The Temple

The Temple

In my youth, before the emergence of the Internet and before I could afford to purchase my own books, I ever counted it a great treat to visit any and every library that I happened across. They were an endless source of adventure and knowledge; I relentless devoured everything from Stephen King to Stephen Hawking, Anne Rice to Ayn Rand.

Yet in light of recent revelations I must now shudder at those days. What terrifying influence must have been invisibly affecting me the whole time, eroding my grasp on the mundane human world that others take for granted?

Where I work is directly outside the Miskatonic University’s central library. It is a modern-looking structure of bricks, glass, wood and steel delineating open spaces in clean proportions. It was erected in the 1980s atop the ruins of an older structure that no longer fit the Miskatonic’s changing brand. I had walked through and past the library a thousand times.

One morning in the spring of 201_ I arrived early, having slept poorly. Looking out the window, I noticed a hundred students bustle into the library as soon as its doors parted and offered ingress for the day. They were as handsome and energetic as bees in flowers.

I would not have believed what happened next if I had not seen it with my own eyes. As though quickened by the students’ apine ministrations, a thick black oil, like a grease of rotting meat, started to weep from the walls of the library. The grease oozed down in great flabby glaciers, like droplets condensing on some sleeping monstrosity recovered from its Antarctic tomb and left to thaw under a leaden sky.

Then — behold! — from all the windows shone forth a pure white light. While the light at first seemed in contrast to the black ooze, the light and the entropic rivulets were not truly opposed to each other. They were twin emanations of the same source, like warmth radiating from the back of a refrigerator.

Peering closer, I apprehended that the light came from some aspect of Ialdabaoth that dwelleth therein — a single great Eye opening and looking in all directions at once, its singular argent gaze coterminous with its swart lipid secretions.

I shuddered, for an animal instinct warned me that the radiation from Ialdabaoth’s eye must obliterate the minds of all who encounter it, as exposure to the sun corrupts photographic film. Yet, basking in that glare, the students went on working, as though nothing had changed at all.