FSE

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In the darkest corners of the cosmos, in far-flung dimensions where the stars are dim and life has long since turned to dust there are echoes of forgotten cosmic horror that can never truly die. Existing, sleeping, dreaming, waiting for a fertile mind to occupy, to control...

Morgan woke with a jolt; a housemate was tapping him on the shoulder and raising her voice. Something about the dishwasher. At 2am.

"If you just put a lock on your door, your sleepwalking issues wouldn't be so much of a bother, Morgan."

He blinked. Stood in the kitchen, in his pyjamas, not remembering how he got there. Again.

Steff sighed, deeply. This had happened so many times; Morgan would drift off, as sloths were prone to doing, and would start doing random waking tasks. Even something as banal as cleaning the cutlery.

"So please just try and dream about sleeping, yeah?" she begged a tad sarcastically.

Morgan nodded. Of course. It wouldn't do to annoy Steff; wouldn't be any fun having to find alternative student accommodation this late in the semester! He made his way back to bed. If they put a lock on the door, he'd be unable to wander but it would make using the bathroom in the night such an almighty pain! Drawing the bedcovers over himself once more, he tried to tell himself that boring dreams were the best dreams. Never got into trouble arranging his books, did he?

The darkness yawned and swallowed him, hurtling him through the eternal abyss. Whispers in the night pulled him this way and that, spinning reality and fiction into a tangled web of confusion. Where was he? What was he doing? This wasn't the student house! Where did all those eyes come from? Was that... a tentacle?!

In a cold sweat, he tumbled from the bed. Morgan had always had control in his dreams but that... that thing had called to him, had taken control and now, now he couldn't remember anything but stars.

The day had not gone well, partly thanks to lack of sleep. Morgan napped a lot during the day, carrying a blanket in his student backpack for these occasions but today sleep would not come no matter how many times he found a quiet place in the library or classroom to shut his eyes. Eyes stinging, head full of recent knowledge from studying he made his way back to the student house and slowly pushed open the door, falling onto the unmade bed, exhausted.

Steff had the television on, chatting to a friend over Skype call. It was noisy enough to make Morgan cross. Normally they would have dinner in the oven shortly but all he wanted was to sleep. To dream...

It is time. Time to call upon the elders. The stars are aligning.

In the coldness of the lonely spaces far beyond mortal imaginings, things were stirring.

They needed books. They needed to find the blurred boundary between this world and the next.

Picking up his student I.D. Morgan softly stepped outside the house and steadily trudged back to Miskatonic University. The campus stretched out beyond the town, its high tower reaching for the sky as the sun came down. Within ancient walls lay countless tomes of arcane knowledge; wisdoms and truths not seen by generations.

Finding the right material would take time, and with every heartbeat the astronomical alignment drew closer.

The librarian nodded, unsurprised to see students here in the afternoon. The tables were full of fellow academics poring over their learnings and furiously scribbling notes. The soft thump of books being laid down filled the air and a soft hush was apparent. Floor to ceiling the bookshelves covered the cavernous room as it stretched up to a glass domed roof, ladders placed along the racks for higher reaching. Morgan scanned the rows, unsure what they were looking for; which particular edition held the secrets that they must reveal to the world. Walking around and around, he traced the spines with a finger, feeling the very pages speaking to him as he moved across the stone tiled floor. Whispers of authors long gone, only their life's work remaining, waiting to be discovered. To be shared.

Morgan blinked. Strange, this was the library. Only a moment ago, they had been home, trying to nap. Sleepwalking again, surely, no other explanation. That could have been embarrassing; good job they weren't in their pyjamas! Such odd dreams. Space, knowledge... an alignment of stars? It quickly faded to grey. Shaking their head, they once again returned to their student accommodation where no doubt Steff would be tucking into dinner already. At least he weren't so tired now, after having a refreshing nap, even if he had covered a fair bit of ground while doing so!

