That Which Should Not Be Read Free Page B

Ashcroft was left alone with whatever infernal powers had sought and procured his men’s undoing and left him behind.  As if they wanted him to seek.  As if they wanted him to find.
    “There could be no turning back.  Ashcroft was high upon the mountainside and far from the eastern sea.  He pressed on, though he couldn’t have done so with much hope.  It was then that he came upon a cavern carved into the side of the mountain.  He plunged into the Stygian blackness within, feeling his way as best he could.  Stumbling often, he rose to his feet only because of the command he heard within his own mind to continue.  So powerful it was that even though he wished death to come, he would not simply fall to the ground and let it take him.  Then, a vision seemed to creep into his mind.  One of light, just beyond his reach.  He made his way towards it, sometimes on his feet, sometimes crawling on his hands and knees.  It was no vision, but his salvation.  An opening.  He rushed towards it, but when he reached the precipice, he saw the thing that drove him mad.”
    At that moment Henry fell silent, placing his once again extinguished pipe upon the table.  My fellows sat leaning forward in their chairs, anxious to hear what maddening vistas opened up before Ashcroft.  Only I remained relaxed, grinning smugly at Henry as he weaved what I assumed was an entirely manufactured tale.  But then he continued.
    “Who can describe properly what Ashcroft saw in the gray half-light in that valley?  He could not.  Not truly.  Nor could his brain properly process it, as the very sight shattered his mind forever.  What did he see?  A citadel, nay, a city of unimaginable proportions and expanse, stretching forth in that hellish valley between the mountains.  Cyclopean stone blocks of a hew and craftsmanship he could not know, cut from the earth eons before the Great Pharaoh raised his eyes to the plain of Giza and found it worthy of grandeur.  Ruined towers and walled fortresses, dwellings of such size and dimension one might wonder if the mountains themselves did not call them home.  All locked beneath solid sheets of ice.  But it was not that which broke his mind.  No, it was the thing that lurked in the titanic abyss, the infernal pit that lay in the center of that most ancient city.  The thing that called to him in a voice that was not of man.  The thing that, as he stood frozen in place from terror and wonder combined, began to rise.”
    Once again Henry stopped.  He sat quietly in his chair, as if he had relayed nothing more than a somewhat interesting anecdote from class.
    “And?” I finally asked.  Henry raised an open palm as if in apology.
    “And, that is all,” he said.  “Ashcroft remembers nothing from that moment until his arrival in Arkham. Whatever followed was too horrible, too monstrous for the mind, even one as strong as his.  What he saw there . . .well, I pray to God we never know.”
    I looked around at my compatriots, and I saw true fear in their ashen faces.  I smiled and said, “Bravo, Henry, you have truly outdone yourself this time.”
    “I’m not surprised, Carter, that you would disbelieve Ashcroft’s report.  Disappointed perhaps, but not surprised.”
    “Henry, please.  It makes for a fantastic story and, from the looks on our friends’ faces here, one that no doubt has a great power to instill fear.”  I saw the other men look down and blush.  Fear was not an emotion to be lightly shown.  “But what is more likely?  That Dr. Ashcroft stumbled upon some Atlantis of antiquity only to witness a scene that drove him mad?  Or that the expedition ran into great difficulty and when he was found, Ashcroft, half-starved and probably fully frozen, imagined a vast host of impossible visions?”
    “Ah, but if that were true,” Henry said, gesturing to me with his pipe, “wouldn’t we expect that some of his men would have survived, as well?  His dogs?  His supplies?