He linked arms with her and led her onto the dirt road. “My only relationship is with this valley, Miss Dorgan. Nothing else can ‘claim’ me.” It was strange, the sensation that suddenly overwhelmed her, of wanting to protect the lad. She put her arms around his waist as they walked toward dark woodland.
* * *
Adam Webster ran his hand over the stone from which the macabre totem had been composed and fingered the symbols that had been etched onto its surface. He whispered the language of those symbols and felt them bend the gentle wind that pushed to him from the woods. The ground on which he stood shook lightly as the white mountain shifted its twin peaks, and Adam moaned at the wailing that sailed from those peaks, ululations of the beasts that dreamt within the mountain’s sequestered places. He felt absolutely his separation from the mundane world of humanity and sensed that his time of mortality was coming to a close—the realm of mist and shadow that was his demesne was calling him home. Would he rebel and resist that call, as Simon Gregory Williams had done for more than a century? Perhaps. He understood more clearly Simon’s refusal to melt away from the mortal world and the confines of Sesqua Valley—the keen desire to protect the valley from that which would harm and corrupt it. Such as the thing that stood behind him now. Adam leaned away from the totem so as to peer at its topmost image—the image of the Faceless God.
“Why does your kind always try to refute me?”
“Who among us has tried? Simon idolizes you, as this edifice testifies. But your concerns are not things that matter to us.”
“Of what do you refer?”
“Humanity, and their fate. We are indifferent about such things.”
“You cannot begin to comprehend cosmic impassivity. You are so much a part of this little terrestrial sphere. The mist and murk of which you are a spawn is earthly product of a supernatural kind—yet of this planet nonetheless. Your nature is rooted to this valley, of which you have always been and will always be a part, for as long as this valley exists.”
“Our realm is beyond the world, like unto the Dreamworlds, that exist in other dimensions of time and space. I suppose that’s why you come to us so often, because of the place where the woodland of dreams touches our own. Simon taught me of it, from the elder lore. He’s taught me many things concerning thee and thine.”
The black man knelt to the ground and dug with hands into the earth. As Adam finally turned to face the Outer One, he saw that the dirt and grass and sand that had been gathered were being shaped into a ball of debris. Adam shivered as the Dark One blew onto that globe and gave it a semblance of sentience. He watched as the hands moved away from the sphere, which was now green and blue with life as it floated in the air just at the Dark One’s chest. “What do you think will happen to your realm of mist and shadow once this world is destroyed and discarded? What will become of it when I breathe its dust away?” At this the daemon pursed his perfect lips and exhaled. A black cloud sailed from his mouth and enveloped the small sphere, which became a thing of particles. And then, chortling at what he chanced to mould in play, the daemon blew the globe of dust away. Adam looked overhead at the sky, which became darkened and bereft of all illumination. He saw the blackness filter toward the mountain and tarnish its white stone so that it became an obsidian obelisk. The illusion lasted but one moment until the sky and valley assumed their normal semblance.
“Why are you here?”
The Dark One smiled. “I was summoned.”
“Then take her and be gone.”
“In time, child of shadow.” Adam did not watch as the daemon floated past him, into the ancient church. Calmly, he knelt to where the valley had been clawed into. He placed his hands over the place and whispered words, smoothing the sod until its surface was smooth and whole. He could smell the electric charge that filtered from within the building, but he ignored it and walked the earth toward his bookshop.
VII
April found that she was too awake to try to sleep after Cyrus had taken her home, and so she took herself to the main room in the bookshop and found a section of poetry. She sat on the floor and reached for a volume on the bottom shelf, a book that appealed to her because it had been bound in black leather, the scent of which she adored. Bringing the book to her nostrils, she drank in the aroma of aged leather and yellowing pages. The title, in gilt lettering, was The Hermaphrodite and Other Poems. She scanned the brittle pages until coming to a poem concerning Wilde, one of her literary idols. She spoke the poem’s concluding lines aloud:
“There, in the pagan darkness, he
Felt his own radiant agony,
And heard the gods affirm;
‘That which thou soughtest shalt thou find:
Beauty, a breath of wandering wind,
Dust, and the drowsy worm.’”
