[Author’s Notes / Story Q&A]

Thank you so much to everyone who played, read, or otherwise peeked in on Crafting Love! As always, I had a lot of fun writing it, and I hope you all enjoyed reading it as well.

The final length of this story was 52,200 words (around 125 pages in gdocs)! It feels truly incredible—it was NaNo in October! If and when you want to reread it, you’ll be able to find this story linked from my Interactive Fiction page. Feel free to check out some older interactive stories there too!

If you enjoyed the story and are looking for ways to support me and my work, you can learn more about and pick up my books over here. Read some already? Leaving a good rating or review on Goodreads or Amazon can make all the difference. I’ve also got a tip jar over at Ko-Fi! And please, feel free to follow me on social media to see what I’m up to: Twitter and Tumblr.

Okay, business aside—let’s do a story Q&A! Feel free to ask me anything you want about the story, what my writing process was, things people may have suspected but not had confirmed, other ‘routes’, etc. Wonder what would have happened if you’d done X instead of Y? Ask it here! (Lurkers are totally allowed to ask too!).

Here’s some starting information: I originally wrote up the idea for this about 5 years ago under the working title “Bootycall of Cthulhu” (it was much more about dating Great Old Ones in its first iteration), and started to script it up in the Failbetter Games engine before that was taken down. I wrote the ‘pitch’ paragraph for the current iteration about a year and a half ago, with the basic idea that the characters in this were each living out their own horror story, and it would be up to the player to intersect with those stories as they saw fit.

Thank you once again… and happy Halloween!

[Ask Me Some Questions, I’ll Tell You No Lies]

[Previous post: Conclusion]

[Conclusion]

Jay sat obligingly, watching her putter around in the kitchen. He didn’t really even have to think about his answer. “I think I’ll stay,” he said. “I mean, it’s nice to have your permission if I end up changing my mind sometime, but… it’s a weird town, Kingsport, but I like it so far. I’m making friends, and… I mean, I think I can see myself having a future there. I’ll have to figure out some of the more mundane details, but I want to stay.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” she said, running the water to fill the kettle. “I wouldn’t want to think I stuck you with nothing but that awful mission. It sounds like it went okay?”

He leaned back on the couch, closing his eyes. “I think it went okay, yes,” he said. As she finished making the tea, he told her about what had happened so far—about beginning to learn to dream, about finding her notes, about how he’d slowly pieced together the shape of the problem, found the Signs. He skimmed over most of the details about finding the flute—it touched too much on Louis’s past and Louis’s scars, just describing that they’d searched the City of Lost Cities and eventually managed to get it back from some Byakhee, that he’d seen it safely into Nyarlathotep’s hands.

And he told her about how he wanted to be like her—to build a neutral place, where people of any cult would know they were safe, but without committing himself to any one god. That as he’d learned the basics, he refused to go ahead with anything until he was sure it was balanced, how he’d begun to get close to people from several cults all at once.

“It’s rewarding work, if you can manage it,” she said, carrying in a tray that held her teapot, two dollar store cups, and a tin of cookies. “They’ll make it difficult for you, all of them, even though they’ll find it a relief to have a space that doesn’t belong to some great ancient god, and a friend who doesn’t belong to one. They’re all committed to their ways, I think, whether willingly or no. But stick to your instincts. They seem to do well for you.” She put the tray down, poured, and picked up her own mug. “I’m glad you’re making friends.”

“I am. I…” He worried at his lower lip. “I might have a boyfriend already? I’m not sure, we haven’t put it in those terms, but… we’re friends and, uh, we’ve hooked up.”

“Ooooh.” She grinned at him. “Who?”

“Louis. It’s—I mean, it’s why I asked him to come with me.” He found himself blushing a little, and corrected, “I mean, it’s not why I asked him to, but… we’d been spending a lot of time together, and I thought he deserved for me to offer. You know, that I shouldn’t just leave him behind.”

“Louis Castaigne?” She seemed surprised at that. “I suppose he’s around your age, it’s true…”

He lifted his brows at her and sipped his tea. It was slightly weak, like she’d always made it, since she tended to save her tea bags to use again. “Is it that weird?”

“He’s just an odd boy.”

“Is anything about this normal?” Jay pointed out blandly.

Grace shrugged the comment off. “Fair enough,” she said. “I hope it’s good for you both. I know he could certainly stand to learn to express his emotions more.”

“It’s been fine so far,” Jay said, a little flustered. “I know you two know each other already, but, uh, I’d like to bring him to meet you sometime. As my boyfriend.”

“He’s not really a dream-traveler—”

“But it’s possible. I know that. You know that, you allowed it for that other trip,” Jay pointed out. “I’m not going to rush it, but… if things get serious?”

She smiled, reaching over and ruffling his hair up. “…of course. He’s a nice enough boy and I would like to see him again.”

“Well, good,” Jay said. “‘Cause I’m hoping things do get serious. Speaking of that,” he added, pointedly.

“Uh-oh,” Grace muttered.

“Did you ever talk to her? To K—the Dream Witch,” he corrected himself quickly. “Directly, I mean.”

For a moment, Grace didn’t respond, looking at him blankly as if to see if he’d stammer, excuse himself, walk it back. When he didn’t, she pulled a face at him. “Ughhh.”

“I’m just saying—”

“She’s an ancient being from the dawn of time,” Grace said. “I’m just a hopeless old biddy. I don’t have anything to offer her.”

