Of Pagan Gods and other tales

by Thomas James

  I questioned the doctor as to how I had come to be in the hospital. He related to me that I had been brought in the day before, after my housekeeper discovered me unconscious in the study. The shock of his statement must have been apparent on my face, for the doctor paused and studied me closely. How could I explain to him that I had fallen asleep late Monday afternoon and my housekeeper would have arrived on Thursday!

  Dr. Blaine (as I later learned his name to be) asked me several typical questions, which I answered automatically, while my mind raced with thoughts of my predicament. Why was I losing so much time? Why now was I dreaming for what seemed a short period and awakening several days later? Losing first one day and then three caused me much concern. Would I eventually lose a week, a month, or a year? Perhaps I did not dream the moment I fell asleep, as I had thought, but instead I dreamt only on the verge of waking. The possibility of this occurring un-nerved me.

  Dr. Blaine snapped his fingers in front of my face. Apologizing for my inattention, I assured the good doctor that all was well and voiced my desire to return to my home. The doctor attempted to dissuade me, believing that I needed to stay another night.

  I explained to the doctor that although I appreciated his concerns, I needed to return to my home, as I resided alone and wished to see to its upkeep. Dr. Blaine’s next statement cast a pall of trepidation upon me. He informed me that my worries were unfounded that my good friend, Sydney Myers, having heard of my sudden unexplained illness, had gone to secure my home. Recalling the gleam in Sydney’s eyes, my thoughts turned to the tome, left unprotected upon my desk. I leapt out of bed and ignoring the doctor’s protestations hurriedly dressed and demanded that I be allowed to check out of the hospital. Having no choice, the doctor consented to my request. A hansom was called to take me home. The entire ride home I fretted about the tome.

  When my front door came into sight, I lit out of the hansom before the driver had even halted the vehicle, tossing a few quid over the seat. Rushing to the door, I fumbled my key into the lock and ran to my study, not bothering to close the door behind me.

  The drapery closed, the study was dark and musty, not having been aired in several days. Switching on the lights, I ran to my desk and swore. The tome, my new prized possession, was gone. Grasping the telephone, I dialed Sydney’s number, my anger mounting. After several rings, the telephone was picked up by Sydney’s wife Margery.

  Unable to contain my anger, I demanded to speak to Sydney. Margery’s voice normally jovial and light became strained and subdued as she haltingly told me that Sydney had suffered a fatal heart attack two nights prior.

  Shocked into silence, I could only listen as Margery softly cried. I apologized for my rudeness and offered my condolences. Apologizing once more, I questioned Margery about Sydney’s recent trip to my home. Margery, believing that I was blaming myself for her husband’s death, attempted to assure me that I was not at fault. Guilt and shame warred with my desire to reclaim the tome. The poor woman had gone through a terrible ordeal. Unable to bring myself to ask for the tome, I offered my assistance in her time of need. Margery thanked me and hung up. I sat for a time with the telephone in my hand and did not release it until the operator came on and asked if I needed assistance.

  I resolved myself to waiting a respectable amount of time before I would again call Margery and inquiring about my tome. My tome yes, I had begun to feel that the tome was my personal property, a feeling I should have taken as a warning. Seating myself in the leather chair, I began formulating a plan to re-acquire my tome, when I heard voices coming from the hall. Recalling that in my haste to check on the tome I had not closed the front door, I left the study to do so. Peering out the doorway, I found it odd that no one was about.

  Returning to my study, I decided on a brandy. As the amber liquid poured into the glass, it occurred to me that while I enjoyed the occasional drink in the past, I had increased my consumption of brandy since obtaining the enigmatic book. Drink in hand; I started to go back to my desk, when an unusual sound, quite out of place in the study caught my ear. An icy finger of dread stroked my spine when I recognized the sound… a whisper.

  Surely I was mistaken, the stress of awaking in a hospital, the loss of my tome and the death of my long time friend were too much for my nerves to cope with. But no, the whispers continued and as in my dream, I could make neither heads nor tails of the constant chatter. The glass fell from my nerveless fingers, shattering on the hardwood floor, a gunshot among the whispers. Turning abruptly, my elbow struck the bookcase, jarring loose a book and sending it crashing to the floor. Startled as I was by the consecutive loud noises, I was even more astounded by the book itself, a book that should not have been on the bookshelves…my tome.

