Quebec City in Flames

by Nelson Rusk

  Gathering my strength, I got up, my legs paralyzed by the cold, barely able to support my sore body. I looked in a circle around me. No one in sight. I picked up Robert Muir's backpack and headed to the university. Judging by the nascent illumination in the sky, it must have been almost five in the morning. This nocturnal episode had lasted longer than expected. I hoped Alise had slept through all this time so she would not worry about my prolonged absence.

  The journey into the dark dawn was long and oppressive. My lack of sleep and the intense physical effort of the night weighed on my shoulders like an anvil. I should take advantage of the few remaining minutes of the dying night to recover before getting back to work tomorrow. It was imperative I show Sir Hugh the book I had found. An intellectual of his caliber could make sense of such writings with more ease than me.

  When I stepped into the history pavilion, a sudden and inexplicable apprehension seized me. A shiver ran down my spine as the hair on my neck rose, sending waves of tension to my alert muscles. At this time of the morning, the dark corridors were empty of any human presence. Yet, an aura of enigmatic, barely veiled evil charged the atmosphere with a palpable sense of dread. Trying to regain my composure, which had evaporated like a mist in the sun, I hurried my steps toward my room.

  The closer I got to my destination, the more my apprehension turned into a tragic certainty and, despite myself, I finally understood what put me in such a state. My subconscious mind, about which Professor Freud talked at length, had perceived and decoded what my physical senses had not yet sensed. And even these, now that I approached the H-04 door, could no longer ignore what my soul knew. The indelible pungent smell was becoming more and more intense. A thick bluish mist clung to the ceiling of the corridor, emerging from near my door.

  I ran the last few meters. I was about to turn the handle in a hurry when I backed away from what I saw. At the height of the handle, a devouring scorch pierced the door from one side to the other, forming a large, jagged hole. The localized blaze had spared most of the door. The charred wood had burned to fine ashes as no debris was visible, other than the molten and twisted metal handle lying on the ground.

  Returning to my senses and feeling a vindictive anger rising in me, I kicked the door, which collapsed on itself due to its weakened structure. I rushed into the room, ready for anything. I almost regretfully noticed that it was empty; nobody was present anymore, including Alise. I repressed a scream, not wishing under any circumstances to alert the entire student population and involve more actors in this infernal cavalcade. Why? Why? I could not say with certainty. The same madness as my nemesis infected me with an irrepressible desire to see our wills confront one another and collide. It was a destiny that had befallen me and that I did not want to share with anyone.

  I needed all my will to control the rage that was consuming me. My vision returned to normal, and I observed my room. On a wall, the alchemical symbol of their sect had been deeply etched. A burning explosion had reduced the top of my desk and Robert Muir’s diary to ashes, scattering splinters of wood in all directions. On the wall above the bed, all my decorations had been removed, leaving the wall bare and covered with a gelatinous substance. Certain of what I would find, I grabbed a candle knocked over on the desk and lighted it up, having to try several times due to my shaking fingers. I waved the flame near the wall, revealing an inscription.

  We had warned you. By the grace of Providence, you escaped the Messenger’s wrath. In your blindness, however, you delivered us another marked victim. We will feed her to the Blaze of Souls as fuel to swell the flames. This is your work. Don't try to stop us. You threw another victim in your place on the altar of sacrifice but... it is never too late for the Universal Destroyer to claim his due.

  Overwhelmed, enraged, and helpless, I grabbed my chair and threw it against the wall, shattering it with great noise. I knew I was sinking into the same abhorrent emotions that motivated my enemies, that I was walking on a path of no return. Realizing the noise I was making, I left my room, leaving behind my customary existence and my material possessions. These no longer mattered; I got rid of them with the same assurance as a pupa leaving its cocoon. For the first time, I accepted without fear the possibility that my present quest would mean my end.

