By Nyarlathotep, alone, atop Fabled and Unknown Kadath, biting and bleak, silent and sinister, dread drew dark the forlorn, forsaken fear, for flight, for freedom.
Beneath a crystal sky where no stars shone, where only a pale moon shed its mournful light, they dared to fancy to remember lost thoughts of day-dreams of night's whispers, enthralling, compelling, illusions of hope, of passion, of lust's desires unyielding, of unrequited love. Of pain. Of unremitting desolation.
Even as ghouls, once mortal companions, now cruelly transformed and transfigured by loathsome toad-like moonbeasts, even as ghouls they cowered, meeping their frightened chorus of anguish. Stained serpentine, scarlet, and sulphurous, their mottled hides, slithered slow amidst the slime. Sallow skin, once human, scales seeping, shed soft, sloughed stagnant.
In Unknown Kadath, high atop an immense cosmic mountain, in the deepest reaches of the frozen, barren wastelands, amid the vast onyx towers of a cyclopean castle, they dreamt undying dreams.
For the Dreamlands beckon no ordinary sleeper.
The quiet death which comes unbidden, which catches the heart, enslaves the soul, and sublimates the mind, the quiet death that elevates the dreamer beyond ecstasy, beyond heaven, catapults those who would dare into a dark, narcotic, catalepsy.
Those who would look beyond themselves, beyond illusion, and even beyond vanity, those who would hope for fulfilment beyond desire, they may find themselves lost beyond the nightmares of simple humanity.
All for the love of a man.
Britney squealed. Loudly. Twice. "What is that?"
Jerry regarded the young spy dubiously before returning his attention to the two objects severely disturbing the harmony of his desk. To which of them was the round-eyed teen referring? The shiny pinky one, or the black orb-like object radiating malevolence and fear?
Somewhat hesitantly, and after mentally flipping a coin which landed on its edge, Jerry answered: "It's a snow globe." Very much not to his relief, Britney peered even closer, her lips pouting in an O of surprise.
"Yes, I know that there's no snow," he continued. "And yes, I know that it's filled with ink and not water. And yes, it is very sad that the poor squid that the ink came from is almost certainly dead. And..." Jerry paused, but not for effect. "Yes, the castle inside would appear to be much larger than the globe itself. And..." Jerry paused again, wondering whether he should have chosen the other, even more disturbing thing on his desk. "Yes, that is Sam, and the others are..." his voice trailed away.
"Woohps!" Britney exclaimed in a soft whisper, her warm breath condensing on the cold crystalline surface of the curious globe.
"Far from it," Jerry disagreed. "They were last seen looking into the rather shiny window of an Olde Curiositye Shoppe," Jerry reflected with unusual sadness on the vanity of his young charges. "The alarm was raised by a young man in the, ah, Groovy Smoothie Shack, who witnessed their sudden disappearance."
"Thankfully," he concluded, "you arrived here safely."
Britney shivered. Being sucked into a giant snow cone was, at least for the moment, at the very top of her how-not-to-be-woohped-again list.
"Bit of a translation problem on the schematics," Jerry apologised by way of explanation. "But, fortunately for them, there is a way out." He stood, slowly. "You," he said, "You can rescue them."
Britney nodded absently, transfixed by the ashen figure of Sam, and most definitely not wanting to see her two companions. After a few moments she realised that Jerry had stopped talking. More than a little anxiously, and not without a struggle, she dragged her gaze from the terrible sphere to see Jerry's face dark with misgiving.
"They're trapped," he said. "Trapped halfway between a day-dream and a nightmare. It is up to you to free them."
Even more worryingly, she followed his eyes to the gadget on his desk. Her cheeks flushed at the memories of Hermione's Magic Wand, the oh-so innocent Christmas present she'd once been given. Batteries, just for once, included.
"It's a, um, a transportation device," Jerry stammered. "Technically, it's a dreamland intervention logic distortion org..." Jerry choked on the proper word, coughing not so subtly to cover his nervousness. "A, ah, orgmentor."
Jerry watched as Britney slowly reached for the fluorescent pink d... device, as she slowly wrapped her soft fingers about it, as she trembled ever so slightly at how firm and comfortable it felt in her hand. The orgmentor was not a device he removed without careful consideration from the lock-box in the electrified cage in the vault in the sub-basement that, he was pretty sure, only he knew existed.
"Take off all your clothes and burn them, now!" Jerry squeaked, his composure lost in strained memories of his own.
Taken by surprise, Britney was halfway out of her catsuit before she could blink.
Jerry looked on apologetically, "I swear I wasn't expecting this!" He stuttered. "But..." and he looked on a bit more anyway, "Er... wow... just... wow."
Britney let the catsuit slip from her fingers and fall to her ankles in a puddle of azure lycra. Perhaps, she thought, perhaps if she closed her eyes, she could imagine that he wasn't quite so... English.
She closed her eyes, tight, very tight, and took a step towards Jerry's desk, only to lose her balance and trip as the fallen catsuit wrapped itself about her legs.
"You know, a little help WOULD be appreciated!!!" she exclaimed, lost in the self-imposed darkness.
