Climbing The Walls

————-Authors Note————-

Language and words possess a formidable power to immerse readers in the depths of horror, provoking the very sensations we wish to evoke. Unlike visual arts, the written word must be both robust and flexible, capable of warping readers’ expectations to disturbing effect. In this tale of madness, drawing inspiration from the macabre visions of H.P. Lovecraft with a dash of Clive Barker and Evil Dead for flavor, I took the English language on a harrowing journey. Brace yourself as each paragraph leaves you questioning if you’re still reading the same story. This experiment, I hope, will reap the rewards of haunting nightmares…enjoy!

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Climbing The Walls

Staying steadfast with your school chums proves to be a sinister struggle, contrary to the tales of yore.

Fortunate were we, for we defied the odds. Despite our upbringing and sojourns through boarding school, my four friends and I remained resolute companions. Yet, with the advent of adulthood and the disentangling of childhood ties, responsibilities loomed like shadows—careers, families, and scant time for anything else.

Thus, we carved out time, resolute and undeterred. Each year, as the hunting season heralded its arrival, we would pack our provisions and embark upon our pilgrimage to the beloved woods, to a cabin concealed deep within its sylvan heart, seeking an adventure in the art of the hunt. Alas, our harvests were meager, for our rifles seldom roared. No, the majority of our time was spent ensconced in the cabin’s confines, imbibing spirits, engaging in spirited card games, and regaling each other with tales of triumphs and trials.

The most illustrious among us was Theodore Montgomery, whose name reverberated through the banking bastions. A man of unwavering resolve, he possessed a stern countenance, yet he dispensed kindness as liberally as he amassed wealth. To us, he was Theo, our comrade with a predilection for chewing blackjack gum and an unmatched prowess in the game of Jax. Next in line stood Alesteir McConnell, scion of immigrants and a triumph in his own right. His family had sown the seeds, and he had dutifully cultivated a chain of colossal general stores that blanketed the entire eastern expanse. To us, Alesteir remained the bespectacled boy with bright eyes, enamored by science fiction sagas and fervently believing that one day we would witness extraterrestrial wonders amidst these very woods. Little did we fathom the veracity of his words.

Beside Alesteir in the cabin, puffing on a preposterously proportioned pipe that elicited laughter—in my humble opinion—was Virgil Sturgeon. Virgil, a denizen of the town where we honed our nascent skills, had, along with myself, elected to stay behind while the others ventured forth, erecting our own emporium of cigars and wines. We never entered into wedlock, nor did we divulge the true essence of our bond to anyone other than our friends who sat with us now. The townsfolk, privy to our camaraderie, deemed us “intimate confidants.” Our establishment, Virgil and Thompson’s, though unassuming, furnished us with a life of serene contentment. The love I harbored for Virgil transcends all boundaries, but I hesitate to expound upon such matters while my heart remains tender, still nursing the wounds of that fateful expedition.

Our final companion, reserved and introspective, was Elijah Washington. His reticence did not extend to his affection for us; indeed, he exuded warmth towards his cherished comrades. Rather, his reserve manifested in his approach to life. Eli, the sole person of color in our small township, encountered innumerable hurdles in his quest for acceptance among the townsfolk, both mentally and physically. Quiet by nature, he meticulously weighed each action and utterance, burdened by a curse he surely abhorred. While individuals like myself traversed life’s labyrinth with ease and grace, Eli toiled relentlessly for every penny, his struggles etched upon his countenance.

My friendship with Eli, took root amidst my own tribulations, stemming from the dearth of female companionship in my midst. Eli’s physical prowess rivaled that of an athlete, as he loomed above us, a towering figure whose height and strength served as a shield in this era when acceptance for those of differing hues is not always forthcoming. In an act of unwavering solidarity, Alesteir bestowed one of his myriad stores upon Eli, allowing him to forge his own path and transform it into a testament of his capabilities. As friends, we bolstered one another, recognizing Eli as the paragon among us, an absolute equal.

