The Jar of Nephren-Ka

The 'Production'

Vacherie, Louisiana: 11:54 PM, Sunday, June 24th, 1984

Coventry returned some time later and walked over to me. I heard a small snap, and he said, "Time to wake Mr. Parata, or you'll miss the show."

An intense sweat-like smell assaulted my sinuses, and I jerked my head up and back, fighting against the swelling to open my eyes. I saw Coventry before me, dressed in black robes once again and holding the cotton wadding of a smelling salt under my face.

"Ah, there you are. The event is about to begin, and I promise, it is not to be missed," he said, his eyes taking on a feverish quality. In my mind, I saw Randolph's eyes right before he had died. I shivered.

Coventry noticed and, misinterpreting the shiver, said, "Oh, not to worry Mr. Parata. As I said, we are going to free you, not harm you. Liberate you, not confine you. Tonight is a joyous occasion: it is your rebirth."

I glanced down at myself. "Pretty sure whoever is doing the birthing is gonna die in labor."

Coventry sighed, his expression annoyed. "Your wisecracks grow tiresome, Mr. Parata." He pulled out a large handkerchief and tied it around my head, gagging me.

"Now, do be a good boy and shut your fucking gob," he said, an intense, deadly anger behind his eyes. Then, as quick as it came, it was gone. He turned and walked around the circle clockwise until he was opposite me.

Coventry reached into his robe and removed a small leather bag. He held this in his right hand, and began chanting nonsense, eyes drilling into mine.

"Llll ahfhtagnor ehye c' tharanak, ebumna llll ymg' kadishtu," he chanted, and my head began pounding.

I moaned and shook my head, but could not jerk my eyes from Coventry's.

"H' ftaghu ah mg mg'nglui, h' lloig ah mg mg'nglui," he continued, and I could feel fresh blood leaking from my nose, dribbling down my chin.

"H' ephaiah nyth'drn ot gnaiih, ymg' grah'n gof'nn hupadgh h' bthnk," he shouted, picking up steam now, and I reeled backwards as pain exploded between my eyes.

"L' ch' nglui, ng k'yarnak r'luh fhtagn!" he screamed, and somehow, I understood the chant.

For the crawling one we bring,A vessel for your need,His skin is no barrier,His mind is no impediment,He will be a servant of the Father,Your larval children born of his body,To cross over the threshold,And share the hidden dream!

The words just appeared in my mind, along with images of a great, multi-legged thing, crawling and slithering in the darkness. My stomach turned and my eyes streamed water.

Coventry began muttering something slow and rhythmic under his breath. The wind kicked up, fluttering the candlelight and causing strange shadows to dance across his face, the illusion transforming it into a slender woman's, a bearded man's, a leering skull, and other, less identifiable things.

He took the leather bag and opened it, then held both the bag and his other hand up to the sky, staring into the spray of stars overhead.

"Ya gnaiih Y' vulgtlagln ymg' ymg' goka hafh'drn h' gotha!" he screamed, then poured sand from the bag into his left hand, and flung it across the circle to my face.

I jerked back, hit my head against the marble pillar behind me, and knew no more.

***

I woke to a splitting headache and the sound of crickets. My face felt like someone had tenderized it with a jackhammer. My eyes were stuck shut, and I was sitting on something. I was still leaning on something hard and cold, probably the pillar, and my hands were still bound behind my back.