AN: So the impossible has happened.
Whenever you publish on this website, you think - oh, I hope people enjoy my story. Maybe someone'll even write a review? Maybe follow? You don't really believe that an actual publisher will come by and find your stuff interesting. It's a dream. It never happens.
Well, it happened to me. Of all my many stories, only the one from the Cthulhu Mythos ('The Black Door') has been noticed, and it will be published in a collection of horror stories at the end of the year. This is so amazing that I decided to celebrate by writing another one-shot in this universe.
I hope you have as much luck in the New Year as I did! Enjoy! And hold on to your eldritch, non-Euclidean pants! XD
The Banners of Luxor
I hurt myself today
To see if I still feel
I focus on the pain
The only thing that's real
- Michael T. Reznor
I sat that Wednesday morning in the private office of doctor Abiud E. Mosebach, the dean of the department of experimental psychology at the Miskatonic, where he received patients only as a matter of exception in the years when teaching and research have become the main focus of his work. It saddened me, however, to see this illustrious specialist, who had not only shown his kindness to me by taking me in and treating my case, but also had been the very one to direct me to record my thoughts and experiences in writing, frowning at me in an involuntary grimace of dissatisfaction as I rolled up my sleeves to reveal the fresh, horizontal scars on my forearms. It was hard for me to recall all the times he had warned me against self-mutilation as a destructive coping mechanism, and his disappointment at my relapse caused my senses to writhe in much deeper pain than the sharp edge with which I had inflicted the cuts upon myself, even if I managed to successfully hide that inner anguish from others.
Dr. Mosebach sunk back into his tall, leather-padded chair, exhaling deeply, and took off his glasses. In his aged, wearied expression I could once again see the face of my father, whose silent disapproval had always been more horrid than wrath, screaming, and blows. I shook off the memory or vision generated by my overactive imagination, and heard the professor utter my name.
'Susannah.'
The voice was that of a man exhausted, the tone one of failure, and no matter how much he would dissuade me from thinking so, I knew I was the one responsible. If there was one thing I had developed the unerring skill to sense, it was disappointment. After all, that was the way I was brought up in my family home. My father needed not as much as speak to me when I misbehaved. I could feel it immediately as he returned home from work, and found something that aroused his disapproval, something with which I had shattered the peace he required in his moments of well-earned respite. He would then exact his just punishment, though not by his own hand, as for that he was too fragile a man. Time and time again he would send me to that dark, gruesome house I used to fear so much, the one of his brother. My uncle would bring me into the chamber filled with the vile smell of cannabis and bodily fluids, which I cannot erase from my memory in spite of years of effort. The things which happened there, I had almost forgotten. But what I do recall is my uncle bringing in other men to punish me, men who would afterward give him money for that reason, money which my father's brother used to fuel his cocaine addiction.
Mosebach presently reminded me that it was now almost two years since my uncle's death. The time both of us had spent in a process of arduous therapy which, as it turned out, was not showing satisfactory results. In passing, the professor mentioned that I was lowering his outcome statistics. After all, we had already tried most of the conventional methods of treatment, as well as the less conventional ones, ranging from long sessions of hypnosis to the implementation of psilocybin. Tense like the string of a lute, I sat there before him, subconsciously clenching my fists and driving my fingernails into the skin of my palms, as he sent me away with the only prescription he had left - that I ought to focus on the sphere in my life which remained the least affected, my work, and that I continue to take my medicine.
Truly, this proved to be a wise advice. My master's degree in Art History provided me with steady employment at the Boston Museum of Fine Arts, an occupation which I enjoyed and devoted myself to almost as zealously as to my family. The beauty of ages past and of far distant lands gave me a sense of security, and I found it a favour of fate that, as I returned there the very next day after my sojourn to Arkham, I was offered an opportunity to spend some extra time on what seemed like a fascinating professional endeavor.
That fateful Thursday one of the senior researchers associated with the Museum called me in order to present to me a strange package which was delivered the very same day from Egypt. The Museum had not expected any new deliveries, and the sender was unknown to anyone. His name was written in Arabic, and only after some effort the delivery was indicated to come from an 'Abdul Alhazred' of Luxor. That however was not nearly the most eerie thing about the uncanny parcel, but its contents. When the researcher unfurled for me the many layers of wrapping paper and other protective material, which indicated that the exhibit was both a fragile and precious one, before my eyes there appeared a marvelous sight.
