PLEASE TAKE NOTE! This is a RETYPING of the hardcopy of that file, as the disk itself has been lost. This has not been proofread so typos may be present. PLEASE point any out should you see them, and they will be dealt with swiftly and mercilessly. Iah! Cthulhu fhtagn!
RAMSEY CHIMNER KNEW he had something good when he picked up that rock along the beach in Innsmouth. Sure, he'd strayed a little far from where he'd told himself he'd head back, and the place was starting to look more and more menacing in its own subtle way; he'd heard the stories about the place, about things being so bad even the government had had to come in, yet couldn't resist going out to take a look. Old Innsmouth bordered right on the edge of New Innsmouth; he would have said they overlapped, given the state of the land in between. It was as if New Innsmouth crumbled off at the edge to descend into the old village, or else Old Innsmouth was a living thing, reaching its insidious claws inland. Now its taint reached only the very border of the newer town; however, that taint was lingering in the air, ready to creep in even deeper whenever it should find the chance.
But right now Ramsey was too busy admiring the rock he'd found. It was a small stone, about two inches long, smoothed by the sea; he was surprised how perfect the thing was. A perfect little oval. He turned it over in his hands to dry it and studied its colors. If he'd been describing it to somebody, he'd have said it was blue; but whenever he turned it and the sun struck it a different way, the color would seem to change slightly, never able to decide on one hue. At this angle it looked almost green, but wait, no--he tilted his head to get a better look and it was blue again, this time with tiny gold flecks. It was a strange rock.
But it was an interesting rock, too.
Whistling to himself, he put it in his pocket and turned back to town. It was time to get out of Old Innsmouth; the folk there were known to be unpleasant people, especially toward outsiders like himself. He had no intentions of meeting them. Not when he was alone like this. As he walked along, a bounce in his step, he kept his eyes open for signs of any other rocks like the one he'd found, yet he never did catch sight of any.
Ramsey was renting an upstairs room in one of New Innsmouth's tiny motels, a single window facing out over the main street. The place wasn't much; New Innsmouth had been trumpeted at first as a tourists' getaway, but the place never got much business, if its motels were any indication. Ramsey was told at the front desk that he was one of four staying there at the time. He supposed it didn't matter; he'd come there to work on his writing, and though he hadn't gotten much done yet he felt that whatever this place had might give him some inspiration.
Maybe the rock would help him along with that inspiration. God knew he needed it. He set it down on the old desk and sat down to stare at it, pulling out a stack of paper and a pencil. He didn't like typing or computers; he preferred doing it the old-fashioned way. It made him feel closer to his writing.
An idea struck him, an unusual idea, but an idea nonetheless. He smiled to himself and started to write.
"He doesn't seem to have any relatives, at least none in the area. I suppose you should have a look at his papers. He was a writer, you know."
Dr. Paul Parker nodded absently as he accepted the stack of loose papers from the police officer, who was rubbing his neck as if tired. "How is he?"
"Ah, off the deep end. Ranting and raving about some kinda rock. He said your name, that you should 'read the papers and see.' I dunno what he meant, maybe you do?"
Dr. Parker shrugged. "Mr. Chimner came to me a couple of weeks ago asking about a rock. He said he'd found it along the beach in Innsmouth. He wanted to know if I could identify it for him. I told him it didn't match anything I've ever seen before."
"He wanted this rock identified?" the policeman asked, taking out a pad of paper and jotting that down. "What exactly did he want to know?"
Dr. Parker sighed. "He came in with the rock and asked if I'd ever seen anything like it, maybe it was some kind of rare or semiprecious stone. I took a look at it. I tried to break off a piece to examine but I couldn't."
"He wouldn't let you?"
"No. The thing wouldn't chip."
"Oh." A nod. "Go on."
"There's really nothing else to say. I told him no, I couldn't identify it, where did he find it and all; he said on the beach near Old Innsmouth."
The cop's expression changed. "Oh," he said, putting away the pad of paper. "Old Innsmouth. Well. That explains it." He sighed and stuck his pen in his pocket. "Look, don't work yourself up too much over this; the guy's being taken care of. I expect he'll be in the hospital for a while, though. He's quite batty."
