That Ain't Right: Historical Accounts of the Miskatonic Valley (Mad Scientist Journal Presents Book 1)

by Emily C. Skaftun

  "Now, Ragnol. Is that any way to speak to a guest?"

  "Not my court! Not my home! Taken was I, over the sea!" He craned his neck to look at me, as I'd pressed his face to the floor.

  "Yes, yes, I heard all that. But you're the court jester, and I'm a guest of the court. Oh, and in case you were wondering, I'm in a bad mood. Just today I've run from a vrak-larunn, slipped on human blood, got smeared with gore, and threatened with being added to a stew. And I haven't even had lunch yet."

  "Please don't break your arm!" he cried.

  "What?"

  "I said please don't break my arm!"

  He had, actually. Twice. Only he’d switched to Old High German, and I’d needed two tries to understand his pronouns. I could read the language, but I'd never heard it spoken aloud. Nor could I respond in kind. Just keep speaking English and hope for the best.

  "Take me to your book. The one you wrote."

  "Don't ask me that, good woman. It's all I have of home."

  "Think how happy you'll be when someone actually reads the damned thing. Hell, I'll write my dissertation on it."

  Ragnol glowered at me but held his tongue.

  Meanwhile, the laughter swelled outside the room. Adults were joining in, merging with the children's voices. I hadn't seen any children when we'd ridden through town, I realized. What had the soldier said? The piper had returned them. As in Hamelin? I wondered what he'd done to them in the meantime.

  I put a bit more torque on Ragnol's arm. "Time's up. Will you take me to your book, or do I break your elbow?"

  "Please!" the fool cried. "Set Ragnol free. He'll be loyal to thee!" Back to the singsong, but at least he did it in English.

  I smiled wryly. "Truly, your loyalty is worth so much, the duke had you in chains."

  "I swear it, my sweet, by the boat and sea that bore me to thee. To the book, to the book! You'll see, you'll see!"

  "Swear by something you care about." But what? Ah yes ... "Swear by your Laughing Beast."

  Ragnol screwed up his face. "No! Not fair! You can't! I wanted stew!"

  I twisted his fingers.

  "I swear by the Beast, the Laughing Beast, I shall be true, as the old sea shone blue."

  Probably the best I'd get. Oh, the things I do for my dissertation ...

  I let him go. He rose to his knees, crawled to me, and kissed my sneakers.

  "Stop that!" I pulled out the keys I'd gotten from the castellan. "If you get my shoes wet, I'll hack off your balls." Despite the fact that I clearly had no knife on my person, he scooted back and sat rocking till I found the right key.

  His grin was so wide when the chain fell away I regretted my decision, but he didn't attack, just stood and motioned me forward. "This way, this way. Old Ragnol will lead you away, away."

  While that didn't exactly fill me with confidence, I followed him. I could tell this would be like the stairwell. I'd fall apart later. I hoped. If there were a later.

  #

  Ragnol's book lay closed on a reading stand in the duke's study. This one had been bound in a skin of oily black scales. I opened it to the first page. Relief flooded me as I recognized the hand: Ragnol's handwriting was a dead ringer for Ragnarrl's. Even better, the frontispiece showed nothing worse than a Passenger Pigeon. Yes, this was a book I could use.

  I quickly closed it, put down Ragnarrl's book, and picked up Ragnol's. "Come on. Let's go home."

  "Really? You'd take old Ragnol home, cross the wide, wide sea?"

  "We'll see about that. I'll take you to our world, though. But let me warn you, you'll find things have changed."

  He didn't seem worried by that. In fact, he clapped, jumped up and down, and did a cartwheel or two while I crossed the room. "Well," I called from the doorway. "Are you coming?"

  One more cartwheel, and he stood beside me. "I'm yours to command. How do we return?"

  "On the edge of the valley there's a door in the hill. We go through it to a tunnel ..." His face fell so thoroughly I couldn't continue. "What?"

