First off, a nice review of LIM at Infernal Reviews.
Last week I guess I spoke too soon about the steady readership, as that same weekend the numbers plunged to about half of normal. Not sure what the reason is, or even if it actually has anything to do with the comic. It wasn’t a holiday, and there wasn’t anything distracting in the news. Maybe it’s an anomaly. But I’m committed to finishing this story, even if I’m the only one reading it, so for those of you sticking around, fear not.
I rarely have nightmares these days, though when I was younger they were fairly common. But this last week I had one that was kind of Lovecraftian in the feelings it evoked in me. When I say Lovecraftian in this sense, I’m referring to some of his non-Mythos stories, like “The Lurking Fear” and “Facts Concerning the Late Arthur Jermyn and his Family.” But it was a doozy and the disturbed feelings lingered long into the day, so I thought I’d share it with you.
I don’t know exactly where I was, but it was a public place, like a restaurant, or a hospital. Someone was crying in the next room, and I stepped in to see what was the matter. There were four or five people sitting on benches around the wall, and the room couldn’t have been more than five feet square. A really homely lady was holding a child swaddled in a dark, coarse blanket. Homely isn’t really a strong enough word, but ugly is too far in the other direction. Her cheeks and the ball of her nose were all large,roughly the same size, and her chin receded. Her skin was dark, not out of ethnicity but….just dark. Her hair was very straw-like, and her clothes were made of similar material as the blanket.
The child was the one crying, and I leaned in. Only the top of its head was showing, and in that it looked quite normal, just exactly like the head of my own nephew. It reached its arm out to me, to hug me, and I was instantly repelled. The arm was hairy, like an ape, though the skin was fair. It clung to me like a frightened child does, and I overcame my revulsion long enough to get it to stop crying. When it finally settled down, the blanket fell away from its face and revealed a smaller version of the mother’s face. It’s smile was hideous and disturbing. I turned to leave and it started crying again, reaching out to me. The mother let it go, and it ran to my leg and grabbed hold, again like a frightened child holding on to a parent. It’s body was covered with hair, though it had no other ape-like features. But that face!
I murmured some strange words of reassurance, something on the order of “You’ll be all right. You’re just growing up. Do it.” I left.
But everywhere I went, the child would appear, crying, wrapped in the blanket with only the top of it’s head showing, one hairy arm reaching out for me. On a city street, in the movie theatre, it was always there.
Through dream logic, I abruptly found myself in a dark, circular chamber, with large glowing triangles on the floor. The child was there, as was a beautiful woman in one of those DeMille movie-style Egyptian costumes. Imperiously, she informed me that the child had chosen to inhabit my soul.
Unfortunately, that was the end of the dream. There’s no way to convey the sense of horror and foreboding I felt, because, as you all have likewise experienced, dreams are not rational nor logical. I’m past it now, but that was the ugliest child I have ever seen and I am still tempted to look for some kind of soul-protector gadget on the net.