"What happened to him?" Dr. Parker still wasn't sure what this had to do with him.
The cop shrugged. "Like I said, not sure. The manager heard him making a row and went upstairs to see what was going on. Chimner was yelling and throwing things around and grabbing his head. He kept throwing that rock around. Said something about 'voices.' He's nuts, I told you. Must come from writing too much about things like Innsmouth."
"That's what he was writing about?" Dr. Parker asked, glancing at the papers.
Another shrug. "I dunno. Looks kinda like he was writing some kinda fictional diary. You can read it if you want. I gotta get going now. See you later."
"Later," Dr. Parker said as the officer walked away. He looked down at the papers again, and at the title across the top of the first page: THE STONE FROM THE SEA. Below that was written, "by Ramsey J. Chimner." He'd probably be better off reading it in the privacy of his own office. He turned and walked off down the hallway.
Dr. Parker sat in his office late into the night, poring over Ramsey Chimner's work. He wasn't sure if there was any activity going on anywhere else on the campus of Miskatonic University; once in a while he would hear a sound, wonder what it could be, attribute it to settling noises, and go back to his reading. The thing was, the later it got the less he could keep his mind on what was written in front of him. It did appear to be a diary of some kind, though whether it was made up or not, he couldn't be sure.
by Ramsey J. Chimner.
July 8, 19--
Today I found the stone along the beach just outside Old Innsmouth. It's a strange thing, so strange I cannot even tell the color. One moment it was blue, the next it's green; once I could even swear it was red, red as the sun setting over the ocean, sinking deep in a pool of its own blood. I picked it up and brought it home with me, hoping to find some source of inspiration deep in its fleeting gleam. It sits even now upon the desk in front of me, and I keep thinking to myself that somehow it could be guiding my motions, telling my pencil what to write.
July 9
I made the drive into Arkham, to Miskatonic University to find someone who might be able to tell me just what it was that I found on Innsmouth's beach. Once there I was directed to the office of a Dr. Parker, who I'd been told was an expert on native geology. If anyone around could tell me what kind of rock I possessed, it was him. He was polite enough, inviting me in and asking to see the stone. I have to admit I was a bit reluctant to hand it over to him yet had to in order to receive some kind of explanation. He looked it over, studying it quite deliberately; I allowed him all the time he needed, yet when he asked if he could take a sample I felt stuck. I didn't want the perfect surface of such an unusual rock marred in any way. I'm sure my reluctance showed on my face.
Dr. Parker must have noticed my hesitation, as he said, "I may be able to give you a guess as to what it is if I take a sample." I finally agreed, and he took a tiny mallet and chisel, placing protective glasses over his eyes and positioning the chisel at a point not too far from the narrower end of the rock. He struck with the mallet.
There was a spark, and we both looked to see where the chip had landed. But there was nothing. The stone hadn't been marked in any way!
We both frowned and shared a look. "Try again," I suggested, growing more interested myself. What kind of rock could be so resistant to chipping? Did I indeed possess some kind of rare or unusual jewel? Dr. Parker didn't allow me to think about it long; he struck the chisel again, and again there was that blue spark...and again, no chipping.
"That's odd," Dr. Parker said. "Please allow me to try a drill. The hardness seems to be on the high end of the scale."
I nodded, but this attempt produced no results either. Perhaps growing frustrated, Dr. Parker used the mallet again, striking hard enough to shatter a normal rock of such size. But as before my stone remained untouched.
"I can't seem to obtain a sample," Dr. Parker finally said, handing the rock back to me. I held it in my hand and stroked it as if it were a pet. "And I'm afraid I can't tell you what it is, either. To be perfectly truthful I've never seen anything like it in my life. I can't even take note of its color as it just keeps changing. You said you found this along the beach?"
"Yes," I said, "in New Innsmouth."
He sighed. "Well, keep a good eye on it. It may be some kind of ore we haven't identified yet. Would you be willing to part with it? For a price?"
I knew he wished to purchase my stone, probably to study it further; however, I felt myself growing attached to the small thing, and shook my head.
