This unusual correspondence has piqued Sandy’s curiosity and is uncertain whether the images being described truly exist, or whether his friend Luis Merlo is going insane. The drawings seem authentic but are disturbing … and Sandy wonders whether the upcoming release of The Anatomical Guide to Lovecraftian Horrors might unhinge its readers.
I am not sure how to say this, but I, well, I think I’m home. It has been about a week since my return. While I’m still not sure if my perceptions are to be trusted, I am now convinced I am, in some way … back. I have yet to fully inspect the laboratory, but I can already tell everything was wrecked. The cages were broken, and the freezing chamber has been sacked. A charred body lying near the stairs was my only company during the week I spent underground after coming back. I haven’t approached it, as I do not recognize its humanoid form from any of my samples and am afraid of what I’ll find.
My recollection of what happened is hazy at best. I have been trying to tie the knots together, to separate fact from hallucination, but I fear I cannot clearly tell one from the other. I will attempt to quickly layout my memories and hopefully they will not be contaminated by confabulation or distortion.
I can remember the sample I was after, and the deal I struck. Transdimensional body parts are not easy to come by, so my contact’s offer seemed too good to be true. In the end I guess it was. I cannot remember the shape, if it had one, but it was contained in liquid. Or was it plasma? The dissection involved a Yaddithian knife. I know this because it was the only thing still in my pocket when I returned. I was aware the creature was watching its own operation, beyond the limits of its corporeal form. I wouldn’t call it a vivisection though since it was beyond life.
My memory becomes murky after I opened the third medial cyst. The autoscopic hallucinations, the loss of self, and the sensory isolation came quickly afterwards.
Immediately after came what can only be called ego annihilation. No sense of time, space, identity, or limits. Without the slightest clear stimuli, I cannot say if I was floating in space or standing in my laboratory. I cannot tell if I ever left the room physically, or if the shapes I saw going through me were touching me or not. Can one call it pain if one has no body? I am still afraid to inspect my own skin for marks. I perceived creatures overlapping all spatial dimensions, but their forms and sounds were always beyond my reach, even as they traveled through me.
I do not know for how long I was gone, as I lost my sense of chronology and time soon after I lost my sense of identity, but I figure it was more than a month. I cannot say I woke up, as I was never unconscious, but as my senses slowly came back to me the first thing I saw was the ruined lab. At first, I couldn’t move my body, or recognize the limits of my own physical form. The intense pain and sickness kicked in around the next day. I reckon my slashed abdomen; the incessant squeals and the crawling forms under my skin were all product of delirium. Despite this, I cannot shake the feeling of unrest, of being under the wrong skin, in a buffer that isolates me from reality.”
Sadly, I fear the manuscript was either stolen or destroyed, and my journal is missing as well. I just mustered the courage to leave the lab today to write this letter in hopes you’ll believe my tale. While I am afraid of going back, I reckon I must inspect the ruins closely, as several natural openings seem to have formed after the explosion. I will also search for my notes, and any classify any remains.
This is the very reason why the public deserves to know.
I’ll keep in touch. LM