Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-4893169-20150504195553

From the Personal Log of Dr. Meldrek Jellidar Akern

''This is a true account of the loathsome horror from beyond the grave I and several others encountered that stormy evening back in October of the year of the Hound. Ever since that ghastly episode, these questions kept turning over in my mind like falling autumn leaves: what horrific force could have possessed that wretched Gentry girl to come back from beyond the Veil, from beyond her final resting place in her land of exile? And what was she trying to do exactly?''

Faerie as well as the Underworld had set firm boundaries between the living and those who had passed over the Stix, forbidding further contact. However, that wretched creature had done the impossible, and through sheer stubborn will had even possessed a stolen decaying, half-alive corpse that otherwise would have been consigned to the maggots and oblivion.

DO NOT misunderstand me. This isn’t some big- budget Hollywood horror movie or an exploitation trash tale of undead gore and debauchery. This is something infinitely more worse and evil. It is a otherworldly horror brought about by a warped brain hell-bent upon possible revenge; a mind in league with not only with a cosmic power of darkness, but also that which lies at the heart of ever human and near-human being.

Because of this walking blight, this creeping corruption, this secret more terrible than all the night terrors of childhood, evil legends now hang over this ancient coastal city like a shroud as they do in the mortal towns of Curtisville, Boulderville, Arkham, Kingsport, Dunwich, Inneswich and of course, terrible Innsmouth.

Before the coming of the Terror, Eskaŕd was known only as a care-free and charming place, with small quaint alleys and beautiful flower gardens everywhere. without a single sinister part to impart a melancholy bleakness or sinister funeral darkness. Although it did have ghosts as was often the case with many of the old-world cities in Faerie, they were of the boisterous, non-malevolent kind rather than the unpleasant, skinny, clawed fingered entities of popular macabre tales.

It was a bustling seaport situated at the moth of the river Vlar, whose waters emptied sluggishly into a bay sheltered by high chalk cliffs. It wasn’t very far from Harnam, and lay just across the river from Waldalchia’s capital Gher--Wahlund. Besides its many architectural gems and spectacular scenery, the town itself was in the middle of an enormous bed of fossils, many of which were incorporated into many of the buildings’ architecture.

One bright morning in late October, a Gerdin woman arrived at this coastal paradise. She was a recent immigrant, who had decided to take advantage of the Indian summer that was blanketing much of the country side with unseasonal warmth and sunshine and enjoy her annual autumn holiday on the coast.

On a rented bicycle, the Gerdin woman (let us call her Fiona, for now) rode along the famous L’Avenue des Lions and then spent a lot of time in the Old Street Market, getting her picture painted and haggling with the various vendors there. Although young and rather inexperienced, she wasn’t ignorant and pretentious to go rushing around, guidebook in hand in response to the overblown elegance of a certain elfin chateâux or to search out a famous five-star restaurant. The things she most admired and enjoyed were those of the mundane and the commonplace.

After finding cheap lodging at The Golden Hen with its imposing facade of honey-colored, ammonite filled stone and blue-grey slate, she then visited the nearby quay where pink and ochre-colored crains stood to placate the spirits of those lost at sea. Later, after a modest supper of seafood served with salad and onion soup, she traveled into the Bohemian Quarter with its numerous student cafés and antiquarian bookstores. Eventually, one quaint sign caught her eye in particular, on it was painted a hare and badger dancing a waltz and the words--”Badger and Hare Books & Tea Shoppe.”

A bright light shone from within, casting a warm, burnished glow upon the crowded book-shelves rising nearly to the ceiling.

Fiona, delighted by the cozy atmosphere of the place, entered and found herself in a maze of overflowing bookshelves. It was a literary Aladdin’s cave, stacks of leather and cloth-bound volumes piled haphazardly to the ceiling, warm friendly lighting, jazz music playing on the hidden speakers, cats nestled like cushiony bookends in shelve or in the overstuffed chairs dotting one corner of the room. As she moved down the main hallway, one of the shop cats followed as if to keep her from shoplifting.

Eventually, she found herself in the historical section and was soon flipping through a copy of Lost Gher--Wahlund Landmarks: A Portfolio of Long Vanished Buildings, by Yves Godine. The aged yellowed pages crackled, bringing forth a musty aroma of dust and mold. Leafing through more pages, she noticed many sepia photos of trans-dimensional stations and whistle stops, once connecting Faerie to exotic ports of call on Hualau Urth: London, Istanbul, Hong Kong, Prague and various others. Now the only Urth people that do visit were from the Mortal Territories and the eight other Worlds in the Yggdrasil System. Hualau Urth was now too polluted and war-scarred, too demented and decadent to be considered a safe tourist destination or even a trustworthy ally.

Staring at the photos, Fiona thought about her last place back on Saffrasia--a crystal tower sanctuary with hundreds of rooms, galleries and corridors all interconnected and branching into strange distant places, and if she wasn’t careful (which happened quite a few times), she would suddenly find herself somewhere else, an utterly odd place filled with strange people and even stranger creatures.

