The Horror from Beyond the Sleep of Time
I had to go back to South Central yesterday, for family photography. Spectral shades of gradeschool oozed out of their eerie spaces of repose to haunt me. But I escaped.
Last night I dreamt that after the Session, I'd gone back to the parents' house to find my father engaged in weird and eldritch rites. An awkward hello, and an exhortation not to touch nor to disturb anything. Just beyond the grass of the yard, just into the dry leafy matter and scrub, he had built two fires. One he tended, and one was watched only by a white sheet bearing under it four ominous lumps. At points in his muttered chanting, both flames would flare up perilously. Perilously indeed, because they were under a canopy of barebranchy trees. A forest fire was the least of my concerns, for from under the sheet I detected a singularly disturbing shuffling, as of unknown shambling horrors rustling through the decaying leaves.
It was then that my strength vanished, as in a dream. I fell to my knees as certain persons, some known and some unknown, scraped and shuffled their way out from under the sheet. My father was as alarmed as I at this unforeseen interruption to his wizardry, 'though he at least still possessed the power of locomotion. We both made for the garage, myself on hands and knees and pursued by the whiteclad strangers whose eyes were not quite right. Through the garage was the relative safety of the house. I called for my father to give me his hand, to lend me his strength to get me out of this awful harm's way.
Then I woke up.
This is what I get for spending the better part of two days reading Lovecraft online.
Last night I dreamt that after the Session, I'd gone back to the parents' house to find my father engaged in weird and eldritch rites. An awkward hello, and an exhortation not to touch nor to disturb anything. Just beyond the grass of the yard, just into the dry leafy matter and scrub, he had built two fires. One he tended, and one was watched only by a white sheet bearing under it four ominous lumps. At points in his muttered chanting, both flames would flare up perilously. Perilously indeed, because they were under a canopy of barebranchy trees. A forest fire was the least of my concerns, for from under the sheet I detected a singularly disturbing shuffling, as of unknown shambling horrors rustling through the decaying leaves.
It was then that my strength vanished, as in a dream. I fell to my knees as certain persons, some known and some unknown, scraped and shuffled their way out from under the sheet. My father was as alarmed as I at this unforeseen interruption to his wizardry, 'though he at least still possessed the power of locomotion. We both made for the garage, myself on hands and knees and pursued by the whiteclad strangers whose eyes were not quite right. Through the garage was the relative safety of the house. I called for my father to give me his hand, to lend me his strength to get me out of this awful harm's way.
Then I woke up.
This is what I get for spending the better part of two days reading Lovecraft online.
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