[b]WARNING![/b] The following story is quite graphic. If you are sensitive to text depictions of violence, supernatural horror, and genocide, it may be prudent to skip this story.
It was mid summer, but the season had lost its shape and form, smearing into a gray blur that seemed neither summer nor autumn nor spring, but an unnatural amalgamation of these. An oppressive gloom hung low over the city and its people like a fog, coupled with an uneasy dread without cause or reason. It was a sign of the times - Foreboding had gripped the hearts of the world, as if an instinct had awakened within us, sensing the arrival of some impending calamity; a doom that only some forgotten sixth-sense within us could detect, but our minds were as-yet ignorant. The feeling was disquieting. Nervousness, fear, apprehension, without discernable cause… The Fear teased weaker minds into madness, and stronger minds to despair. “It was the war,” many of us thought to ourselves. “It has gone on so long, with no end in sight. We spend the products of our industry and intellect and get nothing in-return but the mangled bodies of our children.” - but that was not the cause. The Fear came before the war. The paranoia that it had cultivated, the nerves it had frayed; the panic… one could even argue that it was The Fear that caused the war. With such feelings, paranoid imaginings manifest enemies everywhere, eyes watching from dark corners with leering malevolent intent.
I do not remember when the feeling began. Perhaps it came on gradually, building within us. Perhaps it came all at once, and we simply didn’t acknowledge it. No one spoke of it, but all felt it. It lurked in the wan faces and nervous glances, and the nights of unattainable slumber, where none dared face what horrors lie on the other side of consciousness - perhaps fearing never to return.
The Fear had been brooding for some time when that inexplicable summer descended… and that summer was when He arrived; the Stranger. Nobody knew from where he came, this one who calls himself Etheras Dela Fay, Ancient Blood of the Pharaohs. It is said that he came forth from Egypt, but none there claim him as their progeny. Others claim he came from the far north, with his blazing-white fur, the color of the nordic frostlands. Still-others say he is not of this world, and came from a distant star, or a parallel reality far fairer and crueller than our own.
But none could question his genius. His experimentation into the fields of magnetism and photonics had rendered him peerless for the Nobel of Physics, in this year of our lord. But unsettling rumors were whispered about the nature of his experimentation; that the fennec sought answers to questions never intended for mortal inquisition. That he was delving into powers beyond rational comprehension. In the dead of night, strange noises from could be heard from his laboratory for miles in all directions. The groaning and screaming of metal, like a thousand dying souls, as the fennec tore at the structure of matter itself, splitting it, and studying it, and recombining it in configurations never intended to exist in our universe. Flashes of unnatural color flitted across the night sky, as nature itself protested His violations, and some claim to have even seen shadows move upon the walls of the neighboring streets without a source to cast them.
Of course, as a scientist of some repute, I place no stock in rumor and hearsay. But I still distrusted The Stranger. His discoveries were suspiciously convenient; altogether too easy; too quick. It was as-if the mysterious fennec possessed the answers already and merely conducted his experiments to justify his knowledge… and to grow his celebrity. He lavished in the praise and recognition. Before long, Etheras Dela Fay had cultivated a sycophantic following, and interviews appeared in all the leading periodicals. He was a science writer’s wet-dream; brilliant, beautiful, enigmatic, and pushing the boundaries of knowledge... and the boundaries of what could-be known. The Fennec began to tour his experiments, moving from university to university with truckloads of strange machines to demonstrate the findings of his inquiries. And this is how I met The Stranger. A colleague mentioned that Etheras would be touring in Shoreham; my alma mater, and that the secrets revealed at his demonstrations were mind-expanding and fantastic. I made certain to attend. I believed that if I could witness Lord Etheras’s experimentations, perhaps I could uncover his deception.
(Want to read more? Head over to SoFurry: https://www.sofurry.com/view/776460 'cuz Weasyl has a draconian character limit!)
Happy Halloween, my minions!
This is the surprise I had waiting for you... my finest work,(so far). It is a tribute to the Master of Horror... no, not Stephen King. Stephen King is very plain and boring comparatively. The Master of Horror is HP Lovecraft. He practically invented the genre. (He did invent the genre of Cosmic Horror, which is technically the genre of the story told above).
In fact, the story above is based on an HP Lovecraft short. Can anyone guess which? First to answer correctly gets a pat on the head from the prince of eeeevil. :)
Anyway, if you're not much of a reader, I made an audio presentation of it and its up on youtube!
Or if you want just the audio to "read" it like an audiobook, check out this link!
Pardon me for the poor editing. I'm not well-versed with video editing. I actually intended to make a much more elaborate video, that flipped through all of the evil-ish Etheras artwork, but ran out of time. Actually I commissioned a piece just for this story, but that also ran out of time.
Anyway, I will be doing a presentation once I have some feedback about "Writing Lovecraft". I studied his work extensively to mimic his style, as well as interviews of various Lovecraft experts.
Anyway, I hope you enjoy this! Please share among friends, ask questions down below or on youbertuber. And have a HAPPY (and safe!) HALLOWEEN. :)
Artwork by the amazing
Etheras the Fennec (c) www.etheras.com
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