The Horror In Time

Decadence

As for me, the frequent nightmares dissuade me from going to sleep sober on most nights. The end of prohibition almost two years ago gave me hope for a return to normalcy. However, the only thing I've achieved is alcohol dependency, and my tenured position at Miskatonic University to be threatened due to my burgeoning alcoholism. I do not receive many visitors at home, but anyone who finds themselves through my front door might be amused at the countless clocks, wrist, and pocket watches which adorn every room in the house. The alcoholism eventually got bad enough to warrant the dean to have Dr. Eberlein check on me once more.

The week leading up to Dr. Eberlein's visit was highlighted by extensive cleaning and relocating countless timepieces to a single room which I have shamelessly named "The Time Room." I frequently exited my home only to enter again and see the inside of my home from an outsider's perspective so I can remove more as needed.

The Necronomicon, which I always kept out in the open, I hid in a drawer with a false bottom. The false bottom was of inferior construction, and only served to deceive perfunctory searches. Regardless of this fact, I do believe I outdid myself considering the preparation time and my limited knowledge of carpentry.

Perhaps the earthy scent of sage was the first thing one would smell when stepping through the front door, followed by the sight of a single grandfather clock made of mahogany wood. Once we make our way past the foyer to the living area, the number of timepieces increases to five. Although a somewhat large number of clocks for a single room, I chose varied models constructed by different clockmakers from around the globe. This gave the room a feel of a timepiece enthusiast rather than an obsessive hoarder.

Sometimes I doubted my own paranoia of coming across one of these creatures, but only because my mind wanted to justify the words of any ignorant non believer who would laugh and brush aside any mention of such creatures. Sometimes I so desperately wanted to be one of those ignorant non believers.

Dr. Eberlein's last visit was in the early hours of September 13, 1935. It was that fresh Friday morning that I met once more with the feeling of dread which I had not been acquainted with in some time. It all started with a hard knock on my front door. Even though I knew to expect it, it startled me, breaking my concentration on the slow moving minute hand of the dark oak Westminster Mantle clock sitting beside me. I stood and walked awkwardly towards the front door. My sweaty hands had rested on my legs for so long that I felt the moisture on my trousers with every step I took. As the awkwardness stretched every second leading up to my interaction with Dr. Eberlein, I reviewed every possible scenario in my head, and the consequences which could follow them. A second, more desperate sounding round of knocks came followed by Dr. Eberlein's voice from behind the door.

"Professor Francis Martin. It's Dr. Eberlein. I'm here for our a-"

I opened the door and feigned a smile just as he was finishing his sentence.

"Why It's good to see you, Professor Martin."

"Doctor." I corrected him.

"Yes?" he asked, clearly not grasping the correction.

"It's Dr. Francis Martin." He grimaced. Unsure of whether it was at my correction, or the slight smell of whisky in my breath, I took a step back and motioned him inside. "Come on in," I said, while I led him past the foyer and into the living room.

As we settled in the living room, the Westminster clock began its quarterly chime. It was 7:15 am. I brewed Dr. Eberlein and I some tea, and we got our interview on the way.

"Talk to me about your drinking habits, Dr. Martin." Eberlein asked

"Well, I prefer Whiskey, but Rum will do." I said, chuckling. The joke did not sit well with Dr. Eberlein.