Nether Gloom


Hello dear reader, my name is Samuel Alexander. What I’m about to share with you is a bit lengthy by modern standards for letter writing. But I urge you to read on. If anything just to be remembered. 

I can’t recall exactly how many times I’d made the trip to Denton, Texas to spend the day. More often than can now be recollected. You see I usually resided in suburban areas that while safe and perfectly pleasant to raise a family in didn’t offer much in the way of adventure. Adventure in the exploratory and culinary sense. Denton on the other hand was a small town in metamorphosis. It’s early life as a generic college party town was ending by the time I had reached early adulthood. Instead the town seemed to have cocooned itself in a cultural chrysalis where it gestated into something else entirely. Shedding its vestigial trappings it was now utterly unique. Independent shops, bars, coffee houses, eateries and peculiarities of the eclectic sort now peppered the landscape. Sure there were still chain restaurants and squeaky clean retail outlets to be found on the fringes but slowly the town’s entirety had transformed into something worth while. But what had been the catalyst for such a transformation? We as a species often like to pin these things down to concrete events. As Caesar crossed the Rvbicon he started the Civil War that ultimately led to the restructuring of the Great Republic into the Great Empire. And as Emperor Constantine took up the sign of the Cross in the battle of the Milvian bridge he shifted the Great Empire from Pagan to Christian and ultimately all of Eastern and Western Europe. However, we aren’t discussing grand historical narratives with the fate of nations in the balance. We are discussing little Denton, Texas. I do not claim to be a historian myself and cannot, I’m afraid, pinpoint this little college town’s rather dramatic change in the look and culture. There is a starting point, however. A first clue. Not an event but a location. And this location shall be the focus of my tale from this point hence. You see, the things I experienced here are infinitely more consequential to me than ancient Rome could ever be…

