Ignoring the Call

[Author's Note: This was a writing exercise from Jeff VanderMeer's Wonderbook. However, while the instructions were to write a story without using Freytag's Pyramid, I accidentally wrote it to counter Campbell's Hero's Journey, specifically the part where the hero answers the call to adventure.]

Marvin awoke from his nightmare, skin cold and clammy, sheets drenched in sweat. Though the image was fading in his mind as objectivity and reality replaced the ephemeral dreamscape, the image of something lingered in his mind’s eye.

He took a few breaths before stepping out of bed. Bare feet against a cold wooden floor, he left his room and ventured toward his kitchen. In the dim flickering light of fluorescent bulbs coming back to life after a long sleep, he poured himself a glass of water, drinking the entire thing in one gulp.

The mental image lingered, but the more he probed at it, the more it squirmed away. He had a feeling of something massive, something cosmic, and something truly ancient. Elder, he thought, but his brain suggested eldritch. 

He looked out through his kitchen window at the clear night beyond. The stars shone in the sky like splatters of white paint against a deep purple canvas. The moon hung in the sky like a massive blind eye. As he stared at the sky, the stars seemed to rearrange themselves into a new configuration. They took the shape of something that jarred the synapses of his brain into a similar impossible configuration. It was the symbol he saw in his dream, just before awakening. It was no shape he knew, nor one he could name. It was just the shape. The Eldritch Sigil.

His nose began to bleed. He wiped at it with a towel until it stopped. Then he went back to bed.

The next morning, he felt heavy as a stone setting atop water, as if the slightest movement would send him sinking to the depths. Still, he forced himself out of bed. In the kitchen he looked out to the sky. The sunrise cast an orange glow on the horizon, casting the shadows of the previous evening into their dark corners.

He pulled a cereal box from the cupboard. Behind it, two glowing points like red animal eyes in the darkness stared at him. With a gasp, he dropped the box of cereal, scattering its incomplete breakfast across the kitchen floor. He took another look at the gap left by the cereal box, but saw nothing but the back wall of the cupboard.

He took a breath to calm himself down before turning to clean up the mess. The cereal lay scattered on the floor. He went to the broom closet for a dustpan and broom, and when he returned, he noticed that the cereal lay scattered in a familiar shape. The shape.

He swept every last piece into the dustpan before dumping it into the garbage can. He peered inside the refrigerator, and saw a carton of eggs. He reached for them, but stopped, seeing their normally white shells as black and shiny. One of them shifted in the box.

He closed the refrigerator.

He started up the shower, the water coming through the showerhead like an otherworldly wail. He felt the spray on his hand before stepping in. Parts were intolerably hot, while others were equally cold. He stepped in and did his best to dance between the different blasts of temperature. His shampoo came out like black ichor, staining his hand. Another deep breath and he began to rub it through his hair. That done, he ignored the body wash as he smeared it over his body. He rinsed off the soap and stepped onto his bath mat, drying himself off with a towel. That done, he hung it on the towel rack. Its beige was mottled with grey and green. The mirror was fogged, and the water drops were running down it, tracing a pattern he wished he didn’t recognize. He avoided looking into the mirror.

Dressed and out the door, he made his way toward a coffee shop. Though the sun had risen, opaque clouds now occluded the sky. Someone said “Looks like rain,” as he walked past, but as he spoke, his words shared their space with some other words Marvin could not decipher, but likewise sounded like they violated every rule every religion living, dead, or not yet formed had on its books. The words were primordially blasphemous on some deep human level. The other people talking on the street had equally strange words emitting from their mouths as they made small talk. Marvin stepped past them as quickly as he could.

He stepped into the coffee shop and up to the counter. The barista took his order and asked his name. He said something that sounded like an insect’s buzzing, though he was certain that he had said “Marvin.”

The coffee shop music wasn’t its normal acoustic covers of contemporary pop songs, but rather, some unintelligible chanting in a minor key. He looked around the shop, but nobody seemed to notice. 

He heard a clicking, chirping sound. It was the barista with his drink. He took it, noticing the scratches along the side of the cup, indicating his name. He took it over to the island with the sugar and cream. There he took the lid off. The foam stared back up at him, forming the Eldritch Sigil. He slammed the lid back down before looking around to see if anybody noticed. The other patrons sat at their tables, eating their muffins and sipping their coffees, fingers like tentacles wrapped around cups and pastries. The barista smiled at him, but all he saw were her faceted eyes.

He stepped back into the street. The buzz of the secondary language caused his ears to start to bleed. He dabbed at them with some of the coffee shop napkins. He tossed them into a can, along with his untouched coffee.

“The end is near!” shouted a voice. It had no undertones of an ancient, evil secondary language. He followed the voice. A sandwich man stood among a crowd of people. The crowd had strange features, some resembling frogs, others apes, and even others creatures of the deep. He felt again like that stone resting upon the meniscus of the sea. “Istarion comes, and when he does, we shall all live in his nightmare.”

Marvin approached the man. He said something to the man, but it sounded like clicks and chirps. The man nodded to him. He reached into his pocket and pulled forth a metal flask. He handed it to Marvin. Marvin took a swig. The buzzing lowered. He handed the flask back to the man.

“Thank you,” said Marvin.

“The only thing we can do to prevent the nightmare,” said the man, “is to stay awake.” He turned to face Marvin, and Marvin saw the sign board. It had the Eldritch Sigil written upon its face. Marvin gave the man some money before heading down the street toward his house.

On the way home, he bought a few bottles of whisky from the liquor store. His eyes only started bleeding once, and he was able to wipe that away with a handkerchief.

At home, he locked all the doors, even the ones inside. In his room, he took off everything but his undershirt and boxers. He sat on his bed, opened the first bottle, and started to drink.

After innumerable belts from innumerable bottles, he managed to fall asleep. There, the Eldritch Sigil hung in the sky in his dreamscape. His dream self watched it growing closer, and closer.