The Haunting of Ilya Petrov
A Lovecraftian horror story, about a house-call this professor will probably regret.
The Haunting of Ilya Petrov
by Nick Pasta
In a bustling metropolis far removed from the secluded woods, Professor Arthur Caldwell pored over ancient tomes and ciphered letters, chasing a trail that seemed to lead only to madness and death. His obsession, as fevered as it was, was ignited by rumors and whispers of a man, a lone survivor of some unspeakable ordeal, who had seen past the veil of reality and lived to tell the tale.
From the depths of cold-war era archives, Professor Caldwell had unearthed the name of Ilya Petrov. A name that was mentioned with dread and spoken in hushed whispers even among the hardened men of the Soviet occult division. The deeper Professor Caldwell delved, the more terrible a picture began to form.
Recruited by the Soviet Union during World War II, Ilya Petrov was enlisted for his expertise in the occult. He was to find something, anything that could be of an advantage to the Soviets.
From what Caldwell found. Ilya had succeeded.
Caldwell managed to get his hands on secret reports from the aftermath of the government site. He read grim reports describing whole rooms of men decimated from the operation. He read their corpses were hollow, no thicker than leather. And that they were thrown around like rags still dripping blood.
Caldwell found accounts of murders that seemed linked to Ilya after his tenure. Speculative articles of disappearances. The bodies of the missing found flattened and carved out like bear rugs in piles. Hair, teeth, and nails still in place. The killer was never found.
Professor Caldwell felt both dread and an irresistible pull. The terror that had shattered the mind of Ilya Petrov could be the key to unlocking knowledge that mankind had sought for centuries.
After all Caldwell stood on the shoulders of giants. The practices of the occult had refined much since the time of Petrov. Petrov’s practices were old, brutish, and barbaric. Modern practices were refined, clean, and left little room for error. Perhaps in his search for answers he could free Ilya from this prison in the process.
The disappearances had stopped so he must have left the city, and no reports of these murders had appeared in any other city either. Caldwell pulled up aerial photos taken from planes and scoured them for months combing the forest for a dwelling that might belong to Ilya. Eventually he found it. A dwelling in the middle of a dense forest that appeared to emanate toxic gas that twisted and charred all the foliage around it. That had to be him.
With the name of Ilya Petrov etched into his mind and the whispers of the long-dead Soviet occult division echoing in his ears, Professor Caldwell embarked on a journey that would lead him into the heart of darkness. He was in search of answers.
The forest was dark and eerie around Petrov’s dwelling. The treetops were so dense only fractions of light made it through to the grungy forest floor. The subtle smell of sulfur tinged the area around the house as all life seemed to stop just a few meters from the door.
The closer to the house Professor Caldwell got the more the trees began to twist and curl in unnatural directions. A sense of foreboding took over the professor as he felt the presence of something frozen in time beyond the door of the cabin.
The hair stood up on the back of his neck. He panicked! He looked at his arms and could have sworn he felt himself being sucked from the inside out, or that he was suffocating on whatever toxic gas had caused the forest around the cabin to crumble. No, that was just an illusion. His anxiety playing tricks on him.
The shack was run down. The outside of the house was covered in corpses of animals who strayed to close to the dwelling. Their hollowed bodies shed from their soul, and shriveled as if sucked out by a straw.
With all the confidence he could muster Professor Caldwell pushed away the corpses, walked up to the door and knocked.
Silence.
This was a terrible idea, he thought. Every moment an eternity. He continued to check his body for physical symptoms and noticed no changes. Maybe Ilya controlled it somehow?
Suddenly the door opened. The inside of the cabin was pitch black, and all that could be seen was the outline of a grotesque figure, hobbled, old, and rotting away.
The figure in the doorway stood silent and still, an ominous silhouette against the unending blackness of the cabin's interior. For a moment, Professor Caldwell could do nothing but stare, his heart pounding in his chest. The grotesque figure seemed to radiate a sense of decay and madness, a palpable aura that threatened to suffocate the professor.
Finally, the figure spoke. The voice was a mere croak, a dry rasp that bore the weight of decades of solitude and torment. "Professor Caldwell," it rasped. "Why have you come?"
"I seek the truth," Professor Caldwell replied, trying to keep his voice steady. "The truth that you discovered, that which broke you, that which lies beyond the boundaries of our understanding. I seek that truth."
Ilya let out a dry, hacking laugh, a sound devoid of any mirth. "The truth?" he croaked. "The truth leaves a man hollow."
Despite the fear gnawing at his gut, Professor Caldwell held his ground. "And yet, I must know," he said, determination burning in his eyes. "I must understand, no matter the cost." His nose still burning from the stench.
Ilya seemed to consider this for a moment, his silhouette shifting slightly in the darkness. "Very well," he finally said. “Enter if you wish.”
Professor Caldwell looked back to the safety of the twisted curled up forest. Then took a step into the cabin.