  He took my sleeve and led me back to the empty great hall. From there we crossed to the bronze doors, then past the atrium to the front doors.

  At first they seemed like the sea, so thoroughly did they cover the courtyard. A sea of flesh. Thousands of children filled the grounds and the streets beyond, having their fun with the adults. Some they pulled apart. Others they impaled with sharpened straws, through which they drank their blood. Still others they simply trampled to death. All the while, everyone laughed, assailants and victims alike. We'd never cross that throng. We wouldn't even get ten feet.

  I backed toward the bronze doors, fearing they'd already seen us. When we reached the great hall, Ragnol plopped onto the floor and silently moped. I plopped down next to him.

  How long we sat that way, I couldn't say. I didn't check my watch. The laughter continued unabated, but slowly I grew aware of another sound: the tread of some giant beast as it approached the town, then entered it, no doubt crushing people with every step.

  Someone appeared in silhouette by the outside doors and ran towards us. We scrambled to our feet, but it was Avigraal, weapons and armor once more covered in gore. She grinned. "Arrukam is doomed. You must flee before you see it." A chuckle escaped her lips. Then she tittered.

  "The duke?"

  "He tried to fight them, to stem the tide, but they were so many. We had to retreat." She turned. "He was right behind me. Ah, there ..."

  Sand the color of blood poured through the atrium and into the great hall. It rose in two columns, which met and branched, forming the rough outline of a man. Though silent, his face bore a mask of mad laughter. He shambled past us, returning to his throne.

  Avigraal snickered as she turned back to me. "It's too late for us, I fear." She pointed to Ragnol. "And him. You can only look upon the Laughing Beast for so long. Even its image--"

  "Causes madness," I said. That's why Misk U never reproduced the illustration.

  Avigraal covered her mouth, but she couldn't hold back the hearty laugh that rose from her throat. Clearly unable to speak, she nodded. Tears streamed down her face.

  She's right. I must go. But where? I couldn't think of a damned thing. So I put down the book, reached over, and gently removed her helm, letting it clatter to the floor. I stroked her hair and, as her laughter turned to sobs, embraced her, my long-lost twin.

  Ragnol started tugging on my sleeve.

  "What?" I snarled.

  "Home! Home! You have to go home! It's here."

  And he was right. With a huge crash, the Laughing Beast arrived, crushing an outbuilding. I glimpsed a giant avian foot. The hall darkened. Looking up, I caught the beast's silhouette in the stained glass.

  "Here!" Ragnol still pulled on me. I let go of Avigraal, and he handed me the book. I took it without thinking. "It's here!"

  "Yes, damn it! I know the Beast is here!"

  "Not the Beast--home!"

  "But it's ..." And then I knew. I grinned at him, careful to contain the laugh it threatened to become. "Thank you, Ragnol. Thank you." I ran back toward the study. Behind me, Ragnol and Avigraal fell to the floor in helpless spasms of mirth.

  #

  I used a side door to cross into the next building, then the next, taking the route I used around the quadrangles in winter, when I wanted to stay indoors. The castle wasn't identical, but it was close enough. I reached the main quad, where I'd have to go outside, but here the crowd barely existed. Across the square I saw something like the old library at Misk U, and I ran for it. It didn't take long for a group of giggling children to pursue me, but I had longer legs and a good lead. Besides, I was running for my life. I crashed open the door, then ran towards the back of the main room. The trouble was, I had no idea how this building was laid out. It too was a library, but where had they hidden the stairs to Special Collections?

  Behind me came the laughter of children. Many children.

  I threw open a door in the far wall and found myself in a hallwa
y that went left and right. I turned left. I've often wondered what would have happened if I'd gone right, but I try not to dwell on it.

  The branch I took led to a stairwell. I raced down it, taking two at a time, till I came to a lead-lined door. Frantically, I searched through my keys till I found one that looked about right. I tried the lock, and it turned. Laughing kids appeared at the top of the stair, but by then I'd forced the door open wide enough to squeeze through. I slammed it immediately. They reached it and pushed from the other side, but I managed to hold them back till I could lock it. That left me alone in total darkness.

