The Mistress of Madness

Foreword: I discovered Lovecraft as a teenager. I read everything he wrote. Later, August Derleth started Arkham House, publishing to preserve HPL's works and provide a place for the Mythos to continue. Over time, I read all those stories too. Then, I followed the contributing authors as they explored Mythos themes in their later books. Perhaps I got a little obsessed but when Randi picked Lovecraft to be our muse for the Beyond the Wall of Sleep contest, I wanted to write something that HPL might have written. I hope you enjoy it because I had a blast writing it.

*

I broadcast this message on short-range emergency broadcasting frequency 243 MHz and very-long range emergency frequencies 162.440 and 162.550 MHz to any person or government able to receive it. I can transmit but cannot receive. I cannot determine whether my message has been received and will continue until I am no longer unable.

I am Dr. Elliott Marshall Atwood, like my father, a Professor and Chair of the Department of Physics at Miskatonic. You may recall my father Dr. Walter Atwood, who accompanied Professor William Dyer on the disastrous Pabodie Expedition to Antarctica in 1930--31. He died as part of an advance party before Professor Dyer encountered strange and alien ruins in the frozen wastes of the South Pole, the results of which have yet to be reported. I followed my father's interest in science but rejected his quixotic search for so-called "forbidden knowledge." No knowledge is forbidden; it is simply not yet known.

Consider that when I say that I dictate this message as a dire warning to the world. Mankind is under threat from a fantastic danger, unleashed by the irresponsible experiments conducted by my wife Dr. Ann Wilson Carroll, the Wellington Professor at Miskatonic, and I, experiments whose results were so perverse as to transcend all decency. This message advises mankind of the danger the world is in and how it came to be. I have no means, no solution, to offer for mankind's rescue. I leave that desperate effort to the scientific community. Believe me when I say nothing is more urgent to the future of human history. For myself, the thermite bomb I set in a last-ditch effort to end the world's peril will end my life when the unstoppable timing device cycles to zero. My body and the bodies of those cruel harpies will burn together in fires that exceed 4,000

o

F. In so dying, I will be the lucky one, although I do not deserve so kind a fate.

Here is your warning. Here is what you must know.

The Temptation of Knowing

I have spent my life as a theoretical physicist. I am the principal author of more than 175 peer-reviewed papers, contributor to 285 more, the author of chapters in nine major textbooks and a leading candidate for the Nobel Prize for physics for some years. This deep and wide knowledge is what enabled me perhaps to destroy life as we know now it.

Although it may not seem so, it can be said that the Universe is binary at all levels we can detect. The illusion of a continuum shows our inability to make sensitive enough distinctions. My wife Ann, who is known in the scientific community at least as well as I, focuses on the profoundly accurate measurement of extremely small, nearly ephemeral events from which she creates highly complex, mega scale computer simulations of cosmological evolution and structure. Together, we have created theoretical models of the universe, which Ann's measurements demonstrate clearly how closely our models match what we see. From that investigation, we know this much.

Everywhere we look, at the largest scale the universe looks the same in every direction. Everywhere we measure, matter accelerates away from us at roughly 70 km faster each second. Why are things flying apart? Who knows, but there are theories that have support. None are proven beyond doubt. All of them presume causes and events for which limited proof exists.

Now, imagine a brick wall on a snowy day. You make a snowball and throw it at the wall. What you get is a white, roughly circular mark where the snowball hits. Now, imagine our wall shrinks to smaller than an atom and our snowball turns into the very tiny sub-atomic particle called the photon. Photons are what we call "light." They are pure energy. Now, let's try that experiment again but with something new. We put up a minute screen with two long, vertical slits, side-by-side. We throw that proton at the two-slit screen and watch to see where the photons land. We throw more protons, one at a time, and watch to see the pattern. We get what common sense expects. Snowy hits line up along each slit. The areas not opened by the slit have no hits. Our result is not meaningfully different than throwing snowballs at the wall.