Jay frowned at Grace. “Putting aside the ‘hopeless old biddy’ part since, I mean, time seems to not have meaning for you anymore,” he said bluntly, “I mean, you have a lot to offer. You’re a brilliant journalist. You stayed neutral in a city where everyone’s expected to pick sides. You completed a Dream-Quest, and I might not know much about dreaming, but I do know that’s a one in a million thing! You’re a—a great catch for anyone you’re interested in!”

Grace’s face screwed up more, mortified and embarrassed and clearly just hoping to put him off. “Noooo,” she groaned. Then she sighed, fiddling with a lock of hair, gaze downcast. “She literally eats people,” she said finally. “If I had anything to offer her, if I had any ability that she didn’t have, or any knowledge, anything, she’d eat me to gain it for herself. So I can’t have anything to offer her, or I wouldn’t be here.”

Well, that was horrifying, theoretically. But after the last day, Jay somehow couldn’t even find it in himself to be bothered by that. “You’re still in touch with each other,” he pointed out.

“Yes…”

“Why would she keep in touch with someone if she didn’t get something from it? Clearly she gets something out of your company.” He sipped his tea, pointedly. “Just think about it, anyway.”

“…I’ll think about it,” Grace agreed. She snapped a cookie in two and ate a half, then said, “Well. It seems like you’re coming along nicely with your dreaming. Have you gone anywhere on your own already?”

Jay allowed her to change the subject. “I went to Ulthar,” he said. He described what had happened, rescuing the cat, the cat following him home. “I mean, I’ve since learned that he’s kind of an eldritch cat, but… I like him. I can come back, right? I can take him to meet you?”

“Of course you can come back,” she said. “And I’d like that very much. The cats of Ulthar are still just cats, but… unlike the cats in our world, they still remember where they came from. So they’re just a little closer to their origin.”

Jay thought about the strange horned form he’d seen, and was about to quibble that it was more than a little, but let it go. Ulthar acted like a cat, anyway, and most of the time, he looked like a cat, and that made him basically just a normal cat. Sure, he told himself. “Well, I’m glad to have him with me,” he said instead. “I think you’ll like him. Can you give me any tips on dreaming? I’d… like to learn more. I’d like to learn more from you.”

Her eyes widened, and then she smiled, ducking her head. “I’d like that too,” she said, and ate the other half of her cookie, brushing sugar off her hands. “All right, let’s go over some basics.”

They chatted for a little while about that, Jay taking mental notes on the quick tips she gave. He could still sleep normally—it would just be harder now, but it was good to do so once in a while to refresh himself. The Dreamlands was both a physical world and a metaphysical one; he could travel there just in dream form or, by going through the door, in physical form. Most gates into other worlds were in paintings, doors, or windows, so he had to be cautious of those—primarily in the Dreamlands, since there were many of them there, but even in his own reality, if it had a frame, the inside of that frame could go somewhere else. Just like the door she’d built in her house.

From there, they moved onto more mundane topics, onto what items in her house she wanted him to keep, or anything specific she wanted done—but she had little to offer there. Anything that hadn’t been in the will, she didn’t care about, though she cautioned him that she’d found numerous powerful items over time as she’d investigated, many of which she’d forgotten about. If he could recover her files, or read through more of them in the Library, he might find records of those items. “When in doubt, though, the Dylan family should be able to tell you if you’re handling something awful. I suppose the Castaigne boy might as well,” she added, “though I don’t know that he’ll pay attention to much that isn’t relevant to him.”

“He will,” Jay said. “I’m sure of it.”

“I’m glad, then.”

There were a few pieces of jewelry that she suggested his mother might like, and that got onto the topic of the family. He caught her up on what they’d been up to recently, telling her all the little family anecdotes, along with everything big he could think of from the last eight years. And then, almost hesitant, he asked, “Is there… anything you want me to pass onto them? Anything you want me to tell them on your behalf?”

“I think it’s best they think I’m dead,” Grace said. “There’s no explaining this without pulling people into it.”

Jay nodded. “Sure, but… I mean, I can say that I found things around your house.  You did keep journals. So… if you want to pass on any thoughts, anything you want them to know, I can do that. I’d just say I found it in your records, that you were thinking of them at some point.”

Grace smiled, leaning in and wrapping an arm around Jay in a hug. “All right,” she said. “That’s smart thinking. Tell Susan that I hope she’s worrying less about money. That girl worries too much. Ah, and tell Do-Hun that I miss his cooking.”

He hugged her back, holding on tight. “I’ll tell them,” he promised. For a moment, his heart ached. “I’ve missed you,” he said, abrupt, almost explosive. “I’m just… I’m so glad I could see you again.”

“I’m glad too,” she murmured, hugging him back just as hard. “Don’t come here every night or anything—I want you to explore, and grow, and all that. But… well, you can come back whenever you want. I’ll be here. I’ll always be here.”

He wiped his leaky face on her shoulder and nodded. “I will,” he promised, voice rough. “I love you, Aunt Grace.”

“I love you, Jae-Hyun,” she told him, and kissed the top of his head. “You’re a good boy, a kind boy. I’m so glad my legacy hasn’t harmed that at all.”

Laughing shakily, Jay finally pulled back, wiping his eyes. His tea was empty, and he’d eaten as many cookies as he could. “It hasn’t.” he said. “I… I should go. I have people at home waiting for me.”

For a moment, her expression was wistful. But she nodded. “I’m glad you do,” she said simply. “I’ll see you soon?”

