The Shadow Beyond

by Daniel Reiner

  The parchment. Those words jarred me out of my melancholy reverie.

  “Professor, I can’t.”

  “…and finish your work as we planned. After you graduate, if you still see fit…”

  “I can’t.”

  “…you may continue this line of research, with a more complete knowledge of the ramifications, and I may even…”

  “I can’t!”

  I looked at the man I had for so many years considered as more than a mentor. I had treated him like a father, and he, in turn, had looked after me like a son. Truth be told, he had done more than most fathers would have. His act of introducing me to Elizabeth had been a defining moment in my life. Elizabeth! Could I ever have a normal life without her? I tried to compare my old life, my old values, against my new purpose. True, I had stolen the parchment, and had been complicit in destroying it, but oh! What we had learned!

  “I cannot return the parchment to you,” I said, trying to keep my voice level. “Because it has been burned.”

  I waited for his response—something, anything—but none came.

  “We sacrificed it to summon the spirit of its dead author.”

  “Robert,” he said, his voice melancholy. “My boy, why on Earth would you—”

  “We know! Professor, we discovered the source star. Magic has done what pure mathematics could not. Regulus! I checked it against the equations! The star corresponds to an entity known as Sothoth Pnath, a thing that incinerates its victims and destroys their soul.”

  “And you think somehow,” he began slowly, “that perhaps this entity—”

  “Not perhaps!” I said, stepping closer to him. “There is no doubt. This Sothoth Pnath obliterated the soul of Elizabeth, and I mean to have my revenge upon it!”

  The professor stood before me, stoic and silent. In the years that we had known each other, I had never spoken to him before with such passion about anything. It was something our mutual study of mathematics had never brought out in me.

  “I fear for you, Robert,” he finally said, his voice trembling.

  After staring at me for a few seconds, he turned to leave. He stopped at the door, his hand gripping the knob. But he did not open it. He did not leave.

  “Mr. Bertram Hunt,” he said, his back still to me, “the previous owner of this shop. He was a very odd man. Odd habits, odd mannerisms. One time, I accompanied Doctor Gardiner on a visit here. It was my first time in the store, despite having been at the university for a number of years by that point. Quentin gave no explanation as for why I should go along, except to say that he wanted me to observe Mr. Hunt. He was very emphatic on the point. ‘No matter what happens, keep your eyes on Bertram Hunt,’ he told me.”

  Up to that point I had been trying my best to not listen. I had no desire for what I assumed would be a lecture in morality. But with those words, the professor gained my attention.

  “When Mr. Hunt looked at me for the first time,” continued Professor Josephson, “he squinted and nodded before greeting me. Gardiner had only been in the shop twice before, but he received a vigorous handshake and a large smile from the man. Those two talked near the front of the store, while I moved away and did as I had been instructed. Aside from our relatively strange meeting, I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary about him. But then something happened. A shout from outside called our attention to two men who converged directly in front of the shop from opposite directions. There was a short argument about money. One man apparently did not like the answer he received, because he pulled out a small handgun and shot the other point blank through the heart.”

  The professor released the knob and turned to face me.

  “As might be expected, the victim collapsed to the ground, chest already bloody, and the other man ran off. What was unexpected was Bertram Hunt’s reaction, or rather, the lack of it. He did not act as if he had just witnessed a cold-blooded killing—that is, until he realized that both Doctor Gardiner and I were watching him. Only then did he display any shock or fear, and to me it seemed artificial. The gunshot rapidly attracted a crowd, and the police arrived. At that point the ‘dead’ man got up from the ground.”

  Professor Josephson looked at me, as if guessing what might be going through my mind.

  “No, this was not another man rising from the dead,” he said. “It was faked. This was all Higgins’ idea, of course. He was the shooter, but he used a blank cartridge. An expertly rigged bag of blood and some convincing acting made it all look very real—to me, at least. I learned afterward that Gardiner and Higgins had suspected that Hunt had some insight into the future, or at the very least some experience in…this area. Magic. That bit of trickery was their last attempt to get him to expose himself and learn the truth. Quentin was satisfied by the outcome of the experiment, convinced that the man knew more than he was letting on. But they were never successful in getting any kind of an admission from him.”

  He paused.

  “I was, however.”

  He looked at the floor and nodded to himself.

  “Months later, I came back to this store to buy a present. For my wife Anne, actually. I had hoped that Mr. Hunt would not remember me, but he did. We both pretended that that embarrassing incident had not occurred, and it worked for a while. But I was the only customer in the store. There eventually came a time when the question just popped out of my mouth. ‘What is it that you see?’ I asked. It was such an ambiguous question that he could have feigned ignorance and laughed it off, but instead he smiled grimly, and began to talk about the days of his youth, when he was about your age, Robert. He admitted to being driven by foolish curiosity. He wanted to learn secrets, and he did. Somehow, he learned how to venture out beyond our three-dimensional realm. He used the term Outside, and described it as being more real than all this.”

  He swept his arm around at the room.

