The old man nodded, and Dorian flipped the page. He continued reading aloud while Aaron continued softly muttering words that protected Dorian from unseen forces that would engulf him and take him to his death. Dorian finished reading aloud and nearly collapsed from exhaustion. Aaron quickly moved beside him, shut the book, and put it back within its confines of the anvil case. Aaron then handed a glass of water to Dorian, who drank greedily and emptied it in seconds.
Through weariness Dorian said, “What have we done? What have I just read?”
“We have set things in motion, Dorian. What you just read was a brief history of the thing which you will prevent from coming, and its motivations for invading our world. But more so than that, you called for it and made it aware of you,” Aaron said and slowly sat beside Dorian and looked into his eyes. “You have remained coherent while reading, and that bodes well. Most after reading a portion of this book faint and don’t wake till a week later. This supports my belief that I have chosen the right person for this job. I will say I added a few measures of my own to protect you.” He smiled warmly. “Now relax and let the words work into your mind.”
Relaxing was difficult. As he thought about what he read, he found that the words seemed to disappear into thin smoke. He was forgetting the contents of the book, and he deduced that this was Aaron’s doings. After some time Dorian finally did relax, and as he sat, new thoughts and shapes entered his mind. He sat motionless for a time, focusing on them.
***
Two weeks into the painting Dorian felt as if he could not continue. His weariness taxed his abilities. The painting sat in front of him, daunting him. The background of the piece was a drab color that reminded Dorian of rotted olives.
A single design adorned the top left corner and looked burned into the paint and through to the Masonite board beneath. Its shapes and curves were alien in nature and seemed to form no familiar pattern. The bottom right corner held another such design, only this one was bright as the hottest star and it too seemed burned-in like the other. The center of the board held clouds which were black in color with slight tinges of orange and maroon.
At first glance, one would think them storm clouds, but at a closer glance one would feel uneasy at their form and texture. They formed a funnel of sorts in the way they were arranged and executed. Dorian now sat with his paint brush in his hand in a disjointed hypnotic state. He hated this feeling. He was not himself, and he felt as if alien fingers were inside him pushing his hand this way and that. What he hated the most was the way his vision seemed to ebb like a thick liquid from an overturned bottle.
At times the painting would be in total clarity, and then the ebb would come and the painting seemed to waver and roll as if a wave were coursing through its confines. He painted on, though, as if by command. The whole time Aaron was there – sometimes speaking quietly and at times screaming with a great commanding voice that made Dorian’s whole body tremble.
He knew the two of them were playing with forces he did not understand – nor did he want to. There was no quitting however, no matter how bad he wanted to. The urge to paint was maddening, and each morning, tired beyond imagining, he got up and walked straight to the board. The times he did sleep at night were wrought with livid dreams of unknown things chasing him.
His nerves were tight knots, and eating was a bothersome chore. He felt nauseous all the time now, and he had lost a considerable amount of weight over the past two weeks since this hellish nightmare started.
Aaron, on the other hand, remained steadfast through the whole ordeal. He kept Dorian’s spirits high and offered calming words to the painter when things seemed at their breaking point, and Dorian painted on.
The third week was worse than the first two. Dorian’s hair was a mess, his eyes bloodshot, and he shook uncontrollably at times now for no apparent reason. When he did speak, it was in disjointed phrases with no clear meaning. Another design was placed in the top right corner of the painting. It had taken him five days to get the proper look to its alien form. This was evident by all the scratch pieces of paper that littered the floor like bird droppings. These scrap drawings, which were strange and blasphemous, were quickly burned by Aaron in the fireplace.
On the last day of the third week, another tremor shook the house. This time it caused parts of the ceiling to loosen and tiny particles of drywall and paint fell as if on feathers to the ground. Dorian only laughed and continued painting. Aaron got worried when Dorian fell onto the floor in a fit of madness, screaming out to no one and aimlessly painting the floor with uncertain strokes. It was well into midnight before Aaron calmed Dorian down somewhat.
