The Marvelous Misadventures of Walter Guilman: The Witch House

Old Keziah

Guilman lay still on his bed. Elwood was out, and he was left in his room alone with his thoughts. It had been two days since the incident, and he was recovering quite quickly. He was able to limp around the house, but he was too depressed at the moment to concern himself with moving around. He couldn't get the events of the past three days out if his mind. The dream, the witch, Peaslee and Armitage's argument, they all told Guilman that he was somehow important in a scheme that he could never hope to comprehend. Elwood had been a good nurse when it was at it's worst, bringing him soup and water every now and again. Guilman was contemplating removing the large bandage covering his ankle, but the wound might confirm his fears about what had gave it to him. "I'm going to have to change the bandage eventually," he thought. "I might as well just do it.". He sat up, and removed the small strip of tape holding the bandage in place. As he slowly unrolled the cloth, he found it had stuck to his skin slightly from the dried blood. When he removed it completely, he found two massive bite marks on the inner side of his right ankle. He laid back down on his bed and placed his hands over his eyes. "This can't be happening.." he thought over and over again to himself. The words in his mind slowly melded together, and after a while they lulled him to peace. Soon, he was sound asleep.

Guilman was awoken by a soft glow of violet light coming from above him. When he opened his eyes, he was looking up at the ceiling, where a trapdoor had apparently been sealed. On it, a strange symbol glowed purple on the old wooden planks. Guilman stood up on to get a closer look at it. With the extra height given by the bed, he could come close enough to touch it. He placed his hand on the old wood, and after several seconds, a massive hand that looked like it was covered in thick soot, emerged from the wood with a ring of violet around the wrist where it met the wall. The hand gripped Guilman by the wrist and pulled him sharply up into the symbol, causing him to disappear into the ceiling. The next thing he knew, he was flying through that maddening violet void of his dream, but this time he was accompanied. Flying beside him was the horrible beldam and her awful familiar. When it noticed Guilman's eyes widen with terror, it snickered smugly and went into a leather pouch on the woman's side. Clutching his wrist was a tall man with ink black skin, and wearing a black and purple robe who's hood obscured his face. Guilman saw all the things he observed in his dream, the masses of blocks and organic blobs, and the fourth-dimensional solids flying about, but there was a different quality to the void now. He wan't dreaming this time. He was there. Then, just as suddenly as he had entered it, Guilman found himself laying on a grassy hillside, with all the others standing behind him. As he sat up, he saw that the sky was a light green, and the air was much thicker than back in Arkham. He could just barely make out the outline of a city in the distance. Then the black man grabbed him by the back of his collar and they were back in the abyss. Once more Guilman watched the blobs and solids fly about, until he was back out again. This time, however, he found himself laying on a floor made of warm black tiles. As he stood, he saw he was on a massive balcony, with a bronze colored railing around it. He began to limp toward the railing when he stopped dead. He was in a city. A massive city, one that put Manhattan to shame. All around him were skyscrapers that must have been thousands of feet high, with massive bridges connecting them at seemingly random points. And there were people, or about as close to people as you could get with their totally alien outline. The resembled large barrels, dark brown in color, with five smoothly curved ridges around their circumference. From each of the ridges, a large boneless arm or tentacle extended about four feet, ending in a strange hand with five smaller tentacles ranged around each other like a star. On the top end of the barrel was a wrinkley, greyish appendage which seemed to serve as a head, with five stalks ending in bright red eyes, and a large mouth on the very top. On the other end, there were five muscular legs that ended in circular pads. And from the sides of the creatures extended two huge, fan like wings, similar to a bat or a butterfly, which allowed them to soar between the buildings with incredible ease. Guilman was so entranced with the creatures and their city, that he didn't notice himself creeping toward the railing. He only looked down when he bumped into the thing, and when he did he saw small figures of the creatures, with their wings retracted and holding their tentacles out away from their center. Guilman went to place his hand on one of the figures to feel its texture, but it came off in his hand with a comedic snap. It was then when he heard footfalls coming toward him. When he turned around, he saw the beldam, the black man, and five of the creatures holding what appeared to be odd rifles. Guilman considered running, but he realized he had nowhere to go, and simply stood still, still clutching the broken figure. When they got to him, the black man grabbed him roughly by the arm and he was back in the abyss. He saw the blobs, the structures, and the solids, but for the first time since his dream he heard something. The void had always been more or less silent, but now Guilman became aware of the sound of beating drums, and the whistle of monotonous flutes. He paid no mind to this, but soon it had grown loud to an intolerable degree. He tried to cover his ears, but the black man forced his hands down. The sound was maddening, and soon Guilman felt blood begin to leak out of his ears. He tried to scream, but the sound drowned him out like thundering artillery. And just like that, he was back in his room, flopping roughly onto the curving floor. Guilman got up onto all fours, his ears ringing. He turned and saw the beldam standing menacingly on the platform where his bed once was. Her eyes were distinctly evil looking, with small, bright red pupils surrounded by black. "Who are you!" he shouted. "I think you know, Guilman." she replied, her voice was crackly and distant, like listening through a telephone. "Please.." Guilman pleaded. "I'll get out of this house, I'll go back to New York, just please leave me alone!" he got on his knees and began to stand. "You know that can't happen. Now that your studies have progressed this far, you cannot be allowed to remain free." she said solemnly. "In one week, you will perform a sacrifice to the chaotic one." she stepped down from the platform and stood over Guilman. "Then you will take a secret name in his honor." Guilman scooted back. "No! I don't know who you are or what sadistic religion you belong to, but I'm not going to join your cult just because I got an A in calculus!". The witch seemed to become angry. "You do not know the power of the chaotic one, Boy!" she shouted. She stepped back, calming herself. "Soon." she whispered. "Soon you will know the true power of Azathoth." And with that, she vanished. Guilman laid down on his back and placed his head roughly on the hard floor. This had gone too far. "I'm not just going to wallow in misery anymore." He thought, rolling over onto his stomach. Then he realized what he needed to do. If he want to resist this, he needed help. He had to see a nerve specialist.