As we congregated in hushed silence within the cabin, Virgil, positioned closest to the window, discerned the swirling metamorphosis of the weather. Flakes of divine dandruff cascaded from the heavens, heralding the imminent arrival of snow—a tempest we had unknowingly underestimated. “Thompson, perchance we ought to ensconce ourselves within the cabin and witness if indeed Hell freezes over,” Virgil quipped, his pipe clenched betwixt his teeth, an act that now seemed more irksome than amusing. “Well, if you actually engaged in any hunting, Virg, it might serve as a novel diversion for you,” Eli jested, pulling a chair to the table that occupied the cabin’s center, situated opposite Virgil and Alesteir.

The cabin we usually secured for our customary escapades had succumbed to weakened trusses, its roof barely capable of withstanding a mere starling, let alone the burden of a heavy snowfall. Consequently, we were compelled to rent a smaller, more secluded cabin nestled deeper within the woods. Judging by the layers of encrusted dust and the stale air that permeated its interior, this particular cabin had lain dormant for an extended period.

This was indeed a humble abode, a grand departure from our customary site—a one-bedroom log edifice, where the grandest expanse unveiled itself upon crossing the threshold. The main chamber, bereft of furnishing apart from a dusty three-seat sofa nestled beneath two diminutive windows, housed a modest table and six mismatched chairs. Alesteir, upon entering, derided the interior with disdain. “Where do they summon the gall to christen this a cabin? It should be deemed naught but a ramshackle hovel.” His assessment held undeniable veracity. The bedroom, resembling more of an expansive closet, accommodated a solitary twin bed and the most minuscule chest I have ever encountered. Curiously, the door that ostensibly granted ingress to a closet instead revealed a hastily bricked wall. We observed the peculiarity of bricks adorning a log structure, surmising that perhaps the closet teetered on the precipice of collapse, threatening to plunge into the abyss beyond the cabin’s boundaries. Such were our initial ruminations. Alas, had we been privy to the veritable truth, perchance we could have salvaged the very fabric of our fragile minds.

The cabin lacked a designated cooking area, yet boasted a functional hearth, which we promptly ignited to repel the encroaching drafts from the outer abyss. Our provisions for sustenance consisted of dried beef, pear drops, a medley of fruit turnovers, watercress, a wheel of cheese, two loaves of bread, a case of wine, and a generous bottle of whisky to kindle the fires of warmth within. The meager rations suited our purposes, for our expeditions were planned for fleeting three-day forays.

As the remainder of our fellowship encircled the table, I retrieved the bottle of whisky and arranged five glasses with meticulous care. Alongside it, I presented the cheese and a selection of exquisite cigars from the recesses of mine and Virgil’s personal humidor. Cards became the evening’s chosen pastime, intertwined with profound discourse.

As night descended upon us, our card game surrendered to our collective ineptitude, and we delved deeper into the depths of the whisky bottle. “You know,” Alesteir prodded, his grin amiable and his gaze clouded by intoxication, “I reckon dear Eli is the sole among us who has yet to secure a companion for the nocturnal chamber.” Eli, undeterred, poured himself another glass of synthetic warmth, his eyes fixed upon Alesteir, a knowing smile spreading across his countenance as he savored his first sip. “Fear not, Alesteir, for as soon as I discover a suitable paramour to grace my bedchambers, you shall be the first to receive tidings,” Eli declared, his words punctuated by a raised glass. Alesteir reclined in his chair, deftly emptying his glass in a swift motion.

“Well, I wagered you might seek a serenade with one of us, akin to our two bed barons,” he giggled, his mirth echoing through the room, while Virgil kindled his pipe and cast a stern, yet whimsical glance. “Aleister, do I detect a tinge of jealousy in thy tone? If you fancied a trip to our chambers, a simple query would have sufficed.” Aleister rose from his seat, executed a bow, and with a touch of flamboyance in his voice, replied, “Nay, dear gentlemen, I cherish thy friendship, but glimpses of your swollen nethers are a spectacle I prefer to forgo, now and forevermore.” The room erupted with laughter, a cacophony of mirth and camaraderie.