Sure enough Steff was in the kitchen chowing down on noodles and mushrooms. There was a portion put aside for Morgan and he accepted it, graciously. It would be his task to put the dishwasher on later. Preferably not at 2am though. After telling the humorous story of finding himself in the library with no idea why it was decided that the front door should be locked at all times, for everyone's peace of mind. For the millionth time Steff remarked that Morgan was lucky to be able to drop off so quickly and that sleep did not always come so easily to others. Morgan reminded her that sleep was an essential part of being a sloth and they had no more control over it than they had the weather. After eating and tidying, there was only one more thing to do and that was study. Morgan had always been fascinated with his knack for sleepwalking and once his medical studies were completed he would be running a sleep clinic to aid those who, as Steff had said, weren't so lucky as to be able to have a satisfying night's rest every night; night terrors, tremors, fits and sleep paralysis were issues that remained a problem and a mystery even to this day.

Textbook reading made Morgan sleepy. Everything he did made him sleepy. Handwriting scrawled across the notebook pages in ever slowing slopes as the dreamtime encroached yet again.

So the finding of the ancient texts hadn't quite been a success and due to the locked front door they would have to wait until tomorrow when they were in the faculty building already. This time it would be the ritual preparation. They needed a sacrifice, a light, altar cloth and the ancient words that would be provided for them by the elders in their weak connection to the mind they were currently occupying.

Drawers opened. Items were set. Methodically working through the process step by step, working as he slept, making sure that all was set and correct until they would speak - speak and call forth the slumbering monstrosities deep within far-flung galaxies. Draw them near to their new home. Draw them to the lush blue-green planet of Earth where new servants could worship and adore.

We are ready. We are waiting. Call to us. Bring us to you.

"Morgan!" Steff's voice cut through the darkness, "what do you think you're doing?!"

He opened his eyes. In the kitchen, before him, lay an oven ready chicken on a tablecloth. Emergency battery lights surrounded it giving off the only light cutting through the gloom.

"I.. don't know," he said, hollowly as the visions once more slid behind unknown pillars of the mind.

"I'm trying to sleep and all I can hear is you chanting at the contents of the fridge! This is getting ridiculous. One more night like this and I'm reporting you to the student housing committee," she scowled and stormed back to her room.

Morgan was so very confused. What had he been trying to do? This no longer felt like sleepwalking. This felt sinister. Like something had control over him whenever he slept. Usually he could remember some of the thoughts that led to the nightly wanderings; feeling thirsty and waking to find himself at the sink for example. But there was nothing for him to recall this time nor the last, only inky blackness. A mental gap. Lost in time.

After putting away all the things that he had mysteriously got out and arranged so peculiarly, Morgan took a shower to try and clear his head. Maybe the steam and the heat would sooth his nerves? The end of the academic year was always stressful and this stress could manifest itself in unusual ways. Soap and bubbles and sweet smells filled the cubicle as he stood beneath the jet and allowed the water to run in torrents down his furry body. Deep breathing followed. A calm overcame him. He yawned, widely.

The sigils were essential; a beacon, a place marker, a homing signal to guide the way on their interstellar journey. They knew the shapes they needed. Lines and circles and dots that had not been called forth since the sun was young. All they needed was something sharp. The drawing of blood would make the pull to them stronger, irresistible as it is to the Great Old Ones.

Lead the way. Be our guide. We will consume you all.

Morgan switched the pump off and admired his handiwork. Red swirls circled the drain and bits of fur clogged it up.

They would have no difficulty finding their new home now. For gibbering abnormalities that had no eyes, the freshly-carved symbols would be like a lighthouse radiating it's rays through a stormy sea.

Wrapping the towel round their sloth body, they withdrew to their room and fell to their knees. "Ia! Ia! Cthulhu fthagn!"

We hear you. Complete the ritual. Speak the incantation. Our master will rise from the pit. We will be unstoppable.

Morgan felt a searing pain across his chest. Saw the dark stains on the towel bound around him tightly. It was no longer just a curious thing; these dream states were physically hurting him. No memory of what he'd just done or why, just the wounds to show. Steff's razors had been dragged across flesh and left mystic carvings upon him as though he were a blank canvas. The burning, searing heat of cut after cut that combined to create nonsensical shapes and images.

Something had to be done. But what? An already weak mind was being pushed to breaking point. What would happen the next time he took a nap? It would be soon. A rising panic set in. There was only one person who could help him. Only one professor who could deal with bizarre occurrences such as this. He must get to their office before lectures began, or worse, he fell asleep again!

It was early morning. As a student Morgan was not used to being up at this hour but these were desperate times indeed. The hoodie he had pulled over his self-inflicted injuries was so very uncomfortable but a t-shirt might bleed through, no matter if it was more suitable for the season. Walking fast was not something that sloths were known for and sure enough by the time he reached the University area he urgently required, tiredness was already setting in and that, in turn, brought dread. He was in quite a state indeed when the door was finally opened.

