I am unsure how on earth I kept my composure, to be honest. Our author certainly didn't, nor did Clayton or Bridget. The author was curled up alternately sobbing and laughing. Clayton could do nothing more than stammer, his face pale with fear. Bridget... dear God, she lost it completely, and began praising the Black Pharaoh, kneeling, swearing fealty. Even Ewan, tough bastard that he is, started trembling. Mah'muhd clung to me, shaking like a leaf in an unseen wind, and to be honest, I am certain that's what kept me at least somewhat sane. Someone needed to protect him. Someone had to be his pillar of strength. I couldn't let him down now... but to say I was terrified was an understatement.
"Mah'muhd," I whispered, every muscle tense, trying to hide my shaking voice. "Run. Everyone, door, now! Now!"
The Black Pharaoh chuckled softly, and his smooth, dark voice slithered through the chamber to us as he spoke, a sense of demented joy in it. "Of course, by all means, leave," He purred, smirking. "The door is right behind you..."
We ran, of course, all but Bridget and the author, only to run into a solid stone wall where the archway had been. Panic raced through us, and I felt tears well hot in my eyes, threatening to spill over. Clayton's hands trembled as he felt the wall, the smoothness there, and I swear I heard him softly, madly chuckle to himself as the realization hit him. We were prisoners, prisoners of the Black Pharaoh, and Lord only knew what he would do to us.
"Oh, by the way... the door is broken. My apologies... I must have neglected to mention that." The malign deity smiled as we turned to face him, slowly accepting our fate. "I suppose you will just have to stay here for a while, then... Bridget, dear? Bring them to me; ensure they do not leave my sight for a moment."
There was a strange look in Bridget's eyes as she stood, almost a rapturous look. "Yes, my Lord," she murmured, hands trembling... and then she drew her gun, aiming the barrel squarely at us. To say Ewan and Clayton flew into panic mode is an understatement. Ewan immediately put himself in front of us as Mah'muhd screamed in fear of being shot. Clayton, regaining his composure, reached for his gun.
"Bridget, no," Ewan murmured. "You don't have to do this, lass..."
"Oh, but I do," she responded, eyes alight with mad euphoria. "Our Lord wills it..."
I had an insight then, my eyes glued to the standoff before me. Her mind had gone, she really had gone insane... but maybe, just maybe... I could bring her around to reason.
"Bridget...? Please. Let Mah'muhd go, at least. Please. You don't want to do this..."
It worked. Bridget hesitated, and that was the distraction Ewan needed. He took a bullet, but kept swinging, and with one cosh to the head, Bridget was out cold. The immediate threat was quashed, but that didn't change the fact we were still trapped... or that the Crawling Chaos had apparently enjoyed the show, judging by his slow clapping.
"Yer fuckin' twisted, ye bastard!" Ewan snarled, hands shaking as the pharaoh's gaze pierced him. "What are ye gonna do with us, then? Torture us for eternity?!"
"Oh, a great many things shall happen to you, eventually..." The god waved his hand, summoning something from thin air - a plate on a small end table of some sort, filled with small nut and dough pastries glazed with something shiny. "Fear not, Ewan MacNeill, I simply desire a talk. Honey cakes? They are quite good..."
The sudden shift of position from this malevolent deity surprised us... and made us all wary. Carefully, one by one, when it became clear he was not going to smite us where we stood... we crept to the plate, closer to the Black Pharaoh. I won't lie, the honey cakes were good, although I loathe to ask if anything else was snuck into them. I haven't died of poisoning yet and neither has anyone else, so I'll assume they were unadulterated to save the rest of my sanity.
"See? Delicious... I was always partial to them myself." The god again conjured something from the endless shadows around him, a gold-encrusted goblet filled with something reddish. We didn't question what it was, mostly because we feared it could be something particularly awful... Then his infinite eyes fixed upon me, and I froze, stifling a whimper.
"What a pretty little mortal you are, Sarah McCain," He cooed, a smile creeping about his lips as I shuddered. "Do you want to know why you are here? What purpose I even have in deigning to speak to such lowly beings as yourself? I know you are curious... I sense it in you. Oh, especially in you, Sarah. What a sweet and curiously innocent one you are..."
Then he stood and approached us, and panic rooted us to the spot. Already, his lingering gaze and smile frightened me, and his words before did nothing to assuage that fear. Admittedly... I did. I did want to know. He read us like books. He knew us better than ourselves... and that very thought, that this thing that played demented cat and mouse with us knew us that intimately, was horrific to contemplate.
"You must by now realize how fruitless your struggle against me is… against my followers," Nyarlathotep continued, circling us like a predator. "They are many, and you are so few. Why pit yourself against such stacked odds, unless you wish to suffer and die? Look at what has already become of you… One driven insane and killed, one burned to death, one self-destructed… and one brain-damaged. Only one of your original five left, only one to remember poor, poor Jackson Elias… is that not right, Clayton?"