He knew Dorian was on the brink of insanity. He was worried for him, and he said many words to try and protect him from the forces that ate at his mind. The worse was yet to come, and Aaron felt the first pangs of doubt that Dorian would not be able to complete the painting.
It was close to sunrise when Aaron retrieved his cell phone and was about to call one of his friends in the society and tell them things were not going well, and that the backup plan would have to be put into motion. He was going over in his mind how he would tell his fellow comrade when Dorian eased in his shaking and mumbling and fell into sleep. Aaron stood watch over him until the madness finally ceased the following night.
When Dorian awoke the next morning, he seemed better and looked almost like his old self. Aaron knew that the last part of the painting would be the hardest but said nothing of this to Dorian. They both sat at the breakfast table with a clear morning beaming outside. They said little to each other and ate in silence.
After the meal was over, it was Aaron who finally spoke. “Dorian, you have done well, but I worry for you, my dear friend. Doubt has set into my mind, and it won’t go away. Can you finish the job?”
Dorian remained motionless and Aaron wondered if he had even heard him speaking. The blank stare Dorian gave Aaron haunted him for the rest of the day. His face was shallow now, gravely somber and full of fear. “I will finish it. There is no stopping it once started. I wage war with it and it with me. Who will be the victor…I do not know. I must paint now. Yes…I must go paint.”
Against his better judgment, Aaron let Dorian ease into the studio and continue painting. The pace at which Dorian painted during the last week amazed Aaron. It was a race to the finish, and Aaron knew the end was near. The past six days were long but better than the previous weeks. There were no queer fits and no meaningless ramblings from Dorian. He painted like his paint brush was on fire. The final day arrived and Aaron awoke with the house shaking.
He immediately got up and raced down stairs after not finding Dorian sleeping in his room. Dorian sat at his easel with a blank expression. His paintbrush hung in mid air, and his eyes were vacant. Numerous sketches littered the floor again, and Aaron hastily picked them up and was about to leave the room when he noticed the painting. The surface was moving as if it were breathing on its own.
He began uttering words, and the painting eased its movement. After a moment, a swollen lump rose from the surface of the painting and moved over its confines. Aaron thought the board would burst from the movement, but it held. The shape continued moving as if searching for a way out. Dorian snapped back to reality and began painting again.
A loud roar sounded in the room so loud that it made Dorian drop his paintbrush. He bent and picked it up, and when he straightened he looked back to the painting and saw numerous shapes moving within it. He screamed, but the shapes moved on, searching for an escape. Aaron was at his back in an instant. He also screamed, but his screams were full of words of protection and wardings for Dorian.
He then yelled at Dorian, “Paint, Dorian! You must continue!” The air was electric, dry in feel and taste. Dorian’s mouth hung agape as a tiny ball appeared in front of the painting. It swirled with a myriad of colors, then shone a bright blue hue. It hung there spinning and began to grow in size as tendrils of energy leaped off its center.
It
grew into the size of a grapefruit. Aaron had seen this only once before in his entire life, and he immediately ran over to Dorian and pushed him out of the way. The ball-shaped thing began to unfurl one portion at a time and began to grow again.
Fully opened, it was like looking down into an open umbrella except the webbing inside was sickish in nature and dripped a putrid slime onto the floor. The color of the webbing was a vomitous green. In the center of the opened thing was a tiny hole. It was moving as if breathing. Dorian began screaming, and from that hole appeared a form, small at first, but it began to grow in size as it worked its way out of its confines.
Aaron quickly drew invisible signs in the air and began chanting loudly. The form stopped at the chanting and hung there in midair. Another tremor rocked the house, this time sending Aaron to the floor. The spell was broken, and the form continued birthing its way into the world.
A loud crash sounded from down the hall as part of the second story fell into the first and made a mass of wood, carpet, and wires on the floor. The shape was now over ten feet in length and searched its new surroundings with obvious intelligence. Aaron stood and was about to begin his chant and gestures a second time when the form hit him squarely in the chest and sent him flying into the cabinet across the room. Aaron fell limply to the floor and did not move.