Aleister donned his overcoat and strode toward the door. “Leaving so soon?” inquired Theo, pouring himself a heady glass of his own elixir, while deftly assembling a formidable house of cards. “I must relieve my bladder, dear Theo. Thompson, would you hold one side while I hold the other?” Laughter swelled as Aleister ventured outside, shutting the door behind him. Theo, too, rose from his chair, inadvertently toppling his architectural masterpiece, and announced, “I shall grant these eyes respite, my esteemed companions. The arduous journey has left me weary, and the potent whisky does nothing to assuage my weariness.” With that, Theo bid us adieu, and we exchanged our valedictions, his steps fading as he closed the bedroom door behind him.

The notion that my dear friend Aleister’s parting jest, which reduced us to tears, was the final act as he ventured into the abyss, provides solace to my heart. Alas, I yearn for one more resounding laughter, but it eludes me, for that chapter of my existence is forever lost. We heard no sound, witnessed no signs of struggle or assault, yet after several interminable minutes of Aleister’s absence, an unsettling sensation gripped us. Eli, amidst our discourse on matters of commerce, the prospect of melding Eli’s persistence with our own to fashion an inn complete with a tavern, cast a somber gaze toward the door of our unpretentious dwelling and remarked gravely, “Aleister has been gone for a some time. Do you reckon all is well with him?” Both Virgil and I exchanged glances, our countenances growing grave, akin to a bird’s nest taking shape. “Perhaps the salted pork, now an unwelcome guest within his constitution, has wrought havoc upon him in these twilight years,” Virgil quipped, attempting to infuse his words with levity, yet beneath the veneer, apprehension lingered in his voice.

“Perchance we ought to check on him” I proposed, my jest devoid of mirth. The three of us, in unison, rose from our seats, enveloping ourselves in thick woolen overcoats, tacitly resolving that rousing Theo from his repose would prove an irksome intrusion, should Aleister indeed find himself entangled in the clutches of disquietude. As we treaded into the frigid air, one by one, Virgil tarried momentarily, emerging thereafter with his trusty rifle in tow.

Virgil, a man possessed of unparalleled preparedness, perpetually harboring the darkest imaginings, rendered him an invaluable ally, yet simultaneously stoked the embers of our trepidation. Not a word passed betwixt us as we ventured toward the outdoor privy, our steps infused with an air of foreboding.

The snow, descending for an eternity, veiled the landscape in a pristine white cloak as the sun sank behind the towering fortress of timber, casting an ethereal azure radiance, granting visibility yet piercing our flesh with icy blades, seeking our very lifeblood. We pursued the trail left by Aleister’s boots, a track etched upon the wintry canvas, leading us to the privy. Silence embraced us as Eli bellowed toward the closed door of the ramshackle lean-to, an edifice that, though appearing intact and robust, had clearly witnessed the passage of more prosperous days. No response.

Aleister, renowned for his jests and juvenile diversions, was the reason for our initial lack of alarm. “Maybe he has, at long last, encountered those entities from the stars,” Virgil posited. “In the shit house?” Eli interjected with haste, eliciting a brief moment of shared mirth that dissipated abruptly when my foot descended upon an object beneath the snow, emitting a resounding crack.

In the heart of the ancient woodland, when the snow descends, the world surrenders to silence. A silence that swells, growing into a maddening void, capable of driving one to the brink if exposed for too long. Your own heartbeat and coursing blood become audible, the churn of your bowels and the yearning of your stomach for sustenance resonate, even the flutter of your eyelids reverberates amidst the otherworldly hush. Thus, when my boot shattered the crystalline surface, emitting a detonation akin to a gunshot, we stood startled, our senses jolted into high alert, Virgil instinctively shouldering his rifle.

