Well, I bet some of you missed me at least. Sorry it's been so long. I just moved into yet another apartment, this one being within the same complex but oh so much nicer. It's more money, but worth it. Anyways, this is the beginning of the big, epic story I had been planning for the longest time. Yeah, there's not much in this one, but it's just there to build on. This is meant to be the prelude to the coming apocalypse the Cthulhu mythos plan to bring to the world. It's going to be the Kim Possible characters and Invader Zim characters doing battle against them. Hope you all enjoy this...thing. It's not much, but it's what I've got so far for it.
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Chapter 1: The Precursor of Things to Come
"More distant and more solemn/Than a fading star…This is the way the world ends/Not with a bang but a whimper." – T. S. Eliot, "The Hollow Men"
"Have you seen the Yellow Sign?" – R. W. Chambers, "The King in Yellow"
Innsmouth, Massachusetts
October 21st, 1992
The trucks made their way down the mud covered road towards the old town that looked as if it had seen many nasty storms through the centuries it had existed. The walls of the small buildings and houses had a tint of deteriorated blue, seeming to have rotted over time in the rain and debris. The cracked, faded windows looked like all seeing eyes, gazing upon all who passed by, and upon looking at them, the state contractors wondered why anyone would want to revive this town.
Of course, that was not for Eric or Matt to decide. They had agreed to rebuild the town after Mr. Theodore Marsh was given a land grant.
Eric was listening to "Remember the Time" by Michael Jackson on the radio as his truck pulled up to the old, dilapidated courthouse. The upbeat music seemed to be a nice contrast to the ugliness of the ghost town and the light rain that was more like a mist. Both vehicles stopped, and the two drivers got out.
"I don't care what it takes," Matt said into his car phone as he was exiting, "You get those charges taken off. We didn't know it was going to be that much for parts. This is ridiculous. Goodbye, you money grubbing pieces of shit!" With that, he hung up and looked over at Eric. "I swear, these suppliers want to nickel and dime you for everything nowadays."
"Have you seen this place?" Eric asked, "It looks like something out of The X-Files."
"You watch that show, too?" Matt asked with some slight shock, then chuckled, "It seems like everyone is. I tell ya, it's going to change television."
"So who are we meeting with?" Eric asked, "What's his name? Marsh?"
"Yeah," Matt replied, "Theodore Marsh. He's supposed to be the ancestor of the guy who founded this town. I can't remember the name off the top of my head."
"Either way," Eric said, "let's get a move on. I want to get out of this place as fast as I can, especially after hearing all the stories about it."
The two made their way through the town, which seemed empty and deserted, but the two always felt watched, as if a thousand different spectral eyes were watching them from every window. The two would occasionally look back beyond the buildings towards the sea, thinking it would be a good view, yet only showing that it gave off the same sense of dread they had from the rest of the dilapidated building, as if an even larger set of eyes were watching them from the water. Finally, they found the town hall, which loomed over them like a vulture over a newly dead carcass.
Just then, the door swung open to reveal the ghastly face of a middle aged man, whose cheeks seemed to be wrinkled and swollen, completely disproportionate to his thinner frame. He had a furry mustache that reached down to the mutton chops on his cheeks, except there seemed to be some dirt, grime, or dead bugs hanging from them. The worst part about him was his wide, bulging eyes that seemed to peer into their souls; these detestable eyes were also red, no whites but a bright tint of red.
"Good afternoon, gentlemen," the hideous man said, "I had been expecting you."
Eric and Matt both shook in every limb; there was a long awkward silence as the man exited the door into the misty air and stood before them. Through it, the man did not blink once, as though his eyes were completely locked onto the two hapless contractors, ready to suck them into whatever nightmare realm those eyes would lead.
"Mr. Marsh is it?" Matt said, getting some courage to speak, "We're here to sign the contract agreement for the buildings you want us to renovate and rebuild."
"Aye," Marsh said, "And you gentlemen, I trust, have gone over what I wanted you to build, is that correct?" Eric continued to look into Marsh's eyes. Could Matt not see that his eyes were completely unearthly and sinister? Wasn't he just as frightened by this guy?
"Yes, you did," Matt responded, his voice slightly trembling, "And that's one of the things we wanted to discuss. You said you were running on a tight budget, but the designs that you've wanted for this weird temple are really expensive. It was really hard for us to find ways to cut costs for you."
"Oh," Marsh said, "I did take that into consideration, my good fellows, and I have just the thing that can help with that." The ever terrifying Marsh, still not blinking but only staring at them, reached down for a large book that was hanging from a chain attached to his belt and opened it. Inside was a weird yellow symbol that spiraled around in a circular mass of tentacles that seemed to draw the contractors' faces from Marsh's eyes and into the book. As they gazed further into it, Eric felt that he was drifting through time and space, seeing dead worlds and dead stars, flying through the ether and seeing how the Old Ones had intended to destroy it, how Nyarlathotep sought control of the Dream Realms and how Cthluhu still slept in R'lyeh, waiting to return. Finally, he saw a vision of Azathoth floating in from oblivion and blotting out the sky of Earth.
Suddenly, Eric found himself back at his desk in his office. His head hurt like the worst hangover he had ever experienced. The sun shining through the blinds didn't help matters at all, its brightness singeing his brain further.