What if we turned off our meters, left the automated sub-atomic "snowball" thrower have at it, and go get a cup of coffee? No one would be paying attention. No one would be tracking where the protons land. When we get back, what do we see? The pattern has changed. The particle impacts (our "snowball hits") are gone. Instead, there are long curving bands that look like waves. Somehow and no one has any real clue why, not watching the experiment,

i.e.,

a measurement, changes the result from particle to wave. We have every reason to believe that this result remains true at all levels of existence. No one understands it, but again there are lots of hypotheses.

The fact that there were two possible results, wave or point, caused Ann and I to ask if there is a detectible boundary to be found between the two. What if it was possible to detect that boundary and measure it? What if it were possible to separate the sides of this boundary layer, and open it? What might we find inside?

Once Ann and I decided to move forward, our first necessity was a place to work without interruptions. Massachusetts has many islands off its coast, most barren chunks of rock. Little Gull Island had once been a naval observation station and its buildings remained serviceable. It had a substantial dock and seawall that allowed small craft to land, even in difficult weather. My defense department connections made it easy to secure use of the facility for an indefinite time, especially as we were looking only to rent it. Our grant proposal was presented not to our government; we were afraid our results might be turned into a new Manhattan project. We looked to immensely wealthy men and rapidly had more money at our disposal that we would ever need. Our first meeting as a team -- Ann, her team of assistants, my team and me -- set the tone for what was to come. Had I realized what that tone foreshadowed, I would have never proceeded.

Ann outlined what a boundary layer photon gun would entail, and the sensitivity required. A photon gun of extraordinary accuracy would be needed and it's targeting mastered. Sensors of a sensitivity not yet conceived would have to be invented. In her comments, Ann made it clear that, for us to succeed, everything we would do would break new scientific ground. I outlined the physical constraints we could expect our theoretical boundary portal to display. Frankly, I had no idea what would result if the boundary was opened. Ann and I agreed to forego that ultimate issue until we determined whether the experiment was even possible. Near the end of the meeting, Ann addressed the group.

"We are planning to open the way to a new existence. We do not if it can be done. If we succeed, we will not know its rules until they are upon us. We will not know what it will mean to look on that alien place. We will not know what it can do to us until we are already changed. Even so, we will march forward for science, together, and hope for the best." Brave words, ones that should have scared us to death.

The Pick in the Universe's Lock

It would clearly be imprudent to discuss in detail how we accomplished our goal of opening the boundary portal. I will describe the process generally and in more detail what resulted. The reasons for this are obvious.

The photon gun was based on well-established particle accelerator techniques in which a highly magnetized field serves as a "gun barrel." This technology allowed Ann to aim photons at a single point. Computers guided the firing, sending innumerable photons in lockstep phase racing forward. In other words, Ann was firing the world's most finely calibrated laser. Inside that coherent beam, a stream of photons would lance forward to strike a heretofore unhittable spot with devastating force. Each discharge would be measured and recorded for its impact and results. The firing would last for one hour. There were a planned two million test firings planned.

I stood next to Ann, watching the first testing round. I knew she was as excited as I was. I reached out and gave her a hug and kiss. We had been married long enough to understand what our sex life with each other should be. I enjoyed sex with my wife as part of our relationship. It was satisfying to me, reasonably frequent and even though Ann was more open to experience and fantasy than I am, our sex life was satisfying for her as well. I have little imagination for sexual things. Ann however took an active interest in exploring all things erotic. I would commonly find her reading stories on the internet. We had just finished a pleasant sexual encounter on a cool summer afternoon when she told me she maintained an alias on one such site so that she could collect favorite stories. I thought that interesting but not worth pursuing. Those were Ann's fantasies and she would share them with me when she wanted to. Knowing what I do know, I should have been more curious then.