“I’ve stepped upon something, but it’s likely nothing,” I reassured my friends, attempting to allay their concerns. Yet, it proved far from inconsequential. As I raised my boot and reached into the pristine snow, I extracted a pair of spectacles, adorned with delicate gold rims—Aleister’s spectacles. “I have an ill feeling about this, a most unsettling sensation,” Eli murmured, his gaze scanning the encompassing forest. “ALEISTER!” Virgil’s voice pierced the silence, echoing through the stillness. No response. Virgil and I commenced discussing the mysterious discovery when we noticed Eli, transfixed in his stance, motionless not due to the elements, but rather gripped by sheer terror. When a man of his stature and strength succumbs to such fear, one listens intently. “There’s blood upon the door,” Eli managed to articulate, his composure gradually returning. He turned, his eyes wide, gesturing toward the privy.

Initially obscured by the somber blue hue cast upon the snow, we had failed to discern it, but there, unmistakably, was blood staining the privy door. I recollect perceiving it as a crimson smear of paint upon our approach, but there could be no mistake—it was blood. The three of us approached the privy, Virgil at the forefront, rifle in hand. Eli positioned himself to Virgil’s left, gripping the door handle tightly. With a swift, forceful swing, Eli flung the door open, while Virgil stared intently down the barrel of his rifle. What we beheld caused Virgil to lower his weapon, rendered me immobile, and prompted Eli to retch violently by our side.

It was Aleister, seated astride the abyssal opening, but something sinister had surely slithered within. It had wedged itself deep into his posterior, snaking its way through his countenance, hollowing him out from within. His visage, once adorned with eyes and features, now appeared a ghastly void of gore. Beside him, daubed in a crimson veneer, lay a science fiction magazine, its cover depicting a Martian monstrosity with eight writhing appendages. His arms, impaled by whittled stakes, were cruelly pinned to the outhouse walls.

We endeavored to regain composure, but panic propelled us towards the cabin. Bursting inside, we swiftly secured the door behind us. Virgil swiftly inspected the ammunition and the rifles, ensuring their readiness. Eli, his brawny hands cradling his anguished head, sank into the dusty sofa, succumbing to a sorrow I had never before witnessed—a lamentation. I approached him, yearning to offer solace, but my intent was abruptly interrupted by a shrill scream. At first, I believed it to be my own, reminiscent of the wails I attempted to emit upon the discovery of poor Aleister. Yet, this cacophony emanated from a different chamber—the bedroom. Virgil, quick-witted as ever, hurled rifles into our hands, and Eli, now composed, stood alongside me. Resolute, we approached the bedroom door, Virgil’s decisive kick propelling it inward.

We ventured forth into the room, shrouded in the eerie glow of a solitary oil lamp that cast macabre silhouettes upon every corner. Upon the bed, Theo sat bolt upright. Apprehensively, we approached, fearing the worst, but Theo seemed unscathed. Yet, his hands were drenched in crimson, and his gaze fixated, entranced by the bloodstains. Eli, ever vigilant, noticed another anomaly—ajar was the window, granting entry to the frigid tempest and a veil of snow that adorned a portion of the floor. It had remained open for an immeasurable span, until Eli secured it. As we shut out the biting cold, our eyes were drawn to the sanguine handprints on the window’s ledge, just below the glass—an indication of an intruder who had ascended into the chamber from without. “From now on, it is imperative that we gather in the main room, united as one,” Virgil declared resolutely.

Virgil had ever been the anchor of our group, assuming command amidst the direst of circumstances. He rallied us, forging unity, enabling us to conquer the most arduous trials. In the wake of Eli’s father’s untimely passing, Virgil was the stalwart figure who assembled and stood alongside us, offering solace and mirth to our grieving friend. He was the epitome of the leader we needed to navigate the abyss that loomed before us. And lead us he did.

