The Moon

“Your world,” whispered a voice from behind me, “has a beautiful Moon.”

I turned to face an amorphous thing, all shifting masses of eldritch tentacles and seemingly sentient darkness. It had no face, but as I stared into it’s seemingly endless void, I could feel it smiling at me.

I’d been in the pub nearly two hours, and while I admit I’d had a few, I couldn’t believe I’d not noticed it before it spoke.

“Excuse me?” I stammered, desperately clinging to my fraying sanity.

“Your moon. It’s very beautiful. What do you want for it?”

My mind reeled. It… he? He wasn’t the sort of thing meant to have ever been witnessed by any human eye, and it was only after overcoming my sense of near-religious terror that I could focus on the question itself. The moon? What do I want for the moon? I mean, it’s not really my moon, is it? It’s not really anyone’s. it’s just sort of… the moon.

On the other hand, if I did barter it away, who on earth would ever know it was me who’d done it?

“Power. I want power.” I whispered, raggedly.

“It is yours.”

Conquering the world was shockingly easy. But I suppose, with most of the coastal cities decimated by tidal waves and panic in the streets of the few nations unaffected, the world was had other matters on it’s mind.

Summoning

Months of preparation, but the rituals were ready. Offerings of blood poured down upon the sacred altar, and the portal to the great nether-beyond opened.

The high priest smiled. Power beyond comprehension was his for the taking. He only had to steel himself.

He stepped toward the portal, thinking himself ready.

He was incorrect.

Tentacles snaked out, ensnaring him. Before he could even scream, he was sucked into the portal, which closed behind him.

The coven stared at one another, wondering what they ought to do.

It was, apparently, true what they say.

Never summon anything bigger than you are.

It Sleeps

Beneath the world It slumbered, as it had for years too many to count. Once It had been worshipped as a God, revered and feared and loved, but that time had long since passed. The peoples who worshipped It were long since dead, and few could even point out where their once-mighty nation used to be on a map if you asked. But It remembered, from It’s sleep beneath the earth. It remembered everything.

As It slept It dreamed. Of nations bowing their heads before him, of sacrifices, men, women and children, of artifice built in It’s honour. It dreamed of burning down the world. But It couldn’t, not any more. It was forgotten, and all It could do was wait.

And so It waited, for a human mind to wander into It’s sphere of influence. And when one finally did, It awoke.

A mind. A human mind. For the first time in centuries, in eons, a human mind appeared at the peripheral of It’s consciousness. It had been so long since It tasted the sweet, familiar flavour of human awareness, but now that awareness was back, and It was hungry.

Slowly, exactingly, it reached out tendrils of it’s own demi-conciousness and probed the new found mind, learning it’s dreams, it’s desires, it’s hopes and fears and it’s picture of itself. And, when It had learned enough, It began to seduce the little soul, making sweet overtures, promising love, and power, and acceptance, offering purpose and the love of a horrible and powerful master. The human mind resisted at first, but it was a small and shabby thing compared to It, and it’s defences were quickly overcome. Soon, this little human would be It’s plaything, It’s avatar on the physical plane, It’s evangelist. And through this little human would the world once more come to know, and to fear It. Again It would stretch It’s grasp out across the world of men, spreading fear and death and joy and power, and all would bow to It and love It and, if It felt it to be necessary, be consumed by It, utterly, without complaint.

The world would know it’s place. And that place would be under It’s unwavering control.

But, as suddenly as the human mind had entered It’s realm, it began to recede once more, taking with it It’s chance to re-establish itself. It tried to hold fast to the little human soul, but the harder It clung the more swiftly It’s grasp was eluded. There was less, than little, and then gone was the human consciousness that so recently had been It’s world, It’s lifeline. And It was alone, in the dark beneath the world.

“James, what is it? You were talking in your sleep.”

“Was I? Sorry. I was having a nightmare.”

“Oh? What was it about?”

“You know, it’s the funniest thing, now that I’m awake, I can’t remember a thing about it. Scary, though, I remember that much.”

“Ah well, it’s for the best. Means you won’t have the same nightmare when you go back to sleep.”

“Here’s hoping. Good night, dear.”

“Good night.”

Beneath the world It slumbered, as it had for years too many to count. It remembered everything. It dreamed of burning down the world, but all It could do was wait.

It would wait as long as It needed to.

It was very patient.