Ever since she was a child, she had found Dr. Who Space-Time Travel fascinating, but now she only felt keen dread whenever she would open a windowless door and know what might be there on the other side. What she had experienced at Lum House the previous year didn’t make matters any better. In fact, it seemed to have added a few new anxieties--ones of basements, underground tunnels, moonlit windows, and ghostly people in garish costumes.

A cat knocking some books from a nearby shelf, startling her back to present time. Jumping back, she looked around wildly.

It was just like being in Lum House all over again. The dead quiet muffled the music, the distant shuffle of footsteps, the lively chatter from inside the tea shop. Her hands went cold and numb for several seconds and she almost dropped the book. Abruptly from overhead, she heard a hollow rumbling crash like furniture tumbling downstairs. Funny how that storm came on fast, she thought. Now she could hear the first drops of rain hitting the slate roof.

Usually Fiona didn’t mind storms, but this one gave her a really strange edgy feeling--as if the storm was closing around just this one single building in order to prevent all possibility of escape, not that she had any intention of escaping anytime soon. An antiquarian bookstore was one of the best places to wait out the dismal and dreary weather. She wasn’t the only one with that idea in mind. From where she stood, she could see a motley assortment of Folk hung along the street, pulling up their jackets or adjusting their umbrellas and newspapers to keep off the rain, which was now falling in long, blinding sheets.

As the front door opened with a screech of bolts and a clatter of cow bells. Fiona still felt more and more uncomfortable. Nervously, she began examining the few faces around her. The majority of the visitors were students, chattering and gesticulating wildly; and there was also a sprinkling of elves and Gerdin like herself. Yet there wasn’t a single face that she recognized until her glance fell upon a fashionably-dressed elf woman. At first Fiona took her as a stranger until the woman looked up and regarded her with bright foxy eyes. A wave of familiarity flashed through Fiona’s mind, and for a minute or two she thought she was staring at a person she had known years before. Despite the different shade of hair, it was the face of a fox sprite and fellow exile who had been inhabiting the automated Tower Hotel long before Fiona’s unexpected move to Saffrasia. The Fennec ( she never mentioned a name) was the first one to show the Gerdin the utmost kindness and sympathy during her first difficult times on the island when Fiona lost her spirit allies. But then the vision faded when she remember that the Fennec had been dead at least fourteen years now (snatched off the roof by a Wild Hunt never to return). The similarities in features was pretty striking, but it was merely nothing more than a sheer coincidence.

The two women stared at each other for a few minutes, before the elf turned to follow her beau into the warren of rooms. Fiona resumed her reading, her thought shifting from poignant recollection to those of more immediate concern--whether she should get a cab upon closing time rather than endure a rain-sodden ride back to the inn.

At least that unsettling quiet that had been hovering around earlier had gone away. Fiona had pretty much dismissed it as extreme anxiety caused by the low barometric pressure and the strange acoustical by the rows and now of towering book shelves. Everything seemed to have returned to normality: customers were quietly leafing through pages or scrutinizing small note pads for specifics titles or authors. A herd of vigilant cats closely pursue a pesky grankle bird. The radio, which had been emitting a relaxing stream of Dave Brubeck piano melodies, suddenly crackled with buzzing and popping static.

Fiona frowned, flicking her ears in annoyance, but continued on with her reading. So absorbed she was in her book, that she took no notice of the front door rattling open. An icy breeze whispered past, stirring her snow-white hair as it went down the central hall.

Fiona slowly raised her head, nostrils twitching. A strange odor had come in along with the fresh scent of rain; it wasn’t a very nice smell-- it was sickeningly-sweet, a bit like gone-off maple syrup with a touch of astringent bubble gum mixed with that smell you sometimes get from rotting garbage. Although faint and diluted, it still almost made her retch.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a flicker of movement and turned her head sharply. Moving slowly down the hall was a figure clad in a bright orange rain poncho. Fiona stood motionless as the figure passed the shelves housing her reading space. She stared at it for what seemed like an eternity while her scalp and skin prickled and her heart hammered a thudding tempo of alarm. What scared her was the figure’s lack of any discernable features--no visible hands or feet or even a face, just a long hooded poncho enclosing what seemed like empty moving air. Yet there was substance for the floorboards creaked loudly under unseen feet as the thing glided by.

For a moment Fiona just stood there, feeling shiver after shiver ripple down her back, listening to the creaking tread of the footsteps. Then setting down the book, she forced herself to step out from behind the musty stacks to get a better view. As lightning flashed outside, throwing everything in stark relief, she thought she saw a flash of moment at the far end of one corridor. A moment later the passageway was empty. As she took a few reluctant steps forward, she caught a whiff of that syrupy-sour odor.

“Ugh...uggg ," she spat as she buried her nose into her sleeve. "That perfume’s so rank. I think I’m gonna die...or else, barf all over the place!"

Shaking her head, Fiona turned and staggered out into the main corridor. ''I just don't understand why a person should feel the need to douse themselves in stinky cologne/perfume and pollute the air with their scent. I would much rather smell skunk than that rancid stink. Ack! I can nearly taste that stuff. Ack! Bleech! Ick! And barf-aroni!''

