The Call of Ulthairo
Ah, how I long for the blossoming of youth! The sweet trickle of honey in the air, the gentle breeze caressing our faces as we frolicked through empty fields only bound by the size of our tiny lungs, the canvas of the world untouched by responsibility with the air carpeting our feet as we leapt forward with the light reflecting off of our radiant teeth! But alas; the sun falls, the crops dry, and the leaves fall all the same, and as time passes, we are left wondering if the change was in the world or in our hearts; whether the world's once eternal flame had burned or whether the lenses we saw them through were too muddied to appreciate them. And yet for all of our introspection, the facts remain the same; we are who we are, and the days will pass as surely and as steadily as the Moon rises—or, maybe, we think, the Moon does not rise so much as our telescopes will lower.
It was on that fateful day I learned that we were wrong.
Long have I contemplated the nature of evil. Perhaps I never fully grasped it until that day. Intellectually, mayhaps; I understood that it was immoral to kill a man, and yet emotionally the idea was beyond me. The comparison was akin to finishing a marathon in a car. On that day, I understood the nature of man. No; not understood it; but became closer to it, for the true essence of evil will forever be beyond my comprehension. Yet I understood what would drive a man to commit such heinous acts, for I had witnessed the transformation firsthand, perhaps even had some involvement in it. But on that day, I know that I looked into the jaws of evil, saw its hideous fangs gnash, got some spit in my eye, even.
Not long ago, I was a student at a particularly prestigious school studying to become an optometrist, which—for those previously unfamiliar with these tomes—concerns the study and maintenance of the human eye. Despite the praise of my professors, I—like any other student at the time, of course, though more recent practitioners may be unacquainted with the practice—was required to act as a temporary assistant to a local practice in order to acquaint myself with the trade and acquire a more experiential understanding of the art. Part of this program was spent monitoring the rest of the facility, notably customer service, where I would greet the occasional traveler or answer calls on the telephone at my side. From there I would book or cancel appointments to pass on to my superiors.
It was at the time this tale began that I found myself alone at the service desk. My co-workers were preoccupied in the backrooms and the practitioners were seeing their patients, thus leaving the desk duties up to me. I do not remember what I was doing when the phone rang, nor do I believe it was particularly important; if it was, it would soon be thrown to the harsh reality of the universe where any semblance of normalcy, of importance that I had would be ground to fine pieces and blown away in the wind. Nevertheless, I was oblivious to the horror that had slowly but surely encircled me. I lifted the phone to my ear.
"Hello, this is Kingsport Optometry. What can I do for you?"
I heard shuffling. Then there was silence.
A cold jolt ran through my body and froze my veins. My eyes flung open in sharp O's lined by shadows as if they were dark tunnels drilled through my head and the sclerae had been buried in the darkness, unreadable and vacant. I tried to speak but only found my mouth duly hanging open. I merely shook with each attempt, as if I were a tree rooted to the ground, helpless in the face of the actions of man.
"Who is this?"
I warn you, dear reader, recalling these events has put me under great strain. It is not with a light heart that I write these words. Heed them words carefully, for this will be my final recount of these unspeakable event in my lifetime.
"Fuck!" the voice said.
The sheer shock of the voice sent me hurtling backward. In an instant I fell and tumbled against the bookshelf as if it were the fall of a mighty titan.
"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" Onward the voice bellowed, never ceasing. It's shrill sonic waves penetrated the air and suffocated the area until all one knew was the voice, a sonic eternity unveiling itself in my ears. "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"
Until at least it ceased. Disoriented, my world slowly came into view as the myriad of bizarre shapes—the underbelly of the universe itself, it seemed—finally coalesced into one image. At my side stood my co-worker.
"What just—?"
Suddenly the phone rang. I grabbed each end of my throbbing head and dug my fingers into my temples as the sonic lance seemed to wrap around me, trapping me forever inside its condensing cocoon. It sunk through my pores and melted inside of me, vibrating through every inch of my being to and from.
"Hello?"
"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" Onward it rang. In the distance, for they were now so far away from my mind, I heard the faint ringing of the two other phones. "Fuckfuckfuck! Fuckfuckfuck! Fuckfuckfuck! Fuckfuckfuck!" Their tones had struck me with an unknowable sharpness. Each moment they pierced nearer and nearer to my soul, every point narrowing into another until it was infinitesimal. I was becoming a singularity. I had condensed myself into a single infinitely small point, a dragon eating its own tail so as to consume itself, so as to complete the circle, and yet onward, onward it ate, never reaching its own head! The madness! The madness!
"Fuckfuckfuck! Fuckfuckfuck! Fuckfuckfuck! Fuckfuckfuck! Fuckfuckfuck! Fuckfuckfuck! Fuckfuckfuck! Fuckfuckfuck! Fuckfuckfuck! Fuckfuckfuck! Fuckfuckfuck! Fuckfuckfuck! Fuckfuckfuck! Fuckfuckfuck! Fuckfuckfuck! Fuckfuckfuck! Fuckfuckfuck! Fuckfuckfuck! Fuckfuckfuck! Fuckfuckfuck! Fuckfuckfuck! Fuckfuckfuck! Fuckfuckfuck! Fuckfuckfuck! Fuckfuckfuck! Fuckfuckfuck! Fuckfuckfuck! Fuckfuckfuck! Fuckfuckfuck! Fuckfuckfuck! Fuckfuckfuck! Fuckfuckfuck!"
And then it was over.
When I came to, I was lying on the bench of the waiting room. There I learned that the caller had been apprehended by the police. According to my co-worker, his name was Romeo Ulthario. They spoke to the locals in his neighbourhood who spoke of how wholly out-of-character the man's behaviour was. Indeed, they described him as meek, quiet, bookish; a man who kept to himself, a man who loved his neighbours, and yet I knew the truth. Who knew what poisoned mind had hid behind that innocent smile? How long it had lurked undetected, unknown, waiting to strike!
And yet a part of me knows it to be true. A part of me knows exactly the man Romeo Ulthario was, for a part of him has merged with myself and forever lined itself against my line, and through restless nights I am left wondering; surely a part of me is capable of the same evil. Like an infection, it has passed through me, wholly merged with me, and though I think myself kind, I imagine my attacker once did too. On those sleepless nights, I ask myself; did the world change or did I?
Original author unknown
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