It was a woven banner or tapestry of unmatched craftsmanship, of a style which was obviously long forgotten in our present age. The image it depicted was also not familiar to me, as it had little to do with any period of Egyptian art, or any known human art, to be specific. It portrayed a magnificent yet sinister impression of a human eye, though it was not the wedjat, the Eye of Horus. This mysterious oculus was three-lidded, half-covered symmetrically from all sides by a trinity of lashless veils of skin, with the black pupil peering out from the middle of the interjection of altitudes of an equilateral triangle, dilated as some bottomless abyss. The curious feature of the tapestry's art style was that it was apparently not merely supposed to convey a two-dimensional image, however, as the eye itself, when viewed from different angles, created the illusion of motion, seemingly arising from a sort of vaguely organic, greenish depth, following the beholder with its piercing glare. The researcher informed me that he and his colleagues were able to estimate that the banner was about 400 years old, and that it was made of human hair.
The Museum had taken immediate interest in the enigmatic banner, and wished to display it as soon as possible. There was one problem, however. Before that was to be done, the exact origin of the exhibit would have to be established, and for that reason, the management searched for a volunteer to travel to Egypt in pursuit of 'Abdul Alhazred', and the story behind the mysterious artifact.
I came forward without a trace of hesitation.
Preparations for my oversea trip began immediately, and the adrenaline of excitement, an emotion I had not felt in a long time, began to cruise through my veins. My husband was greatly surprised by the matter-of-factness of my announcement, but still he coped with the perspective of being left alone to care for our children for the following couple of weeks fairly well. His annoyance was limited, his objection short-lived. Even his blows seemed tender and loving, not at all the sign of a diminishing of affection.
I boarded the plane to Cairo with a sense of calmness, sailing away into the realm of exotic dreams throughout my nocturnal trip. From the crowded and noisy capital, a place well known for the dangers which await there for any Western woman, we made our way by bus to the ancient, proud, and much more remote city of Luxor.
Luxor! Jewel of the desert, seat of the Pharaohs! If only I had known what awaited me there!
Swaddled in my airy, indispensable Moslem garb which protected my skin from the scorching sun and the ravenous eyes of the local male population, I allowed myself to be swept away by the tide of the colourful streetwise rabble. Floating with the current, I joyfully soaked in the charm of the oriental bazaars and gazed upon the entrails of the city where the modern mixed with the ancient, where the narrow walkways spoke with the tongues of the ages.
The crowd finally led me to a small, European-style café, where I was scheduled to meet with the representative of the Luxor Institute of Ancient Egyptian Art, a lecturer at the University of Memphis, one Mr. Ezzat. Finally removing my chiffon hijab after exiting the street, I introduced myself as Susannah Weldon Chandler from the Boston Museum of Fine Arts. The Egyptian gentleman in his forties did not at all carry himself like most of the academics I knew, handsomely clothed in a light beige three-piece suit. His strong jaw, sprinkled with the typical, curly raven-black beard of a Middle-Eastern man, moved elegantly as he spoke to me in near-flawless English, deftly disguising the trace of unpleasant Arabic gutturalness. Ezzat gleamingly expressed to me his being charmed upon meeting an American woman, and that he was greatly thankful to his superiors for having chosen him for the task. And although this way of externalizing his glee had about it the feel of unprofessionalism, I reciprocated with a similar declaration, and answering the man's question assured him that my journey was a pleasant one. Ezzat and I then turned to discussing the matter at hand.
I presented to the Egyptologist all the materials I had brought with me from Boston, namely the facsimiles and photographs of the mysterious banner, as well as whatever information we had about the sender. And although Ezzat spent a considerable amount of time examining these images and as reading the reports from the researchers at the Boston Museum, to my disappointment, even he could offer me few answers. The unique art style of the eerie artifact was unfamiliar to him, as well, and Ezzat doubted that the origin of the banner was Egyptian at all. The only thing that caught his attention in a particular way, however, was the name of the man who was said to have first sent the priceless exhibit from Luxor.