Together, we aided Theo in regaining his composure, guiding him to the cabin’s central chamber. Virgil proffered him a towel for his besmeared hands, and we gathered around the table. I poured generous measures of whisky into our glasses, and we sat in contemplative silence, each of us contemplating the daunting path that lay ahead. It was Theo who, somewhat restored, broke the silence, his voice piercing the stillness of the room.

“Gentlemen, though I know not the nature of this unfolding enigma, if this be one of Aleister’s jests, I shall have no part in it. He may reveal himself, and I shan’t create a scene, but I will bestow upon him a resounding slap for the blood,” a faint grin adorned Theo’s countenance, unaware of the true gravity of Aleister’s absence.

“Aleister is dead,” Eli declared, downing the contents of his glass in one mighty gulp, slamming it upon the table before hastily replenishing it from the dwindling bottle. “Dead? You joke as well, my dear friend,” Theo replied, his voice trembling. “I speak the truth. We discovered him in the privy—a ghastly sight,” Eli retorted. “Murdered,” Virgil interjected, rising from his seat, his pipe ignited and beentwixt his teeth as he gazed out the window.

“That was no ordinary demise, brought about by disease or misfortune. Our comrade was mercilessly slaughtered, and not by the teeth of any beast,” Virgil expounded, his words punctuated by puffs of smoke from his pipe. He returned to his seat, fixing his discerning gaze upon each of us in turn. “Who, besides the proprietors of this cabin, knows of our presence here?” Theo pondered. “None, save for our families and, perchance, our laboring colleagues. However, the latter possess no inkling of our current whereabouts,” I replied, my gaze fixed upon my glass. “No, it was no creature. It was man—a malevolent force. One need only observe those sharpened stakes impaling his… arms upon the walls,” Eli struggled to voice his recollection, the haunting image of our dear companion etched deeply within his mind.

“Perchance a feral creature or a long-forgotten clan of cannibals could be responsible…” Theo began, but Virgil abruptly interjected, “What you speak of is naught but fiction drawn from the very tomes Aleister used to regale us with in our youth. This was murder, but not at the hands of savage woodland dwellers—rather, it was by our own.”

Virgil uttered the last words with a bitter disdain, as if pained by the notion he had conceived. “I concur that murder has befallen us, but to accuse one of us is a stretch, Virg. And the only one I perceive in your sights is Theo,” Eli declared, his gaze piercing Virgil like daggers. “Me? Murder my friend? Why would I…” Theo began to protest, but Virgils voice cut him off once more. “You were the sole one whose whereabouts were unaccounted for. Blood besmirched your very hands, and the window to the room stood wide open—a trail of footprints leading outward. Eli, can you truly expect me not to entertain such suspicions?” Virgil countered, his tone resolute yet tinged with an underlying calmness. “What say you, Theo? What transpired within that room?” Eli inquired, fixing his gaze intently upon Theo’s eyes, hoping to absolve his friend from the unsettling doubts that even he himself harbored.

“As you recall, I departed in search of respite—to find solace and replenish my strength for the morrow. I entered the room, cloaked in silence, with no signs of disturbance. I kindled the lamplight and reclined upon the bed, shutting my eyes, and that is where my recollection fades. I awoke to the chilling gust within the room and the crimson stain upon my hands, which startled me into a scream. And then, my dear companions, you arrived. The rest, you are aware of,” Theo recounted calmly. While his account provided no definitive answers to our ponderings, it seemed that our friend of many years was indeed speaking the truth, or at least the fragments he could muster. “You are sure you have no recollection of the window being ajar when you entered the room, or perchance the faint sound of it being opened whilst you slumbered?” Virgil inquired.

“I know naught beyond what I have stated, my friends. I possess no composure to perpetrate the acts you suspect, nor a shred of animosity towards dear Aleister. Why would I commit such an atrocity?” Theo’s voice cracked with the weight of his own innocence, tears glistening in his eyes.