The professor was a small timid mouse with bright darting eyes and a nervous squeak. He peered at Morgan through his spectacles and blinked curiously, not expecting to see a student so soon after breakfast. One look at the hunted expression on the sloth's face though and he ushered them inside gently.

The room was full of strange curios and specimens in jars that had an inch-thick layer of dust on top; taxidermied animals and old, brown, curled-edged journals. Professor Thranton had been around the world on far-flung expeditions and was the master on ancient civilisations and dead languages. If anyone could tell Morgan what he had so unexpectedly decided to carve upon himself, Thranton was the man to do it.

With a pull, Morgan lifted the thick hooded jumper up and the old mouse gave a fearful cry and stumbled back, steadying himself on his desk with trembling hands.

"The dreams, do you remember them?" he asked sharply.

Morgan shook their head.

With a deep breath, Thranton moved closer, inspecting the jagged slices that criss-crossed where thick pelt should be. "The stars are right, the Great Old Ones are almost upon us! I have been waiting for this day. I have been waiting here, at Miskatonic; where the Necronomicon is kept - the human-skin bound book that they need to be called from. Have you found yourself being drawn to the library?"

Morgan nodded. Yes, the first time he'd experienced the blank sleep.

"Any rituals in your sleep?"

Morgan nodded again. The chicken on the table cloth wasn't quite what he'd class as a ritual but flesh is flesh isn't it?

"Then we have no time to lose before the city of R'ylyeh rises from the ocean floor and all hell is let loose! Cthulhu the Guardian of the Great Old Ones has infected your brain with his eldritch powers. We must get to the medical laboratory immediately."

With a yank, Morgan was pulled along the long corridors until they reached a familiar quarter; the medicine rooms and anatomy tables. What was going to happen? What did the professor mean, an infected mind? What was Cthulhu when it was at home? A fog began to descend. "Professor... prof-"

Sharp implements were helpful, how fortunate to wake in such a place. Death came to all who were not born from the stars; whose very matter was not intertwined with the fabric of time. Mortals. Like me.

Even you are temporary. Even you will be thrown away when we are done with you. Eons have passed since we were banished to the very edges of the universe. We have seen civilisations such as yours rise and fall over and over. We will always be. Waiting. Sleeping. Dreaming. Our moment has come again.

A scream sounded out; ripped from the soul it came from. When eyes opened, there was no inky darkness. There was only clear light. Morgan's heart hammered, pulse quickened. A nausea unlike any student hangover ever experienced gnawed at their gut. Sloth eyes blinked, slowly, taking in fresh pain. New waves of aching dull discomfort flowed forth until he felt dizzy.

"I'm sorry Morgan. We couldn't take the chance of the Elder Gods manifesting. After all, it's exams in a few weeks! Busy busy and all that."

"What... what happened?"

"We cut the connection," the mouse explained, holding up a bone drill. "my colleague and I," he nodded to the cat lady beside him whose white surgical gown was soaked in blood - Morgan's blood, "made a careful incision into your brain. Good news is, no more whisperings from Great Old one's. Bad news is, you may never dream again."

Morgan reeled. They'd drilled into his brain! Wound steel through his tender pink flesh and then wrapped linen round it like an everyday procedure had taken place and a few aspirin would solve everything.

"Of course, you'll need a few days to recover. We will... explain to your lecturers, do not worry. Now I really think you should go home and rest. Enjoy some quality sleep. Sloths are good at sleeping, aren't they?" he winked, turning Morgan to the door. The mouse waved him goodbye.

Yes. Sleep. Once the throbbing had subsided. What would Steff say? She was probably already on the phone to the housing committee now after what had happened in the shower. Packing and moving was such a hassle. And so soon before exams.

The house was quiet; Steff was in class. Morgan checked the bathroom out and tried to tidy up as best he could. Hair was pulled from the drain and blood stains were scrubbed away. If he was very, very lucky then it would look as though nothing were amiss and odd events had never transpired, indescribable monstrosities from beyond space had not been trying to direct him through his dreams!

Morgan yawned, and climbed into bed. The darkness didn't stir. All was tranquil. The dreams had died.