Ezzat asked me if the sender's name was indeed 'Abdul Alhazred', and as he did so, I could at once see that his interests were triggered. I responded that this was indeed true, but since I could not read Arabic, I presented to him the picture taken of the original package in which the banner had arrived. Seeing that caused Ezzat's brow to immediately wrinkle. He explained that he was sure no man by that name lived in all of Egypt, and that 'Abdul Alhazred' was most likely an alias, a fact which I myself found quite intriguing. Ezzat then proceeded to reveal to me that the real Abdul Alhazred, known as the 'Mad Arab', was an eighth-century Yemenese poet, occultist, and supposed wizard, mostly known for his authorship of the forbidden grimoire, Kitab al-Azif. The Necronomicon.
Although both of us considered this fact to be of great importance, and undoubtedly connected to the origins of the Three-Lidded Eye banner, neither of us could sadly find any other way to put the pieces of this ancient puzzle together. The real Abdul Alhazred was long dead, and whoever assumed his name, was still unknown to us. At that time, I nearly became convinced that it would remain that way forever.
Seeing that our meeting brought little progress, Ezzat pocketed the copies of my materials and promised to present them to the rest of the academic staff at his university. That was the least he could do, and being aware of that, thanking the man, I was almost ready to go my separate way with a feeling of bitter disappointment. In order for that not to be too heavy a burden for me, however, the Egyptologist proposed to accompany me on my way back to the hotel.
Walking through the busy streets of Luxor, we spoke freely on unrelated subjects, which gave me a bit of relief taking my lack of success into account. It was only at the door of the hotel that we were stopped by a certain disturbance. Our conversation was cut short by a group of three or four local men draped in traditional Moslem garb who sat in front of a nearby hookah lounge, playing what seemed to be some variation of chess. The men, with a fair amount of fervor, suddenly called upon Ezzat, catching his attention, and to my surprise, I recognized that the Egyptians were talking to him about me. A loud exchange of words followed of which I understood little, since it was carried out in Arabic, at the conclusion of which Ezzat turned from the men with anger chiseled on his face while they threw curses at his back. My guardian urged me to follow without turning around, and upon questioning, he explained that the local men were attempting to buy me.
Before our ways parted at the entrance to the hotel, visibly concerned, Ezzat asked me if I had arrived here alone. When I told him that it was as he said, he entreated me not to walk the streets of Luxor without a male guardian, and especially not to look for Abdul Alhazred. He explained to me that Egypt was not a place fit for Western women, but when I assured him that I could take care of myself, he only told me to beware. With that, he left.
For the remainder of my trip, I was to carry in my heart a constricting sense of insecurity, stemming from Ezzat's warning. Nevertheless, I did not allow that feeling to ruin my stay in a city as marvelously beautiful as Luxor. Still in search of answers, I left my footprints on the same stone pavements of Thebes and Karnak as the Pharaohs once had along with their uncounted and unnamed slaves. I journeyed through the Valley of Kings in pursuit of the gaze of the Three-Lidded Eye, finding nothing but ghosts and wind. I saw the face of the red sun-god reflected in the waters of the Nile at dusk, turning them into blood like in some biblical parable. But I did not see the face of Abdul Alhazred.
My journeying, eventually transforming from one of duty to one of leisure, was surprisingly safe and unperturbed, which lent to me a certain boldness. Now I walked the streets of Luxor with my head held as high as if I were back in New England, determined to find what I was looking for before my visit in this strange land came to its inevitable conclusion. And the time was short. Weary with my inquiries among the city's academics and the many scholars from the finest Egyptian museums, I finally ventured deeper into Luxor's bowels, away from the beaten track and the safe company of other tourists. And although I could feel about me the covetous glances of local men, I was urged by some untraceable power, and a conviction that what I sought was there, somewhere. I searched for the only gaze I was interested in – the gaze of the Three-Lidded Eye.
It finally found me in a place so insignificant that I almost passed it on the way. A small bazaar at dusk, nearly unpopulated, in a grim, suburban part of the ancient metropolis. As I walked by one of the countless stalls bedecked with local folk art, aimed to rob the unwary Westerner of his or her leftover Egyptian pounds, one item on display was barely caught in the corner of my eye. A bracelet of black and green beads, of mediocre artistic value in itself, not to be compared at all with the original, but which stood out significantly among the multitude of displayed objects. The image which was depicted by the colourful grains of glass… The depth of it! The gaping abyss of the dilated pupil peering from the midst of the three symmetrical eyelids!