  “Bertram Hunt maintained that our universe was but a ghostly shadow compared to that place, and yet the two of them somehow fit together, relied upon each other. While there, he had seen horrid things that had chilled him to his marrow. There were bizarre creatures that feasted on dreams. He described them as shapeless and having shape, both angular and curved at the same time, and insisted that they were around us continually, invisible and immaterial in that extra-dimensional space.”

  The professor stopped and looked at me. As much as I knew that he was telling this in hopes it would horrify me, deter me from my path, I couldn’t help but find it fascinating. Extra-dimensional creatures? Subsisting on dreams? I waited eagerly for more information, not unlike a starving man begging for bread.

  “Almost every other person on the face of the Earth would dismiss what I have just said as utter nonsense,” he said. “But you believe me, don’t you, Robert?”

  I nodded.

  “Yes, Bertram Hunt discovered secret knowledge,” he said. The tone of his voice changed, becoming at once both sad and angry. “Much like you’re attempting. Yes, he visited that other dimension. And yes, he returned safely. But he was there too long, and it exacted a price from him. What he witnessed nearly drove him mad. He experienced things no man was ever meant to. Only after his return did he appreciate that fact, when he discovered he had been changed—cursed. From that moment on, when looking at someone, he would know how that person would die.”

  I disguised my shock by feigning a cough and clearing my throat. But my insides had frozen.

  “At the time,” said the professor, “I didn’t know how to react. Doctor Gardiner had begun to open my mind to such possibilities, but it was all too much for me to digest at once. Still, I did not disbelieve him either. Confusing me further was the fact that he had been hiding that information from Gardiner and Higgins. I asked Hunt why he had confided in me. He thought for the longest time. In the end, all he said was that he saw that he could trust me to keep it a secret. Over the subsequent years, we crossed paths from time to time. He would always look at me knowingly, never explaining why. And I must
say that, if he actually saw my death, I think I prefer it that way. But he’s gone now, as is my Anne and your Elizabeth. And Quentin.”

  The professor dropped his eyes, then looked up at me again.

  “I do not have cause to pray much anymore,” he said. “But I shall pray for you.”

  With that, he turned and left, shutting the door behind him. From beyond the wall, I heard a mumble, presumably a word of farewell to Andrew, then the muted jingle of the bell above the outer door once, then twice. Then there was silence.

  The professor’s visit was more than just a slap; it felt as if I had been pummeled mercilessly. While proof of Bertram Hunt discovering the means to go Outside was equal parts frightening and captivating, this was not the information that caused my throat to tighten. Mr. Hunt had told me that he knew he would soon die. The way he had looked at me that day at the boarding house, what he said…it sounded as if he knew my death as well, and some aspect of it had caused him to despise me. How bad could it be to provoke such a reaction?

  I was still sullen when Andrew knocked at the door and entered. He said that he was surprised when the professor introduced himself and inquired after me, and that he innocently directed him to the backroom. When I asked Andrew how much he had overheard, he admitted that although he had heard little clearly, some of the more animated segments had come through. I was embarrassed by it all. Thinking back, I realized that I had never revealed to him that I had stolen the parchment directly from the professor. Not wishing to bring that up, I repeated what little I had learned about the Outside realm, stressing how dangerous it sounded. He was especially captivated by the description of the dream-eating creatures. Too captivated.

  “I want to go there,” he declared.

  “Did you hear nothing I said? And I do remember you saying that your grandfather had warned you not to try. He was permanently changed by the experience.”

  “Yes, and that goes a long way toward explaining his aloofness. Seeing death constantly would affect anyone. But that change was a result of him staying there too long.”

  “But how long is too long? An hour? A minute?”

  “We can’t know that, but we have one advantage he didn’t. We are forewarned of the side effects.”

  The tone of his voice indicated that his mind had been made up. That part of Andrew that could not back down from a challenge had returned. It was then that I considered telling him the full story of the interaction with his grandfather shortly before his death, as well as my suspicions. I really wanted to, but something held my tongue: selfishness. I wanted to continue down this path of magical exploration, and I needed his help. Burdening him with my theories could threaten our relationship in two ways. First, he could see me as afraid, possibly weak, while I needed to project a strong and dependable image. Alternately, and worse, he might see the truth, come to his senses and refuse to continue.

  Even then, I recognized the danger for both of us. In retrospect, I should never have ignored that moment of clarity. But pride intervened. I convinced myself that we could continue the work, and that I could keep us both safe from harm by constraining Andrew from rash, impulsive behavior. The most important detail in my favor was that neither of us knew the method for traveling Outside. Mr. Hunt had learned, of course, but I had the feeling it would be a point of pride for Andrew to discover the answer for himself. He would likely not call upon his grandfather’s spirit for the information. Not right away, anyway.

  After Andrew returned to mind the store, I spent the remainder of the day in a war with myself. The drive to learn all that I could, and as quickly as I could, conflicted with the need to be as safe as possible. That thought of safety also called to mind the encounter with the young Elizabeth Manning. Despite the fact that that event had implied our actions were being monitored somehow, we had noticed no other warning signs. And, adding to the complexity, another issue completely at odds with the study of magic was the very real requirement for me to be able to support myself. By severing my connection with the professor, and consequently the university, I was depriving myself of income in the short-term, and a future in the long-term. I needed a job, and so needed the professor. But each time I focused on the mundane requirements of reality, the very real fact of Elizabeth’s death—and a growing obsession with revenge—was right there as well.

