Into the Abyss

“Shit,” said Tom in his mind. “Well, this is a dream, right? I may be whacked out of my head now, but I must still be at the party, these aren’t doctors. They say if you wake up before you hit ground, you won’t die from a dream fall, thus if I wake up they can’t hurt me. Therefore I’ll wake up.”

With all the strength he could muster, Tom tried willing his eyes open. He tried to feel the couch under his body, to hear his friends at the party. To fade from the net and return to his own body. He heard a young voice say, “What’s it doing? It’s fading!”

The old voice said, “Tricky bastard, it’s got a body stashed somewhere on another plane and it’s trying to return to it. Quickly Jehenna, put Orl wood on the brazier and do Kristel’s Fourth Order Binding. I’ll sever its cord.”

Tom could almost imagine the feel of the couch below him and Paul’s voice begging him to wake up. “Thomasedwardperkinje, altos novos ejnikrepdrawdesamohTsovon sotla Thomasedwardperkinje. By thy true name desist, halt and stop. I Lenamare the Great command thee.” The old voice shouted. Green smoke began to twist around him, as it touched him he could hear a woman’s voice entwined within it, which kept repeating his name and several unintelligible phrases. The green smoke bound him so that he could not move. His muscles, imaginary though they might be, were frozen.

The old voice rose in power. Words rolled through the multi-colored realm. Words that somehow managed to install loathing and a deeper fear in Tom than he thought possible. He had been convinced that he was already as scared as he could get. There was something in these words that installed a deep abiding dread in the very core of his being. He knew that these words were more terrible than anything yet spoken to him. After a few minutes of sounding more like distant thunder rumblings, distinct, if indecipherable words became clear.

“Umatrium seperatum crystum, sceptum Dictum Thomasedwardperkinje, Thomasedwardperkinje, Thomasedwardperkinje. Morium seperatum ce ist. Severance eternal, no more together. Depart thy vessel, leave it in peace. Ek filos, nor xastre, exodus corpum Thomasedwardperkinje, se Dictum ek flux. Supremum, deritivum nos treum, kris falthos reyen kryolbus. Se feat lux Thomasedwardperkinje.” As his name was pronounced the last time, Tom felt a great ripping within himself. His heart, his brain, his mental/physical self-screamed. He felt raped, shorn, and destroyed.

Although his entire self-screamed in agony, nothing passed between the green ropes binding him. He did not move, he couldn’t. He felt himself dissolving in upon himself. He felt weak and worn, he didn’t even have the strength to hold himself together, he let himself melt and ooze. Yet he could go nowhere for he was tightly bound within the green smoke.

In unison all the voices began to chant loudly and triumphantly, for they knew they had won. “Thomasedwardperkinje, appear we conjure thee. Take thy true form, demon. In the name of Estrogal and Varn, Tamros and Uneseros, we command. Show us thy hideous true form, creature of evil. We command thee by thy true name; appear in this room, in this tower. Enter now this our domain. Your spirit is ours, come to us.”

The old voice then rose above the rest. “Come demon. I Lenamare command thee. Reveal thyself before me, thy master.”

In his mind Thomas saw before him an image from his nightmares, something from the fantasy novels he read and from the games he played. Yet the image before him was real, it was no drawing from a book, nor was it a fantasy creature. He saw it and feared it, yet was drawn inexplicably closer to the immense muscular red figure. All of the sudden his mind blanked and there was no longer the demonic image before him. His imaginary form screamed in agony. His soul twisted and contorted in ways not meant for mortal men. He flipped between here and there, now and then. His form stretched and contracted. It was one of the most terrible and painful experiences in his sixteen years.