“As I've said,” Neilson started quietly, “They survived the explosion of Nadia's flat – it doesn't mean they're alive... Lorne believed they were and look where it got him”.
The two fell into silence. Veronica contemplating this monstrous revelation, Neilson staring ahead into the nighted highway, lost deep in his own thoughts. He absently bit his lower lip. His eyes were hidden at times as passing cars' headlights reflected off his glasses. Veronica startled him by speaking, again breaking the silence:
“How does Lorne's tape fit into all this?”
“There are ancient cults still in existence and certain backwater folk who believe the Great Old Ones are gods and worship these demons in blasphemous rituals. They believe that when the Great Old Ones do inevitably return, they will be spared and elevated to higher powers and social levels. They will not be. The Great Old Ones are indifferent to the human race as a whole. We all will be extinguished like some annoying bug.” The professor resumed his lip chewing.
“You mean to say that your Filipino impostor wants to free the Symbiot?” she questioned.
“Yes!” Neilson snapped out of his thoughts. “That's exactly what he plans to do.”
“But the tape, the recording quality was extremely poor. You could barely hear it in parts due to the static hiss and other background noises. I've played the tape myself, on a number of occasions. It never opened this gateway. You said the musical piece had to be performed correctly, if not perfectly to succeed. These two tapes are hardly perfect recordings.” She finished with a hopeful air.
“That's all very true,” Neilson continued patiently, “But we have the technology and equipment in this day and age to filter out unwanted static and background noises. Once this is done there will be left the whole musical piece – complete.”
Silence ensued again.
A large green highway sign read, 'Arkham, 1 mile, next exit' and as Neilson steered the car into the exiting lane he mumbled to himself, “Damn that Gibbons, if only he hadn't left that bloody tape...”
They arrived at the Miskatonic University Faculty's residences at 2:30 am. Neilson offered Veronica the spare bedroom where she quickly subsided into a nightmare plagued sleep.
* * *
She was flying through black abysses, through dreadful voids of nothingness – not space, for even space is something. There were no stars, no planets, nothing. She could not feel the restraints of gravity, for she had no body. (And did she actually fly? Could one fly or move through a medium which had nothing?) No space, no movement, nowhere to go. No space, no time. Where was she?
Endlessness – it was terrifying yet peaceful, but at once. It was everything she ever wanted. Nothingness. Oblivion. She knew that if she were to stop thinking she would simply be absorbed into this great nothingness... ( or could it be everything – the whole sum?) Was she always part of it, which had in some point in the past escaped, only to be reabsorbed again? Or was she the alien presence invading it's oneness? Either way, she knew that she could allow herself to become part of it. Completely oblivious to the fact that she ever existed... (and did she even exist if there was no space here and thus no time?)... She had to stop thinking. Thinking was the only thing arresting her assimilation. She had to stop. Just close her eyes... (did she have eyes?)... and relax.
... just... slip... into... oblivion...
She felt a warm breeze across her cheek. The weight of gravity pulling; cool grass beneath her. Was she laying on the ground... outside?
She opened her eyes. Her vision focused. It was dark, but not night. There was a storm overhead. A raging storm. Churning, grinding, and surging. A rolling chaos. All around her was blackness... no, towards one direction there was a horizontal sliver of light. It was the horizon – it had to be the horizon – and the edge of the storm. And as she stared at the distant gray line of light she saw something stood there. It was so far. No, there were two objects... moving?... running?
Yes, running! They were people... or at least distant silhouettes of people. Shadows. Incorporeal. She heard a sound. Was it voices? Singing? It was so faint.
It was whispering. The two shadow-things on the horizon of light were whispering to her. (How could she hear them from that distance?) What were they saying?
They seemed to be thinking out loud – trying to remember something. Each shadow had part of the knowledge to remember but not all. Each shadow had something, some piece of information the other needed to remember. They continued running and whispering, running and whispering.
They began to run in circles (were they laughing?) Their circles became smaller, tighter. They were slowly approaching one another.
The storm overhead bellowed out a thunderous roar! It was deafening. The two shadows stopped for a moment... they demurred. They seemed fearful and hesitant. Then they ran again, but this time faster, with more purpose. The storm began producing a sound akin to that of idiot flute players.
Then the two shadows collided – became one. It was a figure. Corporal and humanoid. It stood there. Their whispering had stopped. It didn't move or make a sound. The storm was screaming its cacophony!
