Oliver White
07-01-2008, 03:35 PM
(This was posted over on the LC.com website long before the crash. It gives a taste of what horror awaits once the staff have finished up the systems and can devote energy to the evil...)
April 18, 1936
There was a wake for Evan yesterday. I didn't go. I can just imagine what was said: "We come not to mourn Evan, but remember him." I think if I heard that I'd have to scream. Of course I didn't come to mourn him. You mourn the dead, and he's not dead. And, damn right, I'm going to remember him, because if I'm always thinking about him, about what happened, maybe, just maybe, I'll figure out a way to bring him back. But, I'm getting ahead of myself. That's not how this story begins. You may be thinking to yourself that I've just spoiled the ending. Not true. The ending comes when we've discovered Evan's fate, and even that might not be a true ending, just another beginning. No, the ending is still very much unwritten. I've only spoiled the middle, and there's still a whole lot of story left to uncover…
The ill-fated trip to the Unvisited Island began, as many things do in Arkham, with whispers amongst students. Dr. Upham was to give a lecture about some standing stones on the island, and wanted some students to attend. He mentioned this to Natalie, who told Oliver, who in turn told Evan and Evie and so on and so forth, until it seemed the entire student body was eager to go. The University board found out, and immediately put an end to it. But, excitement, like wildfire, isn't extinguished so easily. A note was circulated in some of the classes, to a few of the more select students---those of us for whom the night and its offerings hold a greater appeal than may be considered… healthy. It seemed a certain math professor was going to rent a boat, and who was he to stop any students who happened to also want to take a boat ride some night?
Thus it was on the evening of April the Sixth 1936, that sixteen of us found ourselves in a rather large rowboat fighting against the current in the Miskatonic River on our way to an island. 'Unofficially' acting as our chaperones were Miss Waverly, the museum curator, who was hoping to use us to provide cheap labor and expand the museum's collection of Indian artifacts; her uncle, Dr. Newland, who had expressed interest in seeing the standing stones; and of course, Dr. Upham, who was there to practice his lecture. What fate awaited us when we arrived at the island? None of us really had any idea. Sure, there were the stories of the students who had gone out there several years earlier and killed some animals. And those other stories, about the witches. But those were just stories, meant simply to scare the gullible student, right? Maybe, maybe not. For one student, at least, a slight measure of reassurance could be found in a fortune procured earlier: 'You will live for the rest of the day, at least.' I'll bet he was praying that the trip back began before midnight.
With no visible landmarks to mark our progress, it was as if the boat stood still on the river, enveloped as we were in that omnipresent, nocturnal fog. Yet we continued to row, passing the time with idle chit-chat, and eventually, broke through the fog and approached the island. It was with a measure of both trepidation and relief that we finally set foot on that unvisited isle in the middle of the Miskatonic river. I don't think any of us were prepared for how truly… odd the island turned out to be. The first thing I, and probably everyone else, noticed was how bright it was. Yes, bright. In the middle of the night. It seems the trees on the island glow. A phosphorescent fungus, Upham stated. But that wasn't the totality of it: the trees had also grown to enormous heights, far surpassing their landlocked cousins. And, if the flora was odd, the fauna was even odder. We were soon greeted by a frog, which isn't terribly out of place on an island, until one considers that it glowed, as well. And, oh yeah, it had six legs.
The mundane aspects of our stay on the island can be summarized in a single sentence: students being students. Some of us explored the island, uncovering whatever odd artifacts were left behind by the previous residents. Some of us listened to a lecture by Upham about Non-Euclidean geometry. One of us got lost, prompting a frantic search, only to turn up as we were finally leaving to declare that the island was boring. What was not boring, though, was the central feature of the island: the standing stones. Ultimately you have to see the stones first-hand to get a true measure of them and my brief description will certainly not do them justice. That said, there are a number of stones, arranged in two concentric circles. The stones are covered in a dizzying array of carvings, consisting of lines at odd angles to each other but somehow never seeming to intersect. In the center of this henge lies a large flat stone propped up like an altar, it too had carvings, but of a different sort, faded almost to unrecognizability. Far more disturbing than the mere presence of an altars were the dark brown stains covering it; surely blood from some sort of live offering. And indeed, the remains of several animals---at least we hoped they were animals---could be found in the nearby undergrowth.
The first indication that the night's events were about to turn truly odd started simply enough when Demitri walked to the circle and dropped a bizarre looking fish on the altar. Moments after Demitri stomped off, the fish decided to come to life, or rather, leave this life. One minute the fish was laying on the altar, the next it was gone. Like some sort of parlor trick, where a magician misdirects the eye. Except there was no magician, and stone altars don't typically have hidden compartments.