"No, thanks," I replied. "I believe I'd like to keep it."
He nodded. "All right. It is your find., However, if you ever come across any more like it, you would send them this way, wouldn't you?"
I nodded back. "Yes, I will. I don't think I'll be walking along the beach or finding any more, but if I do, you can be sure I'll send them right out to you."
He thanked me for visiting and letting him examine the strange stone from the sea, and I thanked him in return for at least attempting to identify it for me, even if he hadn't been at all successful. Then I returned home, setting the stone on my desk and sitting down to stare at it once more.
July 12
It's the strangest thing. I feel the stone is inspiring me to write.
I can't explain it. Last night I had the most vivid dreams; it's as if I were swimming deep in the ocean, seeing these wondrous cities of coral and stone. I know it must be my imagination; it's always been somewhat overactive, especially when I'm faced with something new and unusual. But still, I've never had dreams such as these.
In one I was swimming underwater; it took me a while to realize that I was having no trouble breathing at all! It's like I belonged there somehow; like the creatures swimming up toward me, welcoming me down into their city. And what a city it was! I was floating high above a prickly carpet of tall, slender minarets made completely of pink coral. In the midst of the city there was a building that differed vastly from the rest; it resembled slightly an old Greek temple, and I started to get the feeling that it was a holy building of some kind. I couldn't see inside it; it was dark. The closer I got, the more uneasy I became, despite the warm welcome I'd received from the creatures swimming around me. I never did see what could be inside it.
In another dream I stood on the shore of some dark island, staring off into the sea. The sky was gray and the water was roiling. I had the feeling I was being watched--the water was watching me. I grasped my arms and shivered, and wanted to back away, yet the hairs on the back of my neck prickled also, and I knew I was surrounded.
There was one fragment in which I was staring up at something--something like a high throne made of rock--and trembling with fear. For some reason I can't recall what it was I was looking at, but I'm rather glad I can't.
The dreams continued on into the night till I woke up with the sun shining on my face. They were still so clear in my head I made certain to write them down as quickly as I could; yet the more I wrote, the more I remembered. And as I wrote, the fragments started to turn into a story...
July 22
The wondrous stone from the sea continues to inspire me! I've been writing so much more than I was ever able to before; the words come into my head faster than I can force my hand to write. Weird stories, wonderful stories, all about those strange cities under the waves. Maybe I'd better invest in a typewriter, at least if I ever hope to get them all down!
August 3, 19--
Something strange is happening. I almost feel as if the thing is trying to communicate with me.
I suppose it's been coming on for some time now, only I never realized it. The dreams must have been the first sign. But now it's like the thing is putting thoughts in my head. Its thoughts. I realize how crazy this all sounds, yet it's the only thing I can think of to explain it. I sat down and stared at the stone for a long time, and the longer I stared the more I believe it was attempting some form of communication. It just kept changing color. Shimmering and rippling like the waves of the sea. Like it was made of water. Like it was the water. I had to look away before I lost myself staring at it.
August 7
Had to get out of the apartment for a while. I'm starting to feel rather cramped in there. I haven't written for the past couple of days. Not that it has anything to do with a lack of ideas; I have plenty of those. The dreams are still coming. It's just that the ideas I'm getting are becoming weirder and weirder, and I'm almost afraid to set them down on paper.
I walked down to the beach and tried to take my mind off all that has been happening lately, yet peace wouldn't come. I felt torn in two directions. One part of me wanted to go into the water. The other part wanted to go back to my apartment. To the little stone on my desk. The scariest thing was, I believe both thoughts were coming from the same source.
I can't go back there right now. I have to rest a little bit, let my mind wander, try to forget about my writing for a while...
August 11
It's getting worse. I tried to leave today and I couldn't. The stone kept drawing me back. I fear that if I do manage to escape I'll plunge headlong into the ocean. To do so would be suicide. Yet to remain would be just as bad.
The dreams are coming to me now even when I'm not asleep. I found myself staring at the wall, seeing the city beneath the sea. I don't want to admit that I'm seeing things that aren't there; but that's a much better thought than the alternative! The rock still sits placidly on my desk. I considered throwing it away, back into the sea where it came from, but a dim, dull ache started to creep into my head and I couldn't even get to the door.
