CthulhuPeople
Lord of Altera
Yet another project, though more flushed out. Please enjoy and lend me some criticism.
Chapter One: Gattis
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Upon my death perhaps I shall consider the belief of a certain “Divine Figure”, though as of now I have none. My life has been wrought with cynicism and disbelief in all that all above or below are simply figments of the imagination of ignorant ministers and their caprinae flocks. My people were learned scholars and professors at prestigious academies in both the Union and Great Britain. My favorite colleague of all was Dr. Franz Schreiner, a fairly academic Physics professor at Oxford University, and an acute negotiator. Indeed, he is the one who referred me to my humble position at the Preston Library, an exclusive building for the best savants from New York and Rhode Island, fit even with a fully stocked kitchen and set of rooms on the third floor. I was to be the Assistant Director under Director Lowery, a lithe man who seemed rather pallid and always with a handkerchief in tow. The poor devil constantly complained of the old dusty tomes of which he had devoted his life to, though never seemed to want to leave, no matter the many times I broached subject. “Waiting for me to visit Saint Peter, Gattis?” he would say in his usual nasally tone. I would be lying if I said I had not considered the thought.
It was during December that I began my duties, mostly consisting of organizing the young Pages to their respective courses and duties. Most appeared to be University students, though one claimed to be “fresh off the docks”, earning the snicker of his colleagues. I simply sent him a sneering glare and motioned him along to the History sections for dusting. I had no time for so called humorists in my Library. Christmas soon came and went, though my time was spent among the books and aisles, voluntarily of course. Director Lowery had gone home to roost it seemed, as had all the pages of course. Their weak willed minds could not stand being away from Providence, for they had missed many hours of their duties due to “Headache”.
Vain curiosity drove me to fix the lock on Lowery’s office door, forcing myself in without damaging the initial structure cosmetically at least. Of course the good Director may find it hard to shut every once and awhile. Quick examination found a rather empty room, though the smell of some chemical solution was pungent in the thick air, enough to choke the lungs and sting the nostrils. A brief whiff was enough to send even an experienced vagabond running back to the poorhouse, let alone myself. Once my coughing fit was finished and my composure restored I steeled myself for another volley, through a blockade in the form of an embroidered handkerchief covering my mouth and nose. The source was easily identifiable: an old mason jar with some grime leaking into the left hand side of Lowery’s desk, having already soaked through and contaminated the antique carpet bag it was hidden in. Reluctantly I brought the jar up for closer inspection, the scent seeming to waver as the source became closer and closer. Before my fingers could pick at the black bile, a knock appeared from the front door, nearly causing me to toss the jar and duck for cover from some sort of rebel. With haste I set everything as it was and rushed to the door, composing myself as I unset the latch and exposed myself to the elements outside, a rush of cool breeze hitting me face first. A smiling man, covered in layer upon layer of clothing awaited outside, removing his hat and offering an apology.
“Pardon my tardiness sir, but I had lost my way in the backwoods on my way here.”
“Tardiness..?” I asked incredulously, for I had not been expecting anyone until after the weekend, and surely not this man.
“Yes, my employer sent a letter to Director Lowery earlier this week to inform that I would be sent to inspect the status of the Library-” his posh tory accent was driving me to mania, though I had to keep my composure, furthermore, I had cursed myself for not opening the hefty stack of letters and envelopes earlier in the afternoon. The man’s credibility was unknown as of now, “during Mister Gabriel Preston’s overseas visit.”
Though the man’s face was well enough hidden in the darkness, a sense of ease fell upon me. Perhaps it was the spirit of the holiday come to haunt me and inspire some good natured cheer and goodwill. I allowed him entrance and directed him to the coatrack for his garments, and towards the now chilled teapot on the stove.
“It is not wise to drive during such a storm, especially at this late an hour, Mister..”
“Wilmington, Frederick Wilmington, sir. You must be Assistant-Director Gattis, well met. Have you also taken it upon yourself to be caretaker?” the line was spoken in jest, though it cut me as an insult.
“I do what I must, Mister Wilmington and take pride in my work. Someone has to do it and no caretaker has been employed despite the numerous letters for employment. Director Lowery stated that he sent them ‘up the chain’ to your employer.”
“As far as we know, we have had no letters of the such, or any news from Director Lowery. Perhaps that is why I am here this evening.” with a quick flourish the teapot was dumped into the washbasin and fresh water filled within it, allowing to heat on the freshly lit stove. This man was very proficient in his duties, perhaps having some butler blood within him.
