Our Sable Moon

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I have pieced together this decrepit journal as best as possible. Little remains from that time and it is crucial we preserve and learn from what we can. Below are the writings of Maria Talleman, an amateur astronomer. Much is written on the movement of stars and planets that are no longer visible, if they ever were. I have reconstructed her writing pertaining to the events leading up to the awakening of the Great Beyond, may this be of use to future scholars.

Victor

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I apologise for the handwriting. There is only so much one can retain in their mind at once and there is so much that must be recorded, all of it jumbled together. I dare not use the electric lamps and have limited paraffin. We shall start at the beginning, with the appearance of that odd black spot in the sky.

DAY ONE

I had awoken late, as usual, and found a pot of tepid tea with a plate of cold crumpets resting atop my notes. It was not the first time but it may be the last. The stars had been erratic in the early hours of the morning and what I believe was a planet, Jupiter or Saturn perhaps, had been appearing and vanishing as if someone had draped the giant in a tenebrous cloak. I had called for my husband but there was no answer, nor was there one from the maids. It was not long before I discovered why. The whole town of Haughmond was out in the streets staring up at the midday sky, my husband and our servants among them. His shirt untucked, his paisley tie in a heap by his unshod foot.

As I leaned out the window calling for Marcus I caught sight of it. That black stain upon the sky. I dared not gaze upon it for fear of coming under its hypnotic stare, instead I looked to the cloudless blue horizon keeping the black dot in the corner of one eye. The spot was total black with a halo of light crowning its edge. Like a hole punched into the sky.

DAY TWO

As night fell and the black hole’s intensity lessened a great many of those who had stood outside entranced suddenly woke up. Some complained of hunger, a great many more of confusion. Marcus was the former. He returned with our cook, Allison (who promptly started on dinner without even a hint of discomfort), and remarked on what a pleasant day he had had. As I write this now, in the basement of our home with the windows covered, I remain baffled. I questioned him about the day, about the black hole in the sky (which remained, dimmer than before or perhaps that was the night sky playing tricks) but all he could say was, ‘Oh, Maria, we had a marvellous day, don’t you remember?’ No matter how many times I asked he responded the same and, more worryingly, sounded delighted each time. Now, to those unfortunate enough to have found this tome, you’d think a euphoric husband would be a blessing but in all honesty it was disconcerting. Marcus was temperate but now he was ecstatic, his whole demeanour had changed, as if replaced.

Anyway, the black hole. I rushed upstairs as soon as the sun had begun to rise and set my telescope to point off to the side of the spot. I later learned, from Laurence, that I was remarkably fortunate not be entranced. Glass is no protection, nor is a side-ways glance, but I digress. As the sky shifted from black to blue to purple to orange the black hole remained. The stars nearest seemed to stretch and became caught in its halo. I do not know what happened to them, since the arrival of the black hole my star charts have been erroneous in parts. Or perhaps it is the sky that is wrong.

Sorry, my mind drifts. Much to ruminate on.

As I was saying — I observed the black hole during sunrise and it was then that the disc of deepest black shuddered. A light (I can think of no better word) flared from top to bottom and poured out of it. A thick, ink-like substance dripped down the sky and into the horizon. I did not know where this ooze landed but have since learned from Laurence that the seas have been stained black and this treacle-like sludge washes upon the shore, each wave laden with sea creatures big and small.

DAY THREE

When the town of Haughmond awoke to the black hole bleeding into the sky I thought there would be riots. Allison fled the moment she saw it. Marcus admired it, smiling up at the accursed spot as he walked into the street to join hundreds of others in staring at it. Coach drivers yelled at the captivated men and women of our little town to get out of the way. None of them listened. Some were run down, trampled by horse and crushed under wheel. Marcus, thankfully, escaped such a fate.

            There is scratching in the walls. The shadows flicker and with each flickering
            the scratching echoes. If I listen I can still hear the scream. Laurence, where are
            you, Laurence?

My dear husband wandered off, there is no other way to describe it. He, along with a dozen others at first (more followed later), started to walk towards the black hole. Towards the viscous blood oozing down the sky. I tried to stop him but he had ceased to listen, ceased to respond at all. He was enraptured by Our Sable Moon. Lost to me.

            Those things in the dark speak to me in his voice. They offer me a chance to see
            Marcus again. In the space between spaces, the Great Beyond. If I focus I can 
            make out the shadow within the shadow but I dare not stare too long lest 
            something stares back.

It was around mid-afternoon, once Marcus and hundreds of others had left our town of Haughmond, that strange events became more peculiar. A shriek encapsulated the world. Lamps, watches, gramophones all malfunctioned. Anything remotely electrical or gas or steam became deformed by the sound. Only, it wasn’t quite a sound at least not entirely. The air itself seemed to buzz and warble like a heat haze on the horizon but all emanating from the black hole.

                                                                              Our Sable Moon. Our…

More were taken in the evening. An elderly gentleman across the street switched on an electric lamp in his living room. Oh heavens. The shrieks, I imagine, could be heard across the country. I saw the shadows. The beings between being, those of the Great Beyond. I did not know the man well, Albert… Arthur, I cannot remember but I remember the shape of his skull. The colour of his brains and the glow of his eyes as he sprinted out into the street clutching his ears. An unholy, unnatural, shriek like that of the black hole earlier in the day only it was born by his mouth. Then he collapsed, his brain leaking out of his ears, his eyes tainted blue, and an aura bleeding out between the cracks in his skull. Laurence says he gained too much knowledge. I refuse to believe such nonsense.

