The Decadence

A short story inspired by the various works of my beloved mentor, HP Lovecraft, and is still just a draft of something (hopefully) greater.

“There are no such things as ghosts,” Mr. Abram use to say. A skeptical man he was, though now I’m sure the state of his mind after the incident at ol’ Maybury’s would’ve probably contradicted all doubts against the oddities in which correlated with the unknown and unfathomable. Mr. Abram was tired and irritable about the chilling rumors of the Maybury’s mansion being haunted; he’d tell folks it was all superstitious nonsense. To prove there was nothing out of the norm with the place, he’d go and venture into the vacant home at night and remain till morning. Folks say he’d gone and done just that.

In the middle of night the whole town was stirred awake by terrible screams coming from that accursed mansion; many folks instinctively calling the police. With some of the townsfolk, a small squad of officers had gone into the Maybury’s mansion in search of Mr. Abram, and found him on the second floor huddled in a dark and almost inconspicuous corner near a boarded up window hung with tattered drapes that partially veiled his shaken silhouette, while raving on like a madman, “I-I-I saw Them�"down below I went�"I saw the stars! They are the stars!” Such madness rendered many onlookers speechless; an unexplained horror ailing the townsfolk.

After hearing the strange story from Mr. Abram, police concluded he was suffering from delusions and diagnosed with severe paranoia schizophrenia by the town’s local psychologist, and then admitted into Larson Asylum shortly thereafter. It had been all over the press the following morning, and folks reminded others about the horrific stories and rumors of the Maybury’s home. Police scoff at the rumors, dismissing the idea being true and the possible cause to Mr. Abram’s sudden madness. Nonetheless, many of the townsfolk would recall how Henry Chappler, the Chief of Police, had acted strangely when stories about the infamous mansion were brought up; how he refused to be interviewed and give insight on the case; his voice shaky while nervously wiping sweat away from his forehead as if something dreadful ailed him with horrid thoughts at the mere mentioning of the man's insanity�"the people naturally suspect he's hiding something.

Not long after being admitted into the asylum, it was announced to the public Mr. Abram committed suicide in his cell by hanging himself with the bed’s sheet. Aside a cold corpse, the only thing he left the world was a small journal he’d written in before and after he was put into the asylum. Sources stated a young nurse working in the asylum went mad and drowned in a lake, police concluding her death as a suicide and found the small journal soaking in the shallow end of the lake with its writing too faded and smeared to be legible�"the whole incident published in the papers.

Folks have told me that Mr. Abram’s journal could’ve given useful insight into what he seen in that ol’ mansion, but other skeptics like him would laugh and say, “Mister Abram? Ya mean that ol’ fellar who gaone messin’ raound in that haouse o’er on Boulden Street? Aye, a mighty queer place naught to be lingerin’ in after ol’ Howard Maybury gaone an’ murdered ‘is family an’ then shot ‘imself. But ol’ Mister Abram was crazy like the rest of ‘em folks gaone talkin’ baout ghosts. Knaown as fact baout the Abrams havin’ a history of insanity�"poor fool was just baound to snap. Naothin' but superstitious naonsense is what triggered 'im.”

Something greatly troubled me though about all the ghost stories behind the Maybury’s home, and though certain of the fictitious nature in them, I couldn’t help but shudder at the atrocious element within. Not entirely a skeptic, there’s a limit to how far my mind is willing to accept the possibility of certain remnants of the strange and unknown to exist. For in my years of study, I have glimpsed upon ancient documents and learned partly from fragments of the famous Necronomicon that there is indeed an antique horror still haunting mankind, feign or not. Needless to say, the only sensible way to truly grasp the answer for why Mr. Abram suddenly went insane was to go into the mansion, though at the same time a thoughtful question momentarily made me reluctant: Did Mr. Abram naturally go mad, or had he seen some form of premature monstrosity in which triggered paralyzing fear because the frightening presence was far beyond a human’s ability to fathom? And if so, am I to have the same fate just as him once I step into that building?

Night silently crept upon the late hours as shadows snaked their way through the cracks of cobbled streets, fleeting from the pale and fragile glow of the full moon. The sky was blessed, for this night was stainless of the looming mass of gray clouds, and no brilliant stars freckled the black abyss. Some folks were still wandering the streets, few heading home after leaving or closing shop for the night. The howling wind moaned down empty alleys, whistling in my ears as I made my way to Boulden St, and the entire time it felt like something was watching me in the shadows. The Maybury’s mansion loomed into view, and suddenly I felt a loathing fixation rise from within; intoxicating me with its hateful visage. Like big, black blotches of filth the shadows shrouded the building; an eeriness contrasting and contorting the surface made it seem like the mansion glared menacingly at any townsfolk passing by in the middle of night.