A shadow of someone standing behind her formed on the wall of books. “What is it you’re reading, Miss April?”
She shivered at the words, and at a memory they stirred. “Um, a wonderful book of poetry.” She stood and faced Adam. “May I purchase it? It’s quite my thing.”
“Let me give it to you as a gift,” the weird fellow answered, his curious mouth forming its strange smile. “Did you have a pleasant walk home with Cyrus?”
“Oh, yes. I quite like him. And the air is so much cooler now.”
“Yes, the valley has claimed its climate once again.”
“Yes. Well, thank you so much for the book. I’ll just go to my room and dip into it. Goodnight, Adam.”
Adam bowed to her, followed her to the hallway and watched her climb the stairs. When she reached the landing, April turned to smile at him; and as she looked at him, standing in the dusky hallway with his silver eyes shimmering within his wolfish face, she sensed that he was not human; but what that meant she could not comprehend. Perhaps she was still intoxicated and her brain was playing tricks, as the light and shadow played on Adam’s bestial façade, teasing her imagination. She entered her room and looked around at the beautiful antiques, the comfortable bed, the soft light and cozy shadows, and she liked it more than ever. The place was beginning to feel so homey and familiar, and she fantasized about never leaving this place for what she realized was her very dull, safe life back in Wisconsin. Sitting on the bed, she opened the book of poetry and read the title poem, stopping when she came to a line about the “unfathomable” Hermaphrodite—and that word hit her with full force; for she had entered an unfathomable realm, something unlike anything she had heretofore experienced—and she was becoming utterly beguiled. Sesqua Valley appealed to her adventurous soul, which had tried to find itself in Bohemian culture. April treasured what she considered “true” Bohemianism, an authentic radicalness; yet she had never truly found it in her small home-town, except for the final two years of her grandfather’s life, when she had often slept in his small extra bedroom and spent many haunted evenings listening to his trembling voice recite the history of the incident at Rick’s Lake and its aftermath. Here, in this uncanny valley town, she had discovered a world unlike any she had known, with creatures that were unworldly. Yes, she was intoxicated, by the valley and her growing sense of it, the wonder and disquiet it inspired.
April heard the sound of wind in the distant woodland, and she walked to the small-paned window and opened it so as to smell the storm; but the nighted valley was still, the remote trees unmoving. And yet she heard the sound of rising wind within the woodland, a sound that called to her and beckoned. She left her room and walked down the stairs, to where the lights had been extinguished. The air was cool as she stepped outside, and although there was no moon she could see swarms of stars in the sky. From beneath her feet she sensed a slight pounding, a rhythm that matched her heartbeat. She moved along the area of grass behind the house that led to the trees, and she stood amazed at the sound that came from within the dense growth of forest; for she could hear it now unmistakably, a rushing tempest from some hidden place within the woods, an alarming sound that chilled her soul; a
nd beneath the song of tempest she could hear a word uttered by some unearthly tongue: “Ygnaiih! Ygnaiih!” It was an utterance that iced her blood, for this was a word that her grandfather had shouted during his worst nightmares. April placed one foot into the forest, and all was suddenly stilled. She did not seem to notice how the stars formed curiously above her, creating symbols in the sky. She listened for any sound, and when at last she heard it, she began to quake emotionally. What she heard was the frail calling of her name, in her grandfather’s voice. There was no urgency in the sound—it was calm and caring, and coaxing. It summoned, and she followed, into the woodland, along the rough path toward the dweller in darkness, the shadow thing that writhed and howled, although how it could do so was unfathomable since it wore no face. It was tall and lean, with two long extensions that might have been flailing arms, similar to those on the totem that leaned against the ancient church. Two black forms boiled on the ground before it, small shapeless things that held ivory flutes that pierced amorphous mouths. Daemonic music echoed and reechoed in the enclosing forest as the dark thing surged with shaping and raised its facelessness to the stars that circled above the trees forming trails of illumination similar to the patterns she had seen on the black window that hung inside Simon Gregory Williams’ edifice of art. Her eyes felt very odd as they watched the moving stars and reflected their alchemy. God, her eyes felt as if they were being pulled from their sockets, toward the sky. She cried out as something took hold of her hand. Another hand, soft and trembling, momentarily sheltered her eyes, and then a mouth was pressed against her ear. “Run,” Cyrus urged her, “run with me!”
