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with obligatory use of the words “gibbous” and “eldritch”, i once more dedicate this one to mister lovecraft and his unearthly tomes of doom! for chucky, too, who i hope will get a kick out of it… – lucas

Beneath a gibbous moon I walked, my pack heavy with books and my coat laden with the tools of my trade. I had come in search of a cave said to contain paintings no man could identify, of creatures long thought to be extinct or from the impish imaginations of an ancient prankster.

I approached the cave in the cool light of the moon, wary of walking the desert during daylight hours for fear of attracting the attentions of the hungry creatures which haunted these dunes. Many travellers had perished along this track, their gnawed bones discovered only days later – picked clean by ravenous teeth. I had no wish to become a pile of brittle remains displayed with amusement by the locals to passing tourists.

The cave entrance was a mere crack in the side of a large cliff of red rock which jutted out of the dunes like the remnants of a stone ship, its mighty bow peaking upward as though desperately tring to rise up from the sea of sand and into the sky. I managed to scrape through the sharp opening, tearing only my coat, and found myself in the blackest of caves I have ever seen.

I have travelled the world, visited many such caves, and indeed many tombs, but I have yet to encounter one so totally void of light at this one. I pulled a small beacon from my coat and spoke loudly the words of magic which would cause it to glow. It burst with light initially, and for a moment I saw the rough walls of the cave in gorgeous light, its red rocky faces almost cheery in the light. However, for some reason I cannot explain, the beacon seemed to shrink backward as though startled by the presence of some eldritch thing whose attentions it dared not arouse.

I shook the beacon, as though testing to see if the conjuring had not taken to the metallic rod, but it seemed to hold fast despite its obvious uncharacteristic timidity. Unconcerned, though a little wary, I stepped further into the cave toward a hallway which led to the right of the cave. I had been told it was down these hallways that there was a room which contained the paintings.

I tried to shine the light down the hallway but it was as if the light itself was repelled, and i could only see forward a few steps or so. Disappointed by this irrational turn of my magic, I nevertheless resolved to go forward. This was, after all, merely a cave and not a tomb. I had already performed a rudimentary spell to determine if anything alive, or undead, inhabited the cave and could detect no form of life fair or foul.

The pebbles beneath my feet rolled and I had to hold the wall a few times to prevent myself from slipping on the wet surface. Water dribbled along the ground making small puddles which splashes unusually loudly as I stepped through them.

I approached the end of the hallway and could only make out a black doorway almost perfectly almond-shape. The light refused to burrow past the doorway and I shook the beacon once more as if to incite within it the courage to pierce the darkness.

The air, too, was sharp, almost frigid with cold, and my breath panted outward in steamy clouds. I rubbed my eyes as water dribbled down my skin, and it was only then I realised the water was dripping from the vicious stalagtites which hung from the ceiling like ragged rows of dragon teeth. I paused before the doorway, but could hear no dripping of water. Oddly, it was as though the water was too afraid to make even a sound as it fell from each pointed tip to be caught by the path of heavy round pebbles below.

Again, I refused to see this as a sign of something unearthly haunting the cave. My arrogance made me believe instead that some mage had grown weary of the noise and case a harmless sound blanket across the hallway. Yes, I told myself, that made much more sense.

I entered the room, stepping across the doorway and felt a rush of air as though the wings of many bats had rushes against me and out through the doorway behind me. The light from the beacon clung tightly to its source, refusing to venture beyond a range of mere centimetres from my body. Frustrated by this, I staggered around blindly in the dark until my hand touched the cold surface of the wall – a surface like the smoothest glass.

Shocked by the sudden change from rock to glass, I pressed the beacon against the surface to see closely what it was. It was a pale pinkish colour and unblemished. Like skin, but lacking in pores or the texture of veins and muscle deep beneath. I shuddered at the colour, though I cannot explain why I felt that way about it. Just something about it seemed unnatural and wrong.

However, on the edge of the light I could make out a small line – the beginning of a piece of one of the paintings!

I pointed the beacon at the line, following it around, drawing back so the pale luminous light could bathe the first painting in its cautious glow.