I had recently moved from my safe suburban environment to the big bustling metropolis that is Dallas, Texas. Long gone were the endless cul-de-sacs of houses seemingly churned out of a factory like Big Macs with roofs. No, now I had more culture and architectural diversity than I could handle. There was still just something missing, that “thing” that was aloof amidst the skyscrapers and bustling traffic. I needed a respite to the familiar yet adventurous. I needed the Square in downtown Denton. As a visitor to Denton, the Square was akin to the nucleus of activity. Bookstores, bars, coffee, and restaurants all occupy its small sphere. They even have things to do after 10 pm when suburbia has long since shut off the lights. So on a whim one morning I set off for Denton from my new abode. Happily it was significantly closer geographically to me now so it was quite an expedient drive in. I admit it was odd approaching the town from a different direction. It felt not quite right. As if the town had its own preference. As I drove in I took the familiar twists and turns to approach the Square. Coffee was to be the first of my day’s agenda then Recycled Books at the corner of the Square. At the time of my arrival you had two exquisite options for a piping hot cup of coffee and black is really the only acceptable way to drink it. Black as midnight on a moonless night as they say. I think I heard that somewhere? If you require cream and sugar, you require a better cup of coffee. I digress, of the two options I chose “West Oak Coffee.” It has a warmly lit atmosphere accentuated by the hardwood flooring and tables. My spot of choice is a seat at their long polished wood bar. It’s brick backdrop and soft glowing lights provide ample quality of environment to focus on work or simply relax. As I mentioned before the coffee is also superb. Taking up my seat enjoying the steam wafting up from my freshly poured coffee I opened my reading for the day to a collection of short stories by several different horror authors. It was all centered around the tale of the vampire so it was interesting to see how different authors approach the same subject and give it life, no pun intended. I was completely lost in one of the stories and coming to the climax where the vampire realizes the ride he hitched, his supposed victim, was actually a vampire hunter! But then I noticed my cup was empty. Looking up I was astonished to find it was evening and the sun had set! It was only a little past noon when I sat down. To add to my perplexity the surroundings inside West Oak themselves had changed. The lights had dimmed to a dysfunctional degree barely illuminating a small space under each bulb.I instinctively looked back down at my book and could barely see it. “What the…?” I whispered inaudibly. Dilapidation was the most immediately striking difference from when I first arrived. Large cavernous cracks spread out like a malignant mold. Compounding the wicked unease that now had a vice grip on me was the cloudy haze which the anemic lights revealed. Like a fog machine in a fun house had been set to run indefinitely. Instinctively I coughed although I don’t think I needed to. “He…hello?” I called out as the staff seemed absent in the dark hazy void that now occupied the space behind the bar. No answer. I looked around in bewilderment but thankfully I could glimpse through squinted eyes one or two people seated along the bench at separate tables. They were little more than black silhouettes under the ill lights. I hopped off my stool at the bar but instantly slipped and fell to one knee just barely catching myself with one hand to the hardwood floor. Or what WAS hardwood. Now it was much like stone but…sticky and slimy all at once. Since the haze was settled along the ground I couldn’t actually see it anymore. I pulled my hand out of the cloudy mist as it whirled about like kicked up dirt in a shallow muddy pond. My hand was covered in some inky black viscous sludge. Horrified beyond curiosity I vigorously wiped it on my jeans until at least most of it was gone. “HELLO!!?” I exclaimed loudly enough to be heard by anyone in the building. I carefully felt my way along the bar slowly stepping through the cloudy mist and sticky surfaces to approach one of the seated silhouettes. But a sudden wave of fog overshadowed the figure as I approached and just like that they were gone! Damn! I must be in some nightmare. Did I fall asleep on the bar stool? This didn’t feel like a dream. I peered to the outside through the filthy glass windows to see if the same thing was happening outside. It was. I furtively pressed open the double doors to exit the ghostly West Oak and to my relief the mist was significantly lessened outside. It was prevalent to be sure but not as if drowning in a bowl of it. The street lamps were on, thank goodness, but they only served to heighten my anxiety. Deadened trees replaced green along with lethal quiet and unnatural stillness. No moon in the sky to give me some sense of the familiar. Is this even the same universe? Not even the more modern buildings that had been added in recent years were left standing. They’re just missing. There’s the old multi-domed archaic looking courthouse at the center. Somehow it seemed to fit in the macabre Square. All the buildings seemed slathered in the sticky black sludge still caked on my jeans and just as inside West Oak the ground was no longer visible. Every now and then sporadic glimpses of darkened silhouette people popped in and out of the fog. As if taunting me in my solitary forlorn. Calling out to the figures predictably was futile. As I carefully made my way along the sidewalks peering into the desolate businesses my attention was grabbed by a flickering light out of the corner of my vision. I quickly turned my head to the courthouse to see one of the doorways was open! A small yellowish light was flickering from inside as if by candlelight. But I dare not approach such a haunted looking scene. One of my other favorite spots was the used bookstore on the corner of the Square. I had intended to visit there next anyway. Maybe I’ll find someone, anyone.

