This is a piece of Lovecraftian flash fiction the bulk of which I
wrote previously as a comment backstory for the artwork by the
inimitable Mary C, below, with further inspiration from Mz Maau and Mar Mai. Various
names and elements also already provided by others as constraints. I
swear it was like trying to bring horror to My Little Pony!
Ermintrude
I
can only relate these matters as fragments, I'm afraid. The dreams ...
ahhh, the dreams. It had been over a year since the last dream, the
one I hinted at when last we met. I hadn't told you in full for I well
knew how disbelief would take you.
The horror of it! Even now I can barely bring myself to describe what I saw. What sane man could?
It
was last December, a month you well know to have been one of unusual
chill. And yet that night I rolled in sweat, my muscles knotted, as my
mind was assaulted by a vile creature emanating a tide of hate. I saw
it then in my dreams that night, though it wasn't the first time I had
encountered its mind. It appeared as a hulking beast, a pink
putrescence oozing from its skin. Purple eyes that fell away to nothing
entranced me, their bottomless pits echoing that Void I wish never to
see again in waking hour or dream.
It held me in its gaze, waves of
malevolence washing over me as I struggled. I was unable to break
free, unable to wake, sure only that this foul creature of the abyss
would rend my mind from my corporeal existence before the night was
through.
And then mercifully the beast suddenly bellowed and I
found myself released. That was the night you walked in and found me in
that hut. I said little of it that night, for I was shaken and unable
to articulate the magnitude of what I had experienced. But also I knew
that even then you would have trouble accepting the true import of that
mental invasion. And so, in seemingly roundabout fashion, we discussed
the cane you brought with you. For I believe now even more so than then
that the staff of Snok that you held when you crossed the threshold of
that hut was all that kept me from madness that night!
In the
ensuing months I delved deep into the lore of Snok, that ancient god of
myth from the darkest depths of Africa, where Her name and countenance
have been lost since before the language of man. And yet I found tales,
handed down orally amongst the tribes there. Just fragments ... and
yet when put together those fragments painted a most horrifying picture.
For Snok, it was said, had many children, horrifying
nightmares of children that in the forms of beasts roamed the earth as
it was. They took what they wanted, and what they willed was done, for
they were without peer. Nothing could breach their hide, and with their
mental powers they could reduce any foe to madness.
The tales
were ... brief; conflicting. That these children of Snok were few in
number was certain, and yet for the most part the tales could not agree
on form let alone name. But there was one. One of Snok's children that
had common description. A picture of a beast more loathsome than any
could imagine, so pink it veritably sparkled in the darkest depths of
the starless nights. Quadruped it was, stomping throughout forests and
making the earth shake, with giant all-hearing ears and a twisted parody
of a goat's tail attached to its hind-quarters. But most hideous of
all was said to be a great appendage upon its visage; a lone tentacle,
as of a giant squid. I'm sure I have no need to tell you of what that
suggests!
This child of Snok ran rampant through Africa,
destruction left only in its wake. Beasts rent or devoured. People
fleeing in terror. Tales of stork sacrificing themselves in some
unfathomable devotion to its madness. And yet that chaos of mind became
its downfall, as it angered its Mother, and it railed against Her. In
its madness it challenged its Mother and was struck down and bound, a
spiked amethyst collar clamped hard against its neck. And in its
binding it cried out to its Mother, but in vain, for Snok was without
pity, and without remorse, for none could daresay Her. And so Her child
lay dormant, bound and buried deep beneath the uttermost layers of the
earth. And Her child's name was Ermintrude.
Alas, for my
inquisitiveness! It seems I dug too deep into things that were best
forgotten, and in my prying I disturbed this nightmare incarnate and
drew its gaze more fully upon me. Bound and buried Ermintrude may yet
be, but still she writhes tendrils of shadows out beyond her gaol and
into our world.
I said earlier that it
had been more than a
year since the last dream. Had, dear friend, until last night. For
once again Ermintrude visited me through the power of its Pachydreams,
the brilliance of its pink visage bursting forth from cracked
blackness. Its face twisted with hate, it glared upon my soul and I
don't mind telling you I quailed and recoiled in terror. I had never
wanted to see that face again, framed as it was by sprouts of wretched
black hair shooting out from below that tentacular limb.
Its mouth
soundlessly opened in longing to once again walk this earth, something
it planned to accomplish through my own mind, even if it had to tear it
apart in the process!
I told you I had hoped to never see
Ermintrude again, nor suffer the assault of its Pachydreams. That is
true. However, I was not unprepared for the possibility. For in my
travels I come across many items, and not all have been made by the
hands of men. So it was with one item, whose making was so long ago I
cannot fathom it. But I determined that it was of a disassembling
nature, and had powers over more than matter. How I was able to learn
this I cannot reveal, even to you. But I have kept this by my side for
many months now, hidden from others for it is of a strange hue, and
would attract undue attention.
From my sleep I held onto it that
night, as I have held onto it in my sleep for many nights now. And in
my dream I was able to draw this item out, this black titanium spork
that endured simultaneously in more planes of existence than you can
comprehend. And with this spork I struck out at that maw, my arm
passing through that writhing tentacle, past that one triangular tooth
and deep into the gullet of Ermintrude. In pain it roared, a hideous
roar that blasted waves of pain upon me though it was silent. Deep
within the creature, within this spawn of Snok, I released the black
titanium spork, disabling its defences. Breached and wounded, it sought
now to flee, its plans in disarray, its mind in turmoil. It no longer
sought an entrance back to earth through me, but only to seek refuge,
for it had been millennia since it had tasted even a sliver of pain.
But
I was not done! No, for the spork granted the wielder many powers of a
supernatural form, and though I had not the opportunity to practice
wielding such powers, I employed them now. Steady in my fear,
determination overriding the horror and revulsion that welled up inside
me, I brought into being an amethyst hat of binding, enchanted with
runes from Snok's own language, a language She shares with Her
children. And this purple hat I brought down upon the head of
Ermintrude, binding it more deeply even than the spiked collar upon its
neck.
The Pachydream was broken. Ermintrude is more tightly
bound than ever, unable to breach the earthly realm and the minds of
men. To the darkest foundations of the earth and beyond it now resides,
and I deem that to be something of an accomplishment.
However,
you see me now, before you, shaking yet with fear. After what has been
accomplished? After the banishment of this beast?
Yes, I shake
still. For as I bound Ermintrude and cast it away, I caught a glimpse
of something behind it. Vast and overwhelming, I saw it but for an
instant before returning to the waking world. And yet, even without
description, without name, without reference, I am sure of what I saw in
that last moment.
For in the darkness beyond, revealing Herself to me in Her wrath, was Snok in all Her vengeful glory.