“I’ll see you soon,” he promised.

***

Jay woke up in Aunt Grace’s bed still fully dressed, feeling Ulthar making biscuits on his prone body and purring loudly. He scrubbed his eyes as he opened them, finding them wet, then pulled his cat down for a cuddle.

Sunlight was streaming in through the curtains; from the quality of it, he guessed it was around noon. He could hear the shower running in the bathroom where the wall was shared with the bedroom, and realized, to his surprise, that Louis must not have gone back to his own house to wash up.

With Ulthar tucked purring against his side, he groped around on the bedside table until he found his phone, then checked it. He had five messages from Camden, each more worried than the last, except that between four and five, a message had gone out from his phone:

He’s fine – Louis C.

Not very subtle about Louis having been over, Jay thought wryly, which might have explained Camden’s sudden awkward reply of just Thx. He considered for a moment, then typed back:

Yes, I’m fine, sorry! Louis got back before me. The world is safe and I’m not dead. I’ve got some stuff to take care of but if you want to meet in a couple of hours for a coffee or something, I’ll catch you up. He’d clearly nearly given Camden a heart attack, after all; the least he could do was give him all the news in person.

Jay sent the message, then yawned, getting up and opening the curtains, gazing out at the sun-drenched wooded landscape outside with a sense of satisfaction. Mine, he thought smugly. Ulthar squinted into the light, then burrowed into the blankets, so Jay left him there.

What else should he do today, he pondered. Maybe, if he popped into town to meet Camden, he’d also stop in to check in on Hannah. He probably wouldn’t have another load of Grace’s things ready for her, not since he definitely planned to take the day easy, but… it sounded like she wanted some company now and again. He’d originally been thinking the surprise should be flowers or chocolate, since it sounded like that was the sort of thing she wanted, but since he’d hooked up with Louis… well, maybe he’d see if he could loan her a book or game instead. Something they could talk about later, but was a little less… weighted.

But that could wait. There was a reason he’d told Camden that he’d meet in a few hours; he had plans to make today a slow, quiet, sweet day. He’d been in such a rush before, with the world’s end bearing down on him, but… that was over. And this was his home now, it was his community now.

All those things the flute had promised him, he could make them himself, right here, by living it. He had plenty of time.

Jay headed into the hall, knocking on the bathroom door. “It’s me,” he said.

“Come in.”

Grinning to himself, Jay opened the door. Louis was in the shower, naked but for his mask, a gorgeous sight even though the water was running faintly pink with blood.

“Room for another?”

“Please. I can’t get my back well on my own.” But Louis’s tone was a bit knowing, a bit mischievous, and he gestured at Jay with a languid hand. “You want to get out of all of that?”

Jay beamed at him. “Absolutely,” he said, and shut the bathroom door behind himself.

[Head on over to the Author’s Notes/Story Q&A?]

[Previous Day: Day 31.]

[Please read the instructions before jumping in!]

Jay closed his eyes, drawing in a deep breath, and for a moment, he let himself just feel his wants. He didn’t have a choice whether or not to feel them, perhaps; they were washing over him unbidden, a deep hunger, every frustration and longing welling up from a bottomless pit he’d kept deeply stoppered for so many years—but he let himself think it was a choice regardless.

He wanted to save the world, of course, that was his most immediate thought, and the biggest contradiction with the flute, the thing, the creature in his hands, begging him to play it. He knew he could save the world by giving the flute up, returning it to its proper place with the blind god in the center of the cosmos—but he knew, too, because it told him, that he could save the world by playing it. If he conducted those masses of amorphous gods elsewhere, they would not be free to roam into his reality, except in the ways he let them.

But then, it wouldn’t be his reality any longer. The gods would come with him, and he would need to leave to keep the world safe.

And he didn’t want that—he wanted his home, a home, to go home safely and make sure that Louis got home safely too. And maybe, he thought, his own home wasn’t actually his home. It was still full of Aunt Grace’s things, not his. He had no job in Kingsport. His family was far away. And maybe Louis’s home wasn’t really a home for Louis, either. It had belonged to Dr. Archer, and was taken over by Louis after Dr. Archer’s untimely death. No wonder it looked too old for him, all faded glory and decrepit luxury. Maybe a new place would be better, one he could make for both of them, a better home that would be theirs to share, to build from the ground up—

But he thought of a cat, curled up on his bed, waiting for his return. He thought of people he’d just begun to meet and get to know. A text that he’d sent to someone, who would surely be waiting for another to see if he lived, a friend that he’d only just begun to make who would nevertheless be worried for him. Those goods that filled his home didn’t have to stay there; they could get unloaded at the antique store, with Hannah, who had asked for a surprise from him, a promise he hadn’t yet kept. The house was just a house; he could do with it whatever he wanted.

And Louis? He couldn’t decide that for Louis, either. If Louis wanted to get rid of anything, he could. If he wanted to get anything of his own, he could. Jay had known Louis for barely a couple of days; he didn’t have the right to take him away, whisk him off to another world.

Oh, but he wanted that too. He wanted to make his relationship with Louis stronger, better. To have a real romance, erotic and passionate and tender. To uncover everything that Louis would let him uncover, and things he didn’t know existed to uncover. He wanted to learn Louis inside out, become everything Louis could want.