In frustration over being unable to find the lost student, Miss Waverly directed us all to gather at the boat. And that's when it happened. The whole reason I'm even bothering to tell this story. As most of us gathered on the shore, perhaps feeling frustrated that we were leaving so soon, the shrill sound of a whistle came from the stones, calling to us. Thoughts of leaving fled as we rushed back to the stones. Silas was there, a whistle tightly held between his lips. And there was Dr. Newland speaking, no, chanting in some guttural language. Before any of us truly had a chance to really comprehend why Silas was frantically blowing his whistle, a high-pitched whine pierced the air, easily drowning out the sound of the whistle. It was one of those sounds that causes you to grit your teeth and curl your toes and jab your fingers in your ear, all the while knowing how futile that would be. And, as it got louder, something happened. The air between the stones opened up. It might sound odd, but that's really the best way to describe it. One moment it was dark, and the next, a sliver of light appeared like a pinhole in a thick curtain. The light that shone through was not the unsteady light from a candle, or the unnatural light from a bulb, but true, unwavering light as is from the sun, albeit tinged an odd color. The sliver slowly expanded outward, with that unearthly whine continuously resonating in our heads. Blinking at the sudden brightness, our eyes slowly adjusted to the scene within the light: a desert somewhere, sand extending as far as could be seen, baking under the light of two blue suns. Slithering along the sand toward the opening, a giant serpent, black and oily and immense; far bigger than brontosaurus skeleton in the museum, which was the largest creature I'd even seen.
Newland's chanting took on a gleefully frantic tone at the beast's approach. Although I didn't understand a word he was saying, there is no doubt in my mind Newland was calling to that creature within the rift, extolling it to come, come into our world. And as sure as I knew that, I just as surely knew that we didn't want that to happen. But the hole kept getting larger, and before too long that snake would be able to fit through and then things would be a lot worse than just one missing student. We had to do something. In the sane light of day, a day on a world lit by only one sun, our actions may seem wrong, reprehensible even. But before you judge, consider, what would you have done under a similar situation; with the fabrics of two worlds momentarily interwoven and a beast far exceeding even your capacity to imagine coming through to yours? Newland would not listen to reason. His excitement was palpable, written on his face and in his trembling hands. He did not heed our threats. And so what we did what we had to. Disrupting his concentration by kicking him to the ground did nothing, he seemed oblivious to the discomfort, proclaiming it was already too late. We had no other choice. Demitri, after failing at some ritualistic attempt to close the hole turned on Newland. Demitri, clad in some Halloween cast-off robe with silly symbols sewn on it, holding a steel knife, stepped to that manically laughing figure. Demitri, raising his knife, paused momentarily to glance at King. What thoughts passed through his mind then, I cannot say, but they quickly turned to resolve as he brought that knife downward, plunging it into Newland's throat. Over that keening whine of two realities protesting their union, I imagine a ragged gurgling coming from Newland, his laughter undiminished, even as his life flowed from him. His last laugh was on us.
April 18, 1936
There was a wake for Evan yesterday. I didn't go. I can just imagine what was said: "We come not to mourn Evan, but remember him." I think if I heard that I'd have to scream. Of course I didn't come to mourn him. You mourn the dead, and he's not dead. And, damn right, I'm going to remember him, because if I'm always thinking about him, about what happened, maybe, just maybe, I'll figure out a way to bring him back. But, I'm getting ahead of myself. That's not how this story begins. You may be thinking to yourself that I've just spoiled the ending. Not true. The ending comes when we've discovered Evan's fate, and even that might not be a true ending, just another beginning. No, the ending is still very much unwritten. I've only spoiled the middle, and there's still a whole lot of story left to uncover…
The ill-fated trip to the Unvisited Island began, as many things do in Arkham, with whispers amongst students. Dr. Upham was to give a lecture about some standing stones on the island, and wanted some students to attend. He mentioned this to Natalie, who told Oliver, who in turn told Evan and Evie and so on and so forth, until it seemed the entire student body was eager to go. The University board found out, and immediately put an end to it. But, excitement, like wildfire, isn't extinguished so easily. A note was circulated in some of the classes, to a few of the more select students---those of us for whom the night and its offerings hold a greater appeal than may be considered… healthy. It seemed a certain math professor was going to rent a boat, and who was he to stop any students who happened to also want to take a boat ride some night?
Thus it was on the evening of April the Sixth 1936, that sixteen of us found ourselves in a rather large rowboat fighting against the current in the Miskatonic River on our way to an island. 'Unofficially' acting as our chaperones were Miss Waverly, the museum curator, who was hoping to use us to provide cheap labor and expand the museum's collection of Indian artifacts; her uncle, Dr. Newland, who had expressed interest in seeing the standing stones; and of course, Dr. Upham, who was there to practice his lecture. What fate awaited us when we arrived at the island? None of us really had any idea. Sure, there were the stories of the students who had gone out there several years earlier and killed some animals. And those other stories, about the witches. But those were just stories, meant simply to scare the gullible student, right? Maybe, maybe not. For one student, at least, a slight measure of reassurance could be found in a fortune procured earlier: 'You will live for the rest of the day, at least.' I'll bet he was praying that the trip back began before midnight.