Clayton, now able to stop stammering and listen, clenched his fists in what I assume must have been anger and fear. He'd lost so many friends of his in getting to this point. I couldn't imagine how Nyarlathotep's words must have stung him, like a knife twisting in his heart.
"Indeed, your curiosity has killed many," the god continued, "But that is the nature of your kind, yes? Curious to a fault and always seeking the answers… especially when I intervene in fate's web. Oh, don't be so shocked... I have been guiding you here the entire time. Every move you made and every action taken, every tragedy befallen you thus far, was solely to bring you here, into my hands. You see, you serve a purpose, little pawns… in my Grand Game.”
He stopped before us, inches from our group, and we instinctively backed away like cornered animals. Game? What sort of game did he mean? Was this some sick joke or trick of his?
"Come now, you've seen the frescoes on the walls!" He motioned with a jet black hand around the room. "And you did jump at the chance when I called you, through dreams, through meeting the right people... Consider this little game of mine like a gamble, a gamble on the fate of your species. A gambling game of wits with no rules, and a time limit that is rapidly running out... You humans like games… Don’t you?”
The god stopped before me, inches away, gazing down at me. I could feel the energy leap off him, his heat and his power. My heart raced and my thoughts flitted like nervous butterflies. His inky fingers ever so gently slid down my face in a mockingly loving gesture, the trail of his touch leaving a cold, electric tingling through my skin. He was warm, unbearably warm, and his hands were at once soft as silk and as harsh as baking desert sand. I felt violated and sick, and wanted more than anything to curl into a ball and hide. But I dared not show any fear.
"Well, Sarah? Do you like games, dear?" he cooed. I swallowed hard, and nodded yes. "Of course you do, dear..." His hot breath brushed against my ear as he leaned down, his voice barely above a whisper. "Such a good little pawn you are..."
He relented, and moved back towards the wall, his hand brushing against the stone. It rippled like water into a scene more realistic than any film, and we witnessed a group setting up camp beneath a strange, dark mountain with swirling black clouds. It was the Carlyle Expedition! I had met them when they stopped at the Penhew Foundation, while I was interning with Bridget! I saw faces I recognized - Sir Aubrey Penhew, the former owner. Roger Carlyle, the American who had proposed the expedition. Hypatia, Carlyle's girlfriend I had only met once. They had looks of stark terror on their faces as the ground began to tremble, and then hundreds of horrific, tumorous hands grasped them from below. They fought and begged for their lives, and finally succumbed as great wailing tumor-like creatures with hundreds of faces began to tear them apart, screaming. Great flying serpents, the Hunting Horrors Dr. Kafour had told us about, swept from the sky and picked Hypatia up as she wailed in fear. It was a horror show, a monstrous mess that shook our core... but it made no sense. Clayton and Ted's friend thought that the expedition had lived. We had no reason to believe they were dead... Apparently Nyarlathotep also sensed we were not convinced, and changed tactics.
"Alright, alright, no more tricks," He relented, and the image was swept away for a vast blazing gateway. The sun beat through it, and we felt the humidity of the Nile. Then we saw the Pyramids of Giza... or what was being built of them, at least, and realized... this was Ancient Egypt! Clayton was amazed, and tempted... and nearly walked through, but his better judgment prevailed.
"Let us go," Ewan begged, voice cracking in stress at our plight. "Please. Leave us alone and let us go... We'll play your sick game or whatever you want, just please let us leave..."
"Oh, you want to leave?" Nyarlathotep sneered, eyes aglow with dark fire. "You just want to leave? By all means! You do know where the door out is, after all!"
His cackling laughter echoed off the walls of the room, mocking us, the sound of madness and mayhem, and that was when I had a realization. The one thing that could possibly save us all, the one thing we swore we'd only use as a method of last resort... I fell to my knees, eyes narrowed defiantly, and began tracing the symbol, the branched symbol that Dr. Kafour had told us was one of protection, into the sand. And Nyarlathotep saw what I was doing, and shuddered.
"Sarah... Sarah, no..." His voice tinged nervously, and he backed away slowly. "Sarah, dear, please don't..."
"Oh, what's wrong? You don't like this thing?" It was my turn to gloat now. "Let us out, or I'll keep drawing it..."
He begged and whined at me to stop, and I forced him to agree to let us go. He relented, and smugly, so did I... only to hear him start laughing again.
"You... you all realize that thing takes at least an hour to properly cast, right?" The mad god half-laughed, though in actual mirth this time or out of smug pride I'm not sure. "You are in my damn temple! Did you really think trying to dispel me from it would actually work?!"