  Excitedly I retrieved my tome, relieved that it had not fallen into the amber puddle and broken glass. Assuming that either my housekeeper or Sydney (the former surely) had placed the tome on the shelf for safekeeping, I placed the tome on my desk thankful (and slightly guilty) that I would not have to call Margery once more. The atmosphere of the study suddenly shifted. Muscles tensed as I sought the cause of my discomfort, then it dawned on me, the whispers had ceased.

  After clearing away the broken glass and spilled brandy, I sat at my desk, contemplating the mysteries of the tome, the dreams and the whispers, especially the whispers. Was I losing touch with reality? Was I to become like the pitiful Charles the Mad, mumbling to myself, cursing the existence of a book? Certainly, I must have imagined the whispers. With these questions plaguing my mind and still weak from my recent bout of unconsciousness, coupled with the day’s stress, I thought to take an afternoon nap. Tucking the tome beneath my arm, I went up to my bedchamber and lay down to rest, not bothering to undress. As sleep overcame me, I realized that I still clutched the tome.

  Yet again, I found myself standing at the tunnel exit before the rock bridge. I could see the magma sluggishly flowing below the intact bridge. Signs of my earlier visit were non-existent. Aware that the second guardian, the gargoyle, would attempt to prevent my crossing, I decided that I would no longer comply with the dreams. I would sit and wait to awaken, or so I thought. The whispering voices called to me, hypnotic and enticing. If I was to free myself from this continuing nightmare, I knew that I must see it to the end. But first, I would have to pass the second guardian.

  Try as I might, I could not think of any useful information regarding gargoyles. My only option appeared to be a mad dash across the bridge. Steeling myself against the upcoming piercing screams, I ran out onto the bridge, determined to reach the haven of the opposite tunnel. As before, the keening sounds assailed me. Running pell-mell, as if the hounds of hell were chasing me, I strove to reach the far side of the bridge, fearing the assault of the gargoyle. Several yards from the tunnel entrance and sanctuary, the roaring gargoyle sailed down from the shadowed cavern heights, forcing me to halt my flight.

  The creature stood before me, its visage terrible to behold. Flat black eyes fixed upon me and I knew that I was done for, my death assured. The gargoyle advanced on me, yet I stood motionless, trapped by its dark gaze. Still the whispers called to me, urging me onward. Then among the confusing babble a name became clear…Jamshid. Without thinking, I spoke the name aloud. The gargoyle hesitated. Emboldened I again spoke the name, this time commanding, “In the name of Jamshid, allow me to pass!” With that, the gargoyle let free a screeching howl, squatted down and folded its stone-like wings. Its coal black eyes shined briefly and then shut, becoming a lifeless statue once more. Cautiously, I stepped past the inanimate beast, ready to bolt at the first sign of danger, but the gargoyle remained inert.

  The whispers continued to call me, incoherent once again. I made my way to the tunnel entrance and followed the twisting corridor to a manmade chamber, its floor covered by a swirling ground fog. In the center of the chamber sat twin obelisks, ten meters in height and approximately three meters apart, their ivory surfaces carved with ancient runes. Imbedded along the chamb
er wall were irregular shaped crystals. Each crystal glowed with an inner light, giving the chamber an eldritch ambience. Closer inspection revealed symbols similar to the obelisk runes were etched into each crystal.

  Intrigued, I began a circuitous route of the chambers, whisper thin tendrils of mist coiling about my legs. After making the complete circuit, leaving small eddies in my wake, I arrived back at the chamber entrance, encountering no other exits. It seemed the chamber was a dead end. Putting the matter aside, I turned my attention to the twin obelisks.

  I reached out to touch the left-hand obelisk and received a surprise as my hand passed through. I attempted to touch the right-hand obelisk only to meet the same result. It appeared that the obelisk were nothing more than illusionary objects. Perplexed, I decided to backtrack along the twisting tunnel that led to the chamber, to see if I had missed a side tunnel, and received yet another surprise.

