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 2

On Aesop

“Ah’ve never seen mist like this befoah,” Molly said, slipping back into her native Southern drawl, as she did whenever particularly impressed by something. She took cares to manage her presentation to appear as respectable and impressive as any of her peers, and though most of that was getting over their biases against the fairer sex (though she wouldn’t go quite so far as to wear pants; first, she was pretty sure that would make them respect her less, and second, she considered it a bit of an uncouth betrayal of femininity), she also spent significant effort disguising her antebellum ancestry. When overwhelmed with awe or surprise, though, her accent shone through. Her Chemistry professor, himself displaced from the Deep South, found this an endearing trait and it had caused him to give her a fairer shake than he would have otherwise (and when he discovered this about himself, he spent a dark night of the soul reexamining his own biases and came out a supporter of the suffragettes, and was willing to go to bat on her behalf should the trepidatious University decide admitting women had been a mistake. The fact that he had come to consider her brilliant was just icing on the cake), though in her ignorance of her own habits she was unaware of her lingual foibles.

“Oh yeah, you’re from den seth, you’ve never seen a winter before,” Jim responded in a terrible imitation of Molly’s accent. She scowled and stuck her tongue out at him. Adam clapped them both on their backs, hard enough to knock them each off balance, and strode forward into the fog. “Come along chaps, we have a luncheon appointment.”

Molly and Jim both scowled at him, then looked at each other and grinned. Adam’s attempt at improving their sense of camaraderie at his own expense had succeeded. They moved on into the fog, Adam turning around so he could face them, walking backwards.

“Aren’t you worried you’ll bump into something?” Adam turned around and stared ahead into the fog. “Oh yes, this is much better, you’re right, I can see so much more now,” he responded in a mocking tone, turning back around. “We’re in the quad, it’s 100 yards to the dining hall, what’s going to-” his explanation was cut short as he tripped over a fallen tree.

He quickly scrambled to his feet and looked down at the tree. It was evident from the exploded side and scorch marks on it that it had been struck down by lightning the night prior. There had been a terrible storm, and some bolts had come closer than comfort truly allowed.

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