Here is a very short story I wrote a while ago. I thought it would provide an interesting contrast to how I write nowadays. Is there a difference? I have no idea. This will be the general tone of my third book which will hopefully be written and finished by next March, entitled Carnival.
PS... Any close minded racial profiling is intentional as it was a study at university to write in the style of a favourite writer. Having chosen H.P. Lovecraft I had to include his constant fear of the "other", which influences the idea of some great unknown horrors in our universe.
From Afar
Must
we go over this again, Doctor? I have lost count of the times I have
explained the events that led to my being committed and since I know
I am not mad, then recounting my experiences is hardly going to
relieve my fictitious mania! These words are the truth, though I
fail to swear it on God, as I now cannot believe in any deity save
the malignant presence that Marcus awakened with his ill-conceived
actions.
So,
to begin, once again…
I
remember that day clearly, a miserable day in March, where the sheets
of rain arced down from the darkly overcast heavens, soaking every
part of my clothing within a minute of my stepping outside the
shipping office. I pulled my coat close around me and carefully
jogged to where Marcus was standing, gaunt and pale against the dark
shape of the commercial liner H.M.S. Majestic, with the rain breaking
off his characteristic top hat and long traveller’s coat.
Marcus
could never have been called “average”, even before his fateful
trip to the darkest reaches of Egypt to uncover some tomb or other,
but when he returned there was an even more shadowy facet to his
character, though at the time I could not readily identify what it
was. His brooding eyes were perhaps a little darker, his voice a
touch more measured and that merest twinkle that had occasionally
lit his stoic features was now completely absent.
I
gave him a nervous smile and enquired as to whether I could help him
with his bags, but he brushed my query aside with a curt shake of his
head.
“My
companions have it all taken care of. But thank you for your concern
Joshua.”
His
reply had a strange stilted quality to it, but I put it down to the
long journey and the fatigue that it must have caused. Clearly he
was in no mood to talk and I must admit, neither was I, as the rain
was chilling me to the bone. Just then the companions that Marcus
spoke of appeared on the gangplank, each carrying one end of a
strange metal container, perhaps a burial casket of some kind.
They
both wore the primitive but decorative clothing of the Arabs of the
Middle East, voluminous robes with less practical value in the
weather of Boston than in the desert where they had no doubt hailed
from. Blue silk covered most of their heads and faces, so that only
their dark and vacuous eyes were visible. Their clothes were soon as
sodden as both Marcus’s and my own and when the silk started to
cling to their limbs it revealed severely undernourished bodies, no
doubt due to the sparse diet that one had to endure in the poorer
regions of the East.
I
wondered briefly why Marcus had taken to socialising with men so
obviously different to him and his standing, but the rain pushed
those thoughts aside, and I briefly greeted the Egyptians, introduced
to me as Mohamed and Sayed, both hailing from Cairo.
We
walked for the rest of the journey to the carriage in silence, with
the only sound being the rain slapping on the cobblestones and
tapping the lid of the small and exquisite gold sarcophagus,
delicately inlaid with veins of silver, and the startling image of a
huge staring eye in darkest amethyst.
It
was not until I later reached my home that I realised that Marcus had
brought back no other belongings from his three-month trip…
Marcus,
who had been almost a recluse before his trip, keeping himself to his
books and a small but close circle of friends, was now if anything
even more of an outsider, allowing only me out of his other
companions an occasional visit to his quarters deep in the heart of
the poor quarter.
From
the outside, his apartment looked like any other in the area. It was
placed at the top of a crumbling and run down tenement, with broken
guttering channelling water directly outside the only window and
roof tiles patched over holes in a decidedly haphazard fashion, but
inside… oh, if only you could have seen it Doctor, the beauty of
the place, filled with the wondrous items of a lifetime’s fevered
discovery!
With
the wealth that he had inherited after his parent’s tragic death on
a dig in the Persian gulf, he could have bought a lavish house
anywhere in New England, but instead he chose to place his wealth in
artefacts, whilst keeping his housing to the bare minimum necessary
to keep such relics safe.
The
floors were covered with carpets and rugs coloured in lush reds and
blues, interwoven with mesmeric winding patterns of gold and green.
On the walls hung tapestries, portraits, landscapes, and framed
scrolls recovered from the furthest reaches of the world. On the
many shelves were statues, urns, ancient pieces of masonry emblazoned
with glyphs and all manner of sculpted objects from both the heights
of civilisation to the depths of primitive cultures. And the books…
piled high on shelves, loose in stacks, interposed with notebooks and
loose pages of scrawled notes and thoughts, hundreds of volumes
chronicling every nation under the sun. Stepping into Marcus’s
home was like stepping into a museum… no, to use a more accurate
simile; it was like stepping into his very mind. Truly, he was an
intellectual giant, a true great, and his thoughts were as varied
and numerous as his possessions.