Well, it was worth a shot. His laughter suddenly died down, and his voice turned to dead seriousness as his eyes fell on the whimpering Mah'muhd.
"Come here, little one... There's a good lad..."
Everyone felt their blood run cold, especially me. Mah'muhd clung to me and whimpered, hiding behind me for protection, but the Crawling Chaos' silver tongue prevailed, slowly drawing the boy away from me. Dread gripped me as we begged him not to leave, and then finally, I hit my breaking point.
"No!" The scream tore from my lips, and tears streamed down my face. "Leave him alone... Please... I-I'll do it. But please, not the boy... not the boy..."
The dark eyes fell on me, then, and the Crawling Chaos waited as I slowly forced myself to walk to him. It felt like an eternity, but someone had to protect that child. Someone had to sacrifice themselves. It may as well be me. Once more his crackling energy trailed over me, his fingers brushed ever so mockingly gently against my hair... and then he pulled something from it, a piece of reed or rocky grit.
"It was bothering me, seeing your looks so tarnished," He smirked. I wanted to faint, but was secretly relieved he hadn't harmed me. "You see? I can be a benevolent god... And of course I would not let my little pawns go into such a stacked game without offering some small support. I am betting on you, after all... consider it a favor. I know there must be something you desire. Tell me, and I shall give it to you... if you so wish."
"Oh no ye don't," Ewan replied, eyes narrowing. "There's always a catch, mate..."
"Of course your kind expects there to be some sort of bargain involved." The god returned to his throne, relaxing once more. "I am no different, and I will not lie to you - I do require one small thing of you, if you wish my aid. I am a fair deity, however, and do not demand much. All that I ask is a simple collective favor of you, at some point in the future. After all, I am doing you a service by helping you. A favor for a favor... that is fair, do you not agree?"
"Look, whatever it is ye want, we just want to leave," Ewan responded. "Let us out. Please. We won't tell a soul yer here, we'll never bother ye again..."
"Very well, then you may leave, and shall not suffocate here as I had planned," Nyarlathotep replied dismissively, and there was a soft hint of a smile about his eyes. "Consider it done. Enjoy life as it shall continue for you, or at least whatever remains of it... but never forget that collective favor you owe me. Your time grows short, mortals - I may have all eternity, but you have a mere eight months to complete the game. And mark me, we will meet again. Pray to all space and time that you may avoid my gaze until then, for I have a thousand eyes, and I am watching you, always. Now then… let the game… begin.”
There was a great rending sound as a crushing blackness fell, and something in the shadows stirred slickly. The door opened, we heard the stone crackle and fall in pieces away, and ran for the door without stopping to think. Someone scooped up Bridget, and we just ran. Those things in the dark, I don't know what they were, but I swear to God I heard our author friend scream in horror at something. She didn't come out of the pyramid with us. We never found out what happened to her, and never saw her again... but I did manage to retrieve her diary at least. It's mine now, and I will do my utmost to continue, but we will need another author, and soon.
The trip back to Cairo was a blur. I'm certain we must have passed out, either from fear or exertion. The Bedouin guides found us in the shade of the Bent Pyramid, collapsed from the heat, and brought us back to Cairo as quickly as their camels would take them. We woke up in the hospital across from the Consulate, and that was when the real hell began. For weeks, we struggled to comprehend what we had seen in the Bent Pyramid. Ewan alternated between being a drunken sobbing wreck and sleeping all day. Bridget had given him a collapsed lung from that bullet, too. He's really living up to that tattoo of his, I guess, even after all this. I couldn't bear the memories of what happened, and begged Ewan to help me find something to sleep better at night. He gave me some sort of leaf, which I chewed, and it did help... but the nightmares came back, as they always did. At least I can self-medicate, can't I? And once the dreams stop, I can give this up whenever I want...
Bridget ended up under the hospital's limited psychiatric care - I'm honestly astonished she recovered at all, though she did have a strange look in her eyes, almost a vicious determination born of her mental breakdown. She's been studying a lot of Egyptian theology lately, and I've caught her whispering praises to herself in what I am sure is Demotic Egyptian. I'm becoming worried she may be obsessed with the Black Pharaoh, or worse, might become a future enemy... I hope that isn't the case, but all the same, it worries me.
Out of all of us, Clayton seems the most... normal. He was never fully normal, of course, but his attitude has changed. He's no longer the goofy, energetic guy I met back in London. He's serious, deadly serious. His eyes have a hard look to them, a determination. I hope that he can persevere, because to lose him would be devastating. What would the rest of us do without Clayton? What would any of us do alone? I can't bear to think about it. Tomorrow, Bridget has suggested going to speak with Dr. Kafour, and I agree that's a good plan. But for tonight, all I want to do is sleep in a haze... sleep, and forget.
God save us all.
-- Sarah McCain, Weary and Wary (April 16, 1928)