• Embed Doc
  • Copy Link
  • Readcast
  • Collections
  • CommentGo Back
Download
 
Dreams In the Plush HouseFrom the notebooks of H.P.Lushcraft, edited and re-typedby Simon Barber.It is true what they say: that I have blasted the body of mybest friend to its constituent atoms with a colossal charge ofaluminised RDX high explosive - one great enough to break thewindows of the nearest cottage, three miles away on that lonely moorwhere the deed was done. But it had to be: I pray to the gods of theouter dimensions that it was enough, and that it was done in time !For otherwise I shall be seeing Josiah Mytholmroyd again, and I willrecognise him despite what he has become.Josiah was an artist: I was an engineer, though since cubhoodwe had been the closest of friends despite our differing natures. Wegrew up together in the small grey-stone town of Osgaholme, tuckedbeneath a wing of the towering moor that writhed its stone-thewedway up to the Border and the newly rebuilt wall that Hadrian firstbuilt two centuries before. Both our families were of that place:bloodlines ran long and deep rooted, back to the days when theNorthland was home to species now long extinct. In my caninefeatures and his there was the proud "Osgaholme Look", the slightlyreptilian cast to the features that was the gift of many bolddamsels who sought out dragons in their lairs. Both of us have bonynodules under our fur, where our long-distant ancestors boresplendid spinal crests.But it was no shadow out of the past that stretched out itspadded paws to seize my friend. Indeed, we had both left the clearair of our native town, with its cheerful priestesses and healthyopen-air ceremonies each season on the great stones of the moortop.To the South we both fared, to start our careers in the wider world.And for two years we scarcely saw each other, he to his Art and meto study Vague Engineering (a variation of Precision Engineering,but more laid-back.) Letters became fewer and more routine as ourschedules filled, until it had been six months since we had spoken.The telephone rang in the small hours of the morning. I hadretired what seemed like a few minutes earlier, after a full eveningat the local pub, the Merry Terrorist. My head swam as I reachedtowards the shrilling phone, ready to pour wide-awake invective downthe optic fibre for anything less than a full emergency."Helmsley," came a gasp. "Now.... or it'll be too late....".There was a heaving, gasping sound, as if he had just run amarathon, and his tongue was hanging out in heat stress. For Irecognised Josiah's voice at once, despite the strange - change -that seemed to have come over it. "You MUST come. You know the place? The one I told you about in the last letter ... the new house ...the one I was doing so well in ..." He broke down, and again camethat odd gasping breath.I looked at my watch: three ten a.m. Outside the window wasflowing with icy rain: the address in my databook translated asthirty miles away. But my ears went down like our wolven ancestors'at the scent of a lurking sabretooth as I recalled what I had almostforgotten: Josiah was not a late-night person."Stay there," I said firmly. "I'll be right over."
 
Half an hour later, the wheels of my trike hissed on the wettarmac outside an unfamiliar house. Despite the urgency of thesummons, I took a minute to calm my nerves and look around at thesleeping street under the orange late-night glow. Rain hissed andspat on the white-hot expansion nozzle of the bike: tarmac burnedwith a fatty crackle as the hydrogen peroxide seeped out of thehairline crack in the T-Stoff line that I had been meaning to fixfor a week now.Josiah had rented the odd house of the street. Number Twenty Awas unlike the others, unlike the stout grey stone houses thatreminded me of home.Gods, but the place was new ! I shuddered at the raw barenessof the place, its ageless angles grated hard against mysensibilities. Unknown centuries had passed, long years of brooding,stony silence had lain on this land - before ever this place wasbuilt."It must date back only to the nineteen-seventies..." Iregarded the PVC framed windows with horror. "Gods! That's only afew generations... there's folk who saw this place built, who'restill alive ...". I steeled myself, and strode towards that dreadportal of veneered chipboard that loomed featurelessly before me.Some doors I knew had the calming passage of Time graven on them, inreassuring shell scrapes, or the long-since rusted dots where afoe's flayed hide had been nailed there in the carefree days on old.I knocked, suppressing a shudder at the thin boom my scale-knuckled paw made on the twentieth-century thing. The knocker was ofplastic, not yet even blushing with the decades. Above me, thereproduction carriage lamps glowered down mockingly. There was noteven the familiar looming shadow of a Gambrel roof to break themonotony.Footsteps answered, slow, dragging steps that seemed to takeeternity to reach the door. With a soundless sweep of stainlesssteel hinges forged in the dread smithies of Taiwan, the dooropened."Helmsley..." the voice was a strangled tone, thick-soundingand muffled through a thick hood: I could barely see his face. Onlyhis eyes were visible, and I realised he was wrapped in bandagesalmost like one of the mummified felines folk dig up in Aegypt, tillthe funereal deities get annoyed and make them put them back "Youcame ... but .. I ... I didn't dare bring you into this before ...bring anybody in ... but it'll happen anyway .. got to be stopped.."His voice was rising and falling in odd jerks, as if it wanted to bea high-pitched squeal, that he was forcing back to some semblance ofnormality. "You, I can trust ... this has to be ... ended. Here.""Jose!" I grabbed him as he staggered: he flinched away,shrinking from my touch. In that one instant, he had felt oddlysoft, as if his fur had got much thicker beneath the robes than Iremembered. "What's wrong ? You sound terrible - I'll get a doctor.""No !" For a second his voice was strong. Then he pulled thedoor shut on the night, and I shivered as I looked around the room.Josiah had told me about the "fantastic inspirations" he hadbeen getting in the place he had rented so cheaply. But his noteshad soon become guarded, and the last few had only wanted to talkover old times back in the North country.There was something strange about the room. I looked around, myfur rising under my clothes. It was nothing the eye could reallyfocus on - but there was a bizarre sensation that the angles of thefloor and walls all came together in exact ninety degree joints, as
 
