Silvia Moreno-Garcia - Future Lovecraft

The man with the scar could not repress a grin. In contrast, Maxim became curious.

“What have you heard about that, Fyodor?”

“Don’t listen to him. He’s just a crazy old man.”

Scarface does not appear to agree with my friend. Fyodor was uncowed. His face radiated calm. He replied:

“I believe in less-rational explanations. In times immemorial, Mars was a world as joyous as Earth, with forests, prairies, seas, and oceans. It possessed a fauna and flora both rich and diverse…In this antediluvian epoch, some kind of Gods ruled on the surface of Mars. One called them the Great Old Ones.”

“You’re completely cracked, Fyodor! You’ve said all that before. It’s just bullshit!” the scarred man insisted.

“But where did you hear all this, Fyodor?” Maxim asked, curious to know more.

“I’m just repeating what someone told me. It was a long time ago.”

“But how do you explain that, today, there is nothing left of that time?”

“I don’t know. It was a very long time ago. That time has been forgotten by us.”

“And where did these Great Old Ones go?”

“They live hidden in the entrails of the Red Planet….”

“I’ve heard enough for tonight! I leave you now. Until tomorrow.”

The man with the scar stood up. He persuaded a goodly part of the audience to imitate him.

“Same for me. All this nonsense has exhausted me. Good night, everyone!” said another man.

Finally, only Max remained with the old man, who went on, murmuring:

“Watch yourself. Here, you can be betrayed by the most unimportant thing, especially if you speak of escape. Be on your guard….”

“All right…and these histories of the Great Old Ones…do you truly believe them?”

Without responding, Fyodor stood up slowly and headed toward his bed. He lifted his dusty mattress and pulled out a piece of rock.

“Look. I found this one day, not far from the mine.”

With curiosity, Max inspected the object. It was a red rock, typical of the Martian surface. On one side, it was cut in a chaotic fashion, but on the other, it was smooth, flat, almost…polished. And on the surface, there was painted a design representing a sort of mouth. Or rather, the mouth of an animal, almost reptilian, with teeth pointed and large.

“What is it?”

“The proof of the existence of the Gods.”

Stunned, Maxim didn’t know what to say. It seemed that reality was collapsing under his feet. It was too feeble to face the rantings of this old mujik . He decided to flee.

“I’m going to sleep. Good night.”

Maxim retired and went to bed, yet Fyodor, himself, remained sitting near the samovar and candle with its flickering flame. Alone, he calmly drank his tea, while the plumes of smoke drifted through the obscurity of the dormitory. Under the rough sheets, Maxim watched him for a long time without attracting his attention. I like you a lot, Fyodor. That doesn’t prevent you from being an old fool. He turned over in his bed and abandoned himself to sleep.

Maxim admired his dacha , planted on the edge of a birch forest. The sun shone down from heaven in long, golden firmaments. In the sky without snow, he noticed a blue planet… Could that be Terra? Where am I? On Mars? In Paradise?

He pushed the door open and entered the house. The interior was not particularly rich, but was decorated with taste. Slowly, he advanced across the floor, which creaked as he passed. On the wall, he found photographs of his family. Photos in black-and-white of his parents, of his brothers, of beautiful Natasha and of little Alex.

“Papa…Papa, is it you?”

The call came from the foyer. Max turned on the carpet. The door opened and Alex appeared, running. He threw himself into the arms of his father.

“ My little boy! Oh, I’m so happy!”

“Papa! I love our dacha a lot, but without you, it’s not the same. Why did you abandon us?”

Maxim knelt in such a way as to hold his offspring in his arms.

“But I didn’t abandon you!”

“Why did you leave us, Mama and me?”

“But I told you…ALEX! What is happening to you?”

The face of his gamin child engaged in a monstrous mutation. It swelled visibly, transforming into a creature most disquieting: His skin was covered in scales, his traits taking the form of a snake. In his mouth, there quivered a tongue, pink and forked.

“WHY, PAPA?”

Max recoiled, horrified by the terrifying spectacle. Then a feminine voice came from upstairs.

“MAXIM! MAXIM!”

Terrorised, Maxim ran and mounted the stairs to the second story, from where she continued to call.

He recognised the voice of the woman.

“MAXIM! MAXIM!”

In a rage, he ran and opened the door from which came the incessant cries.

Inside, he saw Natasha, his spouse, tied to a bed. She struggled while, around her, stood monsters from the abyss of time. Dinosaurs with the feet of goats, birds with brown fur, hydras issued from the worst nightmares of Humanity. Their yellow eyes nailed him with terror.

“MAXIM! WHY DID YOU ABANDON US?” cried his wife.

While the beasts growled, a sort of hideous mouth appeared from the shadows, just above the head of his wife. Four hooked mandibles chattered with ferocity.

“NO! There’s nothing I can do, Natasha! NOTHING!”

“Max! Max, wake up!” A voice from beyond the grave hailed him. And dragged his limbs from sleep.

When he opened his eyes, he saw the weathered face of Fyodor looming over him.

“What is…What happened to me?”

“You were screaming in your sleep. You woke up everyone!”

Maxim sat up on the edge of the bed, his face still marked by his dream.

“I had a horrible nightmare.”

“Everyone has them here, you know.”

“There were these unclean monsters….”

“The Great Old Ones have visited you.”

“What? Stop it with all your legends….”

“So, you, too, you take me for an old fool?”

“No, Fyodor. I have always listened to you with great attention, but….”

“Know that, for all of these years, I was not simply relating stories from a long oral tradition.”

“I just find it difficult to swallow all these stories…It’s not based on any concrete proof.”

“We are mystical creatures. We need to believe in something. Of what material do you make yours?”

Fyodor paused, as if to catch his breath from panting. This gave Max a chance to describe his nightmare.

“I saw my…my wife and my son…It was disgusting….”

“I had the same kind of dream in the beginning. And then, little by little, it faded. Time effaced all memories.”

“You know, Fyodor, that makes four years, to the day, that I haven’t seen them again…four years that I’ve been in this hell.”

Fyodor fixed him with his empty stare. Any speech was unnecessary.

“Registration number 25B43!”

A guard had just entered the dormitory with a crash. He was shouting, spit flying from his mouth.

“Yes, that’s me, said Maxim,” who got up and mechanically followed the guard. Here, he was only a number.

Max was simply designated. The fruit of hazard. The whim of a bureaucracy. Should he rejoice or worry? He hesitated. But he quickly accepted his part because, in any case, he had little choice.

He must accompany a geological expedition into the zones as yet unexploited. The guy in question had need of a flunky and they had assigned Brahms to this utterly thankless task, but it would change his monotonous routine. And that was priceless.

‘Leon Kelonen’. That was his name, inscribed on his suit. With a gruff air, blond hair, and skin like milk, his name indicated that he was certainly of Finnish origin, but Maxim couldn’t verify it.