VIII
When she opened her eyes, April saw Adam sitting next to her as she lay in bed. He moved to help her to a sitting position, and then he reached for a tea cup that sat on a bedside stand. “Wait a minute,” she told him. “The last time you offered me a drink I came to regret it. Damn, what was in that hooch you gave me in the club? I’ve never hallucinated like that before. I can’t tell what was memory and what was dream.”
“Drink this. It will soothe your brain. Perhaps I should have used precaution in offering you our special valley poteen. As you said, it packs a punch. This will have an opposite effect.” She took the cup and sniffed at its herbal contents, and then she sipped the hot liquid, which was sweet and smooth. She drank some more and leaned her head back onto the pillow.
“How many bookshops are in this town?”
“This one only. Although Leonidas sells some few rare tomes in his museum.”
“So you wouldn’t feel threatened if someone opened another shop in town?”
“Ah, you have been charmed by Sesqua Valley. But can you leave your lifelong home and settle here?”
She blew air out of her mouth and frowned. “It hasn’t been the same since Grandfather’s death. It’s weird, but those last two years with him had a real effect. He spoke of so many strange things, and so effectively that I could feel them in my mind. We sometimes discussed those books that I have brought you, and he knew their contents intimately. I couldn’t read them, of course, not knowing anything but English. But listening to him talk about them and their legends was like being a child who listened to fairy tales told by some enchanting adult—told with such passion and—longing—that I entered into the imaginary world completely, especially in dream. I haven’t had those dreams since Grandfather’s death, but I seem to be having them again, since coming here. They are disturbing yet beguiling, and they remind me of Grandfather. I feel him, somehow, here, or some kind of influence spawned by the things he whispered to me near his end of life. It’s difficult to express because it sounds so damn—supernatural. I’ve been enchanted, yes. You wouldn’t feel that I was crowding in on your business?”
He removed the cup from her hands and took them in his own. “Come with me. Come.” Adam pulled her out of bed and led her down the carpeted stairs to the large and crowded room of books, then to a set of two wooden panels set into one wall. She listened to the sound of wood moving against wood as he slid the paneled door away from the other, to its place within the wall, then followed him into another spacious room that contained some few pieces of furniture and nothing else.
“Now, if I remember it correctly, your Grandfather’s bookstore was a small affair, and its contents could quite easily fit into this space, unless you’ve expanded.”
“No, I haven’t. Oh, I love how old everything smells in here. Isn’t it delicious? Do you really suggest that we combine our shops? But where would I live? I got rid of most of my furniture when I moved into the bookstore, I like living with Grandfather’s few things.”
“There’s a second room upstairs that would serve admirably as living quarters, and you can keep the small room as boudoir. It would be pleasant to have another bookish soul living here. If you are certain you want to dwell within the valley.”
“I feel quite certain, which is weird because I’m not usually so compulsive. Perhaps coming here and dwelling on alternative possibilities has shown me how boring my life has been. Yes, I am quite certain. It’s early, isn’t it? I should probably start for Wisconsin today. I’m impatient to set everything in motion. I’ll walk to town and fetch my car. Thank you, Adam.”