Which was another want of his: connection, he wanted connection. Far away from what had been his home, he wanted to know others, he wanted to be known by others. He wanted friends, he wanted to understand the people around him who he’d just met. Everyone seemed to be living out their own story in a way that he wasn’t exactly used to, and even if those stories were horrible—as they might be, with what he’d seen from Louis, from Camden’s curse, from Hannah’s aunt, from whatever happened to his neighbor before Ashesh showed up. Even if they were horrible, he wanted to be a part of them. He wanted to find out what was next in the strange town he had found himself in, find out what was next in his own story, his own life. Maybe what he saw here would make him want to leave, and with the flute, he wouldn’t have to worry about the petty details of that. He could go anywhere, not worry about money, housing, anything. He could travel reality carried on the backs of his own entourage, he could see everything about everyone around him—

—But only by peeling these people open, by learning things through arcane means instead of through discovering them person to person. Could he face his great-aunt Grace again if he did that?

And he wanted to see her again. He missed her, even though she’d been the one who put him in this position, or because of it; he missed hearing her stories and her laugh, and knowing she was dead and he could never see her again had morphed into needing to see the dream she’d created for herself instead of death. But with this power, he could pull her out of her dream, pull her out of death, make her live and walk again so things could be like they used to be instead of the horrible uncanny thing it was now. So she could come to family gatherings, so he could listen to her stories, and it not just be him alone, without anyone else who had loved her being able to know that she was still around, somewhere—

No, but she had chosen that, known that her time in this world had been over, that she had to pass from it one way or another, and had decided to live on, even if it required separation. She had crafted her own world, but out of dreams, not out of the stuff of the stars, not out of the power in his hands right now. She had dropped the flute rather than do that. He couldn’t change that decision for her. And he could still see her again, if he dreamed, if he learned how to dream more. And maybe he wanted that for his own sake as well. Maybe, knowing there was another entire world out there, he wanted to explore it, to see it. Maybe he wanted to go back to Ulthar and take a drink this time. Maybe he wanted to explore the obelisks of Dylath-Leen, to wander the four continents, and do so knowing the ability and drive both came from within. Perhaps he could be borne there in an instant on a dais made of the eldermost life, the flute reminded him, but maybe the people who lived there, who lived their whole lives in a world he only knew of through dreams, deserved a life free from those elder gods, just as much as his own world did.

No, he thought, no. What he wanted, in the end, was to live an interesting life, a happy life, a healthy life, just whatever his life was. And maybe it wouldn’t always be interesting; maybe he’d go back to where he came from, dive back into late nights coding and never finding a place to park and riding the light rail instead of trying, and overpriced coffee and corporate buildings taking over the downtown. Maybe it wouldn’t always be healthy; either physical health, always unreliable, or he might stay in Kingsport and risk all the madness and glory and all the dangers it had to offer him, cults and curses and masks and Signs and untrusting farmers and bad takeout. Maybe he wouldn’t always be happy, wherever he ended up.

But what he wanted was something he could create on his own. The flute could give him anything he asked for—just not how he wanted it. Knowledge, not discovery; power, not compromise; adoration, but not love. He didn’t need the flute to craft a new reality for him. He didn’t even need a dream to craft it, either. Discovery, connection, love—they were all his to create in his own way, to craft not as gods do by forcing reality to bend, but as humans do, through the time and energy he put in.

Jay’s hands trembled. The one that raised, finally, was not the one carrying the flute, but the one carrying Nyarlathotep’s ankh. In the face of chaos, he shouted, “Nyarlathotep, Crawling Chaos, Stalker Among the Stars, Ashesh, come here!”

And he was back in the room again. Louis was on the floor, head pressed down, bowing deeply toward the window. Dr. Archer was some feet away now, covered in a swarm of Byakhee. He was not screaming, or moving.

There was something else here, something behind Jay, near the window, whatever it was Louis had bowed to in order avert his face from. It had a heavy presence, a slow presence, something ominous and uncanny and entirely wrong, Jay started to turn to see what was there.

But before he could, a black light sparked in front of him, churning into hideous life, writhing and impossible, unspeakable tentacles and blood and tongues and a million eyes and a billion other things that compressed into Ashesh’s form—or something like it, currently female-bodied, long and lean and lovely, with black hair all unbound, wearing a black lace keyhole dress.

With a quick motion, Ashesh snatched the flute from Jay, and abruptly, they were out of Carcosa entirely, back in the Dreamlands, in the cottage house and standing in front of the painting that had been their portal from the Dreamlands into that dread world. Dr. Archer hadn’t come along, and neither had the thing at the window.

Louis, beside him, slowly raised his head from the floor.

“Whoops,” Ashesh said, tossing the flute carelessly from hand to hand. “Didn’t think you two would want to stick around for that one coming in. Not even you, Mr. Castaigne.”

“I sort of did want,” Louis mumbled, but at the same time, he sounded relieved.

“‘Course you did, bud.” Ashesh flipped the flute up, then caught it by its bulb, spinning it on a finger. “But you’ll have to earn it the proper way, won’t you?”

Jay crouched, trying to find something to focus on to calm his heart, which felt like it was going to scratch its way out of his chest. He ran a careful hand over Louis’s back, examining his wounds. “Nothing too bad,” he said uneasily. “I think.”

“You’ll want to pour some hydrogen peroxide over them,” Ashesh advised, flashing teeth in a bright grin. “Byakhee are pretty gross. It’ll sting like a motherfucker, but you like that anyway.”

Louis sighed, that calm seeming to wash over him again. He leaned into Jay’s touch briefly. “Thanks for your advice,” he told Ashesh.