The very air borne the spiteful stench of the decadence the home fanned off, and had I not stopped in place and turned away to get fresh air, there was no denying I would’ve started vomiting. For evil has a smell of its own; a twisted taint bathed in insanity and nauseously corrodes humanity’s morals. Although I knew paranoia was now at my heels, groping and then tugging to pull me down into some state of fear of the unknown, which sets the imagination to conjure up the strangest and most abominable ideas, I couldn’t help but wonder if there was some kind of supernatural force fueling my fear than the dreadfully hackneyed appearance of a haunted mansion. There was something dank and dreadful lurking about in the womb of that accursed house, I sensed, something that surpassed our knowledge of antiquity and was living evidence humanity is just a remnant of a far greater plot within the substantial reality of the unknown. I felt as though the earth beneath sprouted hands and rooted my feet firmly to the ground to keep me from seeing the unfathomable. However, it was curiosity that had won in the end and broke Fear’s invisible chains.

After regaining physical strength and certain that I wouldn’t feel nauseous when approaching the Maybury’s home, I continued towards the loathing place without any ailment. The porch’s steps creaked under my weight and threatened to collapse under each passing step. As soon as my hand reached for the doorknob, I could’ve sworn I heard strange sounds coming from the other side�"the inside. I figured it must’ve been just the wind making the sounds, for the building was old and been vacant for many years after the chilling incident that happened in there. The thought of encountering Mr. Maybury’s restless spirit in the home somewhere had almost made me change my mind and turn around to flee from this ghastly place veiling ominous secrets, but I stayed my ground and tried the door, which was left unlocked�"fortunate for me since I didn’t have to lock-pick.

Watching the door slowly swing open on its own with shadows skirting off into the pitch-black corners inside, it didn’t feel the least bit inviting but luring into its deceitful and horrid void, though I entered despite the dreariness of it all. As soon as I stepped into the mansion, the door bolted shut and I was shrouded in darkness; all light suffocated until there was no sign or a single strand of its hope. Immediately my fear resurfaced, yet eased as calmness swept through me after fumbling around in my long coat’s pockets to retrieve a small flashlight. There were missing floorboards where rats scurried in and out of, holes in the ceiling, and paint peeling off the walls (scarred by crude engravings of haunting glyphs that provoked an instinctual fear to flee). It looked no more than the expected rundown appeal. The floor was littered with crumbled papers, most impossible to read from age stains and ink blotches, but from what could be made out from a few was the ravings of a lunatic’s mind and something about The Elders; an alien race that apparently existed beyond what mankind fathoms as antique.

I was then reminded of the bizarre stories and legends exposed to me years ago when traveling and meeting tribes isolated from the advancing world in the dense forests of wild Africa; ancient scrolls (describing primitive horrors) hidden deep within the curiously remote parts of haunting Asia; and, the mysterious and antique Egypt, whose towering pyramids alone vaguely illustrated a phenomena mankind will never fully comprehend. Intrigued by the stories and legends recalling a period when beings from cosmic space walked the Earth long before the first primordial man crawled from the sea, I immersed myself into a fanatic frenzy to learn of the various occults concerning queer beliefs (similar to the Dogon people) and ancient sorcery in the forbidden dark arts very few dare to master (for in some instances, what I've learned over the years through curious research at least, members with similar beliefs actually intend to open some sort of gateway between our world and the other�"the secret dimension where the Old Gods dwell�"at least when the right era arrives and the particular incantation is done). Often I was shocked at the appalling descriptions of horrific rituals and blasphemous sacrifices of innocent people to ineffable beings revered as gods; their supreme intelligence and vast knowledge of the universal secrets hidden deep within the bosom of faceless stars envied and feared by the followers.

It was strange at how I recognized the strong similarity between the knowledge of foreign beliefs acquired over the years of research and the brief ramblings scribbled on the old sheets of paper, both acknowledging a force beyond and yet within the premise of reality. Though it couldn't be helped, I was ailed momentarily by an apprehension; dreading that a connection between the two a mere coincidence was doubtful, yet eventually was capable to push horrid thoughts aside in order to continue my exploration.

