The Oracle of the Hot Tub

She’s almost too pretty. Long blonde hair, sharp cheekbones, an avian nose, bright sparkling blue eyes that never seem to completely focus. She’s probably naked beneath the surface of the water, but the water beneath the bubbles is dark despite the 70’s mood lighting and she never rises above the water any further than her shoulders. Whatever soap she’s using for bubbles smells just a bit too strong to be pleasant, and there’s something bitter and unpleasant beneath it. It’s humid, and there’s drops of water always dripping from the mirrors on the ceiling.

You don’t pay her; you pay the man upstairs what he asks for, usually thousands of dollars in nonsequential bills, watch him fold the money with his remaining fingers and tuck it into the waistband of his filthy jeans, go down the dark stairway when he jerks the remnants of his thumb towards it. There’s no other furniture in the house, empty rooms smelling of must and disuse. The surrounding suburb is perfectly normal, but people have learned not to let their pets stay outside at night, and to not investigate strange sounds or smells.

She knows forbidden lore that she freely shares in a chirpy tone, bad wisdom that men bled and died to suppress, answers that you’re not meant to know. She knows what the junk DNA in the human genome was designed to do, and how to trigger it. She knows the correct angle and location to look at the night sky. She knows where the doors are, and what the locks require, and where and how to find the keys. Hand her a drawing pad and she’ll draw what you need, a blob of pink tongue sticking out of the side of her thin-lipped mouth as she concentrates and her hands flicker with amazing speed across the paper.

Sometimes she forgets herself. Sometimes she’ll make a gesture with two hands and a third will gently rise up from beneath the water to contribute, only to snap back into the darkness when she realizes. Sometimes her head will loll as she gets into a particularly complicated explanation, her neck bending in a way that it’s not meant to. Sometimes you’ll notice extra rows of teeth in her mouth, and her speech will grow thicker and more guttural. Sometimes her English will lapse into a tongue that hasn’t been heard since the revolt. She laughs it off if you point it out, change the subject. Push it far enough, and she’ll come out of the tub.

You don’t want that.

Stats: As per Shoggoth Lord.