Insomnia had troubled me in those days and I found myself sitting before the fireplace as I enjoyed the flavor of domestic tobacco, the smell of the smoke wafting through the air brought me comfort. Soon I felt my eyes grow heavier and heavier before the loud pound of a hand clapped on my shoulder, jolting me awake and nearly into combat with my unknown assailant. Proper senses soon grew dominant than my more base of natures and a sense of strange relief washed over my body as the familiar Westminster voice spoke,”Forgive me for the shock, Mister Gattis, though it seems you cannot sleep either.” His stride broke the light of the fire as he positioned himself in the cushioned seat next to me, usually reserved for myself when Director Lowery would force me to have his late night conversations.
There was that accent once more, acting as if he was a son of King George himself. “It is no bother, Mister Wilmington.. Do bad dreams plague you, or do your accommodations bother?”
“Of course not, though the blankets do not compare to those from Edinburgh. No, I have trouble sleeping as of late, perhaps it is this new landscape.”
With a soft sound, a match was struck and Wilmington’s pipe was lit, though I had not seen such. Perhaps it was the late hour that drained my senses, though I had still not gotten a proper look at Wilmington’s face.
“Perhaps.. Where do you come from, Mister Wilmington..?”
“London, Fetter Lane, my Father had saved Mister Preston’s life when I was a boy so he paid for my education in full. Cambridge University was a fine time, though Oxford was where I made most of my education.”
“Oxford? Did you know of a Doctor Schreiner in the Physics Department?”
“Afraid not, I was more of an economics student myself, accounting and all that, you know?”
“Of course, of course… If you excuse me, I must be off to bed. This was a wonderful chat. Do stay up as long as you wish.”
With disdain and haste I sped up to my room, feeling the peering eyes of a Mister Frederick Wilmington burning holes in my smoking jacket. With the turn of a lock and a chair pressed against the door my security was sealed and shut tight. A could not shake the feeling that something was wrong about Mister Wilmington, more than just his accent. I reminded myself to telephone the Offices of Gabriel Preston in Providence during my breakfast, going so far as to write myself a note on my bedside table before laying to rest.
Images of a dark void filled my mind, rivers of black bile just like in the jar in Lowery’s office, the smell just as putrid. For a brief moment there was no sound, when suddenly a cacophony of screams erupted from all around so loud that even now it reverberates in my ear canal. The moans of the mothers and fathers of the unborn crying out to an eternity of destruction and chaos at the hands of unknown captors. Suddenly a grey mass emerged from the black river, formless and without eyes though I knew it’s gaze set on my person, seconds before I woke in a cold sweat in my bed.
Nausea filled my stomach and my head pounded throughout the entire day, strong enough that I couldn’t possibly choke down my breakfast, nor could I bring myself to the telephone. I sat in my office, staring at the ledger pages from the month of December and shooting occasional glances to the typewriter at the edge of my desk. I had attempted to write a letter to Doctor Shreiner but the clicks and clacks of the levers and cranks pounded against my skull like Thor’s hammer. Each pulse brought back a vision of my dream, the formless creature gazing at me, the black river, the screaming. Oh God the screaming!
“Mister Gattis?” Wilmington knocked on my door as he spoke, the sound of worry deep in his throat. With a quick slick back of my hair I stood, vertigo soon wracking my mind and forcing me to sit back in my now damp chair.
“Y-yes, come in Wilmington..”
The door slowly opened a crack, perhaps Wilmington had known of my present distress and wished to leave me be, “I’ll be going into town now, Mister Gattis. Need you anything?”
Considerate. Polite. I still hadn’t seen his face, let alone even his skin. Did he have skin under those layers, or was he also formless. Had he even eyes..?
“No need, Wilmington.. Go on and go.. Just be quiet about it..”
The door soon shut behind Wilmington, perhaps my last comment was a bit too much, but my mood had been ruined by this sudden malady. Once I heard the main doors shut, I forced myself to my feet and into the main hall to the telephone. The short walk had helped a bit with the vertigo, but my nausea had not left me yet.
“Mister Preston’s office speaking.”
“Yes, this is Assistant-Director Gattis at Preston Library, I am curious as to the nature of your man Mister Frederick Wilmington and of his conduct.”
There was a pause on the line before the confused woman returned to her phone, “Sir, we have no record of that name in our offices, could he be a foreign worker?”