I carefully and stealthily made my way to the steps of Recycled Books glancing left and right at my ghostly night surroundings before gently pulling the creaking double door open. I don’t know why I felt the impulse to be on guard. I hadn’t seen any hostile presence or menacing phantasms up to this point. Perhaps it was just the stark eldritch mask this town had assumed so suddenly. Or perhaps it had taken the mask off and revealed  its true face. No matter, I had no sooner entered the bookstore before I FELT something wrong with this place. This vast building consisting of 3 stories including a lower level always beckons me when I visit the Square but now, now it is as if the walls themselves cry out to me for justice on their behalf. The hideousness that had overtaken this hallowed space of knowledge was a crime, a violation of the highest order. Books were mutilated and strewn about the floor as if violently, balefully. More interestingly however was the appearance of ancient looking scrolls dotted in and about the bookshelves and floors. Quietly as if a specter I ever so slowly crept to the front counter a mere ten to fifteen feet from the entrance to pick up one of them. The papyrus was ancient to the touch. I felt as though I had no business handling something so archaic with my sullied modern hands. And no matter, I couldn’t hope to understand whatever language was written upon them. Even if I could the darkness in this place was so oppressive it was alive with malcontent. The deep blue and black of abyssal oceanic depths seemed to pervade this place. “Useless!” I exclaimed with a whisper and frustratingly set the scroll back on the counter when at precisely the same moment I heard it. A…splash? I doubted myself for the sheer strangeness of such and idea but there it was again! And again as if something was wading and slopping about in muddy waters. Where was it coming from? Below. The staircase that descends behind the front counter leads to the vast section of every sort of histories you can conjure. Ancient to modern, military to poetry, in the lower level is where I usually peruse. But peering down it was just pure black. Not even any mist to speak of. The only thing escaping the dark yawning chasm before me was that deep splashing. I say deep because it was the sort of commotion only something of sizable proportion could make. There I stood at the top of the steps peering helplessly into the nothingness. Any reasonable person would’ve fled back out into the night. But reason was long evicted from this desecrated realm. *SLOP SLOP* growing louder with each eager splash. I could hear a distinct *ssssthooop* in rapid succession as though innumerable suction cups were being yanked off the dampened concrete and wood interiors and then a ghastly demoniac moan mixed with a wheeze gushed forth! The hot air I presume to be its breath mingled with the stench of countless corpses left in the sun to slowly rot, invisibly drenched my entirety causing me to double over ready to lose the day’s meal.  A demented parody of communication perhaps? As if on cue with the peak of my fear being reached a long hideous and darkened gray tentacle shot forth from the black barely missing me! Just one was large enough in length and circumference to wrap around my body in its entirety several times over. I lunged to the side and rolled across the ground as a semblance of reason returned. Two then three more issued forth as though being vomited up by the cavernous depth. It now barred the entrance and my only way of escape. Just then I saw a faint yellowish light far ahead off into the “religion” section and could see a frail darkly clothed woman very advanced in years cupping the glowing light in both hands. Shocked to see an actual human person and chased by the aquatic nightmare still slowly breaching its monstrous form to the surface floor howling, wheezing, and moaning in some tortured agony I ran breathlessly toward her! She slowly turned and began moving almost as if not taking strides at all. She seemed to hover into the next area which was partitioned off by dry wall. Catching up to her I saw she had a very antique almost what I surmised as Victorian style of dress complete with a crinoline petticoat making her lower body’s movement imperceptible.

“What was that thing?! Is it still coming after us??”

She slowly raised an extended finger to her lips and let out a quiet “shhhh” as if scolding a rowdy child in a library.

“Wouldn’t want to encourage it now, would ya lad?”

“, no. You’re right. What is “it” anyway?” I whispered to my new mysterious companion.

“Not sure honestly. I’ve been here a long long time. But it’s been here longer still. All I know is when people get to making a fuss it starts a splashing and comes out looking for blood. Usually finds it to. You got real lucky there, young fella.”

I snorted aloud at the thought. “Lucky. Haven’t felt much of that here lately.”

“Well you’ll see.” she cryptically retorted with a grandmother’s grin.

“I’m sorry I haven’t introduced myself. It’s been a hell of a day. I’m Samuel. You can call me Sam.”

“Hello Samuel, I’m Edith Miller. Pleased to make your acquaintance. So tell me, what brings you to this shady place, young man?”

The infernal noise of the creature’s moans and sticky slopping about had slowly subsided and I sensed it had receded into it’s dark pit in the lower level of the building. “Shady” I thought, that’s one way of describing it.

“I don’t know honestly. I was down the street having a coffee and reading a book when this whole damn town changed on me. Into this nightmare version. I haven’t had much chance to explore before coming here and meeting you. Is….is the whole world like this? I doubt I’ll find my car in all this madness.”

“The whole world? Well I’m not sure I take your meaning. If you mean down below, up the staircase and right here where we’re standing then yes, it’s all as it seems.”

I stared confusedly at her for a moment. She is quite old. From her attire perhaps the better part of two hundred years old. I’d have to inquire about that. But maybe she’s gone a bit senile. Or completely crazy by being here for so long. I can’t say I’d fare any better.

“No I mean, outside this bookstore. The other shops and buildings are affected along with the Square itself. But what about beyond? Is Denton as a whole like this and outside of Denton is it all like this?”

She silently gazed into my eyes as if listening intently but not reacting to anything I was saying. The deep lines and creases of her incredibly aged face were flickering in and out of view with the little light she held in her cupped hands.