Somehow, not being able to see the strong arms take hold of her eased her fears. Her grip on the orgmentor tightened, and as it came to life she remembered the hours of pleasure she'd had pretending to be Hermione.
In Britney's expert hand the orgmentor hummed a tune to which Jerry had to stand and salute. And just as she said: "Are you sure you feel up to this?" she felt that Jerry wasn't.
"I really, really thought you could do better than that." Britney came to sigh in disappointment. But... "Woohps," she whispered, opening her eyes to the black castle walls. Worse, she was naked. And perhaps worser, she was alone. And, worst of all, were Jerry's last words: "Sometimes I just want to be noticed." He'd almost cried then. And if she hadn't slapped him, perhaps he would have.
But now Britney was even more determined to complete the mission. And all those years in French class had paid off. "La petite mort" had brought her to this dreadful place, and just as surely, Britney knew, it would release the spirit of her friends.
There was no natural magic in this best-forgotten realm, only a grim, gruesome gramarye, only a glamour casting gloom over Britney's madly beating heart. For Dean had once said: "There is no shame in running; in fact i would highly recommend it." so it was that Britney ran and jumped and vaulted in abject fear of the crawling chaos: through labyrinthine corridors; ascending, always ascending, cyclopean stairs; leaping over balustrades, dancing along parapets.
Heady incense came to fill the stale air, great gable archways loomed high above her head, gigantic torches flared against the brooding walls. This residence of the Outer Gods was neither a church nor a temple, and most certainly no place for prayer. Only the essence of what she once was, and to what she may yet return, gave her the strength and courage to reach her goal.
Until, before her, two pillars rose high into the dark, Britney ran. Until she saw the ethereal collars about her friends' necks, Britney believed. Until she saw their closed eyes, she dared to hope.
In eternity, they were held. In darkness, they dreamt. In thrall to the night-wishes of adolescence, they crooned. Transformed, transfigured, and transfixed, the true nature of nightmare, a triptych of terror tore at the sallow soul of the young teen.
Ashen and afraid, slowly she advanced on them. Only the hum of the orgmentor grounded her, guided her, goaded her, to their misshapen bodies. Only the memories of distant camaraderie coaxed her to couch the cold plastic against their skin.
There was no passion, no pleasure, only the purity of their hearts. Only a soft sigh escaped Sam's lips as the dread device drew death in her desire. For Clover, a grave gasp broke the chains holding her, and she too was gone. And Alex... the faint smile on her lips faded with her in silence.
Only a whisper remained.
The nightmare for them was over, but for Britney...
Hearing her name floating in the still air amidst the softest laughter was a sublime surprise. Without thought, her fingers relaxed their grip on the orgmentor and it fell, landing with a squelch into the wet patch of ooze which was all that remained. Once, twice, three times it shuddered, and then it was still.
Slowly, Britney stood. The night was quiet and still, and all that she could hear for a while was the beating of her own heart. For a while, all that she knew was fear. Emptiness and loneliness crept up on her in the dark, until even the moon, as baleful as its light ever was, slowly faded from view.
And as she stood, not just the castle, but the whole mountain shook. And as such a sorrowful joy ran through her veins at his fateful, forbidding, foreboding form filling her mind, she knew that she was more than alone.
There are some who would have you believe that laughter is a self-defence mechanism. There are those who face danger and pain. And there are those who would risk more than their lives, those who would risk their sanity and their very souls to save those who could care more for them.
Jerry had covered the snow globe with a handkerchief, and his embarrassment with a soft smile to himself at the young spies' return. In time, his black eye would fade, but his own determination to rescue Britney would not.
Sam, Alex, and Clover had untangled themselves from each other as they had returned to his office. They had no memory of where they'd been, or how they'd come to return. Jerry, ever the unsung hero, would deny everything to the last. Except... Except, when Alex would demand: "Tell me the part where you get smacked around again, that never gets old!"
And Jerry, not to be alone, would laugh. But he was not alone in his pain.
By Nyarlathotep, alone, she stood.
"I always felt like she was a better version of me," Britney told her unseen companion. "But then, we were very much alike." Perhaps, she thought, one day Alex might forgive her. Perhaps, Sam might return for her. In this timeless, soul-less, endless night, she would never regret the little death that had brought her here.
And as the moon vanished, so did the bright colours that she had once chased fade from her mind. And for a few, fleeting seconds, she remembered a small toy, black and menacing on someones something somewhere.
In Unknown Kadath she would remain, by Nyarlathotep, tall and slim, the most joyous of men.
Here she would remain, her eyes eternally closed to the world beyond, the madness of his laughter so sweet in her ears. And, for the very last time, she herself would laugh.
By Nyarlathotep, alone, she stood. By the will of Nyarlathotep, alone, she lived. "If you'll stand for nothing," Britney had once told herself, "You'll fall for anything," she laughed. So, by the will of Nyarlathotep, alone, she loved.
And, should you ever find yourself in a basement, in a vault, inside an electrified cage, looking into a lock-box, and should you ever look deep into the heart of the snow globe that you will find there, you too will see.
By Nyarlathotep, alone, she wept.