A small trail of papers followed up a flight of stairs became my next target to explore, following the path up to the second floor and finding ahead more scattered pages outside a room’s door to my right. Entering the room, I was greeted by the pleasant moon’s pale glow. Other than dust and papers shuffling and floating around when a breeze snuck through the windowless frames, the room was immaculate of furniture and surprisingly in decent shape for being left untended since the Maybury incident in 1912, which was approximately five years ago. I spotted a book lying amongst a small clutter of wrinkled papers, surprised to find that it was the diary of Howard’s daughter, Elizabeth Maybury. Most entries detailed the 17-year-old’s daily routine, activities, and personal interpretations of her life and dreams, but as I came upon the last few entries, the content in Elizabeth’s writing changed with an elaboration of concern and later fear for her father’s sudden strange behavior, and the further I read, the more horror was unveiled:

 

 

 

September 23, 1912

 

Dear Diary,

I can’t help but think Daddy’s a little obsessed with what he found down in the cellar the second day we moved into the mansion; a trapdoor that takes him down a long flight of stairs into obscure darkness�" though he takes a lantern with him every time. He hasn’t gone all the way down yet; tomorrow he plans to and will bring with him some thick paper and charcoal to illustrate whatever he sees since he doesn’t want Mother and me to go down because it might be dangerous. He also made us promise not to call the authorities unless he’s gone longer than 48-hours.

 

September 25, 1912

 

Dear Diary,

Daddy just came back from the cellar and it’s already 1 in the morning�" he was down there since yesterday around 10 a.m. Mother’s relieved he’s alright, yet upset that he was gone for so long. I was also worried about him, thinking a tunnel collapsed and he could’ve been trapped on the other side.

He gave us drawings he illustrated down there, said there’s another place to explore; an opening or tunnel he wants to venture through and see what’s on the other side. He acted strange though; I just can’t put my finger on it.

 Daddy’s pictures were illustrated in fine and sophisticated details�" him being naturally artistic and able to draw from references and imagination�" of haunting ruins and buildings so ancient that Mother and I immediately knew this was something big�" something that should’ve been noticed by the press. Unfortunately, Daddy had made it clear when he first discovered the trapdoor in the cellar that we would not tell a soul.

 

***

It was 11 in the morning when I asked Mother if Daddy ever came back and she replied yes but never stayed long. She said he’d come within each hour to get a few things and then leave without  saying a word. When she did stop him and ask what he was doing down there, he told her to never mind and not to go down into the cellar.

The rest of the day I spent with her and Logan, the family German shepherd. I saw Daddy come back every once in a while to get something to drink, but never stopped to say hello. When he would stop, he’d stare at Logan for a moment, smile and sigh in relief, before leaving again. I found that very odd, but never said anything.

It was 10 p.m. when I heard strange scratching sounds downstairs and went quietly to check it out, finding Daddy soaked to the bone and carving strange symbols and characters I never seen before�" he had an entire wall scarred of his insane markings completely alien to all forms of written language, hieroglyphs, and runes. When I had called for his attention nervously and my eyes met unfamiliar ones that stared wide and menacingly, I shuddered as the strange man�" Daddy�" hissed and foamed from the mouth with the knife raised; ready to attack. I was transfixed, praying I’d wake from this nightmare, and if it hadn’t been for Logan’s barking and snarling that made Daddy snap back into reality, I’m sure he would’ve used that knife on me.

He had that same expression on his face whenever Logan was in his presence; staring silently at the dog with a soft smile and sigh.

When Mother came out to see what Logan was barking at, she halted in her steps and gazed wildly in horror of the markings all over the wall and at Daddy. Her tolerance had finally broken and she began screaming at him, snatching the knife from his hand and told me to put it back in the kitchen. And when I moved passed the both of them and took the knife from Mother, she asked Daddy why he was soaking wet. I stood quietly in the kitchen to hear his response, which was:

 

“I fell…into a black and infinite sea. I fell...

into eternity�"where the Old Ones dwell.”

 

September 26, 1912

 

Dear Diary,

I can’t find Logan anywhere! I’ve looked all over the place and have asked friends and neighbors to keep an eye out for him. I’m so worried�" I hope he’s safe�" I hope he’ll come back home soon. I hate to think anything wrong will happen to him…my sweet and beloved friend, Logan.

Mother knows there’s something wrong with Daddy, but doesn’t want to admit him into the asylum. She tries to comfort me by saying things will get better, but I know they won’t. I remember spying on Daddy dragging something heavy in a sack a couple of hours ago. He took it down into the cellar with him. I think the stains I saw on both his clothes and the sack are blood. I don’t want to wake up Mother and add more stress if I tell her though. She needs her sleep.

                                   

***

 

I snuck into the cellar; the walls and floors covered in the same strange markings, and found the trapdoor left open. I didn’t dare go down, but stared into the darkness. I thought I heard a haunting sigh when a gush of wind hit my face, then several ghostly voices whispered indistinctively. I didn’t have the courage to endure the terror presented to me, and screamed as I ran out of the cellar, slamming the door behind me and broke down in tears.

