ph'nglui mglw'nafh *Dead, yet dreaming
a charnel story of envy and loathing by featured writer Roy.Batty [all proceeds will go to him(me)]
Mr Baxter, as he liked to be called, was a good friend of mine, and on this hideous night had asked a favor of me. He called it an urgent meeting and that I should come at once with my painting paraphernalia in tow and don't delay even to knock at the front door. As I began to ask him over the phone what in the devil's name would he need me to paint at this dreadful hour and the line was already silent as he had hung up without another word, as was his usual impertinent behavior.
Icy wind chilled my forehead like a brain freeze as I opened the blackened door to the antiquated home of C. S. Baxter esq. well known in this part of New England for his erudition in matters involving the unknown and the indescribable. Mr. Baxter could be heard in the back of the house, or I assumed it was he as the life of a bachelor was certainly a given in his case along with a lack of friends or even furtive acquaintances.
As I approached where the sounds emanated and called out to him cautiously, I was taken aback in such a forceful manner so as to drop all of my things to the floor. My knees buckled as I attempted to keep my wits about me at the sight of the one time living Mr. Baxter who was very clearly no longer in that state. Gasping through the fetid air I looked up from the floor where my friend now found himself in a state of lividity. He looked ashen and had given up his ghost most likely many hours before. Yet I lived mere blocks away and arrived within 15 minutes of his call, how could this be that I received a call from a man many hours dead? At this point of understanding the tenebrous situation, or rather not understanding it, I found myself unable to move a muscle as I noticed at the far end of the noisome living room a figure in a dark iridescent green robe of non-euclidean shape. It was obvious that it was not a human, yet of humanoid shape. Damn, that Baxter! He finally summoned up one of those accursed nameless monsters he insanely kept going on about.
It's a trap!
"Quickly, get your gear set up, I'm a busy $)(&$)(#(), you need to paint my portrait before you lose grip of your remaining senses." I heard him say within my own mind as if I were the one talking within my own head. It seemed to be the only reasonable thing to do even though the scene shortly before would dictate otherwise. I picked up my paints and brushes and set up in front of the antediluvian unnameable horror like it was a portrait of any previous client. Like Lee R. Jenkins earlier this week, or Dr. S. T. Rangelove two weeks before, this was just another client with more money than sense that wanted a portrait artist to strike his likeness. This monstrosity had someone or some thing it wanted to impress.
"Come on now, you have little time to get this done, so stop with the night-dreaming and get this over with. I've many places at once to be." he bellowed. Within my mind he bellowed. Just like all the rest I mused. Primadonnas the lot of 'em, but the customer is always right. So I got down to it.
His face, though not a face, was a constant state of flux. Mini-tentacles flopping back and forth like earthworms pecked at by ravenous birds. I was rolling my eyes because I knew better than to ask him to stay still. Like a fidgety child hopped up on a fistful of penny candies, you know you can't get them to keep a straight face for more than a second.
After what felt like an eon he asked if he could see what I had so far. He wasn't pleased, yet surprisingly offered some unique suggestions. He thought Mr. Baxter would make for a nice addition to his portrait. "Place him off to the side there, like a still-life." he offered. I frowned and shook my head loathesomely. "Been there, done that." We compromised eventually and he added a couple of extra tentacles to create a "Non-euclidean" flow to the composition, per my request. The perks of being some sort of monstrosity from an extra-dimension. Nice it must be.
After an indeterminable time I was done; he gazed upon my handiwork and smiled gleefully - in my mind - as he didn't have lips to form a smile. He asked for my name, which it wasn't able to pronounce properly - oh, the irony - and said thanks. Then it was gone.
Daemonaic Portrait Painting of Amorphous Unnameable Abomination
Removing the remains of Mr. Baxter fell to me, ( Thanks Obama ), as I was his only friend and certain to be considered his sole murderer. In the process of cleaning his eldritch home I noticed an abysmal notebook and read woefully his musings. It became clear by the time I was done the reason this monstrosity was lurking in this dimension.
www.screemit.co.r'yleh said it all.
It merely needed a verification picture for its extra-dimensional travel blog.
Please take a look at my earlier posts and follow me if you like what you see.
https://steemit.com/art/@knozaki2015/who-is-she-featuring-new-artist-roy-batty
https://steemit.com/art/@roy.batty/create-your-own-unique-art-style
https://steemit.com/steemitartchallenge/@roy.batty/steemitartchallenge-entry-ned-scott-pen-and-ink-portrait
https://steemit.com/introduceyourself/@roy.batty/the-nurse-s-open-heart-from-artist-to-nurse-and-back-again-original-work
All words and illustrations by Vince Stevenson