Wellington Street

In which we take a stroll down a very strange lane.

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Building 8 "Sleepwalker"

I woke up last night to the pinging sound metal makes on hard wood. As I began to wake up fully, the pinging continued. Sound repeating over and over. Finally, I turned my head and saw my son Noah standing next to my bed. He was tapping against the side of the end table with the edge of a large knife, like a tuning fork. Somehow he knew I was awake because he turned and looked at me. It was the longest he had looked at me all day, and the only time he had done so voluntarily. He took the knife and pointed at me. My boy...his eyes were absent. He wasn't there at all.

“Noah,” I said firmly.“Put down the knife.”

He didn't respond at first, just stood there, rocking. But finally he spoke, his voice hollow. Without pitch. He looked at me and said “You aren't supposed to be awake. Go back to sleep.” He gently placed the knife down on the end table and left the room, disappearing around the corner as I heard him head back up the stairs. Margaret was awake now and was looking at me. Waiting for me to explain. I told her to stay where she was as I grabbed the knife and headed up the stairs.

When I reached the room where my two kids were staying I stopped and listened at the door. All I could hear was the gentle snore of my daughter. I opened the door as quietly as I could. Bit by bit. When I looked inside Noah was in his bed. He seemed to be sleeping as well...I know Noah sleep walks. But I had been told it had gotten better. As I walked downstairs only one thought kept running through my mind. This was my fault. If they hadn't come to visit he would be okay.

Went to the kitchen and turned on the light. It hurt my eyes. Found the knife block and placed the knife back. I tried not to think too much when I found another two knives placed side by side on the counter. One was long and thin. It was a filet knife. The other was simply smaller than the other ones. And though I tried not to think about it the thought came anyway. My son hadn't simply grabbed a knife in his sleep. He had considered his options, and settled on the one.

Tales from Miskatonic part 11 (the end!)

On Aesop

She shook Adam’s shoulder, but he was nearly comatose, and did not respond. She shook Jim where he sat, and he looked up at her, his eyes wide with fear. He called her “Mother” in Yiddish, and though she didn’t hear it, his thoughts and fears seemed to penetrate her, be transmitted to her as though carried on the breeze like normal words. She tried to speak to him, but ordinary speech was completely canncelled out byt the maelstrom surrounding them. The anti gravity probe was humming louder than a typhoon, and the whirling of the portal was like a hurricane, with only Marcia in the eye of it. Molly grabbed Jim by his shoulder and hoisted him to his feet. He grabbed his cane with a shaking hand and looked her in the eyes. She stared into his for a long moment, then turned towards the platform where the Ellorys, husband and wife, were waiting.

Marcia’s soul continued its long, slow journey towards them. It had grown in apparent size. It started out a tiny dot, like a star in the ordinary night sky, but was growin as it grew ever closer. It looked to be nearly upon them now, judging by its apparent size - it looked to be about the size of a grown woman, seen from the distance of the end of the portal device. Molly and Jim moved forward, Jim leaning on Molly for support.

Marcia’s soul hit the portal, and a shockwave ran through Miskatonic University. Jim screamed in pain, and it was almost visible. Molly looked down, and blood was pouring from underneath the scarf he was using as a makeshift bandage. Jim let go of her shoulder and fell to thr ground in agony. His foot and toes were pulled horribly upward towards his knee, the tendon which worked to counteract that motion completely severed. He grabbed his leg, eyes closed, mouth open in wordless agony, screaming in pain and horror. But then, through some miracle of willpower, of concern for things greater than himself, he reached with one blood stained hand into his pocket and pulled out the necklace, and handed it to Molly.

Molly looked at it, the grey metal covred in ffresh, slick red blood, with a queer glowing green stone in the center of the symbol, how strange that she had not noticed that before, made eye contact with him for a moment, just long enough to show him that she knew what she needed to do - at least, as well as any of them could know - and moved up the steps towards the platform with the Elloriesys and their terrible machines.

Marcia’s soul had reached the portal, and now there was a terrible fight to get it through. James Ellory, not content to let the machine continue wihtout his hands on the controls, was wrestling with them, as they were physically wrenched from his grasp with the strength of wthe forces involved, and there was a terrible screeching, screaming sound, like metal being torn, or glass sliding against glass, or a slowed down recording of glass shattering, as the very fabric of space bent, warping all that was visible, ast the forces that strained to pull Marcia’s soul back from its terrible journey. Molly reached the platform and struggled to move towards James Ellory, her motion hindered at every turn by the terrible winds and the flying objects that were being picked up by the wind, made lighter by the gravitational distortions, and hurled in circles around the platform. The eye of the storm was shrinking. Centered around Marcia, it now barely included James and the control panel.

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