 

September 27, 1912

 

Dear Diary,

I have never been so terrified in all my life!

He killed her�"he killed my mother!

Logan, too. It was the blood of my beloved friend who stained Daddy’s clothes and the sack he carried. And now he’s after me�"he says it’s the only way to escape “Them”, “They” that wouldn’t accept dog flesh as a proper sacrifice; that human flesh was what “They” desired. I have no clue what he means�" he’s completely insane!

I’ve hidden in the cellar and have blocked the door, but I know it won’t hold against the axe Daddy’s using to break through. At least I’m able to write the last chapter of my life, but I don’t want it to end this way…I wish�"

 

I was left disturbed by how the last entry ended and wondered how Mr. Abram interpreted the frightful content, or if he even read the diary in the first place. Leaving the book, I headed downstairs to look for the cellar, finding a door that led me to a spiral staircase curling far below the mansion and into its dark cellar. It was terribly dusty and decorated in cobwebs down there, spotting a few rats that fled behind crates when revealed by the flashlight. While looking around on the floor that was covered in queer markings�"just like Elizabeth’s diary mentioned�"to find any sign of a trapdoor, my foot came in contact with something hard and protruding from the ground. On closer inspection, there was a ring-shaped handle that, when pulled, lifted a portion of the floorboards to reveal steep stairs leading into a gaping hole of utter darkness.

 

Directing the light of my flashlight down, I could only see an extension of steps until disappearing into the black void that the light could not reach. Curiosity compelled me to descend into the unknown, for I knew this had to be what Mr. Abram discovered when he was here, and my conscious reeled with questions of what I might find as I ventured down the stoned steps. Deeper I went, the air heavy and the scent of damp earth lingering, the flashlight guiding me down and through the darkness, and the sound of my footsteps echoing in the oblivion. It felt like I was walking for hours, the whole time fighting the urge to flee when I heard strange voices in winds with mysterious origin.

 

An eerie twilight glowed towards the end, encouraging me to continue, and as I hurriedly reached the bottom, I beheld a startling sight. Pillars of ancient stone towered above me with strange glyphs engraved on them and further ways I gazed upon a cosmic landscape of stalactites and stalagmites. There was strange architecture and ruins that either would excite or terrify an archeologist, and the same glyphs, like on the pillars, decorated the walls and ceiling and glowed a bright blue. I venture through the vastness of this queer place, touching the crumbled stones that once made up some kind of ancient city and stared in wonder of its antiquity. My eyes caught a glimpse of an opening in the wall on elevated land, immediately becoming distracted from my surrounding. To reach it, one would have to walk upon slightly elevated portions of ground that dipped into shallow pools of water at the surface; forming into natural stairs with the size increasing to medium-sized plateaus when drawing closer to the top, and then climb with grueling effort the rest of the way. Exhausted, I fell to my knees and took the time to catch my breath before entering through the opening.

 

On the other side, I found myself overwhelmed while gazing out over a black gulf with still waters and tall cyclopean pillars protruding from its surface, and the sound of droplets dripping from the ceiling and into the dark waters echoed as voices in the mysterious wind stirred again, chanting in a tongue mankind never spoke. Beyond that infinite sea rose a monstrously sized plateau with a wide and gaping mouth; the large entrance of a cave. Just staring into that loathsome abyss made me uneasy; apprehending a horror I was still unsure existed. Suddenly I felt a warm and wet substance on my shoulder, reaching over to touch it and then shining the flashlight on my hand to reveal a green and slimy mucous. I flashed the light above, only to be greeted by a ghastly sight of strange cocoons covered in a membranous film hanging from stalactites. One of them moved; wiggled from the slimy nest until finally the bottom ripped open and fluid flushed out. At first I believed that was the only thing the cocoon was filled of, but a disgusting gurgling and sucking sound proved there was more to expect, and to my horror when flashing the light again, I uttered inarticulate words as my eyes glimpsed an indefinable creature. It crawled out from the hole in its cocoon with tentacles stretching out as a high-pitch screech escaped from the mouth. The head closely resembled an octopus, but still uniquely defined with having several eyes glowing and independently changing through neon colors. The body had no real definite shape; abstract in its form with few tentacles primarily used to grope the ground and move around, which was surprisingly fast. Within moments I was on the ground wrestling the creature; trying with all my might to push it away as its several other tentacles stretched and wrapped around me, pulling me closer and closer to its snapping jaws.