August 13
God! The thing spoke to me last night!
I tried to tell myself it was all in my head; but I heard it, clear as day! Not that the stone spoke aloud; yet I heard the words clearly in my head, and they weren't my own! I had picked up the rock, determined to head down to the beach and toss it as far as I could. When I wrapped my fingers around it a thick, sibilant voice hissed, "We are one now, you and I, and we must stay together." I was so stunned I dropped the rock, and immediately felt a splitting pain in my head. There was a screaming in my ears. I think I actually hurt it.
August 17
There's no way I can continue living like this. That horrid thing talks to be constantly. When I try to ignore it, it just grows louder, more insistent. When I manage to block out the words it sends me pictures. All I can see everywhere I look are those hideous sea-creatures from my dreams. They look angry. They claw at me with their webbed fingers, demanding that I return to them what is theirs. I don't understand what they mean. I know they're not really there, but this has grown so bad I fear I'm going crazy. The stone just sits and laughs at me when I tell myself none of this is happening.
August 18
Headache. Whole body hurts. Hard to write. Tried to destroy rock last night. Every time hurt me back. No matter what I do. Can't break, burn. Tried crushing it; felt my head splitting apart. Can barely move anymore. The thing taunts me in my sleep. Too tired to block it out. Can barely move my pencil. Have to find a way to break the thing. Maybe I can get up, try hard, reach it, destroy it...voice getting louder, fill my head, must get up and destr...
Dr. Parker put down the paper, reading its final pathetic, scribbled words. He was frowning by now. There was something about the whole narrative that grated on his nerves, and he couldn't quite place it. He knew of the stories surrounding Innsmouth, including those of the sea-people, so that part of the story made sense; but what was this about the rock talking to him?
Had Ramsey gone mad? It sounded like it, at least according to his papers. Yet the thought still wouldn't leave Dr. Parker alone...
He went to bed that night, still perplexed over the strange document. He barely got any sleep, being too busy tossing and turning, both physically and mentally. He could almost envision what Ramsey had written of in his head. He passed the night this way, and it wasn't until morning, when he dressed and sat down to a breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast, that it finally struck him. The truth about the rock. He sat up with a gasp.
Why hadn't he thought of it before?
He grabbed his jacket and sped to the university, jogging to his office and glancing over the papers again. Yes, it was all too clear now. He just couldn't believe he hadn't thought of it sooner. The signs were all there. Ramsey Chimner wasn't mad. At least, he hadn't been, not until that last page.
He picked up the phone and dialed the number of the police station. He asked for the officer who'd brought him the papers. When he had him on the line he blurted out breathlessly, "Go back to Chimner's place and see if you can find that rock. I need you to pick it up immediately."
"What? Rock?" the officer sputtered, confused. "What do you mean? We brought it in with his other stuff. It's here, sitting in the--"
"Get rid of it," Dr. Parker ordered. "Right now."
"What?" the policeman said again. "What do you mean, get rid of it? It was with his personal effects. If he gets any better he might want--"
"Listen to me. You have to get rid of that thing right now. It can't be destroyed. You have to throw it back into the sea, where it came from. As soon as possible. You must trust me."
"Why, Doc? Can't you at least tell me why? What's the danger with a stupid little rock?"
"You don't understand," Dr. Parker replied. "Ramsey Chimner isn't crazy. He really did hear voices--or more like, one voice. Talking to him about the sea. Putting images in his head. You'd know it better as telepathy."
"Telepathy?" The officer sounded incredulous. "Have you gone batty too, Doc? How can a rock communicate with telepathy?"
"That's what you're missing. What we all missed. Perhaps Ramsey started to realize it at the end, but by then it was too late. The thing was in his head. Taking over his mind with its mind. Don't you see, Officer? The thing wouldn't break because it had to withstand high pressure--like that deep in the sea. It belongs to the sea and what lives in it, and they want it back! Because it's one of their own, washed up from the deeps! Curse it, Officer, it's not a rock--it's an egg!"
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