77
I
remember saying how fortunate it was that Miskatonic was in flu season. It
meant that I could monopolize these Peter’s, Benjamin’s, and Sarah’s time
while they could tell their professors that they were home sick.
But
while a few students out sick is flu season, half the student body of the
entire university sick is something else. And then Peter and Benjamin had to
go and suddenly become deathly ill.
Well
something was up here. It was time for an investigation!
Just
as I was preparing to leave for the hospital to see if I could find anything
there, when I ran into Sarah. Literally ran into her. I had to catch all the
books that went flying into the air after our collision.
She
didn’t seem to mind. “I330Ifoundsomething!” Her words charged out without a
single pause.
“Great.
Can you talk while walking?” She nodded, so I grabbed the Necronomicon and I
resumed traveling to the hospital.
“This
whole time I’ve been wondering why there’s so many discrepancies between the
Necronomicon and everything else we’ve looked into, I mean it’s supposed to be
one of the great occult tomes but nothing in it matches up with anything else,
so I started researching the history of the Necronomicon itself, and I found
this picture of the original copy of the Necronomicon when it was first brought
to our library.”
She
opened one book to a page with a large picture on it. I glanced at it, and,
“That isn’t the same Necronomicon.” It really wasn’t. The book in the picture
was a regular, if old, book. Nothing like the imposing tome which had a cover
that seemed made of darkness.
“And
it gets even weirder! According to what I’ve read, the British Museum, the
National Library of France, Harvard, and the University of Buenos Aires all
supposedly once had copies of the Necronomicon, but when I got into contact
with them I was told that they had never had any book by that name.”
“Yeah
that’s definitely weird. But everything about this book is weird; we need
something to get through the weirdness.”
“I
know I know, which is why I kept digging for stuff on the book, and I found
this.” She fumbled through her stack of books until she pulled out a small
journal. “This is the journal of Henry Armitage, head librarian for Orne during
the 1920s and 30s. He’s the only librarian who mentioned the Necronomicon in
his personal writings. It’s… also weird, and there’s a lot of context in here
that we’re missing, but it’s more than we’ve found elsewhere. Here.” She opened
the journal to an entry and handed it over to me.
The
writing on the page was shaky, but still readable. Several coffee stains across
it, more than a single cup would make.
“For
many years I have recorded all manner of strange and occult within these pages,
but never before have I found myself amidst such impossible occurrences. The
suspicions which I have had for the past several days have proven themselves
right: history itself is changing. Before my very naked eyes, I have born
witness to the pages of books altering themselves as I read them, or pictures
changing into new images in merely the time it takes for me to blink. And yet
when I raise the issue of these alterations to my colleagues, I appear to be
alone in my observance. None but I remember the original state of the world;
for all others, this new history is the only which they claim to have known. It
is as if I have fallen into a different world, appearing similar, and yet
completely different.
It
is only through the whisperings of the dark Pharaoh that I have retained my
sanity. When I first heard his blasphemous voice echoing through my dreams, I
was gripped by maddening terror. Yet strange as it sounds, the monstrous
Pharaoh has become my last bastion of sanity in this new world. For he
approached me not with torment, but with an offer.
Is
a partnership of mutual benefit even possible with such a being? I have heard
much of the Crawling Chaos’s manipulations, but I cannot help but feel that he
is being forthright in his dealings this time. For if what he has whispered has
even the scantest resemblance to truth, then I would gladly make any Faustian
deal necessary to try and delay what is to come. The Pharaoh has shown me the
new gods which have come to claim our world, and learning of them has filled me
with terror beyond all imagining. I once confronted the spawn of Yog Sothoth
himself, and yet the fear I felt then is nothing compared to the dread these
new gods bring me. In the history I remember, we had a chance to at the very
least delay our extinction, and when all else failed, we could find escape in
the peace of death. In this new history, there is no escape. We cannot delay
these gods. We cannot thwart their plans. Even oblivion can no longer protect
us, for now death is only the beginning to an eternity of torture.
Already
one of these gods has turned its attention to me. I can hear it hunting me
whenever I close my eyes and dreams, the flap of its wings echoing through the
corners of my mind every night. Only the protection of the Pharaoh has kept the
thing at bay, and his influence is fast waning. We must act with haste if we
are to save at least a small fragment of our world.
For
that is precisely what we intend to do: create an island of the old world
amidst this storm of change. The Pharaoh will merge a part of himself with the
Necronomicon, and act as the key for the barrier which will keep Miskatonic
University protected from this new world. While we cannot undo the changes
already wrought, at least we may halt the spread of its influence.
It
is clear that the Pharaoh is only doing this for the sake of self preservation.
He has become prey for these godlike hunters, and even with all his power he
cannot elude them long. A small fragment of himself trapped within a book is
not much, but it may be the only way left to him to preserve himself. And here
our interests align, for to keep this fragment safe, he must also keep the
university around him safe.
The
Pharaoh has whispered to me knowledge of the ritual needed to fuse him with the
book. We shall perform it tonight, hopefully in time to prevent any further
damage from occurring. This will likely be my last entry here, for once the
ritual is performed, I will no longer be under the Pharaoh’s personal
protection, and there will no longer be anything preventing the Dream God from taking
me. But while my reward may be unending torment, at least I will have done what
I could to protect my university. And so, this is my final farewell.”
We’d
walked in silence as I had read. That was… well, that was a helluva lot of
stuff coming from a few pages in an old journal.
“Well?”
Sarah said.
“Well.
You were definitely right about finding something.”
“Do
you know what it means?”
“Not
all of it. You were right about missing context. But I can make some guesses.
We need a new plan. What we’re going to do is-”
She
never got to hear my brilliant new plan, because as I was talking we stepped
off campus property. And that’s when all hell broke loose.
I-330
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