With no visible landmarks to mark our progress, it was as if the boat stood still on the river, enveloped as we were in that omnipresent, nocturnal fog. Yet we continued to row, passing the time with idle chit-chat, and eventually, broke through the fog and approached the island. It was with a measure of both trepidation and relief that we finally set foot on that unvisited isle in the middle of the Miskatonic river. I don't think any of us were prepared for how truly… odd the island turned out to be. The first thing I, and probably everyone else, noticed was how bright it was. Yes, bright. In the middle of the night. It seems the trees on the island glow. A phosphorescent fungus, Upham stated. But that wasn't the totality of it: the trees had also grown to enormous heights, far surpassing their landlocked cousins. And, if the flora was odd, the fauna was even odder. We were soon greeted by a frog, which isn't terribly out of place on an island, until one considers that it glowed, as well. And, oh yeah, it had six legs.
The mundane aspects of our stay on the island can be summarized in a single sentence: students being students. Some of us explored the island, uncovering whatever odd artifacts were left behind by the previous residents. Some of us listened to a lecture by Upham about Non-Euclidean geometry. One of us got lost, prompting a frantic search, only to turn up as we were finally leaving to declare that the island was boring. What was not boring, though, was the central feature of the island: the standing stones. Ultimately you have to see the stones first-hand to get a true measure of them and my brief description will certainly not do them justice. That said, there are a number of stones, arranged in two concentric circles. The stones are covered in a dizzying array of carvings, consisting of lines at odd angles to each other but somehow never seeming to intersect. In the center of this henge lies a large flat stone propped up like an altar, it too had carvings, but of a different sort, faded almost to unrecognizability. Far more disturbing than the mere presence of an altars were the dark brown stains covering it; surely blood from some sort of live offering. And indeed, the remains of several animals---at least we hoped they were animals---could be found in the nearby undergrowth.
The first indication that the night's events were about to turn truly odd started simply enough when Demitri walked to the circle and dropped a bizarre looking fish on the altar. Moments after Demitri stomped off, the fish decided to come to life, or rather, leave this life. One minute the fish was laying on the altar, the next it was gone. Like some sort of parlor trick, where a magician misdirects the eye. Except there was no magician, and stone altars don't typically have hidden compartments.
In frustration over being unable to find the lost student, Miss Waverly directed us all to gather at the boat. And that's when it happened. The whole reason I'm even bothering to tell this story. As most of us gathered on the shore, perhaps feeling frustrated that we were leaving so soon, the shrill sound of a whistle came from the stones, calling to us. Thoughts of leaving fled as we rushed back to the stones. Silas was there, a whistle tightly held between his lips. And there was Dr. Newland speaking, no, chanting in some guttural language. Before any of us truly had a chance to really comprehend why Silas was frantically blowing his whistle, a high-pitched whine pierced the air, easily drowning out the sound of the whistle. It was one of those sounds that causes you to grit your teeth and curl your toes and jab your fingers in your ear, all the while knowing how futile that would be. And, as it got louder, something happened. The air between the stones opened up. It might sound odd, but that's really the best way to describe it. One moment it was dark, and the next, a sliver of light appeared like a pinhole in a thick curtain. The light that shone through was not the unsteady light from a candle, or the unnatural light from a bulb, but true, unwavering light as is from the sun, albeit tinged an odd color. The sliver slowly expanded outward, with that unearthly whine continuously resonating in our heads. Blinking at the sudden brightness, our eyes slowly adjusted to the scene within the light: a desert somewhere, sand extending as far as could be seen, baking under the light of two blue suns. Slithering along the sand toward the opening, a giant serpent, black and oily and immense; far bigger than brontosaurus skeleton in the museum, which was the largest creature I'd even seen.
Newland's chanting took on a gleefully frantic tone at the beast's approach. Although I didn't understand a word he was saying, there is no doubt in my mind Newland was calling to that creature within the rift, extolling it to come, come into our world. And as sure as I knew that, I just as surely knew that we didn't want that to happen. But the hole kept getting larger, and before too long that snake would be able to fit through and then things would be a lot worse than just one missing student. We had to do something. In the sane light of day, a day on a world lit by only one sun, our actions may seem wrong, reprehensible even. But before you judge, consider, what would you have done under a similar situation; with the fabrics of two worlds momentarily interwoven and a beast far exceeding even your capacity to imagine coming through to yours? Newland would not listen to reason. His excitement was palpable, written on his face and in his trembling hands. He did not heed our threats. And so what we did what we had to. Disrupting his concentration by kicking him to the ground did nothing, he seemed oblivious to the discomfort, proclaiming it was already too late. We had no other choice. Demitri, after failing at some ritualistic attempt to close the hole turned on Newland. Demitri, clad in some Halloween cast-off robe with silly symbols sewn on it, holding a steel knife, stepped to that manically laughing figure. Demitri, raising his knife, paused momentarily to glance at King. What thoughts passed through his mind then, I cannot say, but they quickly turned to resolve as he brought that knife downward, plunging it into Newland's throat. Over that keening whine of two realities protesting their union, I imagine a ragged gurgling coming from Newland, his laughter undiminished, even as his life flowed from him. His last laugh was on us.