  I waited futilely for my eyes to adjust, then gave up and felt my way down the stairs. These turned to the left, but I followed them anyway into a narrow room full of crates. I passed through without banging into too many of them and found the door at the far side.

  When I came out on the hillside, the sun had just begun to set. I saw the river, the trees, and the familiar buildings of modern Arkham. I'd never been so happy to see the Miskatonic Valley. Clutching the book, I carefully made my way back to town.

  I stopped at home for food and a shower. My laptop told me it was still the same day, though after five. I decided to go to the library anyway and try to get my purse and coat back.

  Elmsley met me at circulation.

  "You're late, Abigail. And coming from the wrong direction."

  I chuckled. "Got lost in my book, and speaking of which ..." I dropped Ragnol's book onto the table, watching Elmsley's face. His eyebrows rose slightly, but he gave no other sign of surprise. His analogue had come down from the main library, I recalled, not from the door below that had admitted my own.

  "I see I've underestimated your research abilities."

  Elmsley made as if to grab the book, but I snatched it back. "I'm going to read this at home."

  "It belongs to the library."

  I held it up so he could see the spine. "Do you see a catalogue number?"

  He pursed his lips but didn't contradict me.

  "My dear Mr. Elmsley, here's what's going to happen. You'll return my purse and my coat. I'll take them and this book back to my apartment, where I shall translate the text into English and copy the illustrations. Then it's yours. I love the university and see no reason why I shouldn't donate this book. But I'll be damned if I'll read it downstairs."

  He considered me for a moment. "You're a scion of one of Arkham's founding families, are you not, Abigail? A Phillips ..."

  "Yes."

  He nodded, as if that explained everything. "Very well. Let me go get your things."

  * * *

  A Massachusetts native, Dr. Abigail Z. Phillips completed her undergraduate degree in history at Harvard, followed by a doctorate at Miskatonic University. Her dissertation--Towards an Architectonics of Early European Exploration: The New World Travels of Ragnol the Bold -- assured her a return to Harvard as a professor of European history, followed by early tenure. She is the author of the popular history book Before Columbus: Ragnol and Leif's America. She remains an in-demand speaker at academic events, including this year's graduation ceremony at Miskatonic. Able to present even the driest of historical facts with flair and humor, Dr. Phillips has enlivened many a university event. Her colleagues have remarked on how she can find the humorous side of anything, able to laugh at even the oddest of times.

  * * *

  Cliff Winnig's short fiction appears in many anthologies, including When the Hero Comes Home: 2, Gears and Levers 3, The Aether Age: Helios, Footprints, and Retro Spec. The twitterzines Outshine and Thaumatrope have published his very short fiction. Cliff is a graduate of the Clarion Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers' Workshop and a three-time finalist in the Writers of the Future Contest. When not writing, he plays sitar, studies martial arts, and does social dance. He lives in the San Francisco Bay Area with his wife Debby and their children, who always seem to be laughing. In 1990, he drove with three friends to Providence, Rhode Island, to attend the H. P. Lovecraft Centennial Conference at Brown University, where he saw many cool things in glass cases. He can be found online at http://cliffwinnig.com.

  * * *

  Passenger

  An account by Rebecca Browning, as provided by Evan Purcell

  * * *

  My husband and I drove in silence. I think he was still shaken from the sanitarium. I tried to talk to him, to get his mind off that horrible place with its gray walls and bandage smell ... But he wouldn't say anything. His jaw was clenched and his knuckles were white against the steering wheel.

  Drew was always like that after a visit with his father.

  "Honey," I said, because I always call him honey whenever he's on edge. "Honey, please. You know, we've never stayed in Massachusetts long enough for me to see ... well, anything, really."

  He unclenched his jaw long enough to say, "We've seen enough."

  "I mean," I said, "it would be wonderful to visit the town where you grew up. You never talk about it, and I just ..."

