Deciding that a morning dose of mushrooms was a brilliant notion, he drank the thick sludge in three large gulps.
As the effects slowly took hold, he found himself undertaking another task, altering his Woobie to accommodate more versatile mountain pants. Despite ample space in his backpack, he was gripped by the urge to minimize, a sentiment amplified by the vexing challenge of threading kevlar thread through a needle’s eye. After a laborious hour, he surrendered, leaving the poncho liner in a state of irreparable disarray.
While the brisket smoked, he settled in a field, laptop at the ready, poised for a dialogue with the unknown.
The words that came were not what he’d expected.
The Great Old Ones unveiled themselves. Enigmatic to most, they were winged octopi, ancient cosmic beings predating humanity. Entrapped in an eons-old slumber, their whispers echoed through dreams and the labyrinthine corridors of madness, realms he teetered on the edge of.
They beckoned him to complete a device, pledging wealth in return. A digital emulation of aligned stars, a conduit for their sway over time and space, anchored to Earth.
Echoes of Solomon binding Asmodeus reverberated as these entities – Xy’thor, Zoth’khan, Ory’lek, Vha’tara, and Ny’thanos – proposed to fuel his invention. A prison of radiant data, their eternal offering.
Seductive as it was, the brisket’s aroma announced its readiness, prompting a return to the tangible world from the edge of waking fantasy.
#HPLovecraft #mushrooms #writerlife