As soon as I saw it, I knew that I had found what I was searching for.
The female merchant looked at me with distrust when I approached. Uncommonly apprehensive, the woman reacted with an outcry as soon as I gestured toward the bracelet, giving me the impression that she did not wish to part with it. Conversation was impossible, as I did not know Arabic, and the old female Egyptian would not be persuaded even by the sight of coin. She was about to chase me away from her stand and from her wares when, in a desperate attempt, I mentioned the only name I thought may have had a familiar sound to her. Abdul Alhazred.
The woman paused, hesitating. It was then that I heard a voice addressing her from behind my back.
The voice was that of a man, and its note carried in it much power. It spoke in a language which, as far as I could tell, was not Arabic, but it seemed like the mere sound of it immediately caused the old merchant to relent. I turned around to see where it came from, and shivered. Behind me stood a man in his fifties, much taller than I, draped in the traditional Egyptian garb called gallibaya, with a turban on his head. His features, however, were not those of a local. He made the impression of a man who had spoken Arabic for decades, but whose origins were from some entirely different place.
The stranger came up to the stall with no hesitation, and without the faintest sign of objection from the owner reached out into the display case, retrieving the bracelet, gazing at it intently. Then he turned to me and spoke, to my even greater astonishment, addressing me in English.
'The Three-Lidded Eye… It is dangerous for a Western woman to search for such a symbol, especially on her own' – I remember him saying, as his words made me feel unsafe in his presence. I had been warned about Egyptian men, yet how could I turn away now, when the answer to all my questions seemed to be so close?
Overcoming my own apprehension, I inquired of the stranger if he would be able to help me. I told him that I was almost positive that the merchant knew something about the symbol on the bracelet, and I was wondering if the man would be willing to act as an interpreter, since he seemed to speak the old woman's language. Hearing that, the stranger grinned, revealing an incomplete row of worn teeth. His smile, to my relief, did not seem sinister. The man said that indeed, the Egyptian woman may have known something about the symbol, but that I need not ask her. When, perplexed, I inquired why that was so, he simply stretched out his hand, asking that I do the same. I hesitated at first, but recognizing his gesture to be a friendly one, I uncovered my wrist, allowing him to put the bracelet on.
'Susannah, I ensure you that I know much more about the Three-Lidded Eye than this here old woman' – he then said to me, although I do not presently remember if I had told him my name.
I still have a vivid image of how odd this encounter was etched deeply into my mind. The man's ethnicity was a mystery to me, as is the way in which he found me. I remember he told me he had been looking for me, which caused me to assume he had heard of me from someone at one of the museums in Luxor. The man's accent, even when he spoke English, was impossible to place, his eyes were bright green, he had long grey hair and a beard, scars from obviously self-inflicted cuts peering out from under his kaftan, and a habit of biting the inside of his lips. When asked for his name, he smiled, responding that his real name was of no consequence. It was then that I knew for sure.
Somehow, by an eerie trick of fate, I found myself in the presence of 'Abdul Alhazred', the very man who had sent the Three-Lidded Eye tapestry to the museum in the first place.
Amazed as I was intrigued, at the invitation of the man himself, I accompanied Alhazred to his home in the old part of the city. Though the voice of reason still implored me not to follow this stranger in a strange land, I walked on, as that voice slowly silenced to a mere whisper. The house he lived in was ancient, a part of a traditional complex of white-washed brick dwellings, a cool shelter from the outside heat. I was however astonished to find the interior furnished in a Spartan manner, as if the place was rarely used as living quarters, with only a rudimentary set of undecorated equipment. Nevertheless, Alhazred offered me some strong Egyptian coffee, and we sat down in his parlour with an accompaniment of simsimiyya music played by some local in the streets for the amusement of the tourists.
My curiosity had reached its peak. I had to know the truth. And although I was yet unaware of what exactly I was asking for, showing to my host the bracelet he had presented me with, I inquired about his enigmatic banner, and about the Three-Lidded Eye. I record here our conversation as well as I am able to, though some of the facts and words seem to me now as if viewed through a mist.