He escorted her from the room and watched her rush upstairs to fetch some items and then run down them again and out of the house. When he went again into the dark vacant room he found Cyrus seated in one of the overstuffed chairs. “You reek of star-stuff,” Adam said, scowling. “Did you gaze upon him?”
“I tried not to.”
“Pah! You are not very wise for a child of valley shadow. Simon has lectured you on looking upon the Crawling Chaos in any of its daemonic manifestations. It’s alluring enough when it apes human form, but...” He stopped and knelt next to the boy. “Let me see your eyes, Cyrus. Yes, they are tainted with particles of darkness and nightmare. What have you been doing?”
“I’ve been studying the window from the Providence church, the window that was composed of satanic sand and situated by a cult into a New England church.” He peered at Adam’s worried face and began to laugh. “I can understand why even our great beast, Simon Gregory Williams, venerates Nyarlathotep. He—it—is awesome. Simon told me once that there is a place in the woods where our realm touches and combines with the realm of dream. Adam, do you dream? Because I never have. When I sleep it’s like my essence returns in some way to the realm of mist and shadow of which we are a part, the place that Simon has led us from so that we can entertain a season of mortality in this physical semblance. Simon says that there are many dreamworlds, not all composed of human slumber. Do you dream, Adam?”
“It is not our nature to do so, Cyrus. ‘We are such stuff as dreams are made on.’”
“Simon dreams.”
“Because he is decayed from spending over a century in this mortal existence.”
“But it was Simon who discovered the way to bring us here, for a season. It was Simon who sensed those human souls who entered the valley and thought to claim it, despite the warnings of the aboriginal tribes who knew to shun this valley and its sprites. Maybe it can be Simon who could teach me to find the place where the forests meet and conjoin, so that I can taste the realm of dream.”
“You talk dangerous nonsense. You’ve been infected.”
“By the Dark One? Yes, he has touched my eyes. I did look upon him in his daemonic form, and it was riveting. He’s come for her, hasn’t he?”
“She is linked to him through her grandfather, who became tainted in a place called Rick’s Lake. Her coming here was no accident, nor her summoning of the haunter of the dark. Her fate is sealed, and he will have her.”
“And take her where? Where does he dwell?”
“In any place he likes, in all of Time and Space, in the dimensions between the stars.” He saw the way the boy’s eyes shimmered. “But we won’t dwell on such things. We abide, Cyrus, and then we enjoy this taste of mortality, for a little while.”<
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* * *
April pulled away from the center of town and found herself driving toward the spot where the ancient church had been erected by Simon Williams so as to house his relics in honor of Nyarlathotep. Parking, she gazed at the stone structure, at the spirals of mist that rose from the ground on which it had been constructed from imported stones. She saw the totem that had figured in her delirium, the thing she was now certain had been imported from its place near the lodge at Rick’s Lake. How peculiar it was, to seem like some part of a puzzle that was slowly, inexorably, being fitted together. The ground was rocky where she had parked, and she took her time after getting out of the car and stepping to the place where the yellow grass began to grow. She walked past the various stone figures that tilted on that grass and then up the incline to the church, stopping before the totem and touching its cool smoothness with her hot human hand. She could feel the wave of heat that pushed at her from the arched threshold, though which she finally passed.
He stood before the black window, one hand touching its surface. She did not hesitate but walked to and up the altar, stopping very near to him. “How did you know my grandfather?”
“Are you musical, Miss Dorgan?” He raised his other hand, in which he held an exquisite thing that had been created out of what looked like white gold. She had never seen anything more beauteous. He offered it to her. The flute was chilly to the touch. Bringing it to her face, she smoothed its texture against her skin, and then she placed it at her mouth. No music sounded.
“I can’t seem to play it.”
“So I see. Pity, you have such a tender soul. What a treasure you would have been, numbered with me and mine. What do you see when you look upon this surface?”
Bohemians of Sesqua Valley Page 18