’t telling us. So, we visited his house to look around.”
O’Brien was alarmed when Paul mentioned the visit. “I take it, this professor let you in and LOOK around.”
“Not exactly,” murmured Willy.
“What do you mean, NOT EXACTLY!,” said O’Brien as his face turned red with anger, knowing where this conversation was going.
“We let ourselves in,” replied Willy.
“How?”
“We jimmied the lock,” replied the taciturn detective.
The raging volcano in O’Brien erupted, “You did WHAT?”
Willy looked down and whispered, “We broke into the place.”
“Oh my God, you imbeciles. Whatever you found, we can’t touch without implicating you two bozos in burglary.” O’Brien got up and paced back and forth behind Paul and Willy before returning to his chair. “What did you find?”
Too embarrassed to answer, Willy clammed up. Paul took the initiative to share with the head of homicide what they found. “We found four of the same dolls as the ones present in the victims homes. A diary had their names written down in the professor’s diary along with four others. This diary detailed their purposes and the man’s culpability in the three drownings.”
O’Brien was reluctant to continue, knowing Paul’s penchant for the supernatural. But he had to ask, “So, how did this professor drown the three men?”
“He somehow got the three men, using the fishman totem, to summon this Babylonian god.”
O’Brien thought, “There we go, crazy town.” He responded, “Do you know how crazy this sounds?”
Willy found his courage to say, “Remember, Gilles de Rais.”
“No, no, NO! We’re not talking about that werewolf nonsense.”
“But it happened, Lieutenant. You were there. Saw it with your own eyes,” replied Paul.
O’Brien sighed, leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. He sat straight and glared at the two men. “Let’s say, for argument’s sake, that this is true. How do we LEGALLY obtain this evidence?”
Willy and Paul were silent. No solution forthcoming.
“I thought so,” replied O’Brien to the silence. “You two get out of my office. Find me a solution before we have another drowning to investigate.”
***
Paul Shares His Woes
Paul sat silent across the dinner table from Ruth. She found this strange as her boyfriend was gregarious most times. Something was eating him.
“What’s wrong Paul? You hardly touched your meal.”
“It’s this case.”
“The drownings?”
“Yes. We talked to Professor Schneider. He was uncomfortable with the topic of Kulullû. We felt he was hiding something, so we visited his home. He had a diary detailing what he did. There were four more totems of the sea god in his possession.”
“Well, it seems that you have enough evidence to move forward with your case and a suspect to boot.”
“Except, we broke into his house, and we have not come up with a way to search Professor Schneider’s home legally.”
“Do you know whose the next likely victim?,” asked Ruth.
“Yes.”
“Well, there you go. Stake out the likely victims and catch the good professor in the act.”
“IPD is stretched thin managing the mob and gang activity in the city. More manpower is not going to happen,” explained Paul.
Ruth reached across the table and squeezed Paul’s hand. “Let’s go to the movies and forget about this for tonight.”
***
Professor Schneider Has a Date
Professor Schneider busied himself in the kitchen preparing for his date. A pretty redhead who sat in on his lectures from time to time visited him out of the blue. They chatted about Babylonian mythology until the conversation turned intimate. Before he knew it, he invited the woman to his house for dinner. The professor was stunned when she accepted.
The doorbell rang. He thought, “It must be her.”
Professor Schneider raced to the front door. The pretty redhead stood at the doorway dressed in an overcoat and held a small duffle bag. He asked, “What’s the bag for?”
The woman smiled and said, “A sleepover,” as she walked past the professor into the living room.
“Ruth, may I take your jacket?”
Ruth unbuttoned the overcoat, letting the professor take it. He threw it on one of the living room chairs. The woman was dressed in a short, tight-fitting black dress. Professor Schneider gasped. “May I put this in your bedroom?,” asked Ruth.
The professor blushed as he directed the woman to the bedroom. As she sauntered to the hallway, he returned to the kitchen to finish dinner preparations.
Ruth unzipped the bag to retrieve a hooded black cloak. She made her way into the professor’s study and procured one of the totems. Ruth made her way into the living room and wrote the prayer to Kulullû on the floor, in chalk.
Professor Schneider heard Ruth in the living room and returned carrying two flutes with champagne. He was caught off guard when he saw the Kulullû doll standing in the center of the room. Dressed in her hooded black cloak, Ruth pointed at the professor and recited the prayer in the old Babylonian dialect. “Kulullû, I call thee. I bring fish to supp. This mere morsel I offer. Take it with thee. Return to the sea. This offering is offered in your name. Bring us the bounty till our next sacrifice. Show us your favor. We’ll provide you our sacrifice. For now, and evermore.”
The professor blinked, not comprehending what he was seeing. “Who are you?”
“Ruth. By the way, I’m a witch sent here to keep the balance between good and evil. The worship of Kulullû ends with you. You made this choice, not I. Now reap the consequences of your action.”
The totem shook and grew. The clothing split as the doll increased in size. The three foot tall imp stood in the middle of the room. It’s skin green and scaly. An invisible hand pushed Professor Schneider before the sea god. The imp opened its mouth and spewed sea water at the professor. The man was trapped within an invisible, circular enclosure. The salt water pressed him against the invisible wall. The water cascaded down his chest and filled the invisible tank. As the water rose, the man floated up to the ceiling, until he was emerged in the sea water. He pounded the invisible wall, trying to break it. His gesture futile.
With his last breath, the water rushed into his mouth, filling the man’s stomach and lungs. His body descended to the floor as the last of the sea water rushed into the man.
The water erased the inscription etched in chalk. Ruth stooped and searched Professor Schneider’s front pocket for his house keys. Finding them, she went to the garage. A gasoline can sat next to a lawnmower. Ruth returned to the house with the gasoline. She splashed the study’s floor with the gasoline, tracing more of the petrol back to the living room where Professor Schneider laid dead. Ruth retrieved a match and set the house ablaze. She threw her cloak into the fire.
Paul’s problem solved.