The Sörenjorg nightmare

He got down the boat.

His uncle had left him there alone in the middle of a monstrous beach with no wind, with no sun.

Bastian was lost; he was vulnerable as never before.

What was that place of old?

Waves broke strong against the shore of terrors ahead.  Heavy air filled with the disgrace of a thousand souls and demons from the past watched from beneath.

He started walking towards a hill that unraveled itself above the horizon far ahead.

There was not one sound to be heard or one soul to be seen and somehow deep within his mind he felt the most terrible feeling of them all, Bastian felt he belonged in that place.

How many times has he walked across that beach?

How many lives has he spent waiting for this moment to rise before him?

Up ahead a house stood still. It was a huge church-like building with small windows and something that seemed to be a graveyard next to it.

He approached.

There was someone next to the building entrance. It looked like a man. Like a very tall man.

“Sir, Excuse me, sir!” – Bastian shouted.

The creature didn’t move a muscle of his elongated body.

“Where am I, sir?”

The creature pointed the sky above his head with his right hand; a horrendous hand with barely any skin and four fingers.

“What do you mean?”  - Bastian asked.

The man turned his face towards Bastian and looked into his eyes for a couple of minutes.

Bastian saw deep within its dark eyes. He saw death, he saw the disgrace of a man and a woman; a painter and his model both lying on the floor of an old library both marked with the sign, the yellow sign.

Bastian shut his eyes.

What a monster!

What a monster!

The man was not there anymore…

Clink…

Clank!

The church-like building’s gate was now open.

He walked in.

It seemed to be some kind of old temple and at the end of the temple was a huge stone with markings unknown to Bastian, and the markings depicted something similar to a giant octopus with narrow wings and crystal eyes.  

Bastian went past the rock and found a staircase that led to the very top of the tower.

The passage was dark.

The passage was lonely.

Up he went without thinking why or what for.

And then he arrived to a room formed by impossible shapes with walls that shinned with a colour from out the space, a colour so vicious no man could describe nor imagine.

Thack! Thack!

Bastian heard something.

Someone was there with him.  

“Bastian Sörenjorg” – A voice called.

The young lad walked forward, he couldn’t see the one who was calling him nevertheless he felt attracted to the voice, as if it had some kind of hypnosis power over his mind and soul . It was like a whisper made by a curious and frightening whisperer in the dark.

“Oh, Bastian, I had been waiting for you…” – It said.

A huge body emerged from the shadows. It was three times the height of a human being and it wore golden robes of old.  It approached Bastian. His face was completely covered and with every step he made a noise of sorrow unlike anything in this poor world of ours.

“I am the king” – it said.

Bastian stepped back.

“Do not be afraid, I am here to show you the truth” – it said.

The king was sad.

The king was alone.

Bastian started to cry tears of hopelessness.

“Am I going to die here?”

“You have died before and you will die later on again”

“I don’t understand”

“That which you think and wish and long for is nothing but the beginning of the end. That’s the unexplainable cause which draws men into the deepest well of their own shadows.   Dying must never worry your soul for you have died before and before again in front of the twin suns that crash against each other upon the lake of Hali”.

“I feel…”

“Can you hear it?”

“I… Feel…”

“There he lies, poor old Cassilda singing her song for the ages.”

“I feel time crawling out of my veins”

“Ah, now you understand that blood isn’t such thing as blood and time is as vicious as the nightmares that haunt you at night”

“Don’t take time away from me!” – Bastian cried.

“Don’t take time away from me, please!”

“Look up, Bastian. There lie those who you once knew, waiting for you to join them in the everlasting pool of eternity. There, among the black stars.”

“Oh, no… what have I done?”

“You surrendered yourself to the king in yellow and the king is merciful, and the king loves you and will do it again and again.”

“Let me finish the story… that is all I ask of you!”

“Take the parchment, Bastian and go back to where it all began… beyond Hastur and the great Aldebaran. Go back to where your fears awakened for the first time and pass the blood in your blood to the next Sörenjorg soul for you have been casted to the court of the king and that is a privilege which cannot be refused."

The king in yellow embraced Bastian. His tatter covered him in gold as he saw the city of all curses and demons… Carcosa being ruled by the old ones and at the top of the tower the same king, his king in yellow waiting to meet him once more.

Time escapes from us.

Bastian woke up.

He was alone in the pitch dark immensity of the ball room.  

His back ached.

His eyes itched.

His bones trembled.

He cried uncontrollably. 

Before him a gas lamp let him see a desk and on top the desk there was a piece of parchment and a quill.

He knew what to do…  

He wrote the Sörenjorg letter and then grabbed his cane and walked towards the center of the majestic room and at the center of the room awaited his final bed.

Bastian threw his cane to the floor and accepted it all.

He lied down inside the coffin and shut his eyes forever more...

A humble tribute for a couple of men whose works have inspired me deeply. Robert Chambers and H.P. Lovecraft.