if the architect had been wholly ignorant of the wonderful spatialdislocations a real house had - or had chosen to deliberatelysuppress them.Josiah slumped on a sofa, which seemed almost as new as thehouse itself. "The whole thing is," he said wearily "that is there'salmost nothing definite and concrete I can tell you - it's alldamnable hints, and suggestions, and coincidences. But .. I'll haveto start at the beginning."He stared around the room, its plasterboard walls seeming toleer mockingly at us. "The place was cheap, you know that. I wantedsomewhere near Town - with plenty of room to work in. The Agent sentme the keys, and told me to look round - there was something in hervoice I didn't like. But, it WAS cheap.""I first saw the place in sunlight, bright sunlight. It's anice neighbourhood: you've seen the houses around it ? When I gotthere the place was - well, it was as if it was just waiting for me.I didn't mind it not having any of the usual features - you can getprivate firms to dig tunnels and such, install secret doors andclose off attic rooms, no problem. So I came in - and I stayed."He gave a shudder. "It all went unbelievably well at first. Yourecall that piece I told you about, the three by four metretryptich, "The Feaster From The Dark ?" I finished that in two weeksflat, working here. I sold it, too - and I decided to take a longlease on the property. Then I really started to work."He rose, and shuffled towards a wholly rectangular door, thatled into a dining room. As I followed, I noticed something odd abouthis gait, as if he was wearing shoes that were far too big for him -and again I wondered about why he covered up so. He stopped in thecentre of the room."You remember how I used to have to go to bed early, I justcouldn't stay awake after midnight ? Played havoc with most of thetemple services, I know. Oh, the caffeine and Benzedrine I used toget through....... but that all changed. I found myself painting upto all hours. It was - different. I'd sort of half fall asleep, butmy hand kept working - sometimes I'd just wake up, and find myselfon the floor. Always - there." He pointed to a spot in the corner ofthe room, by the window. Looking closely, I saw that the peculiarlypink nylon carpet was scuffed and worn away, despite being well awayfrom where you might expect anyone to walk.As I turned round to face him, out of the corner of my eye Ialmost saw something. You know, those stop-motion films, where yousee plants blossoming in seconds ? Imagine if you filmed a wetblanket covered in cress seeds, sprouting stealthily in thedarkness, white groping tendrils reaching up. Searching. It was likethat - but nothing actually moved. Nothing actually happened. Onlythe .... the sensation, of how it would be, if it very silently andsuddenly began to move.Josiah stopped, and from beneath his hood he fixed me with ableak, penetrating gaze. "You saw it too ? That's the spot I keepfinding myself drawn to - I go to bed upstairs, and wake up there.And the Dreams ......""Sometimes it's not so bad. I'm walking through a landscape,and it's like a badly developed film. All the colours are just thatbit off - there's nobody there. But sometimes - there is." Hegrabbed my wrist, and almost dragged me out of the room, slammingthe door shut. I noticed that he left the light shining brightly onthat place."I dream, Helmsley, but it's not LIKE a dream ! I see -
of 00

Leave a Comment

You must be to leave a comment.
Submit
Characters: ...
You must be to leave a comment.
Submit
Characters: ...