We exchanged glances—Eli, Virgil, and I. By some unfathomable accord, God help us, we believed him. Something unspeakable had transpired, and it appeared that Theo had been burdened with the blame, made to appear as the perpetrator, while an unseen assailant or assailants vanished into the night, heedless of the carnage left behind. “I believe our best course of action is to remain here, confined within this chamber, until the snowstorm abates. Thus, there can be no doubt if further horrors unfold. Come morning, we can seek aid,” Eli declared. We all concurred, sealing our pact with another round of whisky.

We polished that bottle off, not uttering a word, just solemnly sitting in wait, as if it were a wake, the corpse of our comrade cold and cruelly cleaved in the snow. It was our way of mourning, steeped in a macabre ritual.

As I drew one of the wine bottles and uncorked it, slumber began to seep over us all. A somnolence draped in eldritch shades, inexplicable and disquieting. Perhaps it was the embrace of exhaustion, or perchance a sinister enchantment. Eli took post on the couch, Theo on the floor with a blanket and a jacket as a makeshift pillow, while Virgil and I settled in our chairs, our legs propped upon the vacant seats beside us. Sleep descended within minutes, but I awoke later, stirred by the howling wind and snow outside. The creaking boards resonated like a symphony of doom, piercing through my slumber like the gnarled claws of an ancient horror. I opened my eyes, still ensnared in the chair where I had fallen into an abyss of slumber. Virgil, opposite me, was also rousing, and an unspoken understanding passed between us, acknowledging that something abhorrently amiss lurked within our surroundings.

The issue was, the night’s stygian shroud still encompassed us. No glimmer of light pierced through the diminutive windows near the couch where Eli slumbered. The snow had intensified with a malevolent force palpable to all, yet despite the relentless passage of time, we should have been greeted by at least a faint glimmer of dawn as we emerged from our slumber. Yet there was none. Virgil, almost divining my thoughts, retrieved his timepiece from his waistcoat and checked the hour. “It’s 9 am, Thompson…” Virgil’s next words were abruptly silenced as the cacophony commenced, a discordant symphony that heralded unspeakable horrors.

It wasn’t the cacophony of the blizzard currently besieging us; it was a relentless thumping emanating from the bedroom. As we attuned our ears toward the chamber, we realized it was more akin to a resounding hammering. I stood up first, turning to Eli, intending to rouse him from his slumber. But to my astonishment, my comrade, who had been on the couch mere moments ago, had vanished into the abyss. Theo, now rising from the floor, his bleary eyes adjusting to the room, inquired, “We only slept for a few hours, what hour is it?” “It’s morning,” Virgil absentmindedly replied as he rose from his chair. As if possessed by an otherworldly force, I took the initial steps toward the bedroom door.

As I reached for the handle, a hand descended upon my shoulder. It was Virgil, gripping his rifle with unwavering resolve, ready to accompany me into whichever infernal realm we were about to unveil. I swung the door open, and the source of the enigmatic sound was unveiled. Eli, as if ensnared in a trance, wielded a hammer, relentlessly pulverizing the brickwork behind the closet door. Though his progress had barely scratched the surface, he hammered repeatedly and purposefully. “Eli, what are you doing?” I managed to stammer out.

Eli paused for a moment, beads of sweat glistening upon his furrowed brow. He turned to us, his gaze piercing through our very souls, as if peering into unfathomable depths millions of light-years away. “I can hear him, can’t you hear him? CAN’T YOU HEAR HIM CALL!?” Virgil and I exchanged a glance that conveyed the terror we felt and the deep concern we harbored for our friend. “Eli, lower the hammer, my friend. Let us navigate this enigma together, uncover the truth that lies shrouded in this maddening labyrinth.” Virgil pleaded.

Eli, as if breaking free from the clutches of some other worldly force, blinked thrice and dropped the hammer with an air of calm resignation. He sank to his knees, his body convulsing and tears streaming down his face like a child mourning the loss of a cherished pet. Virgil stepped forward, offering his support as he helped Eli to his feet. “You spoke of hearing someone, dear friend. What did you hear?” Virgil inquired, struggling to maintain his composed demeanor.