It was a picture, crudely drawn, of a man with two heads, and webbed feet.

I frowned on seeing it, remembering the fear in the voices of one who had claimed to have seen these paintings and lived. Though he raved that he was possessed by the spirits of the cave, he was lucid enough to describe the paintings he had seen, and what he had described were visions of horror and an evil he claimed should not exist. Here, though, seemed but the scribbles of a lunatic!

I wondered if the man had simply drawn them himself, and had he not been contained in an asylum, his arms restrained at all times to prevent him tearing the eyes from his own head, I would have believed he had simply scratched them onto the surface of the glassy stone in an effort to gain attention, or some level of local celebrity.

I stepped back, disappointed by what I was seeing, when my light caught hold of another painting. I stepped closer, sliding up against the glass, and I saw an image of a demon, small and with eyes large and similar in shape to the doorway which led to this room. There was something in the way those eyes stared out from the glass that made the skin on the back of my neck simply wither in superstitious fear. I felt as though something were standing right behind me, and I turned quickly, holding my beacon out before my as though its light might save me from whatever nameless terror had lurked up behind.

Naturally, nothing was there.

I shook my head and told myself I was simply falling victim to a madman’s over-enthusiastic ravings.

Turning to the next painting, I followed what seemed a scene of torment as more of those dark-eyed elves danced around a helpless stick figure with round eyes and a large o-shaped mouth. It appeared to be screaming, and I did not like the way its arms seemed bent back. It made me shudder.

I was obviously feeling hesitant at looking at more paintings, believing them now to be the visions of a sadistic and unsettled mind. It seemed obvious to me the raving lunatic had simply lost his mind in this place and tried to transfer his visions onto the wall. I resolved to leave the cave, and turned my beacon toward the door, only to find it had disappeared!
I must be lost, I thought. Perhaps I had spun too dizzily when startled by the fears of my prickled imagination. I spun around, wandering along the wall, one hand on the glass, the other holding the beacon out before me in search of the door.

I wandered in evermore frantic circles, going round and round in disbelief. I pounded on the glass, but it felt solid in a way that suggested there had never been a door in this place.

I muttered a simple revealing spell, designed to show any doors in the room, but it was as if the words were bounced back at me. My beacon, too, began to fade even more, terrified it seemed of shining in this place.

As the light of the beacon fizzled, I heard a whisper of sounds from behind me, and I turned. I saw it – blindingly fast! – as it leapt toward me, its thin boneless fingers clawing at me. Its wide black eyes glittered brightly. What was more horrifying was the fact it made no sound as it pounced on me, and its impossibly small mouth seemed set in a determined emotionless line as though even the act of attacking me was simply a mathematical choice than the act of a desperate and enraged animal hungry for my blood.

I shrieked and threw myself backward, my arm coming up to defend myself. I dropped the beacon, which abruptly died. Those eyes haunted me and I felt it scrambling closer and closer.

My foot struck out, but hit nothing.

And then I heard another slithering, from my right. And two more behind.

I whirled, calling to them, “Who are you?”

They said nothing, and even their breathing made no sound at all.

Something hit me, low in my back. I whirled to my knees, swinging an arm as though to catch whatever it was. I tried to spit the words of magic which would cause the air around me to erupt into a wall of fire, but the words would not fall across my tongue. I realised I had been made mute with terror, and as the second blow landed, I was driven into the abyss of unconsciousness.

When I awoke, I was outside the cave, and my coat was gone, but otherwise I had my pack and even my beacon lay beside me.

I looked up at the grinning crack in the cliff and began crawling backward, away from it as fast as I could despite the lightheadedness which clouded my mind. A dull ache in my hand made me look down and I saw a small wound there. Something seemed to be lodged under the skin there, and the back of my neck, too, ached in a similar way.

When I was far enough from the cliff, and bathed in the golden rays of the morning sun, I examined myself more fully.

I found I had the lump between my thumb and forefinger, and the other on the back of my neck, just under where my skull met my spine. I had a line so thin it was near invisible up the front of my chest, and behind my eyes was an infuriating itch which caused me to rub at them with increasing vigor as the sun began its climb.

