Iglanced to the gates as I heard a door slam, Henry Pullver was standing in the doorway. My eyes were ripped from his as a large shriek rent the night, I gazed to the yellow sign, drawn in my blood and saw a sickly pale tentacle writhe from its depths followed soon by another. My terror cries were drowned by the chant. The world I saw shattered and reformed in Non-Euclidian blocks, building a reality more terrible then insanity, creating my strange visions in forms never seen on this side of the Dreamlands.

I heard a gunshot, I turned to see Henry pointing a smoking revolver at my chest. I noted the sorrow in his blue eyes, and I had a flash of sanity. “How?…why?…when?” I gazed down at the red patch spreading across my chest as I finally regained control of my vocal chords.

“You read for days not sleeping not eating, so rapt you were that none could bear to touch you. It is now thirteen days since you began to read.” Henry told me with great fear on his face. He pities you, he hates you! The voice in my head told me soothingly. No, not true! I denied the voice but it mocked me saying, You are a fool. How could this sick world care for you, only HE cares for you now, you know of whom I speak.

“I’m sorry…I’m sorry…please save me!” I cried to the my old friend. I surveyed the destruction of the Miskotonic Library, there was standing water, or what looked like water. The quagmire belched yellow smoke, the shelves and architecture was warped as though it were metal under great heat and pressure. The Far-Spawn that had entered through the rift was thrashing wildly in every which way with its multitude of appendages. But what dominated my vision were the books, all the tomes of old knowledge were decaying rapidly. Only then did I realize what I had done, I caused this, my weakness, my lust for knowledge, my inability to resist the influence of the play, of the King in Yellow. Yes! The voice cries, Hastur the great, you have done his work well! I begin to cry as I see that it speaks true. My head spins as darkness comes.

I began to ask my self. When did I go mad? But the voice tells me, you were always mad, all I had to do was push you over the edge. I am mad now nonetheless.

The End

For Now