“You’re talkin nonsense, boy. You’re standing right in the center of it all. You got everything you need all around and you babble on about cities and worlds beyond. Samuel is it? Old Bible name. Not much for a prophet are ya, eh? Heh heh! I see that cross round yer neck. You done much prayin since you been here, boy? Prayed to see more worlds? Beyond this world? Ain’t nothin else out there for ya, boy. You best come to accept that. The sooner you stop prayin to a god that ain’t listenin and start prayin to one that will, the better. They called me a blasphemer in my day. A crazy old witch! But I showed em. Look, here I am. Still breathin, still livin, readin these scrolls all around us. I’ve seen things that would turn your brain to jelly, boy. Things you ain’t ready for yet. Maybe one day you will be. Maybe”

What on earth? I couldn’t outright deny all the things she was telling me but her responses to what I was inquiring bordered on insane or at the very least emotionally unstable. The center of it all? Has she not ventured outside this building? I was about to press the question but perhaps from a different angle when she intercepted:

“Lemme show you what I mean, boy. These scrolls were all but unreadable to me when I first arrived. But then I was given the sight. I was given eyes to see as your old book says.” She dusted off one of the ancient scrolls and started speaking aloud: “Ph’nglui mglw’nafh Cthulhu R’lyeh wgah’nagl fhtagn!” You ever heard that before, boy? No? I guess you wouldn’t. They don’t like this sort of thing in church!” She cackled aloud at her own venom. “Some of these languages ain’t even HUMAN.” Her eyes grew wider than I thought possible as she said it. “They come from beyond, out among the stars. Out there in that endless darkness they reached out to us.”

“Where do these scrolls come from? I don’t remember ever seeing them in here when I’ve visited before.”

“Oh here and there, all ancient. From different sources. They can all be found compiled in a special book. THE book. Necronomicon. Ever heard of it, boy?”

I began to feel her tone was taking on a jeering quality. I found her pronouncements of “boy” especially distasteful. “No, I don’t find myself reading garbage too often.” I shot back sarcastically.

“G…garbage? That what you say, boy? Well you ain’t ready a mite for the knowledge in these texts. You don’t DESERVE what’s hidden in this place! I..I never..”

My decidedly disrespectful jab had had the desired effect.

“Listen, Edith is it? I don’t know what you’re on about but I don’t want any knowledge from your scrolls, I don’t need to understand the mysteries of whatever cosmic mumbo jumbo writings you got around this place. I just need to get home. Back to my reality if there is a “my reality” anymore. Or maybe just wake up from whatever coked out dream this is. Maybe my coffee was spiked…” I mumbled to myself.

“Oh we’ll get you home, boy.”

Her visage took on a new and malevolent quality. As she spoke she seemed to transform.

“You clearly don’t belong. You can’t see the powers that be for the masters they are!” She started murmuring and chanting quietly and in a low tone something like “Zazii, Zamaii, Puidmon the Powerful, Sedon the Strong, El, Yod, He, Vau, He, Iah, Agla, protect me and help me when I summon the Gate!” All the while motioning with her hands in a practiced ritual as her volume was increasing in intensity. I could hear from the other side of the bookstore that familiar splash as if the creature was being disturbed by her loud chanting.

“Please, ms, you’re being too loud it’s going to attack us!” It was no use. She was in an absolute frenzy by this point.

“Draba, draba, kalta, kalta, entemos!”

I began to turn and make my way to the entrance before the creature crawled out of its abyssal resting spot when she seized my wrist with an unnatural strength. Like I was being held in a vice grip. “Agghh! What are you doing? Let go!”

My demands were met with cold indifference. Her eyes grew wide with crazed zeal and she kept chanting in a trance-like state: “Yog-Sothoth knows the Gate. Yog-Sothoth is the Gate.” Her teeth were discolored and almost black while her flesh was increasingly masticated as she became a hideous crone before my eyes. I yanked with all my might so she dropped her flickering light and crashed into a nearby bookshelf finally letting go of my aching arm. I sprinted for the arched opening back through the partition to hear her maniacal screams behind me.

“NO! In him is no want or need. He requires only what we require to better comprehend him!” I saw she had produced from the side of her blouse a glistening object that I perceived to be a twisted old fashioned dagger. “I will comprehend him tonight! He will lead me through the Gate for my offering! Yes, yes! Come back here, boy! You will help me pass Yog-Sothoth’s Gate. ALL ARE ONE IN YOG-SOTHOTH!”