  He looked at me then, and his gray eyes were ringed with red. I'd say he looked unhinged, but after seeing what his father had turned into, I knew that was an exaggeration. I couldn't read his expression, except to say that it was cold and perhaps a little panicked, too.

  Stop me if I'm giving away too many details, of course. I want this matter resolved as quickly as possible, and I certainly don't want to blather on about ... I would like this all to be over.

  I'm sorry.

  So we were about twenty minutes outside of Arkham, which as you know meant that we were deep into the woods. And with just the one road ... Well, I could understand why Drew was on edge.

  The trees, oh God, all around us, they were just so ... Well, you know. You're from around here. You know what it's like, at night. Everything is twisted. Nothing seems alive.

  "Honey," I said again, because he kept looking at me. And the roads had so many turns. I was afraid he would ...

  "Do you think he'll ever get better?" Drew asked. He was talking about his father, of course. I'm sure you have those medical reports. Or at the very least, you can get them. I don't want to waste your time with my father-in-law's diagnosis, except to say that he'd been put away for most of his adult life. I'd never seen him outside of these yearly visits. And every time, he seemed worse.

  Please stop me if I ramble. I want to help as much as I can. It's difficult, you know.

  I didn't want to lie to Drew and tell him everything would be okay. He would be able to tell that I was patronizing him, and that, well, that might get him in one of his moods. He was already half way there.

  So I just mumbled, "I don't know," and waited for him to calm down.

  The trees, they were darker now. Bigger. They seemed to reach toward us from all directions. The road seemed to be shrinking. I stopped breathing without realizing, and only started again when Drew scared the breath back into me.

  He shouted, "Christ!" and I jumped.

  "What's wrong?"

  But he didn't answer. At least not with words. Instead, he just pointed toward the edge of the road. He pointed toward the shadows, toward nothing, as if that answered my questions.

  "Honey, I don't ..."

  He said, "What's he doing out in the middle of the woods like that? Doesn't he know it's not safe?"

  "Who, dear?"

  He pointed again, toward that same spot at the edge of nothing.

  "Drew, do you want me to drive?"

  The car was beginning to slow.

  For a dark moment, I worried that we were suddenly out of gas. But the fuel gauge said that we were just over a half tank, so that wasn't the problem.

  Drew had just decided to pull over. He pulled over exactly where he had pointed. There was nothing here, except for those twisted trees and the darkness beyond.

  "Don't get upset," Drew told me.

  I was already upset. My breathing was ragged. I almost asked him if he wanted me to drive again, but somehow I knew that would set him off. The rings around
his eyes were a darker red now. I knew he'd be ... affected after seeing his father, but he'd never acted like this before. The night air was cold, but his forehead glistened with sweat. Small beads of it pebbled along his hairline.

  "Now, I know you don't believe in picking up hitchhikers ..." Drew said.

  Hitchhikers? I looked around the car. There was no one nearby. Not in any direction. Even the darkness seemed unusually still, like there was no life in the woods. It was a windy night, but nothing moved.

  "Honey," I said.

  "Don't worry," Drew said. "He seems trustworthy."

  "Who?"

  Drew glanced toward the seat behind mine, as if there were somebody standing directly outside the window. He nodded in that direction. "Well?" he said.

  "What?" I asked.

  "You know the door handle doesn't work from the outside. Let him in. You can reach." He stared at me. He waited. He wanted me to open the door behind me, even though there was nobody there.

  "I'm sorry, Drew, but I don't ..."

  "It's okay!" he said. He was trying too hard to sound soothing. He smiled at me, but his eyes didn't crinkle.

  "I don't ..."

  "Open the damned door!" he screamed. He slammed both his palms against the steering wheel.

  Now, I know how this sounds, but Drew never treated me that way before. He never yelled at me, not even during his angry spells. Whatever he was feeling, he would always direct it toward something inanimate, like a wall or a plate. But tonight, the way he looked at me and screamed ... I don't know. And he was just covered with sweat.