After H.P. Lovecraft.
After he left the library, Maslip stopped in at The Corner Bar to have a bit of whisky and soda before bedtime. His rooms were just up the street and he often dropped by for a night cap.
A stranger sat at his usual back corner table, but Maslip was not to be deterred. "Mind if I join you?"
The man was small, swarthy, and dressed in a long, black coat, the collar of which was turned up even though it was early summer and quite warm. He motioned to a chair across the table, and when Maslip sat down the man began talking in a low, whispering voice, as though he had laryngitis. "Sir, have you heard of Howard Phillips Lovecraft, that fellow who wrote those frightening tales about things lurking about in other dimensions, just waiting to break through into our world and take over?" The man droned on and on, his whispering voice soothing and hypnotic. Maslip stared into the man's eyes, which seemed abnormally large and had horizontal pupils, like a cat's. Eyes that seemed to draw him into a cold, dark place not of this earth . . .
Maslip tried to tear his eyes away from the other's, but could not. He began to imagine he saw impossible, multi-colored, impossible-angled worlds far out in the depths of space. And coming closer, ever closer were strange, monstrous shapes, speeding through the cold void of space between dimensions, looking for a portal leading into this world so they could--
The barman stumbled, bringing over another round of drinks, which the stranger had apparently ordered. A glass fell, shattered on the floor at Maslip's feet, breaking the unholy trance-like state he had experienced. He blinked, jumped to his feet, threw some money on the table and ran from the bar as though pursued by devils.
Half-way home Maslip paused to look behind him. The street was empty, much to his relief. Back in his rooms, he stripped and took a long shower, as though trying to wash away some unclean stains. All the while he wondered: "What might have happened to me had I remained in the bar, under that fellow's power for a few more minutes?"
Maslip was awakened at 2:15 in the morning by a strange, scraping sound. He cringed in fear, but finally worked up the courage to get out of bed and go to the window, where the sound had originated. A summer storm was brewing outside, and the wind blew the branches of a tree against the window, making the sound.
But when he went back to bed, Maslip did not sleep well. He tossed and turned, as though fleeing unseen monsters that he was certain were coming for him across the cold, dark spaces between the stars, and from a dimension other than his own.
After he left the library, Maslip stopped in at The Corner Bar to have a bit of whisky and soda before bedtime. His rooms were just up the street and he often dropped by for a night cap.
A stranger sat at his usual back corner table, but Maslip was not to be deterred. "Mind if I join you?"
The man was small, swarthy, and dressed in a long, black coat, the collar of which was turned up even though it was early summer and quite warm. He motioned to a chair across the table, and when Maslip sat down the man began talking in a low, whispering voice, as though he had laryngitis. "Sir, have you heard of Howard Phillips Lovecraft, that fellow who wrote those frightening tales about things lurking about in other dimensions, just waiting to break through into our world and take over?" The man droned on and on, his whispering voice soothing and hypnotic. Maslip stared into the man's eyes, which seemed abnormally large and had horizontal pupils, like a cat's. Eyes that seemed to draw him into a cold, dark place not of this earth . . .
Maslip tried to tear his eyes away from the other's, but could not. He began to imagine he saw impossible, multi-colored, impossible-angled worlds far out in the depths of space. And coming closer, ever closer were strange, monstrous shapes, speeding through the cold void of space between dimensions, looking for a portal leading into this world so they could--
The barman stumbled, bringing over another round of drinks, which the stranger had apparently ordered. A glass fell, shattered on the floor at Maslip's feet, breaking the unholy trance-like state he had experienced. He blinked, jumped to his feet, threw some money on the table and ran from the bar as though pursued by devils.
Half-way home Maslip paused to look behind him. The street was empty, much to his relief. Back in his rooms, he stripped and took a long shower, as though trying to wash away some unclean stains. All the while he wondered: "What might have happened to me had I remained in the bar, under that fellow's power for a few more minutes?"
Maslip was awakened at 2:15 in the morning by a strange, scraping sound. He cringed in fear, but finally worked up the courage to get out of bed and go to the window, where the sound had originated. A summer storm was brewing outside, and the wind blew the branches of a tree against the window, making the sound.
But when he went back to bed, Maslip did not sleep well. He tossed and turned, as though fleeing unseen monsters that he was certain were coming for him across the cold, dark spaces between the stars, and from a dimension other than his own.