I sensed she had picked herself up from the ground and was frantically barreling after me, dagger drawn. Just as I had made it past the archway I saw, to my absolute terror and despair, the tentacled monstrosity had fully awoken from all of Edith’s commotion and was slithering about in the main entrance way. Just then it alertly moved its slick, wet, amorphous body in a seemingly unified motion as if aware of my presence. One, two, three, four and so many yet unseen tentacled appendages violently slapped and slopped over bookshelves and whatever else the malodorous suckers and sheathed hooks could grasp on to. I turned back only to see the horrific, fully decayed face of Edith Miller flying toward me in a demonic frenzy. Her blackened jagged teeth were bared with syrupy saliva hanging from her chin like a rabid wolf hot with blood-lust. The deranged expression was beyond anything I had ever seen in a horror film or artistic work of a macabre nature. It was pure hatred with rotted skin messily dangling on it.

“ALL ARE ONE IN YOG-SOTHOTH ALL ARE ONE IN YOG-SOTHOTH!!!” she dementedly screamed at me, dagger ready to plunge its way into my flesh!

I bolted down to the other end of the dry-wall where another arch way led into the music section. I didn’t have a plan, only desperation. As I closed in on my targeted escape a thunderous crash came behind me. Books and shelves flew across the aisles as a tentacled maw barely missed me. Through the archway and running past all the tables of what was once vinyls, which were now replaced with more ancient and decrepit looking scrolls, I saw the staircase leading to the 3rd floor where the modern and classical fiction collections resided. I sprinted, skipping two and three steps at a time until I found my way to a particularly darkened corner where I had two potential avenues of escape. I crouched trying to catch my breath without making much of a sound. I could hear the old wench clambering up the steps like an ape of some kind. I peeked from behind a shelf to see her just visible enough in the glowing light she retrieved for herself on her way upstairs. Her dead hair which was carefully pulled back into a bun when we first met was now a crazed mess of hanging disheveled scraps. She had utterly mutated into an accursed creature that had no business in the world I had come from. Had she really come from my world once long ago?

Her voice had lowered into a furtive growl as she called out: “Come out, boy. The Gate is waitin for us. Come let old Edith gut you. It’s no use runnin anymore. Ain’t nothing gonna come save you.” 

She stalked about hunched over like a monster from a childhood nightmare. I kept angling my way out of her vision waiting for an opening back down the stairs. Hopefully the creature from the depths would have left the entrance unattended by the time I made it down there. Caught, squeezed and dragged down below to be eaten alive or violently sliced up by an insane old bitch. “My options are looking fantastic” I thought to myself. As beads of sweat rolled down my neck and cheeks I tried to calm the storm my nerves had cooked up. I was only going to get one shot at this escape. If the kraken creature was still guarding the entrance then I’d have to try and force my way past it. I was utterly out of options. There is a sort of freedom in the lack of choice. You’re free to do what you must. No more burden of deliberation on the best course of action. The only course is that you act. I took a deep breath…then ran! I made for the staircase and with the sound of my movements the hellion that was Edith Miller wrenched her dead eyes towards me. She tumbled towards me with an unnatural gait, her picturesque Victorian garb tattered shreds revealing the monster within. She howled and wheezed “COME HERE, BOY!!! COME TO MY DAGGER!!”

I skipped the steps altogether this time and slid down the railing and tossed myself over the other side when I was close enough to the ground. Panting like an overly excited hound on a Texas summer day I ran with all the speed I could muster for the archway leading back to the first section of the bookstore. Somehow Edith had kept pace and wasn’t too far behind. I saw the double-doored entrance and the Square just beyond it! No sign of the creature from below! “Just a little further!!” I said to myself or perhaps screamed to myself when I heard the “WHOOSH” and caught the glimmer of the dagger Edith had been wielding as it flew past me and stuck in the wood frame of the door! That old bitch! “AAAHHHHHHCKKKK COME BAACK HERE BOYYY!!!!” I heard as I yanked open the door and collapsed onto the sidewalk outside of Recycled Books. Suddenly I rolled over onto my back leaning up on my elbows and saw Edith at the entrance just standing there behind the glass doors. She gazed at me expressionless. I got up quickly, breathing heavily and covered in sweat, we stood mere inches apart but the door was like an impenetrable barrier for her. She looked into my eyes with a distinct unknowing. Like she hadn’t been frantically trying to murder me just seconds before. Blinking confusedly she slowly turned as if to get back to a task that had been neglected. The most unsettling moment in all of this was watching her monstrously degraded features disappear. Her tattered clothing gracefully floated about her as if submerged in water and the fabrics restitched themselves becoming whole again. Her physical deformities too restructured until she was the old quiet woman I had first encountered. Floating away with her softly flickering light I stood gazing transfixed until she was deep into the recesses of the bookstore beyond my sight somewhere amidst the ancient scrolls and forbidden knowledge. 