“Well, I doubt it, he claims to have been sent by your offices, now get me Mister Preston on the telephone this instant!” I had finished with my demands when the heart palpitations began, vertigo following soon after. I dropped the phone, head beginning to flash back the memories; the screaming, the formless, Wilmington, all of it an equation, a recipe for my own torture. The river began to overflow onto the banks, the formless came closer and closer and closer until I could feel the void it gave off, the lack of feeling. It was as if it did not exist or I did not exist, either way it was a horrific feeling, one that I do not wish to experience once more.
I woke in Lowery’s office, a cool puddle of drool having spilled out on the floor under my face that left a chill down my arm. The smell was not gone, but had not been as powerful as before, as if I had become accustomed to putrid odors in the past twenty-four hours. As I made it to my feet, the illness of before having subsided temporarily, and stepped to the carpet bag, tearing open the buttons that held the black filled jar. The viscous goo had not moved since my last incursion into Lowery’s office, and as I stared into the void, my hand drew ever closer to it’s opaque hue.
The formless void opened up into a wide, grey plain, the very ground seeming to shudder with life. Veins snaked through the thick, nebulous fog at ground level like great roots of a Babylon willow, pulsating and coursing with some fluid that seemed to come alive at my inspection, clotting and bulging. As I passed my way further into the vapor around me, the orchestra of screams once more began, just as loud as before, though it felt as if it belonged rather than an intrusion on the peace of the landscape. The only intrusion was myself. Further along was a grand city, its spires reaching up to the void of the heavens, the stars and galaxies shown innumerable and motionless. A familiar voice rang out of the screams, and there was Wilmington, stepping calmly through the void and away from myself, his face turned away as if he were familiar here. It was then when I realized his position there. With a sickening twist, the ground opened up beneath me, dropping my feeble body into a black and shrieking hole to which there was no end until I found myself outside of Preston Library in the freezing snow.
I leveled the black iron revolver towards the beating at my office door, cold sweat pouring down my face as I began this letter mere hours ago. They were coming for me for what I did, the stink of Wilmington’s cadaver, his pallid face caved in from the typewriter’s weight and my own personal anger. His eyes were what disturbed me most, those black beads sat unnaturally in his head. As I did the deed, the door on Lowery’s office slammed shut, locking us both inside. The beating at the door grew louder, police no less. I must protect them from this place, from that which has no form, even if I must put them in the ground.
Chapter One: Gattis
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Upon my death perhaps I shall consider the belief of a certain “Divine Figure”, though as of now I have none. My life has been wrought with cynicism and disbelief in all that all above or below are simply figments of the imagination of ignorant ministers and their caprinae flocks. My people were learned scholars and professors at prestigious academies in both the Union and Great Britain. My favorite colleague of all was Dr. Franz Schreiner, a fairly academic Physics professor at Oxford University, and an acute negotiator. Indeed, he is the one who referred me to my humble position at the Preston Library, an exclusive building for the best savants from New York and Rhode Island, fit even with a fully stocked kitchen and set of rooms on the third floor. I was to be the Assistant Director under Director Lowery, a lithe man who seemed rather pallid and always with a handkerchief in tow. The poor devil constantly complained of the old dusty tomes of which he had devoted his life to, though never seemed to want to leave, no matter the many times I broached subject. “Waiting for me to visit Saint Peter, Gattis?” he would say in his usual nasally tone. I would be lying if I said I had not considered the thought.
It was during December that I began my duties, mostly consisting of organizing the young Pages to their respective courses and duties. Most appeared to be University students, though one claimed to be “fresh off the docks”, earning the snicker of his colleagues. I simply sent him a sneering glare and motioned him along to the History sections for dusting. I had no time for so called humorists in my Library. Christmas soon came and went, though my time was spent among the books and aisles, voluntarily of course. Director Lowery had gone home to roost it seemed, as had all the pages of course. Their weak willed minds could not stand being away from Providence, for they had missed many hours of their duties due to “Headache”.
Vain curiosity drove me to fix the lock on Lowery’s office door, forcing myself in without damaging the initial structure cosmetically at least. Of course the good Director may find it hard to shut every once and awhile. Quick examination found a rather empty room, though the smell of some chemical solution was pungent in the thick air, enough to choke the lungs and sting the nostrils. A brief whiff was enough to send even an experienced vagabond running back to the poorhouse, let alone myself. Once my coughing fit was finished and my composure restored I steeled myself for another volley, through a blockade in the form of an embroidered handkerchief covering my mouth and nose. The source was easily identifiable: an old mason jar with some grime leaking into the left hand side of Lowery’s desk, having already soaked through and contaminated the antique carpet bag it was hidden in. Reluctantly I brought the jar up for closer inspection, the scent seeming to waver as the source became closer and closer. Before my fingers could pick at the black bile, a knock appeared from the front door, nearly causing me to toss the jar and duck for cover from some sort of rebel. With haste I set everything as it was and rushed to the door, composing myself as I unset the latch and exposed myself to the elements outside, a rush of cool breeze hitting me face first. A smiling man, covered in layer upon layer of clothing awaited outside, removing his hat and offering an apology.