  During my observations of the chamber, a gel-like substance had covered the entrance, not unlike a spider’s web. I stared, dumfounded as the substance expanded and became opaque, effectively sealing me in. The whispers grew in volume and I spun back towards the obelisks. The roiling ground mist began to swirl faster. I watched as forms began to coalesce, taking on shapes, humanoid shapes. With nowhere to run, I backed as close to the solid webbing as I dared. Among the whispers, I heard a name that turned my insides to water…William. Frozen with fear, I watched as the faceless wraiths parted and a singular form stepped forth. Tears welled up in my eyes, as I recognized the apparition before me…Sydney.

  V

  A mixture of joy and sadness infused my soul. I stood trembling as I faced the shade of my recently departed friend. How could Sydney’s spirit reside here? Was his brief encounter with the tome enough to entrap him here? Would my spirit also reside here upon my death, never knowing peace? The thought shook me to my core. The forms of other specters milled about Sydney, fading in and out of focus. I realized then that the disembodied voice that had reached out to me on the bridge had been that of Sydney. Still in shock at his timely appearance, I could think of nothing else to say except to ask, “Jamshid?”

  A subtle smile played about Sydney’s lips. “In mythology, Jamshid is the king of the Genii and the creator of the original gargoyles eons past.” Sydney’s form fluctuated almost dispersing completely before solidifying once again. “William, it is difficult to maintain this shape, you must listen to me. You must destroy the tome.”

  My joy at seeing Sydney quickly turned to an irrational rage. How dare he make demands concerning my property. “Leave me; you are nothing more than a dream!” A wail of protest sounded from the milling throng surrounding Sydney. A forlorn look crossed Sydney’s once cherubic face.

  “William, my friend, do you not know the truth of this place? This is more than the dream world; it is a dimension of its own. You are physically here and in your own world simultaneously. Please, I beg of you retrieve the tome from my flat and destroy it.”

  Truly confused I said nothing, for I knew the tome to be in my possession. I asked of my one time friend, “What are you talking about? I have the tome. My housekeeper (so I thought) placed the tome on my bookshelf.”

  Sydney shook his head. “That cannot be possible. When you left my flat with the book, I felt an overwhelming desire to possess it. Upon hearing of your sudden illness, I went to your home and convinced your housekeeper to allow me access to your study. I obtained the book and returned to my home. Shortly after, I fell asleep but the stress of falling from the bridge claimed my life. I …”

  Sydney halted his speech, raising his head to the shadowed chamber ceiling. I followed his gaze, but I could not discern what had drawn Sydney’s attention. From the corner of my eye, I caught sight of several forms dissipating into shapeless fog. Looking back to Sydney, I could see his form wavering. As he faded from view, Sydney whispered a final word…shimmer.

  Once more, I stood in the swirling ground mist. The quiet of the chamber was disrupted by the sound of a falling pebble. Reacting, I spun about, looking for the source of the falling stone and barely managed to refrain from screaming. A gargantuan arachnid crept down the chamber wall. I thought to secure a weapon, yet nothing presented itself. The arachnid made its way inexorably towards the mist-shrouded floor.

  Desperate, I called out to Sydney but my plea went unanswered. Thinking that I must have missed an exit, I fled to the opposite side of the chamber. Frantically I scoured the surrounding area, aware that death was creeping towards me. I screamed with absolute terror as I felt a foreleg brush my back. Panicked, I leapt forward and struck my head against one of the crystals protruding from the chamber wall. Starburst clouded my vision as I slumped to the floor. I lay there helpless, my last sensation one of terror as the image of the deadly arachnid filled my fading sight. Then all I knew was darkness.