“I don’t know. I feel as if I might be descending into madness, Virg. Am I mad? Are we truly here, in the realm of reality? Or is this all a twisted dream? I find it increasingly difficult to recollect the inception of our wretched journey to this accursed place,” Eli sobbed once more, his words a fragmented symphony of despair. Virgil guided him back into the main room, while I stood before the brick wall, lost in contemplation.

As I advanced toward the wall, driven by an inexplicable urge to reach out and touch it, a rapport of a rifle shattered the silence. The deafening blast originated from within the cabin, its reverberations bouncing off the log-lined abode with such force that I had to brace myself, shielding my ears from the thunderous echoes. I turned, my heart pounding, to witness the source of the gunshot. The bedroom door had swung shut behind Virgil and Eli, so I rushed to open it and entered the main room.

To my abject horror, the location of the thunderous shot became evident. Against one side of the hearth lay Eli, crimson blood spurting from his head and pooling around him, his visage distorted beyond recognition by the merciless caliber. Against the cabin wall stood Theo, rifle in hand, his gaze fixed upon the opposite wall near the sofa, his demeanor a chilling blend of determination and trepidation.

Standing there, bathed in an eerie light, was Virgil, his fingers tightly wrapped around his rifle, its ominous barrel aimed at Theo. The air crackled with tension, a palpable standoff that seemed to suspend time itself. “Gentlemen, what is the meaning of this? I can bear no more of this maddening insanity,” I exclaimed, the words escaping my lips without full comprehension of their significance.

“He’s the true murderer, Thompson,” Virgil declared, his voice laced with anger and righteous fury. “The fiend coldly spilled Eli’s blood, and now he seeks to extinguish the rest of us to appease the master.” Virgil’s words were punctuated with gritted teeth, his gaze locked onto Theo with unwavering intensity.

“The true fiend stands before us, yes, but it is not me, I assure you. It is the very man with whom you share your bed,” spat Theo, his voice dripping with contempt and accusation.

“Put down your damned rifles!” I bellowed, my voice echoing through the cabin. Before I could protest further, the voice began. You’ll deem me mad, and perhaps I am, but the voice did not emanate from my friends. It originated from within. Its origin remained an enigma, shrouded in an impenetrable darkness, yet it spoke directly to my mind. “Embrace this, Thompson,” the voice whispered, its words intertwining with the tendrils of my thoughts. “They will turn on you. Let them extract themselves from the equation, and I shall reveal to you worlds and realms you have only glimpsed within the ethereal tapestry of your waking dreams.” The voice possessed a seductive quality, evoking a profound warmth within me that I had felt only once before, cradled in the open arms of my mother.

In the midst of that moment, as I savored the illusory solace that draped over my senses, a macabre spectacle unfolded before my very eyes. My dear friends, the stalwart companions of my existence, simultaneously succumbed to an unholy compulsion, their fingers tightening inexorably around the triggers of their weapons. It was as if time itself conspired to languish, elongating each passing second into an eternity of dread. And in that interminable instant, their bullets tore through the ethereal barriers of their chests, destined to find their counterparts in the hearts of their peers.

Yet, contrary to the expected descent to the cold embrace of the cabin floor, an unfathomable force ripped the very fabric of our shelter. The walls, once stout and steadfast, disintegrated with a ghastly fragility akin to paper yielding to a gust of wind. And within the blink of an eye, my companions were drawn away from me, spirited into the chasms of an abyss on either side, swallowed by an enigmatic maw that defied comprehension.