 

With all my strength I managed to pull the thing off and thrust it upon a stalagmite, and then witnessed its gruesome death as it gave a terrible scream with its tentacles flailing and wiggling uncontrollably until silencing forevermore. My body shook as fear enwrapped all my senses, unable to bring movement into my limbs�" to escape this accursed place nurturing beings from another dimension�" and when I reluctantly turned my gaze back on the dark waters, something that lurked below the watery surface stirred and manipulated waves. The waves of the gulf grew in size, flowing out from the gaping mouth of darkness and crashed on top of one another as the current became violent. And after several large waves settled, a massive one�" a tsunami�" forced itself onwards until decreasing in size, revealing a monstrous head of a being so grotesque and alien that I wasn’t sure if it were merely the imaginings of an immensely stressed mind.

 

The amphibious giant’s several eyes darted all over the place, searching for something as its big mouth opened to show off the thousands of long and needle-sharp teeth in rows of three like the jaws of a shark. The shape of the face was quite similar to that of an anglerfish and even had the identical antenna with the glowing tip to attract prey. It slowly began to rise from the waters as it neared the rocky shoreline, revealing hordes of tentacles sprouting from the back, and as the humanoid form came into full view in the twilit grotto, horror again paralyzed me as I saw the giant had another mouth and it was where the abdomen should’ve been. Long tentacles tipped with claws slithered out from the belly’s mouth as the giant bellowed a terrible cry at the sight and smell of its young’s death, and then placed its menacing gaze on me. It then raised its large head and released another bellowing cry, and moments later the giant was accompanied by more of its kin. Before finding the courage to finally move and flee, my eyes locked onto the many eyes of the giant, and within some telepathic connection I heard its mysterious and inhuman voice:

“We came from the stars. We are the stars.”

And just as the voice finished, the light from the giants’ antennas glowed brightly and cased their enormous frames in blinding aura, and stars they were shinning brightly above the dark waters. I darted out of that terrifying place; screaming and raving like a madman I came to be until a couple of officers found me in that dreadful mansion just like ol’ Abram when he went mad discovering the secret grotto of both wondrous and terrible beings.

 

I’ve been admitted into the asylum after diagnosed a paranoid schizophrenic, and it is here the will to live has completely crumbled. For though the doctor says my hallucinations are linked to my mental illness, the horrors that which have been seen I know are more than the imaginings of a dysfunctional brain. They lurk in the shadows; loathsome, terrible and ugly things watching me, furthering my descend into madness. To save myself from a gruesome fate, I must end my own life. I know now just how insignificant mankind is�"a doomed and simple species meant to be kept ignorant of the horrible truth about our accidental existence. It is truly a blessing that we as flawed creatures have such a short and limited future�"no wonder Mr. Maybury murdered his family before ending his own life.

 

Leaving a suicide note detailing his last thoughts, so ludicrous that the press was compelled to publish into the papers, Howard Maybury warned the world what dwells beneath the deepest parts of the Earth; slumbering in dreams of cosmic landscapes under the watery surface of black gulfs humanity has yet to venture:

“They are The Elders, ineffable beings far older than antiquity, whose knowledge surpasses ours in ways subtle to comprehend, and I have acknowledged this cosmic horror; inevitably led to murder my beloved wife and daughter in hopes of saving them from a dark future the Old Ones foreshadow. For I have tried to just merely understand their incomprehensible visage, but to no avail since one cannot fathom something that is unfathomable�" less it contradicts itself, then one may consider it a bit of a paradox. My only salvation is through my own demise. My God…I do not wish for any poor soul to venture and try to piece together the dissociate knowledge to our inferior identity, wherein our only sanctuary is indulging our ignorance, for only the grim void of insanity awaits when we know too much, and death being the only merciful ticket to freedom.”

-Howard Maybury

 

 

Here's a drawing I did back in '08 of the Elder described in this story

(Sorry for the sloppiness of it!)

Author's Note

pointing out grammar errors is VERY appreciated and encouraged! Thanks for taking the time to read this and I hope you enjoyed this so far :]

Reviews

[Twilight]

Your reference to the Dogon people, reminded me of H. P. Lovecraft's story of "Dagon". Overall, this was both atmospheric and interesting to read. In certain respects, your story reminded me of "The Lurker At The Threshold".

Whilst not noticing any major lapses in grammar, perhaps some of the paragraphs should be shorter? A brilliant write, and an inspiration to other fans of "weird fiction"!. By the way, I did not know that "Weird Tales" magazine is still available, unless this is in an online format only?


Julian

[Raven Wilson]

Wow...this is amazing! I was caught in this story so fully I was sad when it ended. But a wodnerful ending it is!