The darkness did not subside upon entering, but instead it became suffocating. The lantern he held did little to quell the darkness aside from creating a small halo of light around him.
Ilya slowly gestured to a chair in the corner. “Please sit.” He said.
Professor Caldwell looked over to the chair, and back at the man. The cabin was small, but with the unbearable weight of stench, darkness, and foreboding, the professor resisted. “I think I’ll stand,” he said.
“Very well.” The old figure muttered.
“So what do you know?”
“In all honesty, very little,” Professor Caldwell said. “That is why I’m here. I am your disciple, I seek to learn from you and perhaps cure you in the process.”
Ilya looked to the floor then to the roof. “Perhaps this is a blessing then. If you are anything like me you will make an acceptable candidate.” he said trailing off in thought.
Caldwell stood there “I am ready.”
Ilya perked up “Before we start, there are some things we have to establish.”
Ilya hunched over and said “We are going to keep this discrete, we cannot be found.”
Caldwell quickly responded with “Yes, absolutely. My trail is untraceable”
Next Ilya perked up again and asked “Are you a loyal researcher of the occult?”
“Yes” Caldwell responded “I’ve been studying it my entire adult life.”
“Very good.” Ilya complimented.
“It is not a popular area of study, I found it hard to keep friends and connections”
Caldwell responded “Indeed, that is perhaps one of my biggest struggles, but still I persist”
“Very good.” Ilya complimented again.
Caldwell checked his body again for signs of damage, and to his surprise he still found nothing. He felt reassured.
Ilya perked up and said finally, “Yes, this is very good. Lets not lose this opportunity.”
Ilya slouched, “So tell me Professor, what do you want to know?”
Professor Caldwell swallowed hard, a chill running down his spine. "What did you find?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.
Ilya turned to him, his eyes piercing the darkness. "Not what, but who," he said. "We found an ancient one, a god older than time itself. A being of such cosmic power and malevolence that merely to look upon it is to invite madness."
The air seemed to grow colder as Ilya spoke, the darkness pressing in around them. Professor Caldwell felt a growing sense of dread, but he knew he had to press on. "And what is the name of this god? Was anyone right? How can I see them and survive?" he asked, his voice trembling.
Ilya leaned in closer. “We can perform the ritual, but we cannot promise anything” he said.
Professor Caldwell was determined to go forward. This man was different, this man had survived, perhaps he knew some trick that saved him.
But then Caldwell realized, “We who? Are you going to perform the ritual with another… I thought you were alone?”
“I suppose you have done me a favor” said Ilya “They hunger for another. The life around here is all dead, and they are angry”
“What are you talking about!” Professor Caldwell demanded. He took a step back and trembled.
“No matter. You should sate it for now” Ilya said, ignoring the professor.
The last words of Ilya echoed in the suffocating silence. A moment passed, then two. Professor Caldwell felt a sudden chill, an unnatural cold that seemed to seep from the very bones of the cabin.
"Forgive me, Professor Caldwell," the old man whispered. "But now you shall know what it is that you seek. Perhaps you can find solace in that."
Professor Caldwell panicked. He reached into his pocket for a match to re-ignite the lantern. “I don’t know what you intend to do but I am leaving!” Through his fear he fumbled with his pockets and eventually was able to release the matchbox from its chamber. But it was too late.
Before Professor Caldwell could react, the ground beneath him seemed to shift, to writhe. He looked down and, in the faint glow of the dying embers, he saw it. A mass of tendrils, dark as the void, writhing and pulsating.
"No..." Professor Caldwell began, but his protest was cut short as he felt something cold and slimy wrap around his ankles. It began to pull him downwards, into the abyss. He felt his legs shrivel as he was consumed from the inside out like a spider consuming its prey.
He attempted to scream but the tentacle had covered his mouth and begun consuming his lungs.
Ilya watched as the professor was consumed, his old, weary eyes filled with a profound sorrow. "Forgive me," he whispered again. But there was no one left to hear him.
Hi!
Thanks for reading! I hope you liked this short story. I’ve gotten a lot of great feedback from readers and friends who loved our stories! Its truly been great to hear from everyone! Thanks so much!
This was supposed to just be a thing to work on while I finished up my degree. And believe me when I say things got very busy at the end of my last quarter.
The great feedback I received has inspired me to reach out to some of my old writers, and get some posts going again!
Funnily enough as I looked through the drafts this story was just sitting there completely done from who knows how many months ago. (Edit: Ok so I actually sat down and edited it for a couple hours to refine the concept)
I’ve reached out and apparently we still have a few in the backlog that I’ve neglected. Sorry Daren. So expect some familiar faces in the coming weeks.
This is all free. Nobody is getting paid anything. Don’t expect consistency from us, but I’ll do my best with the time that I have.
Check Out Nick’s: Twitter | Instagram | Linktree | Itch | Steam Curator |
Chat with the writers themselves on the Bits N’ Pixels Discord Server!