That which is not dead may eternal lie
And with strange eons, even Death may die.
"It's the wave of the future!" the old Russian exclaimed. "In mere decades, this practice will become as mainstream as Christianity!" I couldn't believe him. What reason did I have to believe him? The simple answer was none. And yet, even so, I remained inexplicably intrigued by every word old Adrian said. Our visits were always nothing short of entertaining, and the mentoring he provided me helped guide me through many problems I'd had in my life.
Adrian Yurinov was, for all intents and purposes, a man of the world, both literally and figuratively. Ever since his family emigrated from Voronezh in 1942 to escape the Nazi stranglehold on the country, he had a hunger for culture. He built up a modest fortune and traveled the world, from London to Bombay, from Tokyo to Timbuktu, from Lima to Shanghai. And indeed, it was his visit to Shanghai that led him to practice Buddhism.
"So you honestly think you're that close? Actual…Nirvana?" I asked. Smiling, he replied, "I can see it in my dreams…a great, shining green light at the top of an infinitely long ladder." His devotion to his practice was nothing short of remarkable, but at this point, he just seemed to be spouting a whole lot of nonsense. "Imagine, if you will, that there are multiple realities…whole universes that are beyond our perceptions. They are separate from our world, and yet are a part of it." I was beginning to understand, if only a little bit. "You mean something like parallel universes?" I asked. He smiled through his grizzled beard and said, "Precisely! And the beauty of the situation is that I'm so close now! I was mere inches away last time, I could almost see it! There's absolutely nothing standing between me and ultimate universal understanding! I can become one with everything!" I was nothing short of perplexed at this point. "So why am I here?"
"Should I get lost in my trance, I need you to awaken me." "What?!" I exclaimed. "You'll be in a complete catatonic state! How the hell am I supposed to know whether you're lost or not?" Yet again, Adrian simply smiled. "If I stop breathing, of course. Shake me out of my meditation, and I'll be perfectly fine." I thought the old man was insane. Then again, I had thought that about him for a good five years. He was a hardheaded person, and I knew I wouldn't be able to keep him from his goals. "Allright…but just in case, I would appreciate having a waiver for me to sign."
Not paying any heed to my concerns, Adrian sat cross-legged and began to breath deeply and evenly. Every muscle in his body relaxed, and it looked as if he were about to fall over. But he didn't. He just kept his balance, as though some unseen force was propping his body up. Every once in a while, his eyelids would flutter, as though he was struggling in some bizarrely metaphysical sense to adjust his eyes to the light he had described. Suddenly, his brow furrowed, and his expression turned from one of relaxation to one of pain. He screamed in agony and threw his head back. When he opened his eyes, blood was streaming down his face from reddened eyes. Shouting in fear, I leaped from my seat and shook Adrian violently. He grabbed my shoulders and sputtered something nonsensical. After a couple of seconds, he calmed down and held his hands over his eyes. "Dear Lord…" he said, breathless. "What was…"
I ran to the phone to dial the emergency number, but Adrian held my arm. "I'll be fine…I feel no pain, and I can see fine." "What the fuck is wrong with you? Christ, your eyes--!" I shouted. Adrian simply got up and walked to his bathroom. All I heard was the brief sound of running water, and the old man came back out with a clean face and cleaner eyes. "I saw things in that dream-world…I saw things that utterly lack description. And that city…Oh, God almighty, that horrible city, with buildings made of bodies…But the structures, they were impossible, it can't have…" "Calm down, Adrian," I said. "You're suffering some kind of residual effect. You need to sleep it off." He looked at me, his eyes wide with some sort of unholy terror. I had never seen him without a positive attitude, let alone afraid. "Yes…yes, maybe you're right." "Look, I know I'm right. Just give me a call tomorrow morning, let me know how you're doing, all right?" He smiled ever so slightly…I wouldn't have noticed it if I wasn't looking for it. "Will do, boy."
My phone rang at three o'clock in the morning. "Damn it, Adrian," I muttered. I fumbled around for the phone and pressed the "talk" button. Before I could even say hello, Adrian whispered frantically into the mouthpiece. "They're coming! They're coming because I know, and there's nothing I can do! Please, come now!" "Adrian, you've had a nightmare, just calm down!" As I said this, the other end of the line faded briefly into white noise. I could have sworn I heard a word like "ril-yet", or maybe "rurl-yay"…it was strange, because it sounded like both at once. There were other words among the static, but I couldn't make them out. When the static faded, Adrian was still on the other line, but he was screaming like a maniac. "Christ! Christ! No, please God no!!!" What followed was the unmistakable sound of ripping leather. But it was a wet, splashing sound. Adrian was literally being torn apart. I immediately put on my coat and drove over, phoning the police on the way.
The door was locked and bolted, and it hadn't been forced. The police forced the door open, and the sight was grotesque. Adrian was on the far side of his apartment. His head was on the other side. I still think about that scene every day. But what vexes me most is the fact that when the police concluded their investigation, they found that nobody could have gotten in, and yet, Adrian couldn't have killed himself in that way. It was undoubtedly murder. Dusting for prints didn't reveal anything but Adrian's. He was the only person in his apartment when he was killed. But he didn't kill himself. And yet, nobody could have been in there. What further adds to the enigma is the fact that, on the wall, in his own blood, Adrian – and nobody else – wrote a message on the wall, the meaning of which still eludes investigators to this day:
"CTHULHU FHTAGN".