The Sörenjorg waltz

Bastian Sörenjorg knew this day would come sooner or later.

He received the envelope that morning waiting for nothing more than the precise instructions that would lead him to be the next great Sörenjorg. As a child he used to listen to his grandfather’s stories of how that envelope changed his life forever. Bastian had been waiting for this his whole life.

What a curious way to accomplish tradition.

What a day!

What a day!

Bastian put the yellowish gift on the table next to his bed and stared at it for hours playing with a small knife as he waited, as he pondered.

He didn’t feel prepared to know the secret.

His forehead shinned in sweat; his hands trembled with anticipation; his feet danced the unknown dance of uncertainty.

And then…

Finally he opened it.

“First and last letter for the truthful heir of the Sörenjorg lineage” – it read.

“The earth surely shrinks in the presence of this majestic moment. It happens as it should, once every now and then and leaves the continuity untouched for us and our pretty little worlds.  My dear nephew…”

Bastian closed the large windows in front of him. Winter had come in a ruthless manner as always.

“Poetry has led men to believe that truth is hidden within words, within the sounds of each metric disposal but we know that isn’t true, don’t we Bastian? Don’t we know that the secret lies in the blank spaces between notes and not in the note itself?  Go down the stairs, young man. Face your uncle.”

Bastian walked towards the door and grabbed the door handle, his hands were white as snow, his sight blurry for the sweat had covered his face, his heartbeat rose like a fierce storm.

He went down stairs.

“You know what to do Bastian”

He then went past the entrance hall and went straight to the ball room’s door.

The tall man stopped.

Click, clack

He opened the door.

The ball room was a huge saloon made entirely of wood , there was a red carpet on the floor that led to a coffin and inside the coffin was a corpse and the corpse held dead roses.

“Come inside master Sörenjorg!” – A man in a tuxedo grabbed Bastian by the arm and took him half way into the room, halfway towards the coffin.

Bastian kept reading.

“You might be afraid now, boy. I get it. But you have to fulfill your destiny. It is your duty as a Sörenjog”

Bastian walked towards the coffin.

The corpse was beautifully arranged, it was elegant tall and thin man dressed up in a burgundy suit with golden buttons and a handkerchief hanging out of his chest pocket.  His eyesballs were no longer there, his nose was large and his mouth seemed to be full of blood waiting for the minimum move to fall and ruin the elegant scene.

It was Bastian’s uncle.

Ten maids came out of the pitch black far end of the room and stood at the other side of the coffin. They all looked at Bastian; they all waited for the cycle to be completed.

Bastian knew what was coming next.

He took a deep breath and the grabbed his uncle´s corpse.

He stood at the center of the room.

The maids took the coffin out of the way and the music started to sound.

It was the famous waltz that has accompanied the family for centuries.

“You must dance the waltz now, son. You have to make the circle even for us. You have to dance to the rhythm of death and see around you how all the maids and the slaves and the husbands and the wives look at you as if you were their king in yellow” – The letter stated.

Bastian started waltzing with his uncle.

The smell!

The smell!

“There is no way you can avoid this sacred ritual, you are a Sörenjorg!”

“Time has passed and now you are a man. You need to understand that carrying this last name will bring you pain and sorrow. Nothing in this world comes easy. Do not stop dancing”

The corpse dripped blood.  The eyeball sockets were filled with darkness.

Bastian danced.

The maids smiled.

The slaves smiled.

The husbands smiled.

The wives smiled.

“You want to become a true writer?”

“ I do!” – Bastian shouted without losing the pace.

“Do you want to enter the realm of the impossible and live with us forever?”

“I do” – He shouted once more.

“He who lost Lenore saw the raven up above his chamber door!”

“He who knew men wars met the old man and the sea”

“He who sacrificed two friends at the gallows saw it all in cold blood” 

“Now, nephew now is the time for you to make the ultimate sacrifice!”

“What should I do, uncle?” – He asked

“Name it, name the sacrifice!” – He asked again

“To become nothing but truth you ought to sacrifice the world”

The music stopped.

His uncle’s corpse fell to the ground breaking a couple of its back bones.

Bastian fell to his knees.

I am ready now.

Take the world away from me. Take it all!

A thick mist covered the room.

Bastian felt water beneath his feet.

Uncle Sörenjorg corpse stood up slowly.

“What horror is this? Is this the world of my curse?”  – Bastian asked in fear

The corpse made a signal with his long and spectral finger towards the floor.

They were both on a small boat sailing towards a shore of black sands and white rocks.

The monster made a sound like no other Bastian had ever heard before.

“Listen to the sung song” – It said.

“Cassilda lurks and crawls and cries” – it said

The boat reached the shore.

“Go to the land of silence and void, go as we all have into the darkness of the new world! Take off the pallid mask that covers your face; break the marble mold that holds your soul and create worlds of the unimaginable. Become a writer, become a writer!”

“Welcome to Carcosa.”