  I awoke to the sound of a soft rain pelting the glass of my bedchamber window. Sitting up, I steadied myself as a wave of dizziness washed through me. I made to rise and inadvertently knocked the tome to the floor, opening to an image of the very chamber I had so recently been in (an image I do not recall seeing before). Taking up the tome and thinking to ignore the text, my attention was drawn by a single word… shimmer. With the volume in hand, I headed for my study, only to pause at the mirror hanging near the bedchamber door. I was surprised to see a purplish bruise on my forehead, exactly where I had struck it in my dream. Gently I probed the area, wincing at the tenderness. All that Sydney had related to me in my dream state came rushing back to me. Did I truly exist physically both here and in the dream world? The bruise indicated that this was so. But what of Sydney’s other assertion? Had he taken the tome? If so, how then had it been returned to me? Confused, I returned to the study.

  I sat at my desk (brandy in hand of course), debating a course of action. I studied the text describing the chamber of echoes, a place where lost souls were wont to gather. The fragmented text, spoke of a shimmer or a gateway demon, used for passage to an otherwise secluded region. According to the text, the 'shimmer' resided between time and space, called forth by the sound of ringing crystal.

  Closing the tome, I could not help but ponder how fortunate I had been in coming across bits of information that would further my progress through Dom-Daniel. I could not help but recall how the book seemed larger than when I first acquired it, almost as if pages were being added. It was as if the tome knowing my need, presented the text for my benefit…or maybe its own.

  That thought decided my next step. I would no longer be a pawn in some unknown game. Taking the tome, I placed it in the wall safe above the fireplace. There it would remain until I could find a semblance of control.

  Over the next several months, I regained some composure, no longer plagued by dreams of the school of four thousand steps. Summer faded to autumn and I made ready to begin a career instructing the next generation of historians. September through November passed without incident and I began to believe that my troubling dreams had indeed ended. My joy of the academic life would be short lived however, as once again the whispers intruded on my waking time.

  At first, I believed the whispers to be rebellious students showing a lack of respect, but when confronting the class I was met by confused stares. The whispers were heard only by me. Shaken, I dismissed the class early and returned to my home. The whispering voices rode the cold December winds, dogging my every step. Rushing to my study, I opened the safe to assure myself that the tome was still in my possession. The tome sat in the small vault, a beacon of darkness and mystery. I began to close the safe, when an overpowering desire to hold the book engulfed me. Retrieving the tome, I was overcome by a sense of movement. The study seemed to warp and darken. I found myself falling to the floor.

  It was a moment before my vision cleared and I received a frightening shock. The study was no more; in its stead was the chamber of echoes. Never before had I arrived in the dream world without first falling asleep.

  The chamber
stood as before, the eldritch glow lighting the walls, the ground mist undulating on the floor and the chamber opening sealed by the solid webbing. I approached the obelisks and once again passed through as if they were not there. Fearing that the arachnid would soon appear, I sought a way to cause the crystals to ring.

  Studying each crystal in turn, I noticed a pattern that matched the obelisks. Running a hand across the surface of one crystal caused the etched rune to warm, emitting a low ring tone, while the matching rune on the obelisk flared to life. Believing I had stumbled upon the key to summoning the gateway demon, I set about matching and touching the etched crystals. As each rune flared to life, the ring tone grew more insistent. After the sixth crystal, a blinding flash illuminated the chamber.

  Stretched between the twin obelisk sat what I can only describe as a screen of silver, similar in texture to mercury. I stepped closer to inspect this new arrival, this shimmer. Tentatively, I reached out touching the mercury-like object. My finger broke the surface tension, sending small pool-like ripples across its gleaming surface. Withdrawing my hand and feeling no ill effects, I drew in a deep breath, closed my eyes and plunged through the shimmer.

  I felt myself moving forward, although I myself had ceased to walk. Still I kept my eyes tightly shut for fear of losing myself. Finally unable to hold my breath any longer, I expelled the trapped air in my lungs and opened my eyes. My surroundings nearly stole the remainder of my breath.

  I stood in a vast cathedral-like chamber, its walls layered in gold sheaf. In the center of the room rose an altar of black marble, surrounded by ornate gem-encrusted, statuary, depicting gods known, and unknown. So lifelike were the sculptures, I hesitated for fear that they would come to life and strike me down for desecrating their presence. From a distance, I could seed smokeless candles and a chalice adorning the altar. Assuring myself that the gateway demon yet remained behind me, I stepped forward to examine the altar.