I hope Marcus regains his senses and comes back home.

DAY FOUR

Night descends. The stars have been altered, my astrological maps are obsolete. These new constellations need mapping but I cannot bring myself to look up at the sky for too long.

                                                                 Our Sable Moon. I must see.

Have we moved or has the black hole moved the cosmos? Laurence does not say and I have given up trying to figure it out. Laurence has departed once again. I don't know why he risks the world beyond these walls, what if those things in the shadows find him and… I cannot bear the thought.

            I have seen those creatures between the shadows that took that dear old man 
               across the street. Laurence says I needn’t worry, that they have always been 
                   there. That they are harmless. Only I don’t believe him and he isn’t here. 
                                                     Maybe he will return soon.

In this permanent night there are two light sources, the stars and the blood. The blood flows from the black hole, Our static Sable Moon, and emits a ghoulish glow like that painted in depictions of Vesuvius. Our ruin awaits, Laurence has enlightened me and promises my mind can handle the insight so long as it is in little pieces. But I do not want our ruin… the monstrosities beings of twisted flesh in the shadows say it is unavoidable. Death awaits us all.

Marcus, come back… I miss you.

DAY FIVE

I write with the last of my paraffin. I do not know why, there is no-one left to read these words. Laurence has not returned and now that I think of him I realise I cannot picture his face nor remember his voice. There are things in the shadows, each day they multiply and become more bizarre. Mayhap I should speak to them directly and ask.

Laurence warned against recommended such action. This smothering darkness is nibbling away at me one memory at a time. My prior notes swim before my eyes.

                                  LET ME SEE!

The stars have flickered out. One by one the sky went dark, the wind ceased, and the world fell still. Permanent pitch black night with only Our Sable Moon to light the way. I foolishly stepped outside for what felt like a brief moment. I cannot recall how long I stood on the doorstep staring up at the bleeding black hole. All I remember is the sight of wild men, eyes aflame, screaming through the streets as their minds oozed out of their ears before collapsing on the pavement.

How did I make it back inside? The shadows whisper to me in my own voice, or is it my thoughts. As I track my thoughts back through this journal I am unable to make sense of a great many things but most striking of all, who is Marcus? Sometimes the words are jumbled, or is it my eyes, my mind? I do not know. I can write. I know that. I KNOW THAT. I KNOW THAT.

                                                                     STOP IT! STOP IT! STOP IT! STOP IT!

Laurence has returned but he refuses to stand in the glow of my gas lamp. Says it will expunge his insight. He rests in the corner, a shadow of a shadow, muttering to himself about the creatures beyond.

My beloved… 
                                            stars… 
                                                                             where have you gone?
                                                                                                                     gone
                                                                                                                               gone
                                                                                                                                         gone.

DAY SIX

I write now so that someone can piece together what happened, for I cannot. My pen does not always follow my instructions. Words escape me and my voice is lost amidst the others. Laurence… he has vanished yet his mutterings remain. Was he ever here? I await the inevitable. I could not hear it before but now I can, the words within the words. The meaning in the shadows. The Great Beyond has found me and I have, unwittingly, learned to hear its whispers. I am certain Laurence guided me, if only I could thank him. Thank. Thank. Thank.

            Standing on the doorstep I admire Our Sable Moon along with the three others 
               of Haughmond that have proven worthy. I do not know them, nor do I care to, 
                  nor does it matter. I only have to listen to hear them. Their thoughts are akin
                     to mine, when will you arrive?

Those beings that wander the dark cause a queer stirring in my stomach. Too many angles, too many sides, too many faces. Only when I hold one in the corner of my eye can I make out the details. Too many eyes. Too many scales. Flesh folded on flesh giving birth to itself. I must look away. Where they always there? Laurence? Are you here now?

Time is stagnant. A great unending expanse unfurls ahead and behind. Have I slept? Does the sun rise beyond the sky? Did Marcus ever find what he left to search for?

Who is Marcus?

I have awoken on my doorstep. Moss grows upon the paving stones, how long? How long?

The sky pulsates. Throbbing ripples emanate from Our Sable Moon as it cracks open dousing the world in it’s purifying blood. I see it. I see it. I see Our Sable Prince. Our Great Saviour. Our Enlightened Eidolon. It is time. It is time. It is time. It is time. It is time. It is time. It is time. It is time. It is time. It is time. It is time. It is time. It is time. It is time. It is time. It is time. It is time. It is time. It is time. It is time. It is time. It is time.

\(It\ is\ time.\ It\ is\ time.\ It\ is\ time.\ It\ is\ time.\ It\ is\ time.\ It\ is\ time. \ It\ is\ time. \ It\ is\ time. \ It\ is\ time. \ It\ is\ time. \ It\ is\ time. \)

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The remaining pages are incoherent scribblings and the phrase ‘It is time’ repeated in sharper and sharper lettering. At some point Maria ran out of ink but her scribblings continued as evidenced by gouges in the paper from her pen and faint drawings with dozens of lines layered over one another.

The Sable Prince is not Our Great Saviour, though many believe it to be, but if you are reading this then you are aware of our current predicament. May Maria Talleman be remembered as the first of our number.

Victor

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