“Pardon my tardiness sir, but I had lost my way in the backwoods on my way here.”
“Tardiness..?” I asked incredulously, for I had not been expecting anyone until after the weekend, and surely not this man.
“Yes, my employer sent a letter to Director Lowery earlier this week to inform that I would be sent to inspect the status of the Library-” his posh tory accent was driving me to mania, though I had to keep my composure, furthermore, I had cursed myself for not opening the hefty stack of letters and envelopes earlier in the afternoon. The man’s credibility was unknown as of now, “during Mister Gabriel Preston’s overseas visit.”
Though the man’s face was well enough hidden in the darkness, a sense of ease fell upon me. Perhaps it was the spirit of the holiday come to haunt me and inspire some good natured cheer and goodwill. I allowed him entrance and directed him to the coatrack for his garments, and towards the now chilled teapot on the stove.
“It is not wise to drive during such a storm, especially at this late an hour, Mister..”
“Wilmington, Frederick Wilmington, sir. You must be Assistant-Director Gattis, well met. Have you also taken it upon yourself to be caretaker?” the line was spoken in jest, though it cut me as an insult.
“I do what I must, Mister Wilmington and take pride in my work. Someone has to do it and no caretaker has been employed despite the numerous letters for employment. Director Lowery stated that he sent them ‘up the chain’ to your employer.”
“As far as we know, we have had no letters of the such, or any news from Director Lowery. Perhaps that is why I am here this evening.” with a quick flourish the teapot was dumped into the washbasin and fresh water filled within it, allowing to heat on the freshly lit stove. This man was very proficient in his duties, perhaps having some butler blood within him.
Insomnia had troubled me in those days and I found myself sitting before the fireplace as I enjoyed the flavor of domestic tobacco, the smell of the smoke wafting through the air brought me comfort. Soon I felt my eyes grow heavier and heavier before the loud pound of a hand clapped on my shoulder, jolting me awake and nearly into combat with my unknown assailant. Proper senses soon grew dominant than my more base of natures and a sense of strange relief washed over my body as the familiar Westminster voice spoke,”Forgive me for the shock, Mister Gattis, though it seems you cannot sleep either.” His stride broke the light of the fire as he positioned himself in the cushioned seat next to me, usually reserved for myself when Director Lowery would force me to have his late night conversations.
There was that accent once more, acting as if he was a son of King George himself. “It is no bother, Mister Wilmington.. Do bad dreams plague you, or do your accommodations bother?”
“Of course not, though the blankets do not compare to those from Edinburgh. No, I have trouble sleeping as of late, perhaps it is this new landscape.”
With a soft sound, a match was struck and Wilmington’s pipe was lit, though I had not seen such. Perhaps it was the late hour that drained my senses, though I had still not gotten a proper look at Wilmington’s face.
“Perhaps.. Where do you come from, Mister Wilmington..?”
“London, Fetter Lane, my Father had saved Mister Preston’s life when I was a boy so he paid for my education in full. Cambridge University was a fine time, though Oxford was where I made most of my education.”
“Oxford? Did you know of a Doctor Schreiner in the Physics Department?”
“Afraid not, I was more of an economics student myself, accounting and all that, you know?”
“Of course, of course… If you excuse me, I must be off to bed. This was a wonderful chat. Do stay up as long as you wish.”
With disdain and haste I sped up to my room, feeling the peering eyes of a Mister Frederick Wilmington burning holes in my smoking jacket. With the turn of a lock and a chair pressed against the door my security was sealed and shut tight. A could not shake the feeling that something was wrong about Mister Wilmington, more than just his accent. I reminded myself to telephone the Offices of Gabriel Preston in Providence during my breakfast, going so far as to write myself a note on my bedside table before laying to rest.