  I walked with a brisk step and an avid eye toward Sir Hugh's office. At this time of night, even a workaholic such as he would be absent, but I disregarded that fact. I would wait for his arrival as long as necessary. I heard a noise behind me as I walked past the corner of the corridor leading to my room. People, alerted by the unusual noises, were flooding into my room to see what was going on. However, I was already far away and burst out with a sardonic laugh. If only they knew what sinister plots were being woven beyond their limited senses, in the fertile interstices at the extreme limits of our reality!

  When I reached the rector's office, I looked around, attentive to any disturbance showing a human presence. I was alone. Putting my shoulder against the door, I pushed until I heard the lock crack under the pressure. Then, taking a quick step back, I leaped with my shoulder first against the heavy door, sending it swinging inward with a loud crackling sound. I slipped inside, heart pounding, and closed the door, praying nobody had heard. With my throat dry, my back against the door, and my temples on fire, I waited several minutes. I only allowed myself a few breaths, on the lookout for any noise signaling that someone had spotted my intrusion. I heard nothing and, little by little, my respiration returned to normal.

  Reassured, I turned my attention to where I was. Sir Hugh's office looked even more enigmatic by moonlight, in complete solitude. In the grip of uncontrollable flares of heat, I sat at Sir Hugh's desk, taking the same position I had seen him take many times before. I opened the backpack I was still carrying and pulled out the book, putting it on the desk in front of me. Tonight's events were spinning and running through my head, instilling in me powerful vertigo. Looking at the book, I had the impression it vibrated with an unhealthy energy, like a constant buzzing. I slumped into the chair, my grip on reality leaking out of all the pores of my body as if I were a pierced wineskin.

  In a state of semi-panic, I opened a drawer which, I knew, contained a bottle of solid scotch whiskey. I took a diluvial swig, leaving a boiling fire in my throat unfamiliar to such libations. It made no difference. My failing reason, the chaos in my mind, the martyrdom to which I subjected my body in the last days, everything combined to crush me and lead me toward more and more diffuse and vague thoughts. My concentration went from one idea to another, destitute and unable to anchor itself to any particular idea. I no longer understood this constant and unconscious flow myself. My mind, freed from its foundations, from its certainties, from everything it had taken for granted, was wandering, carousing, and dissipating. Without my consent, my soul, or what I thought was my soul, flew away to the ethereal spheres of existence and I lost consciousness. The last thing I saw was the cover of this hideous book, these Ritual Hymns for the Annihilation of the World, as my heavy head slumped forward without restraint.

  At the Edge of Our Reality

  The turbulence of my waking thoughts did not turn into idyllic tranquility when sleep took over. Such were my thoughts before fainting, such were the sulfurous dreams that paraded before my mind's eyes. The opiate narcosis of that late night projected my being into the icy interstellar space. I traveled at a speed that seemed almost infinite. I saw millions of stars with improbable colors scrolling before my amazed eyes. I saw on several of them the first cells emerging from the primordial chaos, progressing from a shapeless frost to differentiated beings so far from humanity it was impossible to fathom their intentions. I saw nascent civilizations flourishing and then reaching their peak in a grandiose culmination of wisdom and knowledge, only to collapse in shame and helplessness. Above all this brooded the open eye, the cyclopean eye in the sky, which swallowed each piece of creation, in an infinite cycle of creation and destruction.

  I discovered how countless
cultures venerated this eye under its myriad forms. It was what the ancient Indians called the eye of Shiva. When this eye opens, life takes shape, grows and flourishes. When it closes, life ends, deconstructs, and the substance of the universe enters another iteration of the eternal cycle. This I understood in a flash as if the knowledge had always been in me and only the torch of intellect and prescience was necessary to make it obvious. The eye represented a symbol of wisdom and justice between the state of what is and what is no longer. Both a passive agent acting as an eternal balance and an active agent that can be creative and destructive. I understood at that moment that creation and destruction were so intimately linked that the same creature, principle, or God was capable of one or the other, and of both at the same time.