“You’re welcome,” Ashesh said, then added, “I’m going to skedaddle now; I need to get this baby back to my father. It’s been fun, you guys.”

And with a wink, Nyarlathotep was gone, and so was the flute, leaving the two of them alone in the small cottage.

They looked at each other, and for all that most of Louis’s face was obscured, Jay could see the exhaustion on it: the pain of his brows, the tired set of his eyes. He thought he must be looking much the same way, though, perhaps, he might have had it the easier of the two of them.

“Are you okay?” Jay managed, finally.

Louis took a moment to consider, then just sort of shrugged. “I will be,” he said.

All Jay could do was take him at his word. He held out his arms, a silent offering, and Louis shifted forward into them, pressing the hard curve of his masked face into Jay’s shoulder, his own arms coming up to wrap hard around Jay.

They held each other in silence for a long few moments, squeezing with what little strength their trembling arms could muster, slowly relaxing. Jay’s racing heart was steadying down to a normal pace, and he felt a huge sense of relief wash over him.

It was over. They’d done it.

Someone cleared their voice from the doorway of the cottage and they both jumped, peeling apart from each other. Keziah grinned at them sharply. “Don’t mind me,” she said.

“I rather do,” Louis said.

Jay, his heart now pounding fast again, waggled a hand. “I’m sorry,” he said. “We were just. It’s been a lot.”

“I bet it has,” she said. “Jay, your aunt is ready to see you now.”

Oh. Jay took a deep breath and turned to Louis. “Do you want to come see my aunt again?”

“Just Jay,” Keziah clarified. “Sorry. Maybe you can see her if you dream together again, but right now, she asked to see Jay, and I’m not really going to mess around with that.”

“But—”

Louis shook his head. His shoulders relaxed, and he seemed to smile. “It’s fine, Jay,” he said. “I want to wake up anyway. Take a shower. Clean these injuries. Feed your cat.”

The cat did need feeding. “Are you sure?” Jay stressed. “I can go home with you now, if you want, and see her later—”

“It’s fine. I need a few moments to myself anyway,” Louis said. “Please.”

That was more than fair, really. Still a little reluctant, Jay nodded again, and turned to Keziah. “…Can you make sure he gets home safely?” he asked, tentative. “We went through all this together, and…”

“I don’t have to,” Keziah said. “Just make sure he takes the key that your aunt gave you and puts it in the door to the cottage. He’ll return to your house that way. Don’t worry about getting home yourself; you’re a dreamer. You’ll wake up there, when you choose to leave.”

“Even though I came here physically?”

“Even though. You haven’t moved here to stay, so your way back is open,” Keziah said. “Go on, say your goodbyes. You’ll see each other shortly anyway.”

Jay nodded, turning from Keziah to Louis and taking his hands. “Hey,” Jay said. “You did great back there. It was hard, I know. But you really… did great.”

“Did I…?” Louis asked blankly. “I’m not… sure what you mean. But I’m glad that we got done what we needed to, and I’m glad that you asked me to come.”

Swallowing, Jay nodded again and squeezed Louis’s hands. “I’ll see you soon,” he promised.

Louis pulled his hands out of Jay’s, but only to tip the mask up to expose his mouth, then took Jay by the shoulders and kissed him firmly. It was slow, hard, but kind. A promise, Jay thought, and he kissed Louis back the same way.

When they separated, Jay took a moment to catch his breath, then dug his key out of his pocket and handed it to Louis. As he did so, he realized that all four signs were back in his pockets again—including the ankh, which he’d last remembered holding up, and the Yellow Sign, which he thought he’d thrown away.

Well, that was a problem for future Jay, he decided, if it was a problem at all.

Louis took the key and left by the door, vanishing as he crossed the threshold, not looking back. Jay stared after him for a few moments, then turned to Keziah, who had grown tired of waiting patiently and was reading a book.

“I’m ready,” he said.

Keziah snapped the book closed and smiled at him. “Let’s go, then,” she said.

She didn’t reach out to touch him, didn’t take his hand, but suddenly he was somewhere else and she was gone. He supposed that she’d decided not to come with him, and for a moment, he thought about calling out after her, saying she couldn’t run forever, saying that Grace was here waiting for her too.

But honestly, that was none of his business, and she was still a Great Old One.

The place he’d found himself in was on a field, a large stretch of gently rolling countryside, dotted with the occasional tree or sheep. It seemed to go on forever. He was sure it didn’t—the Dreamlands were connected in what was, to them, a physical reality, so it must be situated somewhere on one of the continents—but it at least gave the illusion of a pleasant isolation. He was on the path to the front door of a two-story house, its chimney trailing a homey-looking smoke. The outside of the house was painted white, and flowered vines climbed its sides.

The blue sky above the house was beautiful, clear and sunny, with no sign of any horrific creatures clawing at it to try to get in. That was over, and there was no longer any reason to fear it.

Still, he was a little nervous as he headed to the front door. Not of monsters, not of horrors, not of elder gods. Just, yikes, he was going to see his supposedly dead aunt, who he had mourned, and what would he say to her?

He knocked.

It opened nearly at once, as if Grace had been waiting by the bay window, watching him—and maybe she had been. She looked no older than forty, younger than he’d ever seen her, with long brown hair bound back in a ponytail and bright, merry eyes with faint lines around them. He recognized her at once.

“Jay,” she said.

“Aunt Grace,” he said, and flung himself into her arms, squeezing her. “I missed you!”

