Chapter 9: Sanity Has Advantages

Winter came to the school, the skies turned a dazzling opaline white and the grounds were covered in a soft white frost of snow. Inside the school, there was a buzz of christmas, and the air became supercharged as rumours flew everywhich way.

Alex had been cautiously avoiding staring their fake teachers directly in the eyes, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to repel one such teacher.
'Mr Gale, why do you seem to struggle so in my class...?'
Alex did not look up from his book, he could sense that "Mr Tepp" was right in front of him. The rest of them were gone, the two were alone.
'Alex...' he sighed. 'The last time you were in the school after dark... What did you see?' A gentle hand under his chin, lifting his head from the book, forcing him to stare into those deep eyes.

'What did you see?' That irresistable echo in his tone.
'It was you.' the words escaped his lips without Alex's own thought. Nyarlathotep sighed deeply before striding around the table so he stood next to Alex. 'I have heard that the library has been missing a specific tome for quite a while... Do you know anything about it?'
'No, sir.' Alex shook his head, eyes flicking momentarily to his own rucksack. Why did I have to bring it with me? He cringed slightly as an arm was draped over his shoulder.
'You know an inkling of me, Alexander, do you fear me now?'
'Yes.' Alex nodded. 'Truly, sir.'
'My name, Alex, say it.'
'Nyarlathotep, the Crawling Chaos.' Alex shuddered, glancing at the hand he could see. The hand moved to ruffle his hair.
'Clever, well spoken, and still sane! My, my, the Yith genes must be helping you.' he was amused.
Alex trembled as he turned to stare the Outer God in the face. Deep eyes turned a burning gold. 'You stare into the abyss, but I am the abyss, Alex, and I. Stare. Back.' Nyarlathotep finished with a smug grin, only stopping to apply a small kiss to his forehead. 'Keep your sixth sense closed, you won't like what you see of me...'

Alex dived into the restrooms before his next class, seeking to cool his fiery skin.

'C'mon, Wilbur, it's not that bad.'
'Go away!' Came the distorted reply. Alex looked to his left to see Randolph Carter leaning against a set of toilet cubicles. He bowed his head and gave a sigh before noticing Alex. 'You should see him.' Carter whispered. 'It's awful...'
The door to the restrooms opened and the vibrant haired librarian entered and immediatly made a bee-line for the toilets. 'You two. Out.' he ordered to Carter and Alex.

The two of them waited outside, listening at the door but only hearing muffled voices.

'Shouldn't you be in class, now?' Mr King wondered as he passed them in the corridor. 'Why are you looking at me like that, Mr Gale?'

'Oh nothing, Sir.' Alex stated. Except that you're a dark God acting as my art teacher and No-one has noticed a thing!

'I think Hastur's trying to turn our minds into a goopy mess.' Ceaser stated as they walked home, having suffered the biting frost, and their bags heavy with homework. 'Hm?' Kara wondered, her breath steaming up through the scarf wrapped around her neck and lower face.

'According to the Nerconomicon, he is the representation of decay in the universe, and the patron of pyschotic artists.'
'Well, that would explain his art classes.' Kara nodded. 'Next he'll be making us take drugs.'

Alex was glad to be out of the frost, snow, and cold. He was glad to be away from the school and in his home with good central heating. 'You alright, Alex? You look a bit... Stunned.' his mother wondered as he rubbed his forehead before trying to focus on homework. 'I'm fine... I just...'
'Ooh. Is my son in love?' his mother guessed rushing to his side. 'So, tell... Who's the lucky girl?'
Human? Girl? Oh shit... I love the soul, not the mask...
'I just...' Alex swallowed deeply. 'It's a teacher.'
'Ah, don't worry, your hormones are everywhere. It'll settle eventually.' she patted him lightly on the back. 'Just... Try and not to flirt with her.'

'Look at me, Dad... I'm a freak...'
Yog Sothoth considered his son's words as he examined the twisted, mutated form before him. Wilbur Whateley had now devloped another set of arms bursting from his back, ending in large, sharp talons. His normal right arm was elongated and covered in rapidly blinking eyes. Feet ending in cloven hooves as an oversized scorpion tail whipped lazily around him.
'Well... I've seen worse, believe me.' he managed, pushing his glasses back up.
'But I don't want to look like this!' Wilbur demanded. 'What caused this!'
'I have a faint idea...' Yog Sothoth muttered, considering the possibilites and what he had heard from the students. There was darkness in the heart of this school, and it did not come from Nyarlathotep.

Nyarlathotep knew humanity had a purpose, he just wasn't going to tell them it. Let them wander in their pessemistic voids. There was a reason that Nyarlathotep put the rumours curse on the school; Whenever humans gossiped, they always seemed to speak of the bad stuff... Unfortunately this also created a lot of Thoughtforms. A Thoughtform was what happened when enough humans focused their imaginations on a single idea. That idea would then draw in those energies and then they sometimes, only sometimes, became concious of their own existence. Most Thoughtforms were harmless, quickly fading away if ignored. But this, in the school, this was something else... This one was powerful. Powerful enough to take on a solid form and control weaker minded beings. Ah well, these things happened.

He could do nothing but give an annoyed sigh as he spotted the text book left on the desk. When would that human learn?
He spoke my name. He knows me.
The Crawling Chaos shook his head, dark hair settling once again. 'He knows only an inkling. A drop of water in a vast ocean.'
'Talking to yourself again, Dark Messenger?' he turned to find Hastur in the doorway, his mask in his hands, leaving Nyarlathotep staring Hastur in his... Incredibly... beautiful face. He shook his head to clear his cloudy thoughts; he was not a weak willed creature easily bewitched by a monster's charms. 'Leave me be, Hastur.'

The King in Yellow shrugged before replacing his mask. 'Very well, Crawling Chaos. I shall... leave you to your fancies...' He left the room in time to avoid a glass beaker that was thrown at him.
'Pathetic...' Nyarlathotep snorted. He stopped to consider the text book he held; he kept a grip on it so firm that his fingers threatened to puncture clean through the 500 pages. 'This is ridiculous... It's just a human being! It's an insect!'
So why can't I forget him? It... It hurts to resist the pull...

(A/N: Yippie, now Nyarly's struggling to fight his own curse.)