  The syncretism of these two concepts—creation and destruction—was at the root of all mythologies. I had time to understand this relationship when I observed the Earth from the intergalactic void. Shiva was an example, but all cultures had perceived this essential dichotomy. Among the Scandinavians, Ragnarök was the ultimate end where the old world would die, heralding the creation and rejuvenation of the earth. For the Mesopotamians, Marduk destroying Tiamat, the dragon of chaos, marked the completion of creation. For Christians, the apocalypse meant the end of all things, but also the creation of a new land and a new paradise. Modern people, who revered reason and whose religion was science, knew this phenomenon as a black hole. In the grim future, I saw the hominid race with an insectoid body that would dominate the earth over a million years after the disappearance of humanity nurture a similar eschatological mythology. And the same goes for the silicone-based globular creatures that would replace this breed of hominids.

  When I traveled light years from Earth, exploring galaxies that made the expanse of the Milky Way appear tiny, I saw that the principle of creation and destruction was the founding mythological element of all spiritual organisms that had existed, existed, or will ever exist. I knew this by instinct since it was impossible for me to absorb such a large amount of information at a time. From all the pagan mythologies dating as far back as the dawn of civilization to the most complex organized religions, this principle emerged as the unifying element.

  After a journey that seemed eternal by its immensity, I finally reached the end of infinity. I had traversed eons after eons and left the material universe. I was no longer floating in the interstellar void, rather in an ether of light elements, dotted with shaded regions and opaque vaporous ensembles. It was a painting of timeless beauty, revealing another world superimposed on ours or delineating its boundaries. I had the impression that my senses were expanding, dilating, to let in all these surreal impressions that were being imprinted on my mind.

  I was no longer floating in the interstellar void, rather in an ether of light elements, dotted with shaded regions and opaque vaporous ensembles.

  I was contemplating this transcendent painting with amazement when I saw the beginning of motion, accompanied by a distant roar. Far, farther away than the human eye could see, I sensed a presence that was approaching. It was just an ink stain on the horizon in constant transmogrification. A spot that became clearer as the roar gradually divided into a series of discordant notes, a strange repetitive melody imbued with a pervasive sense of fear. My journey had stopped here, and I knew I could no longer progress. Whatever means my mind used to travel in the material universe, it no longer had any relevance here, in the immaterial substance of the outside world.

  The shape was getting closer. From my point of view, it seemed so slow that its movement was almost imperceptible. Yet I knew it only seemed like that due to the vertiginous and unfathomable distances that separated us. Tirelessly, it was getting closer. This entity had detected my presence as soon as I left the known universe. It knew who I was, and it was coming toward me and only me. A growing fear manifested itself deep in my mind at the thought of my imminent confrontation with this multi-cosmic entity.

  When I could distinguish the features of the creature, I immediately closed my eyes and screamed. It was too late. Its impossible form had imprinted on my feverish brain an indelible brand, like a never-healing scar. The cataclysmic noise that accompanied it increased until it reached a thundering intensity that covered my screams as if I had been silent. Up close, my mind no longer perceived this noise as sounds. It was another dimension of the creature manifested as a physical phenomenon perceived by senses whose nature I knew not.

  The entity was close. I felt it poking intangibly on my mind, probing my presence with its psychic energy. I opened my eyes, unable to resist the morbid fear that beset me. I felt my imminent destruction coming. What I saw will haunt me forever. It was a spherical entity, the size of a star so huge that I could not contemplate it in its entirety at a glance. Movable appendages came out of its flesh, squirming in all directions, breaking the monotony of its shape. I saw what seemed to be titanic mouths on its sides. These disappeared at regular intervals as if all its flesh was changing shape. Nothing resembled eyes so I assumed the entity was blind.

  I was floating in the ether, obsessed with the sight of the impossible mass, trying to assimilate this vision. I never could manifest that possibility. Something even more incredible happened. At the center of the entity, its flesh withdrew, allowing me to see inside it. This circular opening continued to expand until it revealed half the extent of the creature. Inside it, an indescribable blaze was burning. I could feel the fiery heat of this massive molten core reflected all over my body. I should have burned in an instant, but an invisible barrier somehow protected me.