“Edith Miller” I whispered aloud. 

Well, quite the story indeed wouldn’t you say? How could conquests and Caesarian drama ever mean anything to me now? I wish I could say it was all a fictional tale. A nightmarish dream perhaps. Or even that parts of it were sensationalized. But I cannot. It’s all, to my great dread, completely true. I have spent the time I’ve been locked away in this nether gloom wandering around searching for a way out. I’ve not dared go back into Recycled Books but I need more research material. I remember reading long ago about a university in Arkham, Massachusetts that housed documents pertaining to fantastical accounts like the one I find myself entrenched in. Miskatonic I think it’s called. I have attempted many times to walk to the nearby University of North Texas to scour their libraries for any clues as to my current otherworldly confinement but when I reach the edges of the Square’s borders a fog passes over and I am turned around heading back near the center. It’s a damn cosmic joke! I can’t say how long it’s been. There’s no daybreak and no dusk. Pure fog and darkness are the totality of my existence now. I fear with increasing anxiety that the next path for me to take lies in the ancient looking courthouse at the center of the Square. I mentioned back near the beginning of this letter that I had witnessed a glowing light emanating from within an open door of the courthouse. It still glows softly, steadily. It calls to me, beckoning me to approach but I have not because I fear a fate even worse than the one I find myself trapped in. A fate perhaps worse than annihilation of the soul or burning in the Lake of fire. Those are concepts I recognize. Even the misery of a biblical hell smacks of the familiar. It reminds me that all I knew before my exile here, was real. Everything I’ve witnessed since passing over into this brumous dimension has been alien to me. All the silhouetted shadows, the unspeakable tentacled horror in the depths of Recycled Books, Edith Miller, they’re all foreign in essence. Even the slime along the walls and ground, the marred and decaying nature of everything in sight, it isn’t like back home. What I would give for one small aperture of sunlight across my face. For the warmth of another person’s embrace. Any sort of conversation with another person, be it intellectual discourse or meaningless weather talk would be like a drop of cool water down a parched and cracked throat. Physical craving is a concept itself which is slowly fading from me as well. Here there is no hunger or thirst. That may sound idyllic but it’s like I’m not even real anymore. I’m just another silhouette wandering here and there about the sticky stone streets. Just the motions of my limbs are of any use now. No more digestion, nutrient absorption, or waste disposal. I’m becoming less human every moment I’m here. Since my violent encounter with Edith so very long ago I haven’t experienced a droplet of perspiration or any kind of exhaustion. Just monotonous exploration which leads to despair. The only unknown now is the courthouse. What lies inside its primeval walls? I feel I am out of options. I am getting desperate. I don’t know if I would even recognize life back in my reality if I were suddenly forced back into it but I must try. Whatever lingering trauma remains with me like an impish goblin latched on my back, I must try and come home. I have written this letter out in the hopes that perhaps somehow it finds its way back to the Denton I know. My intuition tells me I’ve been here for years by now and I don’t think sanity will allow me to stay much longer. I am leaving the letter inside West Oak Coffee with the rapacious desire to be found by a soul willing to believe this fantastic tale. This is not a joke or mere fiction. I am trapped here. I am at the end of my desperate rope and will soon enter the courthouse but if you are reading this know there is another place, another universe beyond our own where the supernatural and alien collide in a violent ecstasy. They wriggle and writhe to construct a tapestry so hideous and blasphemous it tugs at the limits of human sanity and comprehension. And I’ve seen just a glimpse. It’s all I’ve been allowed to see. Edith has seen vastly more. She gazed into the abyss and kept gazing. And it drove her mad. It MADE her into something mad. But I must stop drawing this out. It’s time. I hope this letter finds the reader in good health and peace. Those things which are but a vague memory to me. God help me. -Samuel Alexander 


-CL Fuqua

Published by clfuqua87

Old soul with stories to tell.

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