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.