Fiona jumped when the crackling radio static rose to a high-pitched, screeching whine, before fading behind the wall of voices. At first, faint, unintelligible whispering then gradually rising into a roaring babble--voices in various languages, pleading for help, screams of agony, profane threats and shouts of damnation. They faded in and out as the storm distorted the transmission, until the dizzying array of voices finally rose up through the bursts of static: ''“Where’s my ma? Where’s my ma? Mmmm-aaaa-mmm-aaa! Come on, I just wanna to go home. I don’t like it here. I wanna to go home”''

“You're going to pay for what you did to us!”

“Quod est ultimus finis, quia sis venturus ad inferos!”

“Hope you rot in Hell, you worthless piece of maggoty trash!”

''“Pythonissam! Pythonissam! Quid enim est! Veneficam!”''

“You deserve an eternity in the deepest, darkest,coldest abyss of Niflheim!”

''“Side by side, our rage will grow like the terrible gate hounds Garm ,Cerberus and the Devourer, Ammut. It will eventually rip and devour your foulness until nothing remains but a grease spot not even the ants or feral dogs will lick up.”''

''“We will not be contained! We will no longer comply with your imbecilic terms!”''  “The sum of suffering in the Mortal Realm will pale in significance compared to the suffering you will be forced to bear in the Otherworld!”

''“Help us, Baron Samedi and Maman Brigitte! You know well the Law of early folk and the Laws of the Gods. Let all matters of justice proceed in our favor. Avenge us, ease our suffering, and soothe our pain. Make her pay for everything she’s done! We don't care how you do it, we only care that you be swift in your ultimate Judgment, just make her suffer.” '' Fiona stood riveted in horror and dread by unholy garble of howls and shrieks ripping from wall speakers. Alone, each inhuman voice would have raised the hair on the back of her neck. Together, they were absolutely unbearable. After several more excruciating minutes, the sound abruptly cut off to a raucous deejay voice.

''“All riiight! This is Pete the Pirate Draug, KLICH’s Late Great Top Undead Dude, speaking to all you quick and lively folk from within the vasty deep of Davy Jones’s Locker. And that Hate Dedication was from All the Lost and Lurking Revenants from the wilds of beautiful Northern Humboldt County.”''

Fiona stood as rigid as a lawn statue in stunned silence.

“This next song is dedicated to Clarissa Van Devereux with the message: ‘Your venomous,parasitic, life leaching, soul-devouring, body snatching days are numbered, and you’re going to be nothing but worthless dust in the eyes of the Gods.’ This was immediately followed by a manic voice babbling, “Ah he he he he he heee, Wipe oooout!” As an energetic drum solo thundered through the halls, Fiona heard high heels clattering toward the front accompanied by several Gallic curses concerning pirate radio stations.

Fiona let out a big sigh of relief, sending up a little puff of dust and cobwebs.

“Well, at least I’m not imagining things,” she muttered as the radio was quickly set to a sophisticated BBC station. ''Nothing but an obnoxious bunch of campus radicals celebrating their favorite day of the year--All Halow E’en. And I also didn’t see a real spook--just someone in a really good costume...and a really lousy choice of personal scent.''

Yet still Fiona couldn’t shake off the feeling that something very odd had just happened and that there was more to it than just some Halloween tomfoolery. All of it seemed to have coincided with the arrival of that figure in that hooded poncho. And just who exactly is this Clarissa Van Devereux anyway that got so many people peeved off at her, enough to denounce her some weird pirate station?

The name sounded familiar though. She remembered that some years back she had seen it on the front page of a tabloid while standing in the check-out queue of the local supermarket; some sort of big-time scandal concerning one of the prominent Gentry families. Something about one of the youngest heiresses getting exiled to the Mortal Territories amid allegations of harassment and extortion of several human and Ainsel students at the Limoux Elementary School in the Harnam area. There was also mention of a nasty prank at one of these student’s birthday party, something that sent the children nearly mad with fright leading to a stampede resulting in many serious injuries.

Fiona didn’t know the exact details of the prank since she didn’t buy the tabloid out of fear of embarrassment, besides they were rather expensive to get anyway.

There was another blinding flash of lightning, followed shortly by a loud clap of thunder.

“Cripes, that was a doozy,” Fiona muttered, feeling her ears ring. ''It’s really amazing how this storm came up all of a sudden...like it was all paranormal, which is rather a worn-out cliche when you think about it. Next thing you know there’s some Vincent Price or Lon Chaney guy going to turn up, dressed as a mad scientist or Jack the Ripper, which probably isn’t really a bad thing since they probably have more sense compered to that dingus who walked in here earlier smelling like a cheap perfume parlor.''

And that was when I emerged from my shadowy hiding place. Grinning broadly, I tipped my top hat as her widening golden eyes took in my long frock jacket with velvet shirt, cravat and red sunglasses.

“Bonsoir, Mademoiselle, rather unusual weather we’re having," I began. “Allow me to introduce myself, I’m...”

“Holly crap!” she interrupted suddenly.

I raised an eyebrow. “I beg your pardon?”

“I was right!” she blurted out at last. “Ah gawd, it’s like being in one of those cheesy Hammer Horror films! Well, there goes the last shred of normality of my perfect vacation.” 