But
something began to change over the next few weeks, as his outside
journeys ceased altogether. He started to become more pallid as time
went on and grew even more skeletal than previously, which was a
feat in itself. he no longer seemed to change his clothes. He
even wore his hat at all hours of the day, even when the sun was at
it’s brightest.
The
two Egyptians had taken up residence with him, and constantly kept
him company. They never revealed their faces, preferring to keep
their silk scarves close around their features. They chose to sit
quietly in the shadows whenever I visited, sometimes playing chess
with delicately crafted figures of ebony and ivory as Marcus and I
talked. Slowly, his apartments started to gain a semblance of order
that had previously seemed impossible. Books were now almost
geometrically in line with their counterparts. The previously loose
notes were neatly filed away, and once I even checked through them
when Marcus had left the room to fetch a bottle of brandy and found
them meticulously placed in alphabetical order according to their
subject. And that sarcophagus… it now took pride of place in the
most prominent corner of the room, replacing the delicately crafted
suit of samurai armour that had previously stood there, which I
found neatly packed away behind the new addition.
It
was late one Sunday evening, after the horizon had obscured the sun’s
blood red luminescence, when I decided to broach the subject of the
ancient relic and what it held.
Both
Egyptians looked up from their chessboard, with a curious look in
their jet black eyes. A smile played across Marcus’s withered
features.
“So,
finally he asks.”
I
sat back in my chair, and tried to keep the strange uncomfortable
feeling that had crept over me absent from my features.
“Marcus,
if you don’t wish to speak about it, then…”
“No,
it is quite alright Joshua. You are, after all, my oldest and
dearest friend. I was going to show you sooner or later anyway, and
now is as good as any time. Mohamed, Sayed, if you would…”
Before
I could act, both Arabs had leapt from their chairs, scattering the
chess pieces across the carpet and had lunged for my arms and legs,
holding me fast to the leather armchair in which I sat.
“Marcus!
What in God’s name? Have your men unhand me!”
Marcus
merely smiled, and crossed over to the curtains, closing them slowly
to obscure us from the outside world.
“Please
Joshua, don’t struggle. We bring to you a gift.”
As
he moved behind me towards the trunk, I continued to writhe in vain
against the inhumanly strong Arabs, as a sense of terror started to
overwhelm me. What spell had these creatures laid upon my dearest
friend, and what were they driving him to do?
I
heard the casket open with a creak, before the room was filled with
the sound of clicking and scratching, a frenzied sound that had been
muffled by the trunk’s lid. It sounded like a multitude of
cockroaches, and try as I might, I couldn’t move my head enough to
see what unnameable horrors were trapped in that container.
When
Marcus spoke, he was behind my head, and I heard a clicking separate
from the others, close, very close, to my head…
“My
dear Joshua, you cannot imagine what marvels I found in that dark
tomb, the ancient burial site, lost for centuries beneath the sand of
the Egyptian desert… there are some things that can survive far
longer than our own species, and some things which can bless such
gifts…”
Something
brushed my hair, and I yelled out in desperation. One of the Arabs
slapped his hand across my mouth and stifled any sound I wanted to
make.
“No
one can hear you my friend. No one can see you. And no one, soon,
will even know you…”
Tears
of fear ran down my cheeks in torrents. My body started to shake
with the amount of adrenalin coursing through it.
“I
found them, and they found me… the children of C’Nathk!”
I
felt knife-sharp fingers clutching at my scalp, desperately clawing
at my flesh and sending rivulets of blood down my face. With a last
effort I managed to pull my right arm free and throw my fist into the
face of the Arab holding my legs. He tumbled backwards as I
struggled free of the second Arab, whilst desperately grabbing for
the only source of light… the oil lamp on the table nearby. Blood
started to obscure my vision and I blindly hurled the lamp towards
what I hoped would be a significant target.
There
was a blinding eruption of flame and I staggered away from it,
luckily coming in contact with the door to the hallway. I could hear
an accursed screeching from behind me as I opened the door,and I
glanced over my shoulder, witnessing a sight which chilled my soul.
Marcus
flailed his arms desperately, trying to extinguish the flames that
engulfed him, all the time emitting that obscene howling. His hat
for once was absent… and I swear Doctor, on the crown of his head…
there sat a hideous spider-like creature, covered in purple and blue
veins, with sharpened claws sunk deep into his skull, and one sole
eye, staring at me with vicious and eternal hatred…
I
turned my back and ran, down the long and winding staircase and out
into the street, from where I watched the building burn, a towering
and purifying inferno! I do not know what evil Marcus released from
that tomb in Egypt, but it is gone, gone before it could spread, gone
before it could reign! I know that many people died that night, but
they were a necessary sacrifice! I am glad I saved us! I saved us!
I saved us!