  My thoughts looping endlessly with no answer in sight, I accomplished nothing the rest of the day.

  Despite Professor Josephson’s stressful visit, a full night’s sleep and the light of a new day brought a fresh perspective. There was no reason why I had to choose between my magical studies and the admittedly less stimulating topic of mathematics. It would be difficult to commit time to both, but in theory, I should be able to. Andrew would understand my need to address both aspects of my life. The professor would clearly have a harder time accepting the dual path, so I simply would not tell him. All that was necessary was for him to think I was back on track. Though he may suspect otherwise, I only needed to ensure that I provided him no proof. And I would have to ask for his forgiveness—but not yet. I wasn’t close enough yet. I decided on one week—one week before I would begin to split my energies and recommit myself to mathematics. In that time, I intended to learn as much magic as I possibly could.

  I was midway through the fifth of Mr. Hunt’s notebooks when the subject matter changed abruptly. They had previously been filled with spells and notations from various sources, with the entries grouped logically together. All of a sudden, however, I found passages copied seemingly haphazardly from different ancient tomes, mainly the Necronomicon and Unaussprechlichen Kulten. Never were these passages the texts of spells; rather, they revealed—in bits and pieces—the cryptic, forbidden knowledge of the Ancients. It was as if, at the time of the writing, he had begun to research at random, perhaps only satisfying his curiosity on certain topics and recording his most interesting findings in the notebooks. And while all of the information was interesting to some degree, I found one fragment to be particularly memorable.

  It is said:

  The Lord Azathoth fears the nothingness that came before and will come once again.

  Yog Sothoth, the Gate, fears those few shards of the Crystal which survived the Struggle, aeons ago.

  The messenger Nyarlathotep and the shadow Sothoth Pnath both embrace the darkness and fear the light.

  That one which dwells below, Tsathoggua, fears the cleansing flame.

  The Great Cthulhu does not fear.

  According to the notation above it, this fragment was reputed to have originally come from the Pnakotic Manuscripts, a fact that Mr. Hunt apparently found difficult to believe. Although doubting its source, he indicated that he trusted the content as being consistent with other research he had done. Despite the fact that I had once again come across an incomplete list, I was fascinated by the concept that beings such as these could possibly fear anything.

  With this transition of the notebook’s contents from detailed magical data to miscellaneous odds and ends, I knew that my time of self-instruction would soon end—and my time of personal tutoring by Andrew would begin. The thought was more than a bit exciting. I fantasized about which spells I would next attempt, and tried to set deadlines for my own personal goals. The requirement of finishing my thesis, though—that wet blanket kept me grounded.

  Two days later, another letter arrived for Andrew from his contact in Boston, Mr. Fenster. This one detailed only one spell. At first glance, it appeared to be similar to the ceremony used to summon and control the salamander. But as we sat together at the table in the backroom, our heads nearly touching as we bent over the paper, the gravity of what we read slowly became more apparent. By the time I had finished the whole thing, my stomach had knotted.

  It was indeed another summoning spell, but the potential for danger was far greater. It purportedly allowed the magician to call and control a creature from the Outside known as a Servitor of Q’yoth. The ceremony consisted of only a few simpl
e steps, but in each case, safety was sacrificed. To begin, the magician would essentially hypnotize himself, so at the proper time, his unconscious self would speak aloud a magical phrase. Then—and at first this seemed absurd to me—he would cast a spell to force himself to fall asleep. After a few minutes of deep sleep, the first spell would take hold, forcing the dreamer to speak the words while still sleeping. The dream conjured forth by those words would act as the incapacitated rat, to be consumed as a sacrifice—and by what, we presumably already knew. After the magician awoke, the Servitor could be commanded in R’lyehian, a blasphemous language from beyond the stars. When the thing had finished performing its duties, the magician need only utter a single word in order to dismiss it.

  Now, there was nothing in the letter which explicitly stated, ‘This is how to go Outside,’ but considering what we had recently learned about that realm, it now all made sense. It made even more sense when we looked at the final page of the letter. There was a list of simple commands written in English. The first two commands listed were ‘Pick me up’ and ‘Put me down.’ Below the list was an additional note:

  You will not see the Servitor, but you shall know its presence as a dull thrumming, a slow vibration. It is not a sound that one hears with the ears, but rather feels. It is unmistakable. If you proceed with this spell, you shall readily know what I mean.

  In all, I found the explanatory notes in the letter to be quite informative, but they did nothing to reassure me that the safety of the spellcaster would not be at risk.

  “You intend to try this,” I said. It seemed to be pointless to phrase it as a question.

  “I do,” replied Andrew.

  “You do see how dangerous this is, though? Through hypnosis and sleep, you render yourself helpless. The creature cannot be seen. The commands are strings of nearly unpronounceable consonants, clearly not intended for a human throat. The potential for error is immense. And your grandfather warned you—”