Images of a dark void filled my mind, rivers of black bile just like in the jar in Lowery’s office, the smell just as putrid. For a brief moment there was no sound, when suddenly a cacophony of screams erupted from all around so loud that even now it reverberates in my ear canal. The moans of the mothers and fathers of the unborn crying out to an eternity of destruction and chaos at the hands of unknown captors. Suddenly a grey mass emerged from the black river, formless and without eyes though I knew it’s gaze set on my person, seconds before I woke in a cold sweat in my bed.
Nausea filled my stomach and my head pounded throughout the entire day, strong enough that I couldn’t possibly choke down my breakfast, nor could I bring myself to the telephone. I sat in my office, staring at the ledger pages from the month of December and shooting occasional glances to the typewriter at the edge of my desk. I had attempted to write a letter to Doctor Shreiner but the clicks and clacks of the levers and cranks pounded against my skull like Thor’s hammer. Each pulse brought back a vision of my dream, the formless creature gazing at me, the black river, the screaming. Oh God the screaming!
“Mister Gattis?” Wilmington knocked on my door as he spoke, the sound of worry deep in his throat. With a quick slick back of my hair I stood, vertigo soon wracking my mind and forcing me to sit back in my now damp chair.
“Y-yes, come in Wilmington..”
The door slowly opened a crack, perhaps Wilmington had known of my present distress and wished to leave me be, “I’ll be going into town now, Mister Gattis. Need you anything?”
Considerate. Polite. I still hadn’t seen his face, let alone even his skin. Did he have skin under those layers, or was he also formless. Had he even eyes..?
“No need, Wilmington.. Go on and go.. Just be quiet about it..”
The door soon shut behind Wilmington, perhaps my last comment was a bit too much, but my mood had been ruined by this sudden malady. Once I heard the main doors shut, I forced myself to my feet and into the main hall to the telephone. The short walk had helped a bit with the vertigo, but my nausea had not left me yet.
“Mister Preston’s office speaking.”
“Yes, this is Assistant-Director Gattis at Preston Library, I am curious as to the nature of your man Mister Frederick Wilmington and of his conduct.”
There was a pause on the line before the confused woman returned to her phone, “Sir, we have no record of that name in our offices, could he be a foreign worker?”
“Well, I doubt it, he claims to have been sent by your offices, now get me Mister Preston on the telephone this instant!” I had finished with my demands when the heart palpitations began, vertigo following soon after. I dropped the phone, head beginning to flash back the memories; the screaming, the formless, Wilmington, all of it an equation, a recipe for my own torture. The river began to overflow onto the banks, the formless came closer and closer and closer until I could feel the void it gave off, the lack of feeling. It was as if it did not exist or I did not exist, either way it was a horrific feeling, one that I do not wish to experience once more.
I woke in Lowery’s office, a cool puddle of drool having spilled out on the floor under my face that left a chill down my arm. The smell was not gone, but had not been as powerful as before, as if I had become accustomed to putrid odors in the past twenty-four hours. As I made it to my feet, the illness of before having subsided temporarily, and stepped to the carpet bag, tearing open the buttons that held the black filled jar. The viscous goo had not moved since my last incursion into Lowery’s office, and as I stared into the void, my hand drew ever closer to it’s opaque hue.
The formless void opened up into a wide, grey plain, the very ground seeming to shudder with life. Veins snaked through the thick, nebulous fog at ground level like great roots of a Babylon willow, pulsating and coursing with some fluid that seemed to come alive at my inspection, clotting and bulging. As I passed my way further into the vapor around me, the orchestra of screams once more began, just as loud as before, though it felt as if it belonged rather than an intrusion on the peace of the landscape. The only intrusion was myself. Further along was a grand city, its spires reaching up to the void of the heavens, the stars and galaxies shown innumerable and motionless. A familiar voice rang out of the screams, and there was Wilmington, stepping calmly through the void and away from myself, his face turned away as if he were familiar here. It was then when I realized his position there. With a sickening twist, the ground opened up beneath me, dropping my feeble body into a black and shrieking hole to which there was no end until I found myself outside of Preston Library in the freezing snow.
I leveled the black iron revolver towards the beating at my office door, cold sweat pouring down my face as I began this letter mere hours ago. They were coming for me for what I did, the stink of Wilmington’s cadaver, his pallid face caved in from the typewriter’s weight and my own personal anger. His eyes were what disturbed me most, those black beads sat unnaturally in his head. As I did the deed, the door on Lowery’s office slammed shut, locking us both inside. The beating at the door grew louder, police no less. I must protect them from this place, from that which has no form, even if I must put them in the ground.
