Gate to Elsewhere

A letter to a friend recounts how magic is very real, and it opens doors to those willing to explore it.

My Esteemed Friend,

I write you now, in order to make you aware of my successes in the arcane arts. I know you've always doubted me, and often dismissed my interest in the occult sciences as an idle hobby, perhaps hoping I'd take up Houdini's mantle of debunking the con artists who claim to be practitioners of the Art. Entertain that idea no longer, because that which is real cannot be debunked.

Magic is no more parlor tricks and illusions than it is an Art, as some would call it. What it is, is a science all its own! The rules are alien and esoteric, yes, but there are fundamental laws to the universe that most men cannot conceive of, let alone comprehend. I, however, have spent many years in study and experimentation in this new and disturbing branch of the sciences, and I cannot begin to catalog the things I have learned, or the skills I have become adept at after so much trial and error.

I have become an adept student in my own laboratory. I've compiled notes and formulae that make alchemy look like child's play. I have infused a large gem, for example, with my own life essence, so that I can, on command, return vitality and vigor to an ailing body and recover from a wound as if it had never occurred. I have yet to use it, but the stone itself holds a familiar, vital warmth that I know will release my essence upon command of need.

My current project is to formulate what I suspect was once dismissed as a hallucinogen, but actually can give the person who imbibes it visions of far off and alien vistas, it is a bizarre, mead-like drink that I am as yet unable to reproduce. But imagine what we could learn by gazing upon those worlds! Think of how we could advance mankind with even a glimpse of them, and to learn more of these rules that our universe operates on that we know nothing of.

That was my goal in coming to Arkham. There was a little known artist, around the turn of the last century who was known for outlandish and down right nightmarish landscape paintings. He was viewed as a heretic, and dangerous, and most of his work burned along with him, at the stake. (Such a thing was not so uncommon as we believe, even after Salem. It was just written about less in our history primers.) I, however, stumbled upon what I believe to be one of his works. I came across a photograph of it hanging in this museum gallery in Arkham, and even in the picture, it displayed an uncanny ability to leave one's senses reeling, and perceptions momentarily altered.

He was as puritanical as he could be, without actually bearing the name of the religious sect which generously gave us the word to describe their habits. This artist would never have consumed anything that had even the faintest of alcoholic vapors. He would, though, mix the ingredients into his pigment, and thus force the viewers of his work to hallucinate upon those unthinkable shores he rendered to canvas. To determine how he did this is my intent, and then replicate the process and the formula based on my experience with the painting is the final goal.

You will have the details as swiftly as I can put them to paper after I go encounter the painting tonight.

. . .

Oh, my friend. I return bearing news. Wonderful and terrible news. Man's forays into the fields of science and experimentation always come at a cost. Sometimes this cost is paid in the horrors one experiences when realizing what you have unwittingly brought into this world. Other times, that cost is paid with one's life. The cost of discovery sometimes has too high a price, and I hope I have not brought a bill due upon all our heads through my reckless desire for experimentation.

Let me recount for you that there is a painting in this Arkham museum whose very pigments expose the eye not just to color we are used to seeing, but to sights beyond what any painting should be able to convey, or the mortal mind to comprehend. And every last word of it, I swear is true. Impossible to believe without putting your own eyes and mind at risk, so I beg you not to attempt it. Even an experienced mind such as mine falters with what happens next.

In the photo I mentioned previously, the illustration still showed a propensity and power to deliver even the smallest glimpse into what it reveals through this unique pigmented window into another dimension. How my mind reeled when I came across it in person, standing before it in the gallery. The painting was not an alien landscape as much as it was the artist's self-portrait, reflected back through its experiences touching those worlds opened to it through the chemical pigments he used.

I stood for minutes, transfixed by this broken picture of what I now know what a broken man. He hadn't just opened his mind, or opened a window to show people what alien landscapes tormented his mind. I recognized so much more than that. The painting was less a window than a door. And if one knew just how to open it, then they could step through.