Alhazred, who spoke calmly yet in a strange, dazed manner, first revealed to me that the tapestry was his very personal gift to the civilization of the West, as it was not merely an ancient artifact of history, but an object of worship, a religious symbol which he prized above any other material possession. That was a revelation I myself had not anticipated. The man did not create the impression of being any sort of a scientist, though his life was evidently dedicated to something. And in that thing which he was dedicated to, he was completely immersed.
'So the Three-Lidded Eye is a symbol of a god?' – I recall asking him, a bit startled, as the religion the existence of which he was now revealing was something as new and unfamiliar to me as it was old and well-known to him.
'Yes, a god' – smiled Alhazred, his emerald eyes gazing at something in the unspecified distance only he could perceive. – 'But that word does not exhaust the definition of what he is. He had ruled Egypt once.'
'Ruled Egypt?' – I inquired, still unaware of who this he was whom we were discussing.
Alhazred nodded. At this point, his discourse became more like riddles than actual human speech. Still, I could not keep myself from listening.
'Yes. He was called Kame-Perro, the Black Pharaoh. Egypt is Kymeh, the Black Land. It was him who made it that way. He was worshiped like a god, but he was so much more. Oh no, in Egypt, he had been worshiped in much ancient times than when the names of Ra, or Osiris, or Isis were ever called upon…'
'He is an even elder deity than the Egyptian gods?' – I interrupted him, trying to make heads or tails of what he was indeed trying to convey to me.
Alhazred grinned yet again, and instead of answering directly, he took a drag from his water pipe which I suspected contained hashish, and delivered his response in verse. I record his answer here word for word.
I was old when the Pharaohs first mounted the jewel-deck'd throne by the Nile. I was old in those epochs uncounted when I, and I only, was vile.
I felt confused. I felt like I was in the presence of a madman. Still, after hours of listening to his ravings, I had been able to estimate that the Three-Lidded Eye was something akin to an eldritch, malevolent deity, perhaps an evolution of the original evil god of humanity, upon whom all concepts of what we now call the devil are based. I was amazed to realize that the cult of such a being still existed, and that I was speaking with one of its followers.
Alhazred continued his insane discourse, but finally, as we ran out of coffee and hashish, he also ran out of words. Now that he was done speaking about the Three-Lidded Eye, he insisted that he would be able to show it to me.
I know not if it was the influence of the drug in the air, or some other unnamed power. The undeniable fact, however, is that I followed. Alhazred, taking with him some strange woven box the purpose of which I did not yet understand, led me to the doors of his basement. And though the remnants of my reason begged me not to enter, the man insisted, and in the manner in which he spoke I noticed an uncanny semblance to the voice of my uncle, who once urged me to enter into the abysses of his own house. Even if I wanted to, I could not at this point resist. And I cannot remember if I wanted to resist.
I walked behind Alhazred, following the light of his lamp, going deeper and deeper into what seemed no longer a basement, but a network of tunnels leading into the very depths of old Luxor. In my frantic haste, and a blurry daze, I barely recognized the reliefs on the aeons-old walls, as the faint light danced on their surface, bringing them momentarily back to life. Greek murals from the Ptolemaic period… Reliefs from the time of the Achaemenid conquests… The forbidden, blasphemous images dating back to the Amarna heresy, preserved by some miracle… Hieroglyphs from the New Kingdom, the First Intermediate Period, the Fourth and Third Dynasties… Neolithic carvings etched into the very bedrock of the city. Wonders beyond compare or comprehension.
And then, after seeing all of that, finally I saw them. The banners of Luxor.
In the faint, dim light of my crazed guide's lamp, the Three-Lidded Eye followed me with its gaze from dozens of tapestries displayed on the walls from both sides, some much larger and much more elaborate that even the one Alhazred had provided us with. Its glare now seemed to pierce me to the core of my soul. There was no turning back.
I do not know how long we walked before we reached the inner sanctum. It was there that the other corridors seemed to meet, as the chamber, apparently the oldest part of the complex, which was truly bedecked with banners, had multiple gaping, dark entrances at all sides. My guide proceeded to ignite the torches, and to my eyes there was revealed a monument which stood in the midst. A great statue akin to that of a Pharaoh, of black, basalt-like stone, untouched by time. There was an altar before it, frequently used, by who must have been persons other than merely Alhazred himself. The monument had a name carved into its base, in an alphabet similar to Greek, perhaps Coptic. I was able to read the name.