She began to hear it. Not with her ears, for nothing but the raging storm could be heard now, but with her mind. Like she was reading its very thoughts. She was reading its confusion.
It was trying to remember something – something so simple but just beyond its memory. It was frustrating.
And then suddenly, it spoke in her mind:
"Warten sie auf mich bei der shranke" it said. She knew she heard it before. She could sense its importance, but could not remember; could not understand it.
It repeated it again. Still she didn't understand. It was so familiar. She said it to herself. She repeated it. She said it again, and again, and again, again, again...
"Warten sie auf mich bei der shranke." Both said it together. She sensed that it was losing it corporealness. It was regressing back to its two shadowy forms. It was forgetting. The strain had been too great.
"Please!" she shouted in her mind, "Please, tell me what it means!"
She could see the two forms dividing. The figure became blurred, semi-corporal. It was trying to hold itself together. It was fighting some unknown force to remain whole... but to no avail. It split. The two incorporeal shadows danced off whispering to one another. It was gone. It had forgotten its own message. It had forgotten the importance of what it had wanted to communicate to her.
"Warten sie auf mich bei der shranke!" The message echoed like thunder through her mind. She could still sense the utter direness of the message... (but what did it mean!?)
The storm exploded with sound. A sound more felt in your bones than heard. Thunder? Voices? Singing? Laughing? She could not say, but the meaning was clearly understood by her. It was furious. The storm had played part in the shadowy symbiot's dissipation. It was pleased with itself, yet angry for allowing it to say as much as it did... (why did the storm not want the shadowy symbiot to communicate with her?)
Suddenly, the storm instantly condensed into a form; a figure... a face!
* * *
Veronica shot straight upright in her bed, screaming with terror! "Warten sie auf mich bei der shranke!" she shouted out. She was in a cold sweat. She screamed it again. The meaning was so close.
Professor Neilson came running into the room, half stumbling while trying to put on his glasses.
She howled it again in a panic. She felt its urgency but could not quite grasp its meaning.
"What? Mrs. Francois!" Neilson grabbed her by her shoulders and shook her. "It's only a dream! It's alright, love. It's only a dream!"
She calmed down, realizing where she was – that it was indeed only a dream, that she was safe, safe from... safe from what? The storm in her dream had formed into something... but what? She couldn't remember. A face? Yes, it was a face, a woman's face. A very familiar woman's face, but she couldn't remember why it had scared her so much. She couldn't remember that face.
"Warten sie auf mich bei der shranke," she whispered to herself. Even the feeling of urgency had vanished from her. It wasn't important anymore. The dream had completely escaped her.
"What?” Neilson asked. “That's German. Where'd you hear that, love?”
"My, my dream," she answered. "I don't... I don't remember it..."
"It means 'Wait for me at the gate,'" Neilson stated. "You heard this in your dream?"
"I think so, but.... I don't speak German."
Silence. Professor Neilson looked at the digital clock. 3:16 am it said in glowing red numbers. He turned his attention back to Veronica. Her breasts were heaving up over the top of her nightgown. He stared. He found her attractive, but she was a widow, wasn't she? It would not be right, he told himself.
He realized he was staring at her breasts only after the fact. Did she notice? Or was it a reaction?
Veronica, realizing she was half naked, pulled up the blanket around her neck. It was an instinctive reaction. Professor Neilson dropped his gaze and stood up uncomfortably. She had not meant to make him feel bad. She hadn't even thought about it. She would have never noticed that he was watching her had he not reacted as he did.
Actually, she found it felt good. She hadn't been with a man in nearly 5 years. But what about Henri? Was he still alive? Professor Neilson didn't think so.
She looked up at him. It was the first time she seen him out of a suit. He still hadn't shaven. It was attractive she thought. She noticed that he must be a hairy man. Just under the stubble of his neck, but above the collar was a mass of graying chest hair. She had never noticed this before since he worn a shirt and tie. She like her men hairy. Henri was hairy.
"I'll make some tea." Neilson said awkwardly. "Please," he continued while walking into the kitchen, "Tell me about what you can remember of your dream".
Veronica smiled to herself. He was embarrassed. He probably was blushing and knew it. That's why he offered to make tea. To go into the kitchen, wait for his colour to return to normal. She had wished the lights were on in the room. She could have noticed then if he had indeed blushed or not. She made a bet with herself. Neilson would stay in the kitchen longer than it took to put on a kettle, then return and then turn on the lights. She thought he was cute, like a little boy.