“Oh, baby, baby,” she almost sobbed, hugging him back. “I missed you too. I’m sorry I left you such a mess.”

He thought about what it had been like to hold the flute, and shook his head against her shoulder. She still smelled like he remembered, though softer now, with fewer medications to sour the floral perfume she favored. “I understand,” he said. “I get it. I do.”

“I bet,” she said. She stepped back, looked him over, and tsked her tongue, smiling. “You’re so skinny. Come in, I’ll get the kettle on and we can have tea and cookies. You must have a lot to ask me.”

He followed her inside, into a living room with a couch and a big plush armchair, both with floral covers. It was well-lit in here, lovely hardwood floors gleaming, little knick knacks and decorations everywhere, but everything was in its place. “I do,” he said. “I really do.”

“And I’ve got so much to ask you too,” she said softly, gesturing at him to sit as she headed past him into the kitchen. “Do you like the house? Do you like Kingsport? It’s all right if you don’t. I won’t be offended if you want to sell the house and get out of there, go back to a normal life. I really won’t.”

[What do you want to ask Aunt Grace? What do you want to tell Aunt Grace?
What do you want to do when you wake up? Anything else you want Jay to act on?

This is the last day to participate in. Please comment by 4 pm PST Nov 1.
The story’s conclusion will go up on Nov 1 at the usual time.]

[Previous Day: Day 30. Next Day: Conclusion.]

[Please read the instructions before jumping in!]

Jay forced himself to breathe, pushing the panic off. He didn’t have time to panic. Every moment he took to panic was a moment one more thing could go horribly, completely wrong. He had to act.

He dug his toes against the damaged hardwood floor, pushing himself slightly under the bed, feeling wood splinters stinging his flesh. He didn’t let himself hesitate, arm outstretched as he squirmed in the narrow space until he felt the ominous weight of Nyarlathotep’s ankh and grabbed it in one hand. His fingers curled around its cool, curved shape.

This was the thing he needed before he could do anything else—the world came before either of their lives, if it came down to that, and he didn’t want to risk touching the flute without having all four signs. Besides, Keziah’s advice was to grab it and immediately use the Sign of Nyarlathotep to summon him here, before the flute could get to him, drive him mad. If he went after it without this particular Sign, or if he waited and the Sign got pushed further away, out of reach, in all the chaos—well, he didn’t know what would happen to their world, let alone either of them.

Louis was screaming now. The sound was more in fear than in pain, Jay thought, but he wasn’t sure which was worse, not in the moment. Despite the madness inherent in all of this from the start, he couldn’t recall, in the moment, any time that he had seen Louis show fear. Something about it filled him with a near panic that he tried to hold off, breathing deeply as he tried to back up.

Jay found himself almost stuck, wedged in there, and he dug his fingernails into the gaps between the floorboards, scrabbling at it as he hauled himself backwards, inch by inch, until he was out from under the bed. Immediately he turned, whirling to face Louis, almost entirely obscured by the swarm of Byakhee. There was blood spattered around where the Byakhee were piled on top of Louis’s hunched form; Jay couldn’t tell how much of it was from Louis, couldn’t tell how bad his injuries were. Louis was still screaming, short, sharp little sounds, an almost childlike terror under the mass of horrific forms.

The sound of Dr. Archer’s coughing had cleared up, no longer muffled; it sounded as if he’d either managed to dislodge the temporary gag that Louis had made for him, or had swallowed it. Jay didn’t have time to worry about which it was; the man still had his hands bound and he was no threat for the time being.

Nyarlathotep’s symbol still clutched tightly in one hand, Jay pushed himself to his feet and had to make a split-second decision about what to do with the other, how best to hold off the Byakhee as he went to save Louis. His eye fell on the glint of the knife; it was an obvious choice of weapon.

But he wasn’t sure how much damage he could do to a hoard of Byakhee with a simple pocket knife. Enough, perhaps? Perhaps not. This wasn’t a situation where perhaps not could stand.

And Dr. Archer had already established an authority they would listen to. Jay dug around in his pocket with his free hand, trying to identify each Sign by feel in an instant despite the numb trembling of his fingers. They traced out that twisted triangular shape, and he gripped the Sign, yanking it out of his pocket, and held it out in front of him as he charged at the mass of Byakhee crawling over Louis.

“In Hastur’s name,” he yelled as he tackled the mass, shoving unspeakable shapes away with a meaty thunk of his body, his arm still outstretched like he was using a cross in a vampire movie—God, he wished it was that simple—”Leave that man alone! He’s the bearer of the Pallid Mask! The true Phantom of Truth! He speaks of the coming of the King in Yellow and will guide his path to the world!”

He was saying whatever came to mind, whatever he thought servants of Hastur might listen to, swinging that Sign around, his arm impacting those heavy, impossible bodies as they scrabbled now at him with insect-like limbs. Louis’ screaming had stopped, and Jay could hear him drawing sharp breaths. Jay crouched over him, almost straddling his curled form. One of Jay’s hands still clenched the ankh, his arm raised to protect his eyes from the claws of the Byakhee; the other held the Yellow Sign over his head.

It seemed like they were slamming into him less, clawing him less, so he kept babbling, though he didn’t know if the reprieve were due to his words, to his motions, to the Sign he held. “That man who has been commanding you is a liar! He wore the mask once, but now he is faceless. He speaks of the coming of the King only to uphold his own glory! Is he your master? Who is your master? Whose sign do I hold?”