It was Nyarlathotep.
My guide had promised to show to me the Three-Lidded Eye. He was not lying.
Petrified with awe, I observed as Alhazred placed the wicker box he was carrying on the altar before the black Pharaoh. The man seemed uneasy now, as if acting against his will, fighting an inner struggle. That contrasted greatly with his earlier, crazed, yet relaxed demeanor.
I shook as the ancient temple suddenly thundered with my guide's screams. Lifting his arms high and falling to his knees, Alhazred erupted in an invocation which I was able to transcribe to the best of my ability, yet which I, to this very day, do not understand. His guttural voice reverberated a torturous note, but still had the might to move the city above us.
Joëis! Pa-joëis! Agòn, Eia Shomte-kelfi! Amou, Kame-Perro Nyarlathotep, Khroti Azathoth, amou! Amou, Oushti-Chaos! Ei ebol hn-Abbith!
Alhazred's words died down, and there was silence. I noticed a change in him now, a newfound calmness. Carefully, he opened the box which lay on the altar, revealing that it contained a harmless, snow-white cat. The animal's meowing set me at ease as well.
The feeling lasted but a moment, however, only until my guide turned to face me, and I saw that his appearance had changed. I realized then that he was not becoming calmer. He was merely losing the remnants of his humanity. The man who called himself Abdul Alhazred was no more. He had been possessed, nay, replaced by someone entirely different.
Still clutching the cat in his arms, the man gazed on me with a pair of dilated, three-lidded eyes. He searched for the sight of my own eyes, and when mine met with his, I had a feeling he peered into the deepest recesses of my soul.
He spoke to me then, and to my horror, I understood the words and recognized the voice at once, as it was the voice of my father.
'Susannah. You've been misbehaving again.'
Those words crushed me, erasing any progress I had been able to achieve during years of work with Dr. Mosebach in a matter of an eye-blink. All I could do was stand there, shuddering, just like years before, a mumbling and powerless child.
'No. You are dead' – I remember saying.
The Three-Lidded Eye cackled, as if my statement was that of a woman gone mad.
'Dead? No. There is no death, Susannah. Nor life. There is only torment.'
Having uttered those words, he rapidly twisted his black hands, shattering the spine of the cat he was holding, making the creature cry out in a terrifying final yelp. Afterwards he forcefully stretched out his arms in a cruciform manner, instantaneously tearing the animal asunder, painting the floor and the walls of the temple with gore as the many eyes from the banners looked on, passionless.
Having reached my limit in this insanity, I ran. I do not recall how I reached the exit from the tunnels under Luxor, or my hotel room, but the next thing I can remember is searching for my sleeping medicine, and swallowing as much of it as I was able to in order to rid myself of this inexpressible terror.
Yes, terror. I thought at that time that I had fallen victim to some hallucination, or perhaps to the spirits which had always been but a step behind me. And I became terrified. Is this what my life was always to be? My father, driving the dagger he had himself put there ever deeper into my heart? Things like that make stronger men want to hug their priests… That was the last time I felt fear, or anything at all. What is left of me now is merely a hollowed husk. I thought that I would die. I wished that I would die. But instead, I awoke in the same room reeking of cannabis and bodily fluids I knew so well, the one in my uncle's house. And I knew then that what I heard when the Three-Lidded Eye gazed upon me, was true.
I am writing these words in a hospital room, somewhere in New England, as I assume. Somehow, my family must have found me, and brought me back home. But, in spite of that, nothing shall be the same anymore.
We are mere spots of chalk in the corner of the great blackboard called space. But we cannot be blotted out. Our existence, the anguish of it, it never dies.
The anguish never dies.
AN: The words with which Alhazred calls upon Nyarlathotep are in a language similar to Coptic, of which Susannah is only able to offer a crude transcription. The words are translated roughly as follows- 'Master, my master! Open, Three-Lidded Eye! Come, Black Pharaoh Nyarlathotep! Spawn of Azathoth, come! Come, Crawling Chaos! Come forth from Abbith!'