My studies and experiments had prepared me for this. I had a unique perspective, because I already understood how the universe worked according to these rules. There exists a strange geometry in the universe that does not conform to our understanding of space or time as we normally conceive of it. I've seen these shapes before in my research, and I identified them here, for the first time, outside text and theory, and I knew what I had to do. My curious nature compelled it of me, and it would compel any explorer so armed with the knowledge I hold.

As my professional status indicates, I am absolutely called a magician. It was last night that I attempted what I now realize was more than any common illusion. It wasn't just an new geometry, it was magic. There is no word we have to describe what it was, but magic is the closest analogue our tongues can conjure. So, there, once I had beheld the painting and its vibrant, mad colors, I performed my first real magic trick. I stepped at an angle through the door, without ever lifting my feet from the museum floor, and passed through the door, blinking into a new world, and disappearing from a gallery in Arkham.

I cannot begin to cope with reliving the memories of what I cam across in that new world. Not this night. The things I saw there have robbed me of my ability to willingly close my eyes in the dark. Explorers must pay for their discoveries, and I worry that I may have discovered a price we will all pay, if I cannot keep myself together.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow, I will write you a new missive that details my explorations, if only to serve as a warning to you and to others, and prevent them from venturing beyond the borders of our reality. By breaching those borders, I worry that I have threatened all of ours, all in the name of slaking my curiosity. Forgive me. I will have to detail to you what I have done, and how I must attempt to undo what occurred as a result of my naive drive to learn more.

Tomorrow, then.

Your humble servant,

Dexter

Author's Note

This was the first part in an experiment at serialized horror fiction, in the style of H. P. Lovecraft, on my blog.

The idea was to use the board game Elder Sign (published by Fantasy Flight) to write a Lovecraftian horror story, with each turn being a new instalment to the serialized story. Each turn would be decided by engagement from the readers, as I merely recounted the results of the actions they chose to undertake. A modification on the old play-by-post internet games.

The project never made it past the first post, due to a lack of engagement. If there's interest, I would be happy to continue the tale.

Constructive criticism and feedback is always welcome.

(Gameplay photos and description are here: http://blog.asharednarrative.com/2015/05/elder-sign-first-turn.html)

Reviews

[The Lazy Layman]

This is a unique way to tell a story! I like this letter you're writing to the reader. Will everything be written like that? It certainly does feel like a horror story confessional. I'd love to read more.

[A Shared Narrative]

Yes, it will be.

A common theme in Lovecraft's fiction, narratives are often delivered to the readers through a letter or journal or audio recording. "Dracula" is one of the first horror novels that used the convention of diaries and letters that I can summon up.

So, as an homage to the genre, and Lovecraft in particular, I'm going to make each turn read like the pages of a letter or journal left for someone to find.

[Redwarrior123]

That was an interesting way to write a story. I liked the way you wrote it.

[A Shared Narrative]

Thank you very much.

Feel free to come over and help shape the story by offering your input on my blog.

I'm trying to get the second part written by Sunday night for everyone to view.

[Tsubaki Kuro]

Sounds interesting. What can I do.

[A Shared Narrative]

Head over to www.asharednarrative.com and read the posts from April 2015.

There's four posts that begin with the title "Elder Sign."

I played through the first two turns of the game. From there, anyone can comment about what they'd like to see happen next. I'll attempt the course of action that gets the most backing.

You can comment here, on WritersCafe, or over on the blog itself.

[Tsubaki Kuro]

sure thing.

[Takeshi Yamada]

I'm in. How do I contribute?

[A Shared Narrative]

Head over to www.asharednarrative.com and read the posts from April 2015.

There's four posts that begin with the title "Elder Sign."

I played through the first two turns of the game. From there, anyone can comment about what they'd like to see happen next. I'll attempt the course of action that gets the most backing.

You can comment here, on WritersCafe, or over on the blog itself.

[Takeshi Yamada]

I gave my input for the next round. Good luck, Dexter!