Was all of that a bad dream? Had he drank too much the other night and was getting a delayed reaction?
He looked down at the table and found a collection of architectural design for some strange temple, complete with statues of various trachian creatures that seemed to gaze out of the pages and into Eric's soul, the same way Marsh's eyes had. Towards the bottom of the license agreement page was the signature of Theodore Marsh, along with a sticky note that read "thank you for your cooperation, friends."
The phone rang. He picked it up.
"Hey, man," Matt said on the other end, "Where are you? We were supposed to visit a new client today, and you're 15 minutes behind."
"Sorry," Eric said, slightly shaken, "I must have forgotten. I'll be right there." With that, he hung up. He looked back at the various papers and saw that there was nothing on his desk but the stack of information for his next client.
…
Shego was listening to "Come as You Are" by Nirvana on the radio when she heard her mother talking from the other room on the phone. She couldn't really hear what was being said, but there was discomposure in her voice that suggested something was wrong. She turned down the volume and walked out of the room to see what the matter was. Her mother was sitting at the table, the phone now being hung up, and looking out the window with sad eyes, just looking out the window. She always thought her mother was too dramatic.
"What is it, mom?" Shego asked out of curiosity.
"I actually got off the phone with your dad," her mom said, "I'm not sure if you'll fully understand this, but he just said that the president wants Hego to go serve in Bosnia."
"Oh," Shego said, "Is that all? Mom, he has super powers now. He'll be okay."
"I know," her mother said, "But he's just a kid, and he not invincible. I'm just worried. What business do we even have sending troops there? It's not our war."
Shego wasn't worried at all. It was yet another opportunity to be away from annoying brother and relax. Still, she had to at least hold up appearances and calm her mother down.
"Hey," Shego said, "he lived through the Gulf War whenever they sent him over there. Bosnia shouldn't even be a problem for him. He should be able to help out the US reserves there."
"You have a lot of faith in your brother," her mother said, not knowing the irony in the phrase, "But I just don't know what to do whenever my son is being treated less like a kid and more like a tool for the US government. Later, he's probably going to tell me that he wants to start a new superhero team with you and your other brothers."
Shego shook her head. Why would she ever want to be in a stupid superhero club with them? Boys were icky to her, especially her brothers. Yet, it might be fun to be part of a group like that, to beat up bad guys. No, saving lives and making the world safer wasn't the first thing on this girl's mind, but she did always enjoy fighting, one of the reasons she would pick fights at school.
"Well, mom," Shego said, "I'm going to go ride my bike." She left her mom to decide what she was going to say to her son.
Shego got on her bike and rode down the sidewalk, the breeze caressing her face and the sun gleaming across her eyelids. She rode down to the ditch at the end of her street that separated her street from the small woods near the suburb. Here, she could relax, forget her irritating family and the fact that she had homework due tomorrow.
She got off the bike, jumped over the ditch, and sat in the grass, her body propped against a tree. She looked up through the canopy of the brown and orange leaves and gazed at the sunlight that crept in. Deep down, she really didn't care for people, but she did enjoy her times in nature. Seeing it and taking a breather from her rough and boisterous life at school gave her some realization that maybe the world was worth saving and that this meteor may have been the best thing that could have happened to her. Perhaps fighting crime with her brothers wouldn't be so bad after all; at the very least, she could beat the ever living crap out of people, as she though earlier.
…
"How is he?" Professor Membrane asked through the floating screen that hovered through the maternity ward, "Please, let me see my son."
"He's actually with his mom right now," the nurse said, "if you want to see them. This way." She then guided the floating screen down the hallway to Mrs. Evelyn Membrane's room. Evelyn had a warm smile on her face as the screen that had her husband's image on it floated into the room.
"Aww," Professor Membrane said, "He looks like the most adorable homosapien we could have ever concocted."
"Yes, he is quite beautiful," Evelyn said, laughing, "I think we'll still stick with Dibson."
"You know that's a very unusual name for a boy," the professor said.
"Oh, just as unusual as his father," Evelyn said, "He's going to be unique, I guarantee it."
"So, for short, we'll call him Dib?" Professor Membrane said. "That makes me think of the Dubai Islamic Bank. I hope he follows in my footsteps as a scientist and not a banker."
"I doubt banking is going to be in his future," Evelyn said, "I think he might be a parascientist, searching for the preternatural and supernatural."
"Someone of my blood into parascience?" Professor Membrane said and chuckled awkwardly, "Oh you are my funny wife."
"Laugh now, dear," Evelyn said, "But soon you'll see how open minded our kids can be."
"Kids?" Professor Membrane asked, "So you want another one already?"
"Well, maybe one day," Evelyn laughed.
The child looked outside the window, beyond the scrubs and into the blue sky. He couldn't quite understand what everything was at this point but was more or less taking every unusual image in that he could. He then saw something floating in the sky, which looked like a hovering silver disk. The object then darted from his sight, like a bird on a branch, landing for a moment only to be gone a flash.
As the object vanished into the blueness of the sky, the child smiled, burning the image into his young brain forever.
…
…Yeah, the next chapter's going to be better; I promise.
