The room contained but a single window which mercifully allowed a beam of moonlight to illuminate the gloom of the witching hour. Occasionally it flickered like a dying candle as swarms of insects or birds obscured the source like an obscene puppet show. She did not care so much about the shadows as she did that grisly, ceaseless cacophony of organic noise.
The whippoorwills had reappeared two, maybe three days ago?
They had not gathered on the farm in any great number since the death of her father. Many a night she stared at the patch of moonlight on the bedroom floor and wondered which she despised more, the whippoorwills who harassed her nightly with their inharmonious death knells or her father who had gotten her into this situation to begin with but had the luxury of passing peacefully, naturally. The old man had died in his bed with his family around him if the sorry group could even be called that, and the village doctor who they knew could barely stand to look at them.
But poor Lavinia, it just was not enough for her to serve as the vessel that brought those, those- THOSE THINGS, those blasphemous, unworldly creations into being. The very thought of that beast that was somehow her own progeny made her instinctively tighten her grip around the cold, metal handle. She had concealed the kitchen knife beneath her apron so that Wilbur wouldn't see it as she hobbled into her bedroom to retire for the night. She could not look back to see if he had seen her smuggling the illicit item, as he seemed practically able to read her mind.
Lavinia drew a long breath, willing her frayed nerves to survive at least somewhat intact. The situation was only temporary after all. It would be her or Wilbur. Not if, but when. Clearly, her fall from grace must have been far indeed to now see her own death as a more agreeable scenario than her life. A better compromise, if you will, since she could not recall the last time that life seemed worth living. Whenever the haze of youthfully optimistic delusion had lifted, it had to have been before That Night. Before Those Things came.
It had taken a long time for Lavinia to remember what had happened, and even now the brief flashes of memories did not feel like her own. When she recalled them, it was hard to believe that it had happened to her and not someone else, that she was not just watching a macabre picture show from the back row of the theatre. It had happened, however, and despite Lavinia's willful effort to distance herself from the horror of it, the nightmares and visions returned anew every day to remind her that it had been her. She hated more than anything that she had walked into it willingly because it then became rather difficult to identify a scapegoat.
"Yog-Sothoth,"
The name had sent chills down her spine.
"The Lurker at the Threshold,"
Old Whateley's voice had echoed o'er hillside as the storm clouds gathered overhead. Lavinia clearly recalled walking into the center of the circle of stones, thinking her father half crazy for believing the prophetic nonsense of the god-forsaken book he read from. She had agreed to participate all the same, though Lavinia in hindsight she could not fathom why. Her father's ramblings must have affected her more than she had come to believe.
"Hear me! King of Infinite Space! Planetmover! The Foundation of Fastness! Ruler of Earthquakes! The Vanquisher of Terror! The Creator of Panic! Destroyer!"
The wind howled, raising a cloud of dust from the dead soil. The birds were shrieking then too. They had started then, and in her head, they had never stopped.
"Yog-Sothoth knows the Gate!
Yog-Sothoth is the Gate!"
The blinding light had formed from nothing, no discernible source. Lavinia tried to shield her eyes but her father had seized her by the wrist and pulled her hands away. The colors had surrounded them completely, they were so bright that she could barely see her father though a moment before he had stood next to her. The stones and vast hill country were likewise totally obscured. Lavinia tried to run, but time seemed to slow down and every step felt like she was trying to walk along the sea bed. She was caught in the current, a leaf being carried away by a violent wave with the shore far behind. It was already too late.
