Short Story (ish): Morgan’s Dream Log

A snippet from the dream journal of my Call of Cthulhu character Morgan, not long after the Taser Tourist incident, written for the GM of that game.

It’s a restaurant. If that’s the right word. Wooden furniture, leather tankards, either it’s very period or I’m going and dreaming somewhere else entirely. The colors are warm reds and yellows; am I supposed to feel at ease? Aunt Victoria’s here, looking period as well, just like she did the last time I saw her in a dream. A manifestation of my wish to go back to childhood? Possibly. She’s still got that sword. Maybe I’m expecting her to defend me from something, that would fit. I, on the other hand, appear to have shown up in my pajamas, and people are noticing. Either this is a standard dressed-inappropriately dream, or it’s telling me that it’s futile, that I cannot in fact go back to the old times. Like I didn’t already know that.

Now, what’s Aunt V doing here? I suppose if this is my subconscious mind’s attempt to try to walk me through the problem, she’s as good a vehicle for it as any. She’s the one who’s been around the world, who was sorting through curios before I was even born, and who got me into this mess in the first place, so of course if my subconscious is going to have an answer for this, she’s the one who’d need to deliver it. Oddly, she doesn’t quite fit with this world; more sign that I’m using the wrong tools to search for the answer?

We exchange a few pleasantries, like we always did. Talk shop. I ask her where she got the pendant, figuring it’s as good a test as any; surprisingly, she has an answer. The seller said it was real, she figured it was a fake—but the price he sold it at didn’t fit with being a fake. I wasn’t expecting a real answer. Come back to this later.

I ask her about the Weber dig* and its connection, and she starts showing difficulties with the topic. Trouble with science, with recent events? In life she had more credentials than I ever did, so this doesn’t quite fit; I decide to come back to this. Instead, since I’m here anyway, I tell her about the squirrel.

How much she fits with the surroundings has been fluctuating depending on what I was talking about, but on this question, she fits, and fits perfectly. Now she’s not Aunt V, she’s someone else, but still looks just like her. She tells me that it might be a sorcerer, or a shape-shifter. Standard legend explanations, in short. Perhaps this means that I need to stop looking into science and start looking into the folktale side of anthropology, see if that turns up something new? She tells me to seek out a sage, or a priest—an authority figure, clearly. On a lark, and figuring I’ve played the game far enough, why not continue, I ask her for a name, and she answers. She mentions names, all right, but they’re all odd. Nobody I know, and they’ve got more consonant clusters than you’d find apostrophes in a compound word in a badly designed language. Can I PLEASE buy a vowel? There’s also something about a great library—Celphais, is that how one spells it? I don’t ask.

I wake up on my last cup of cider. I suppose it makes sense that those would be the timer, though what this says about the refills I’m not sure. Time flows forward, I suppose—you can stall with refills all you want, but you’ll eventually reach the end of the cup.

*Writer’s note: the Weber dig refers to the discoveries of an archaeologist who dug up an item of the same material as Morgan’s pendant. The scholarly community, unable to determine what it was, declared it a fake, nearly ruining Dr. Weber’s career.


  1. UZ says:

    Dr. Weber: They said I was mad! Me, mad? Do you know how many bananas I had to peel to make this discovery?

  2. Ravyn says:

    Funny part is that Weber’s just fine, and one of Morgan’s goals now is trying to clear his name (I think she pities the guy). As far as she’s concerned, there’s no way anything as resistant to scientific testing as her pendant seems to be can possibly be a standard forgery.

  3. UZ says:

    That’s the thing with those Max Roivas types – they’re always going off on a tear about flying squid and people with no faces and how the piano is *watching them* and then we’re all like, “pshaw” until we visit their house. Then whoah look out!

    I like how horror stories teach us that we should be nicer to crazy people. It’s a sort of a weird roundabout morality play about the social value of the scientific method.

    As a corollary to this, beware of any NPC in a Call of Cthulu game who engages in occult research and is “fine”.

  4. Ravyn says:

    *chuckles* I am. We’ve got one who apparently did her postgrad work studying some sort of cult, and that one I’m worried about. The archaeologist who dug up the wrong thing at the wrong time, though? Even after taking into account standard CoC paranoia, that one I’m not too concerned with. Just think the poor guy needs to catch a break.

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