Seeing his friend lying motionless on the floor got Dorian moving. The long shape that was continually growing was covered in a gelatinous slime that dripped freely to the floor. The stench it emitted into the air was putrid and made Dorian want to vomit. Dorian grabbed his paint brush and moved to the painting. The elongated form was aware of Dorian now, and he dodged its first strike at him, managing to get two feet away from the painting.
Dorian attempted to dodge the tendrils and put the final strokes to his painting. Suddenly, the form wrapped itself around Dorian, and he fought with all he had against this hideous alien thing that had birthed its way into his reality.
Fighting madly against the form, Dorian was lifted off the ground. The painting’s surface now rose with the shape of a mouth that seemed born of nightmares. From the back of his mind a word appeared. It rushed from his brain, down into his lungs, and then out on his vocal cords into the morning air. Dorian didn’t know what he was saying, but the alien form clearly didn’t like it and flung Dorian headlong into the wall.
A scream erupted from the painting and shattered all the windows in the room. The ball and its horrific child vanished in an instant while Dorian and Aaron lay still on the floor covered with glass.
***
It was night when the low rumblings stirred Aaron back to consciousness. He tried to sit upright slowly, but a pain shot through his left side. He figured some ribs were cracked. Each breath brought new waves of pain. Ignoring it the best he could, he managed to get to his feet and eased his way over to Dorian who was still lying on the floor.
At first Aaron thought he was dead, but the shallow fall and rise of Dorian’s chest told him otherwise. Aaron gently prodded him, and a low grunt sounded from his lips. Aaron carefully propped Dorian into an upright position. Lights swam in Dorian’s eyes. His vision blurred and then doubled as Aaron came into focus kneeling before him. With great will Dorian spoke, “It’s not finished.”
The old man replied, “We must rest now, Dorian. Are you hurt? Anything broken?”
Dorian slowly moved and checked his body. “No, all intact.”
Aaron grunted as he drew in breath, “I think I am not whole, Dorian. My left side hurts, and my breathing is shallow and painful.”
Dorian asked curiously, “Was that part of it, that…thing that appeared?”
“It was, Dorian. It is not complete yet, can you continue?” Aaron said over labored breath.
With great hesitation Dorian replied, “I think so…we have to try.”
“Yes” was Aaron’s only reply.
Dorian got to his feet and wavered. His whole body ached and he thought miraculously that he had no broken bones after being flung like a rag doll against the wall by the thing. He searched for his paintbrush and found it in moments.
Dorian looked around the house. It was clearly shaking again. He looked back to the painting and saw the familiar heaving of its surface. The ordeal was starting over again, and Dorian’s mind echoed with the past fight with the form. He could not go through that again. I will completely lose my mind if that form appears from the painting. Reluctantly he sat back down on his stool.
Aaron was now standing behind him and had begun the chanting again. Dorian lifted the paintbrush to the board. A violent tremor ran through the house and knocked him to the floor. Aaron fell again on his bad side and screamed with pain. The thing was coming again.
In unison they both got to their feet, Dorian positioning himself on his stool and Aaron standing hunched over his shoulder with an arm gently laid over his left side. Dorian dipped the paintbrush into the wet paint while Aaron began the familiar sounding chants.
The house shook again, dust fell as before, and Dorian painted on. The hours crept by, Dorian painting, Aaron chanting, the house shaking. The painting was eerie, and the moving shape beneath its surface finally grew still after midnight.
The two of them were in the kitchen drinking and eating lightly. No words were spoken between them. The house was silent. The air was heavy, and the stench from the thing still hung in the air and made it hard to breathe. Dorian’s thoughts went to Lisa and their last date together. He longed for her embrace and wished more than anything to talk to her and hear her soothing, southern voice. All these thoughts vanished when a loud crash sounded from the studio.
