Blood Of The Nameless

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
A dark fantasy horror, written in the style of the great author H.P. Lovecraft.

Submitted: June 25, 2010

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Submitted: June 25, 2010

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Beyond the boundaries of good and evil, something lurked on the frayed edges of reality, lingering for just a few moments as if deciding weather to exist or not. Through the fire and flames exists the great one, namelessly passing from the lips of children and their parents. A ghost story, a legend. Some say it had a name once, lost in decades of blood and slaughter that followed. Dear reader you must heed this warning, read no further. Do what I could never do, for if this falls into your hands and you do read on then your life will be placed in the gravest danger; for what I have found must be recorded yet lost. Let it become a memory, and let my life fade away like the nemesis we both face.
 
My memories fade as my life draws to its close, but I intend to go out with a finale, this tale must be told in full if the creature we face is to be truly understood. My trips to Egypt, as I recall, were becoming provisional. I must explain here that during my short time on this earth I was an archeologist, for it is a vital detail that I fear missing out will leave this tale incomplete.
 
My misfortune began one dark eve as we were departing from an Egyptian port, heading to speak to consult Slavic priest from whom I had received previous correspondent. He followed the old ways, a pagan if you will. During this journey I began to have recurring nightmares, bloody and twisted. Vague ghosts of creatures and demons, gods that should have been. And through the ominous blackness the eyes of the nameless one bored into me, subjecting me to horrific twisted visions of other realities that never were. I could see the scythe, yes the scythe, its perfect blade tainted with the evil that pulsated in the dark, yet it could only be in the light. The book was there too, the dragon tome, its pages faded and worn yet the power within them remained as strong as the millennia. A young woman too, the heart, her blonde hair and serpentine daggers shone through the darkness, an extraterrestrial light. The three, created in unison and scattered throughout realities, one day to be united and destroy the soulless beast that preys on the frayed edges of reality.
 
It became apparent the next morn that the nightmares were not just felt by me but the whole crew. Dark figures had been reported to have been stalking the corridors at night, yet all the crew and passengers were accounted for in their cabins. Some evil was at play, I could feel it, and it knew who I was, it knew where I lived, it knew me.
 
The nightmares slowly grew more and more intense, the next night our ship was hit by an unearthly storm. Waves battered the side of the vessel, causing violent turbulence. I swore that when I looked into the heart of the tempest, there lay the beast, watching me. Huge tentacles thrashing and writhing, eyes flashing with dark intelligence as lightning cracked past them. It may have been at that point the boat capsized and I found myself plunged into the abyss, my conciseness fading away to comforting darkness.
 
I was rescued by a passing fisherman, who inexplicably had neither seen nor heard the storm that had hit us. When we returned to shore I went at once to a religious expert, pressing him with questions about the nameless one. He was found the next day, dead in his office; Dark figures seen stalking the streets that same night.
 
My god, they’ve found me. Dear reader listen very carefully to me, these words are the only power he has left, let them fade into nothingness. Destroy them. For he has forgotten the fourth. He cannot be whole without the fourth. I hear the footsteps pressing against the rotting wood, they are coming. Know this, if you don’t stop him chaos will reign; something has survived. Dear god, this is it.
 
Forgive me.


© Copyright 2020 Drizzle. All rights reserved.

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