The physicality of the cabin now a distant memory, I found myself suspended in an otherworldly realm, bathed in an unsettling hue that blended sickly greens with a hauntingly tinged pink. Though I perceived myself as floating, the absence of any discernible ground beneath my feet defied my senses, leaving me with an overwhelming sensation of disembodied existence. The kaleidoscope of colors commenced its dance, usurping the remnants of comfort once nestled within the recesses of my soul, and replacing it with a disconcerting equilibrium akin to the queasiness of an aimless wanderer adrift upon a tempestuous sea, confined to naught but a fragile rowboat.

The swirling maelstrom of hues continued its hypnotic choreography, spiraling inexorably into a vortex of eldritch proportions. And at the heart of this churning abyss dwelled a creature, an abomination defying all semblance of rational explanation. To articulate its form is a futile endeavor, yet I shall endeavor to paint a semblance of its grotesque visage. It existed on a scale that transcended comprehension, its amorphous frame pulsating with protoplasmic boils, a writhing mass in perpetual motion. Parts of its being emitted a faint luminescence, while a multitude of eyes materialized and dissolved in a ceaseless cycle, akin to repulsive pustules on the verge of eruption. Its very essence undulated and convulsed, birthing elongated appendages at will, like a morbid symphony orchestrated by an unseen hand. Each eye that adorned its inky, gelatinous form blazed with an incandescent yellow, as if smoldering with an infernal fire, its furious red irises swirling with an ominous intensity. It beckoned me, drawing me closer with an irresistible, inexorable force.

As I neared the unfathomable entity, the tenuous strands of my sanity snapped like brittle twigs beneath a weighty footfall. Consciousness relinquished its hold on my mind, plunging me into an abyss of oblivion, where the boundaries between reality and nightmare were irrevocably blurred.

When my consciousness returned, I found myself lying on the floor of the cabin, the lingering remnants of a horrifying stupor clinging to my being. An overwhelming urge to expel the vile essence that had invaded my senses seized hold of me, and I retched uncontrollably. Rising to my feet, I surveyed the desolate expanse of the cabin, bereft of any trace of my companions. Their lifeless forms, had vanished without a trace. It was as if they had never existed at all.

Driven by a mixture of desperation and disbelief, I hurriedly made my way to the bedroom, a sanctuary seemingly untouched by the malevolence that had assailed us. Swinging open the closet door, I was met with not a brick wall but nothing more than a small, empty space, devoid of any sign of the horrors that had unfolded-a normal closet. Exiting the cabin, I was greeted not by the frigid embrace of the blizzard and the towering snowdrifts that had encased the very entrance, but rather by the warm caress of sunlight and the harmonious symphony of birds and forest creatures, heralding the advent of a serene and beautiful day.

Curiosity tugged at me, urging me to peer into the privy, where the grotesque remnants of Aleister’s body had previously resided. To my astonishment, the abominable sights that had stained my memories were no more. The only vestige of our nightmarish ordeal lay in the science fiction publication, now devoid of any trace of blood. In an act of finality, I snatched it from the ground and cast it into the depths of the privy, consigning it to oblivion.

Leaving the wretched place behind, I made my way to the roadside, where fortune smiled upon me in the form of a friendly carriage. It carried me to the nearest town, where I now find myself, seeking solace within the confines of a humble tavern. With trembling hands, I pen this account of the harrowing fate that befell me and my dear friends. Time is of the essence, as even now, in the sanctuary of this tavern, I can hear his beckoning call. From what abyss he emerges, I know not, and his intentions remain shrouded in enigma. Yet, the voice resonates within me, commanding me to seize the rifle adorning the tavern wall, to unleash devastation upon this unsuspecting town. I am his servant now, bound to serve him in both life and death.

But if, by some cruel twist of fate, you stumble upon these words in a forsaken town, stripped of its inhabitants, I implore you, retreat from whence you came. The abomination I encountered in those stygian depths forever holds my mind captive, and I serve not only him, but his abhorrent master—a being that has loomed over our kind since the dawning of our feeble existence. I tremble at the thought that it shall persist, unyielding, long after we have been reduced to naught but dust and echoes.

-The End