Louis was relaxing under him, straightening out, tapping at Jay’s leg like a wrestler tapping out. Not too injured, then. Jay shifted, rising, as Louis began to sit up, trying to give him the space to do so without moving so far away those creatures could swarm back in.

Louis lifted his voice, head tilted up. “Iä Hastur cf’ayak’vulgtmm, vugtlagln vulgtmm,” he sang, his voice gone calm again, as if he’d entirely forgotten that he’d been in terrified pain moments earlier. Though it sounded like babbling, Jay felt like he knew the meaning of it in a general sense, some sort of prayer to Hastur. Louis’ eyes met Jay’s, a bit wild, then jerked away as he looked for his knife, scrabbling to reach for it, still chanting in a sing-song voice. “Hastur cf’tagn, Hastur cf’tagn, Hastur cf’tagn…!”

The Byakhee were hovering uncertainly now, their wings flapping with a horrid, wet sound, and as Louis grabbed the knife he pointed it at them in threat, rising up to his full lanky height. Clawed injuries on his back and arms were bleeding freely, but none seemed too deep, and Jay pulled his glance away from Louis at long last, trusting him to have that situation covered.

Something felt wrong, odd. There was an additional flapping sound beyond that awful meaty clap of the wings of the Byakhee, like a flag blowing in the wind, cloth blowing in a storm, battered this way and that. The torn remains of the bed curtains and sheets were moving uneasily in a breeze that seemed more intense than what Jay could feel from the window or the displacement from the Byakhee’s flight; the ragged curtains in the window were flapping too, freely, reaching inward like the long arms of some horrible creature grabbing onto the walls, using it to drag itself inside, their shadows cast wide in tattered shade. His skin crawled as if the shadows had a tangible sensation as they passed over his body. Louis was still chanting, knife upraised toward the majority of the Byakhee. The Yellow Sign in Jay’s hand was growing hot.

Something was coming. He could hear the tatters of the king.

He heard a scrape, a drag, and he forced his attention away from the crawling shadows to look back to Dr. Archer. His hands were still tied, but nevertheless, he was shoving himself along the glass-strewn floor with his feet, not minding the damage it did to him, flopping and wriggling like a caught fish. His head was turned up, lips parted wide, struggling to reach something, to… catch something in that raw, open mouth.

Jay looked up from Dr. Archer and saw that the Byakhee that had been carrying the flute had loosened its grip. It hung from those many claws tenuously, beginning to slip, to topple to the ground, toward Dr. Archer’s open maw.

There was no time to think, no time for careful action. He needed a hand free, so he flung the Yellow Sign toward Louis—no time to pocket it—and threw his free hand forward as he dove over Dr. Archer, trying to catch the flute as it fell.

It slipped, hit his fingers and almost slid between them, but his grasping hand caught in the twisted, bored holes in its body, and—

—he was nowhere. He was everywhere. His feet were planted on nothingness and he was filling his own sky in a shapeless void. Black chaos swarmed around him, whirled around him, clouds in a timelapsed day, shadows in a nightmare, tatters of cloth on a beggar’s body, reeds at high tide caressing his limbs to pull him into the undertow. The flute was held securely in his hand, warm, comfortable, a perfect fit, and it said,

Put me to your mouth and play me and I can give you anything you want.

It said,

You have been lonely? Alone? A one of a kind person in a small town not meant for you? I can give you everything.

It said,

If you are alone I can crowd you with those who can remake the world in your image.

It said,

I can take you out of this world to give you a world of your own.

It said,

Who do you want to love you? I can make them love you, whether they are mortal or god.

It said,

Who do you want to cure? To fix? To heal? To ruin? To destroy? To remake?

It said,

I am creation, I am destruction, I am the dance. Play me and I can be your dance.

Jay’s lungs ached. His heart ached. His hands, his body, his mortal form, ached. His soul ached.

And he thought about what he wanted. And he thought about what he must do.

[In the comments, please submit:
1. What you think Jay wants.
2. What you think Jay must do.]

[Previous Day: Day 29. Next Day: Day 31.] 

[Please read the instructions before jumping in!]

Still staying as quiet as he could, Jay grabbed Louis’s wrist. He didn’t grab hard, didn’t grab like he was trying to make Louis drop the knife—just getting his attention, looking up at him with wide, alarmed eyes, and giving a quick shake of his head.

Louis seemed to frown at him, brows drawing down visibly under the eye holes of his mask, and he gestured at Dr. Archer with a quick, irritated gesture.

Jay nodded, then sort of shrugged helplessly. Even if he could talk now, he wasn’t sure what he’d say. He’d heard just enough about Louis’s past to begin to put together a truly horrible image of Dr. Archer as the likely source of Louis’s scars—physical and emotional. Everything Louis had indicated about his predecessor painted the picture of a sexual sadist and abuser of the power he’d held over Louis. Jay couldn’t exactly blame Louis for wanting to kill him.

Or… perhaps, wanting to kill him again. Louis had been very sure that Dr. Archer had died, and Dr. Archer had implied that someone had hidden his body or otherwise conveniently ‘lost’ it. Certainly the injuries on his face were consistent with what might have happened if, say, a mask were peeled off someone it had become affixed to. Jay didn’t want to think that Louis was wearing the same mask—and certainly it was a lot cleaner than he’d expect from those… circumstances. But the evidence was pretty telling nevertheless.