I hid in my swag all day, coming out only when the sun had fully completed its setting, and then continued steadily back to the nearest town. I was unsettled by what I had seen, confused as to why I had not been harmed. Why had they just thrown me out of the cave?

I made it to the town safely, and took a room near the train station. I had hopes of returning somewhere.

With a start, I realised I didn’t know to where I was returning.

I didn’t know where was home.

I know I must have caught a train here.

Or had I?

It didn’t seem right.

I had a vivid snapshot in my mind of a white room, void of all furniture except a small chair and a computer panel. A vision of stars, an explosion, and a violent lurching as the room was torn apart. I was flung across a wall. My body was weak. I felt a compulsive need to get out of the room, but I could not move. I lacked . . . components.

Components?

A computer panel?

I shook my head. What were these images? These thoughts? Computers were ancient things, found only in the ruins of old cities and museums. I frowned, rubbing at my temples. Perhaps the fear inside the cave had totally rattled me. I sat on my bed and told myself it was going to be fine. I would remember everything soon. Soon it would all come flooding back, I told myself.

I headed to the small bathroom to wash my face and hands of the dirt of the road, and felt the cool water drift down my fingers.

Fingers which seemed unusually long.

I frowned at them. Something about them seemed a little strange. The red dirt mingled with the water, turning it nearly the colour of blood, but that wasn’t unsettling. It was my nails. They seemed a pinkish hue, and not quite right. My skin, too, seemed a little paler as the dirt was washed clean. And were my knuckles smaller?

I chuckled – fancying myself as something of a victim of the raving lunatic’s own paranoia.

It was just a cave, I told myself.

I looked up at my smiling face and nearly screamed as I caught sight of my eyes.

Large, almond-shaped, and glittering like the eyes of the one who had pounced on me in the dark belly of that ungodly cave! I screamed, finally, a small strangled sound which rose to violent pitch until the door of my hotel was crashed open and the manager burst into the bathroom to stare at me in shock.

“What is it, man?” he cried.

“Can’t you see?” I clawed at my face. “My eyes! It has turned me into one of them!”

The hotel manager took a step away, his gaze uncertain and his look suddenly wary. “Are you okay? You’ve had a dreadful journey in the desert, you know. Your wits are a little addled, yes?”

In disbelief I gazed at him, wondering how he could not see these inhuman eyes which seemed to stretch across my face like an insect’s. “Addled?” I glanced in the mirror and saw those eyes glaring back at me, almost malevolently. I thought of the crazed lunatic, strapped to a chair in a distant asylum. “Addled? Perhaps. Yes, perhaps I am. Please, leave me for now. I will be okay.”

The hotel manager was soon soothed, and I convinced him that the fatigue and the sudden shock of certain recent events had simply caused me to become momentarily unhinged. I would be okay, I told him.

“I just need some rest.”

He left me then, still wary, but pleased for me to keep myself quietly in my room. I promised him I would simply go to bed and sleep.

Ah, to rest.

I would like to rest.

Instead I have written this as a warning to those of you who would seek out that cursed cave. Don’t be fooled by those who would warn you that the demons who haunt that cave are harmless apparitions of lunatics and madmen.

They are real. I know.

I’ve seen them. Not with these eyes, but with my own eyes. The eyes of a man.

I do not know if I will survive this night, but when I have finished writing this, I will take the razor I use for shaving and I will cut out these damned eyes. I will slice this insane devil from my body to save my soul from its evil clutches. It will not drag me down to Hell with it!

It seeks to drive me insane with its illusions.

It shows me things.

Things I don’t understand.

I know I must fight it!

Even now it squirms inside me, and the lump on the back of my neck is cold as ice. I don’t know how much more I can keep it from taking over my body.

If I am to do this, I must do it now!

I have the razor here. I am afraid of the pain, and the fear of being blind is overwhelming me with dread. But I cannot face the poison of its thoughts any longer.

It is time.

It must be now.

***

Help me.

Please, help me.

I just want to go home.

Tags: alien abductions, aliens, horror, lovecraftian, scifi, ufos