  The magma ball in the entity’s core was where everything was consumed. I understood that this thing, this moving mass of heat, fire, and incandescent plasma was the destructive agent of the universe. In the depths of this apocalyptic sphere, primeval forces charred, destroyed, digested, and recycled the raw substance of creation at the sound of a note deep enough to shatter eardrums. An unhealthy and immemorial intelligence emerged from this assembly of limbs and incoherent flesh. An unquenchable desire to consume all life. I knew at that moment that one day, this shapeless thing would escape the control of the gods and set on a trail of plunder across the universe, devastating everything and leaving ruin and ashes in its wake. I screamed again, in a state of frenetic fear. I was so insignificant compared to the entity that my will and existence atrophied to nothingness.

  I remained in this position for an incalculable length of time. I had the impression that my reason was a frail boat adrift in a stormy sea and subjected to storms far beyond its capabilities. Our human bodies are wonders of biological engineering, but we must recognize the limits that the universe has dictated to us. I felt the connection between my body and my wandering soul becoming tenuous. I tried to reintegrate my reality, as distant and unreal as it seemed. I focused on the fact it was a dream and nothing more. I felt my being trying to escape from this interstellar journey, torn apart by a resistance that prevented it from doing so.

  I was catapulted into my body, reintegrating it at a mad speed. It was as if my soul, which had traveled to the ends of our reality, had made the opposite journey in a fraction of a second. The wonderful intensity of this tumultuous dream had taken me to the shores of the Styx, just before the last leap that would make it impossible for me to return, within reach of Charon's touch. I would have given all my being at that moment to exchange the icy waters of the Styx for the warm and apathetic eddies of Lethe. I would have torn the unbroken thread of my mortal memories to be reborn, pure, innocent, and cleansed of the terrible secrets that had corrupted my conscience. But Man, a puppet with invisible strings, rarely decides his fate.

  January 14th, 1926

  An Evil from the Dawn of Humanity

  I opened my eyes as I straightened backward, attempting to scream without being able to do so. My mouth opened, but I stammered silently like a fish out of the water. Near me, I saw an old man touching my shoulder, with a severe look, frozen in an expression of dumbfounded co
ncern. It took me a long time to recognize him as he repeated and repeated a series of syllables I assumed to be my name. My head was still ringing to the sound of an incessant buzzing, but its intensity was decreasing. Looking in front of me, I saw that I had slept head first on a book entitled Ritual Hymns for the Annihilation of the World. A grin of disgust appeared on my lips as I considered the contents of this compendium. Azathoth. Did such an entity really exist?

  The old man, after giving me time to recover, which he deemed necessary considering my present condition, addressed me again:

   “Mr. Roussin, may I ask you why you spent last night in my office? Please don't tell me it's a drinking story,” he asked, pointing to his bottle of whiskey, which was empty near me. I laughed, adding to his discomfort.

   “No. No!”, I continued, with a rare hilarity. “God would be merciful if all this had been a simple matter of drinking. No. You see, I discovered this abominable book in the catacombs under Quebec City. Robert Muir, the author of the notebook I told you about, had stolen it shortly before the fire at the Château Saint-Louis. He had misplaced it. Now it's mine.”

  Sir Hugh turned his attention to the book in question. As soon as he saw it, his interest seemed ignited. He picked up the ancient tome, opening it and leafing through it with concentration. This stirred up a slight ire in me and an unexpected unease. Despite the short time it had been in my possession, this book had become an important part of me. I felt intimate with it. The meaning of its bizarre, solipsistic, and cryptic sentences had gained a personal meaning. Caught in his reading, Sir Hugh sat in the chair in front of me. What a strange coincidence of fate that I sat in Sir Hugh's thick padded chair while he was in the rickety chair reserved for guests!