As they both got up, Aaron had difficulty, and Dorian began to worry about his friend. A racking cough erupted from Aaron and into a blood-soaked napkin that he used to cover his mouth. Dorian was about to ask his friend his condition, but Aaron only hushed him with a firm look.
They nearly ran as they made their way to the studio. Dorian saw it first; a large crack had appeared on the back wall and had made the inset shelves lose their contents on the floor. Dorian sat at his drawing board and began quickly to sketch out a new design.
Over the next hour Aaron’s breathing became worse. Dorian looked at him repeatedly, expecting to find the old man slumped over on the floor dead. The clock struck three in the morning when the tremors started again. Dorian finished the design, hastily painting it on the board. The shape had returned, and Dorian painted on at an incredible pace.
Deep, heavy coughs erupted from where Aaron was sitting. Blood and spittle flew from his aged mouth. Pain was etched on his face, and he looked to Dorian with sorrowful eyes. His body shook and trembled as another cough flung him into convulsions. Dorian was about to get up and see about his friend when Aaron motioned for him to finish the painting. Moments later, a dull thud sounded behind Dorian.
He didn’t want to turn around as his fears made his mind race with images of seeing Aaron, the old man who had become his friend over the short course of three months. He turned slowly, and his fears were made real. Aaron was lying on his back in the middle of the floor. His mouth was wide open, and his eyes were staring at the ceiling. He was dead, Dorian knew it.
Tears began to fall as he looked at his old friend. He muttered something quietly, “For you old friend and for Lisa and the rest of the world.” Dorian turned with vision blurred by tears and started painting again. The house rocked, and Dorian thought it would cave in before he finished.
With new resolve, Dorian continued painting. He would get this done if it was the last thing he ever did. Strange deep and guttural sounds filled the room. Most were in anguish and pain but now they were many. Dorian’s ears bled from their volume and they made his teeth hurt, but he continued on.
A new trembling now shook the house. Dorian felt it in his feet at first and heard the birds take flight from the trees. He looked out onto the lake and, in the moonlight, he saw that its surface was frothing and steaming. Dorian turned back to the pa
inting and put the final stroke on the new symbol that tied all four of the designs together in an intricate pattern.
A geyser erupted from the lake, and the house shook violently once more. An earthquake shook the whole lake and the surrounding houses. Dorian let his paint brush fall as he watched the new design come alive with what seemed like blue fire. It started at the first design he drew and then slowly worked its way in the order that he painted the next.
When the alien fire reached the last design, the ground and house shook so hard Dorian thought the house would fall apart. He wanted to run and get outside, but he couldn’t move. His mind eased, and a gut-wrenching howl of pain and anger echoed across the lake. He stared at the painting. The blue fire was gone; it was a painting now, still and totally alien in nature.
A loud crack erupted from the top of the house. The sound of splitting wood echoed in Dorian’s ears. He would stay here with his old friend. The thought of a life now after these events seemed totally inconceivable. He couldn’t live with the nightmares that would soon come if he chose to survive.
He would pay the ultimate price for the sake of all, but especially for Lisa – his one and only true soul mate. The house shook a final time and Dorian looked up just as the whole structure began to fall in on top of him. The last sounds from Dorian’s lips were of joy and triumph, “It is done, Aaron! IT IS DONE!” and the house fell down on top of him.
***
Lisa was outside in the morning air, leaning against her car as she looked at Dorian’s collapsed house with heavy tears falling freely from her eyes. They were the tears of true loss, originating deep from within her heart.
Inside the pile of rubble, Dorian and Aaron lay lifelessly. They had saved humanity from a force beyond comprehension, but Lisa had no knowledge of those affairs. She thought, as the sun peaked over the tall pine trees of the lake, that the earthquake that rocked the area in the early hours must have leveled the house and claimed their lives. Grief stricken, she continued to cry and would continue to shed the tears of loss and heartache for many months.
Lovecraft eZine Megapack - 2011 Page 39
