Lament of the Scholar

As I sat in my room typing. my tired eyes glued to the computer screen, this damnable writers block clouding my mind. Rain and rolls of thunder outside of my bedroom window. Questions without answers. Things seen that must be documented. Unknowable, unnameable things. My time in the world of the occult may very well have led to my demise as the whispers from beyond the void tore at my mind. Books of study lay strewn about my dark room, lit only by the screen of my computer. I find myself stuck on the phrase. "What have I done to myself?" As that infernal blinking line taunts me, as if to say. "....And what next? What have you done? What indeed?" When I heard a faint scratching at my door. A small tapping. I could smell... the sea? Not the pleasant winds no, but a briny... hatefully salty smell... dank and musty. I turn my eyes back to my screen. Has it finally caught up with me? My years studying that which should never be learned, my years of lonely research. I took a breath, looking to the revolver on my desk. The whispers growing louder. telling me of things, things unimaginable, unfathomable and not meant for mortal minds. I swallowed hard and looked to my door. I saw.. water, sickly looking.. seeping from under it. I had faintly noticed the sweat upon my brow. I looked too hard, sought too much. My left hand fell to my revolver and I closed my eyes as the door crept slowly open, the whispers growing louder....

I looked into the Void... and the Void looked back.