Five minutes had passed. Professor Neilson returned, turned on the bedroom light, just as Veronica had predicted.
She had put on her robe. "Let's sit in the kitchen and talk," she said.
"That sounds like a good idea, Mrs. Francois," he answered.
"Veronica."
"Pardon?"
"Veronica. That's my name. Please call me Veronica."
Neilson's face blushed again. He seemed at a loss for words. He put his hands into his robe's pockets and looked at his feet.
"Alright," he finally answered. "Please call me Howard".
There was an awkward silence as the two sat and waited for the kettle to whistle.
"Why did we have to come here?" Veronica asked. "You seemed in a rush to leave Montreal. What's here? Or were you just trying to get me into your apartment?" She smiled.
Howard's eyes opened wide. He stumbled over words. "Ah, no...." he finally managed to say. "No, its that, well- "
Veronica put her hand on his. "Shh, its okay," she said soothingly, “it was just a joke.”
Howard laughed uncomfortably. His hand was very hairy, she thought, and strong. How could a teacher have such muscled hands?
Neilson's face seemed to gain its composure, to become a visage of confidence. "One doesn't have to teach to be a professor," he answered. Veronica immediately withdrew her hand. "I only give lectures here."
He had answered her question, but she never asked it, did she? At least not out loud.
He smiled. "Tit for tat." He said. "Play with me and I'll play with you."
Veronica sat staring. She didn't know what to think.
"I'm just joking," he said softly. "And yes, I can read your mind. Well, sometimes. And as for why we came here: Well, now that the Filipino impostor has the tape copy, there's very little that we can do until..."
“Until what?” Veronica still hadn't overcome her shock.
“Until the Symbiot is freed. We can't track this Filipino. We don't even know his real name. You've seen him but what good is that? We can't take any legal action, he hasn't broken any laws that we can prove.”
"But what good is being here?" she asked.
"Well, we can wait for something to happen. Here at the University we receive every daily newspaper around the world. We wait for a sign that the Symbiot's free."
"How do you know the papers will tell what you need to know?"
"Take my word for it. Once Nyarlathotep is freed, if indeed this symbiot is Nyarlathotep, it will make itself known in a big way."
Silence again. Howard poured himself another cup of tea. He held the pot over Veronica's cup and looked at her questioningly.
She nodded her head. "But why here? This is a school. A university."
"Yes," he answered, "but it's also more than that. We have a foundation established here, subsidized by a number of governments around the world. Our responsibility is to watch for the Great Old Ones."
"And these governments believe it when you tell them about god-like alien beings sleeping on Earth and that your foundation needs money to watch them?" she asked incredulously. "What do you take me for, an idiot?"
"No." Neilson said coldly. "I don't take for an idiot. I would never have explained things as I had to you if you hadn't experienced an encounter with one of them firsthand. And no, we don't tell these subsidizing governments exactly what we're doing. You know as well as I that they'd never believe.
"Most of them don't know. We mask most of our work under various fronts. Geological research, Nuclear testing and what-not.
"We do work with other agencies throughout the world. The British Secret Service has its own special department and the Russians have its equivalent. These, however, are not important.
"We recruit people who have knowledge of the Great Old Ones' goings on and those with ESP who can be trusted. Myself, for example, have limited mind reading abilities, as you've seen for yourself."
"You can just pluck thoughts from people's minds?" Veronica asked.
"No. I'm not a very accomplished mind reader, unfortunately. Only surface thoughts, and strong ones at that. Occasionally I can pick up others, but I can't control this."
Veronica fell silent. She poured herself another cup of tea. She didn't know whether to ask her next question of just think it.
"So, what do you think about the dream?" she changed subjects.
"Do you remember any of it?"
"Not much," she answered wearily. "Someone, or something was trying to tell me something. I know this isn't overly helpful – more questions than answers. The meaning of the message wasn't clear, but it was extremely important, that much I can remember."
"Yes, that was the German you said when you woke up. 'Wait for me at the gate.'" He thought for a moment. "Who said it?"
"I can't remember, but I do remember a face, a woman's face. It scared me awake."
"Who was it?"
"I... I don't... I knew who it was, but... it's left me now." She slowly sipped her tea in thought. "It wasn't ugly or anything like that. That's not what scared me. I recognized her."
The Symbiot Page 6