Still, Jay was pretty sure he didn’t want to be party to a murder. Maybe it was deserved, and definitely this guy shouldn’t get his hands on the flute, but… this didn’t seem like the time or the place. It might be his own squeamishness—he was having trouble of thinking of reasons that he could give if Louis asked, beyond the risk that they might mess it up and have him sic all the Byakhee on them. But he still just didn’t feel great about the idea of witnessing a murder.

He didn’t know how much of that he was able to communicate with his plaintive look, his shrug, but after a long moment, Louis nodded. He tapped his chest over his heart, trying to communicate—what, Jay wasn’t sure. That his heart was calm?

“Well, Louis? I’m waiting for that hug.” Dr. Archer held his arms out, smiling, the muscles of his face stretching tightly.

Jay leaned up, quick, and gave Louis a peck on the cheek of his mask, then released his wrist, miming playing a flute. A last reminder to Louis of what they were here for. Beyond that, all he could do was trust Louis.

Louis didn’t sheathe the knife, and Jay held his breath as Louis approached the bed, sat on it next to Dr. Archer, and wrapped an arm around him.

His other hand placed the point up under Dr. Archer’s chin, making him freeze in place. “All right, Doctor,” Louis said. “You’re going to be very careful about what you say or do now, okay?”

“Or you’ll what? Kill me?” The twisting of Archer’s face was probably an attempt to be mockingly dubious about the possibility.

“Slit you ear from ear,” Louis said, in his calm, affable voice. “And kiss the wound goodbye. Jay, come help tear down some of his bed curtains so we can bind him properly.”

Jay let out a rough, unsteady breath, hurrying over to do that. The already tattered cloth tore easily in strips as he yanked it down, pulling the older man’s wrists back behind his back and starting to tie them.

“Who’s your friend, Louis? He doesn’t know how to tie a knot,” Dr. Archer said mildly.

Despite everything, Jay felt himself flush in embarrassment. “I’ve never had to before!”

“Letting my boy down. I see, I see.”

“Shut up,” Louis said, his tone still friendly. “Jay, wind that through the middle. It’s fine if you hurt him a little; it means he’s less able to break free if they’re definitely secure. He can’t feel much pain anyway.”

Jay did, winding the excess material through the loop he’d been making around both of Dr. Archer’s wrists, cinching them. “What now?” Jay asked, voice shaking a little with the adrenaline wreaking havoc on his body.

“That looks like it’ll hold for now,” Louis said, and Jay tied the ends off. “Now, Dr. Archer, what can you tell us about the thing you’ve had your minions looking for?”

To punctuate his question, Louis tapped the point of his knife under Dr. Archer’s chin, letting it dimple the flesh there just enough for a trickle of blood to drip down and further stain the collar of Dr. Archer’s white suit.

Dr. Archer’s muscles didn’t even twitch at that; he still kept smiling his grotesque smile in Louis’s direction. “I haven’t seen it, you know. All I know is it’s an item of power, meant to lure a certain power to it, bind them in lulled ecstasy. Those are creatures of ultimate chaos, not meant to serve our god—but if they can be turned to sing his praises, to dance and act out his coming, they can surely cause his arrival to happen at last.”

“You defile him,” Louis told Dr. Archer sharply. “Everything must be done properly, or it is not worth doing. With elegance, with refinement.”

“And who taught you that?” Dr. Archer retorted. “Besides, the stranger in the pallid mask, the messenger, is the one who is recognized as a chaotic force. So why can he not use the chaos that swirls around one throne to raise up another?”

“For one thing, that’s not you,” Louis said. He reached up, fingers curling white-knuckled in more of the bed curtain, ripping it down, then violently jammed the ball of cloth into Dr. Archer’s mouth. “Thank you. That’s all we needed to know. You can be quiet now.”

Jay shifted, his chest tight and anxious. On the one hand, it seemed like Louis had agreed not to kill him. On the other… “Maybe we should make him send the Byakhee some sort of message of non-aggression?”

“If he can communicate with them long-distance, we’re already in trouble,” Louis said. “If he can’t, we can use him as a shield to keep them at bay—”

And, as if summoned, a crashing, screaming force hit the window, poured through.

Jay flung himself across the bed, rolling to duck behind it and keep it between himself and the Byakhee as they swarmed into the room. As he rolled, he felt one of the four Signs he was carrying go flying out of his pocket as he rolled, though he wasn’t sure which one. He reached for Louis as he went, trying to drag him along, but missed as Dr. Archer surged up, shoulder-checking Louis toward the Byakhee before falling on his side on the floor himself, choking and gagging.

In a sudden panic, Jay crawled around the bed, keeping low. There were five or six Byakhee surrounding Louis, who had curled into a ball to protect his vitals. His knife had skidded away and glittered in the pale light from the window, among the shattered glass. No Byakhee had moved to help or arm Dr. Archer, who lay choking on the floor, jerking at bonds he wasn’t able to undo. Jay could see the Sign he’d dropped, Nyarlathotep’s ankh, under the bed, just out of reach; he’d have to flatten himself and press himself a little under to get it.

Two additional Byakhee flapped in the air, apparently watching the chaos unfold below, and one had a hideous flute clasped in its claws. It was a long, warped tube, full of holes that looked as though they’d been made from the inside out, as if by burrowing insects, and ended in a strange, uneven mass at the end.

Jay shifted his gaze in a panic: Dr. Archer, the Sign under the bed, the knife, glass, Louis, the Flute.

And for a moment he froze up, not sure what to do.

[Please suggest an action in the Comments.]

[Previous Day: Day 28. Next Day: Day 30.]