It came to Albey in a haze, a cloud of gray lofting amongst The Void like a puff of smoke rising from the bowl of a pipe. It was a presence, it had form about it, shape, intention, and then it split in two. To the left of him was an elegant black; to the right, the white of wisdom. They began to speak to him, without sense at first, just in noises, but at last words came through. They were not clear, and some did not make the transition, but at last words did come through.
“Albey… The Lodge… happened… Gobon…”
He could not hear them and he told them as much, but they only wafted before him.
“Albey… the lab… safe, you… keep from…”
The Mad Poet looked down at himself and did not find a body, nor a solid form of any kind. There was smoke, though little of it; through it he could see Nothing, a blizzard of spectral snow, colorless, vibrant, indescribable like love to one who shall never know its embrace.
“Albey… much time… the herb… musn’t…”
He approached them, or mayhap they came to him, but time was running out. He could feel it, feel the smoke dissipating into Noth–
-thing, feel the vision fading. Still they tried to speak to him, still they called out through the astral miasma, and just before he was shoved off the ledge, he heard two words clearly, spoken to him from the center of his mind.
Albey struck the splash pool beneath the right waterfall, though he was not sure which waterfall it was.
This has been the sixth subchapter of the second chapter of The Face of Fear, a novel about bigfoot written by the writer in Untitled Bigfoot Project. Here is everything you need to know about it:
I’ve written a few other books, too. Click here to see the list.
The Hillside Commons has a Facebook page. Here’s that.
If you’re there, hypothetical reader, thank you for being there. From this day on, we move forever forward~