THE HORROR
FROM THE
BLIZZARD.
© MORRIS KENYON April 2013.
WARNING!
This book contains scenes of horror and moderate violence. It is not intended for the easily offended or young children. You have been warned, so if you read on, don't blame me.
The names, characters, places and events in this book are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any similarities to real persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organisations are purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
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THE HORROR FROM THE BLIZZARD.
Any scientific expedition to the Arctic expects plenty of risk. However, Dr. Welham of Miskatonic University's survey uncovers far more than the usual geologic and ethnographic samples. In the severe, rock-scouring blizzards of the far north, the team comes across a hideous object from an elder age. A relic that brings earth shattering terror in its wake...
This story is loosely inspired by H. P. Lovecraft's short story, Polaris, which was written in 1918. In that story, a modern man is troubled by recurring dreams, gaining in intensity. During these visions, he assumes the role of a sentry guarding the pass against the invading Inutos people from the west. However, under the malign influence of the pole star, the watcher falls asleep. This time, when he awakes, screaming, the sentry wakes as a modern man and realises that he has failed the marble city of Olathoe in the lost land of Lomar.
CHAPTER 1: RETURN TO ARKHAM.
"Tarleton?" the Chancellor said, raising his bushy eyebrows. "Are you sure? Wasn't he the one...?"
Professor Bamford lifted his glass of bourbon and peered at the Chancellor through its amber depths before swallowing a third of it. He set the glass down on its silver coaster.
"Yes, Robert. That's right. The only survivor of the expedition to Baffin Island back in '16. But the hospital says he was completely cured on discharge and he's had a good long leave of absence. Since then, he's been finishing his research at the University of Texas down at Austin..."
"A complete change from Baffin Island," murmured the Chancellor of Miskatonic University. Even now, the disastrous expedition to Baffin Island was a sore point. Early and terrible blizzards, severe even by the standard of that Arctic island, had completely destroyed the base camp whilst preventing the supply ship from saving the men ashore. However, that didn't explain everything that had occurred. Although those had never been made public.
"Precisely," said Professor Bamford, breaking into the Chancellor's thoughts. "On his release, the hospital recommended somewhere hot and sunny with no chance of snow or blizzards."
The Chancellor sipped some more oak-aged bourbon, appreciating its smoky warmth on a late summer's evening. "I remember now. Young Tarleton was found comatose, wasn't he? Then in the hospital, when he came to, he was raving about something that came out of the blizzards, wasn't he? Do you think it's wise; him coming back here? I mean, Massachusetts is noted for its severe winters. Wouldn't he be happier staying where he is?"
Bamford thought for a moment before replying. He knew the Chancellor was a scrupulously fair man, but considering some of the strange events that had happened around the University in the past, he would be wary about exposing Jack Tarleton to the weird influences in the area.
"Tarleton would be a credit even to such an august institution as Miskatonic University, Robert. As you know, he graduated Salutatorian. He is showing much promise in his field and don't forget he has family in town who can keep an eye on him in case, only in case, he shows signs of any relapse. They're good people – I know them well."
Professor Bamford thought for a moment, thinking about what he had said. "Not that he will relapse. 1916 was three years ago and he's shown no sign of mental instability whatsoever according to my friends at Austin."
"And the hospital said he was completely cured?" asked the Chancellor, looking for confirmation.
"That's right. Dr. Aubrey gave Tarleton a complete bill of health."
Chancellor Robert thought. He finished his bourbon and poured another two fingers into their tumblers. "As you say, Andrew, He'll be an asset to us. But keep an eye on him, will you?"
"Aye, aye, skipper," said Bamford with a smile, referring to the Chancellor's yacht that he kept moored at Kingsport's marina sheltered by its lofty cliffs.