Archive of Our Own ^beta

Letter property of Miskatonic University 

Approved by Dr. Cranmer, Miskatonic Esoterica Department
Redactions and edits by Dr. Stone, Miskatonic Linguistics Department 

ATTN: See attached note from persons unknown regarding Dr. Stone

My Dear Friend [NAME REDACTED],

I am not sure how much time has floated by since That Day. Time curls in the ether like wisps of smoke, equally meaningless and intangible. Of no consequence. I sorely wish that you could have joined me, when [REDACTED] arrived. 

My eyes have been forced open with gentle talons made of light. Such light! They are opaque now, useless blind marbles rolling within the eggshell of my skull. Useless in the realm they currently inhabit. 

I have a faint memory of seeing at some point in my life. Some speaking shapes. But compared to the Gift I was given on That Day, human sight is happily discarded. Rejoice, for [REDACTED] has come!

The Gift has allowed me to peer into worlds anathema. Where I see and feel the stars dying and rotting and hear their horrid death-hymns. 

Sanity is completely inconsequential. Yet my wretched self was given this Gift on That Day, but I still feel undeserving of it. But if [REDACTED] deems my puny brain deserving, then I must be.

In these prohibited realms, I see home, but the glimpses are so brief still that it tempts me to unspool the slick coils of my brain in order to find these snapshots and examine them. There are [ILLEGIBLE] in my mind, [ILLEGIBLE] eat the wretched, crawling thing. [ILLEGIBLE] feels like it is being sliced into thin slices of [ILLEGIBLE].

(Editor’s Note: two paragraphs follow, impossible to decipher)

[ILLEGIBLE PARAGRAPH]

[ILLEGIBLE PARAGRAPH]

I do remember more and more as I get closer to home. But what cruel torment it is to know the beauty beyond while still shackled in the mud. I want to be consumed by the horrid microcosm of [REDACTED] and violently regurgitated into these forbidden places. 

My flesh is wasting, but not fast enough. I lie in the bed of my delapidated, small apartment. I am far too weak to do what I really wish to do, so here I lie in a fleshy, useless prison. I might not be able to stick a pistol in my mouth. But at least I am able to write.

But I can See. And I Can Dream. [ILLEGIBLE] strange moons, and it soothes my [ILLEGIBLE] like nothing else really can. Such violence. Such terrible beauty. Visions to melt the mind. Laughter [ILLEGIBLE] and I laugh alongside of it.

Soon. Soon I shall shed this flesh that was doomed on That Day. I hope for a death so painful that I might understand the human limits of pain and how it tastes in my dry mouth. I imagine a flavor like gritty bone marrow. The sugary milk of my mother’s breast. Blind, dead things.

Surely, you say, I am insane. But where is your happiness, my fellow human? Feed, fight, and fly, breed, earn your coins, stretch yourself in a self-constructed rack until it tears you apart, a brain bursting like so much foul fruit.

But you are so close to [REDACTED]. So close to this staticky freedom. Threaded in gold and silver filigree and the finest jewels. Blood that defies gravity, floating skyward. Nebulous poetry. 

We will join soon, it has been long enough since I was the first to be given that Gift on That Day, soon others will join. No one can resist the glorious beauty of [REDACTED]. Not even you. You will See.

I can smell human desperation and despair. In my mouth, I taste the darkness Of humanity, an alkaline liquid from a lake that cannot exist on this blue bead that we inhabit. Can you? Can you smell them, my friend? I know you can. Your mind is opening, like a rose.

The realms call to me. I wish again that this cage of bone and flesh would just die. The pain of dehydration, of starvation, of stinking bedsores… beautiful. 

Soon, I will be able to cross into a place where I can be one with [REDACTED]. It is a glorious place. There is song, sung from the guts of strange, secret creatures unknown. There is a colored light, but it is no light that you’ve ever seen, my friend. The light is the color of Unseen, sleeping entities, speaking truth as they sleep, cloaked in the dust of the dead stars. 

[REDACTED]!

[REDACTED]!

[REDACTED]! 

My death cannot come fast enough. I yearn, my friend. 

Well, I do not think I can explain more at present, my friend. My strength of writing is waning, as well.

I do ask of you a couple final favors. When you find the time, I would ask that you kindly come to my apartments at [REDACTED] and [ILLEGIBLE] my books and writings on this matter. They shall help you. The key is under the red flower pot.

And my second favor that I ask of you, my beloved friend, is that as you love me, kindly bring a pistol. I am most eager to join [REDACTED], and you would do me a great kindness to release me. My papers and notes will show you the path to join me. And you will.

Your friend in all things,

[NAME REDACTED]