Horrorscope by charles black

Brian Sloane couldn't believe what he was seeing. He rubbed his eyes, and read it again:

Aries.
March 21 - April 20.
This will be the dawning of a new age, and the future you have been dreaming of is nigh.
At long last the stars are right, and the sacrifices you make now will ensure that what you have been waiting for will come to pass.

Sloane read it through a third time - just to make sure. There was no doubt about it - the return of the Great Old Ones had been proclaimed, proclaimed in a tabloid newspaper's horoscope column.

Gathered in an ancient stone circle, Sloane addressed the scarlet robed cultists.

“Brethren the time is upon us. The long awaited return of the Great Old Ones is nigh. Tonight we Disciples shall perform the ceremony that shall herald Their advent.

 “We shall speak the words of the rites of Alhazred and make the red offering. And They shall return to claim what is rightfully Theirs.

“The Earth will shake and mountains shall crumble, cities will be crushed, and the oceans shall boil. It shall be glorious. Ia Ia Cthulhu.”

The cultists took up the cry.

With a commanding gesture Sloane silenced them. “Let the sacrifices begin,” he pronounced.
It was a ceremony blacker than the blackest mass. Thirteen virgins lost their virginity and then their lives.
The sky darkened and thunder rumbled.

“I hear their voices brethren,” Sloane cried. “'It is not enough,' they say. There must be more blood. As They command, so shall it be.”
And Sloane's fellow disciples willingly gave up their lives in the belief that it would unleash the Great Old Ones, those ancient alien gods from the Earth’s eldritch past that were inimical to mankind.

 ****

The man who opened the door was short and overweight. Florid faced and dressed in garishly coloured clothes.
 
“You!” bellowed Sloane.
 
“Me?”
 
“Yes you! You are Grant Burnell the astrologer?”
 
“Yes love, I am. What can I do for you? Autograph is it?”
 
Sloane grabbed Burnell by his lapels.
 
“Ow! You're hurting,” the astrologer protested.
 
The cultist bundled Burnell back into the hallway, slamming the door shut behind him.
 
Burnell cried, “Hey steady on! What do you think you're doing?”
   
“You wrote this?” Sloane thrust the newspaper at him, pointing at the astrology column.
 
“Yes I did.”

“False prophet!” shrieked Sloane.

“Come on now love, that's a bit harsh.”

Sloane pointed to the entry for Aries, “You said the stars are right.”
“Hang on a minute.” Burnell put on his glasses. “Now let's have a look.” The astrologer quickly read the entry for Aries. “Yes
I did; fancy that.”

“But the Old Ones did not return.”

“Old ones? What old ones? I didn't say anything about your grandparents now, did I? Look love, what goes in my column in the paper is very general. It doesn't apply to everyone; it can't really, can it? But for some people what I predict does come true, law of averages really I suppose. To be honest - mind you don't tell anyone I said this - it's just a bit of fun really. What you need is a personal reading. When were you born?”

“Charlatan! You did not even foresee your own fate,” Sloane snarled, plunging his sacrificial knife into the astrologer's ample belly.

END