Test sequences Nos. 1 through 38 showed nothing. We recalibrated and tried again. At Test No. 61-108, we had a false positive,

i.e.,

there was something odd in the result, but we ruled it out as lab error. We had been at it six weeks when Ann called me to come down from my own laboratory. I watched as one image after another went by. Each one looked like a picture of fog filling the screen. Image 300-18 was different. A fine, gleaming ice blue line split the screen. This was duplicated at 300-288 and 300-761. Ann showed me her quick analysis. The light was spectroscopically identical in all images. The energy budget for each line was the same. The duration of time that each line was apparent was equal. Not only had we discovered the portal; we had confirmed it - twice. We could focus now on prying open that brilliant blue crack to another reality and see what lay beyond.

As Ann led the way forward in the lab, I returned to my offices to document what had been achieved. I personally escorted our report, highly selective in its detail, to our funding sources for their immediate consideration. Of particular interest was the extraordinarily rich power budget emitted by what we now called the "anomaly." Coupled with its complete lack of radioactivity, were we looking at limitless clean energy?

Meetings lasted for more than six weeks while plans for future development were agreed, and necessary equipment and supplies sourced. By the time this tedious process ended, I was anxious to get back. Before we parted, Ann and I had set out an ambitious program to passively define as much of the anomaly as could safely be done. When I returned, we would meet and discuss next steps. For my part, the great concern was contamination. What might leave our universe to enter the anomaly? What might enter from the anomaly into our own? Once things began to mix, how would we ever keep them straight? What might change? Ann conceded the merit of those concerns, but her focus remained on advancing science.

On my return, I went to our shared living space to see if I might catch Ann privately. Clearly, she had moved out some time ago. This was unsettling but understandable. Ann had moved into her laboratory. Our private life would be affected but the need to move forward was strong. I met her, seated at a long lab tab, working through test results. I offered her a kiss, which she took on a cheek. Ann seemed pre-occupied, even distant. I asked what progress had been made, but Ann put me off. The results had been inconsistent, she said, and required further interpretation. Instead, Ann wanted to talk about the new power conditioners she had ordered after I had left for our meetings.

Electricity flows through the power grid with small variations in speed and amount. Electricity moves through optic fiber versus copper at different speeds and volumes. Power conditioning removes variations and ensures power will be received exactly as required to ensure maximum performance. Apparently, Ann had ordered several and their immediate installation and testing was the top priority. I admit that I was miffed to be pushed aside. This was a minor equipment upgrade. I could not understand what made this equipment change so important. I was bursting to outline for her the years of work and funding that I had brought back with me. I was wild to hear what had happened while I was gone. Ann seemed to have no time any for that, something remarkable of itself.

Hell as a Test Bed

Churchill famously said if you're going through hell, keep going. Not so, here; I should have turned things around. To my dismay and chagrin, from an overheard conversation between Ann and one of her assistants, I learned that Ann had gone dangerously and wildly beyond the agreed-upon protocols. By the simple expedient of adding photon guns, firing synchronously, the portal was first made to remain stable and then expand. The result was a portal large enough for a person to enter. No coward, Ann took that step herself. The sensors say she was not in our universe for 1.2290603 seconds. It was as if she "winked out" and then "winked back." She turned to face her team, made an effort to wave and then collapsed.

I wanted to ask her how she could have been so reckless. I needed to know what she observed, but she had hidden all this from me when I returned. Even now, several days later she had mentioned nothing. I was reduced to skulking around like a common criminal to find out things I had a right to know. My efforts at espionage were made harder by the loss of Roger, my best measurement analyst. He was my interface with Ann's efforts. Ann reported that he fell while working in her lab and been taking to a hospital on shore to confirm that he was not concussed.

Time passed, and I noticed from my increasingly uncomfortable visits to Ann's lab that she often called meetings in her secure conference room. It was shielded from any external attempt at electronic surveillance. By the same token, a cell phone inside the room would not get a signal. Passing a bulletin board, I noted a meeting for that afternoon and slipped in while Ann and her people were locked away and occupied.

Ann likes to keep her most sensitive notes hidden in folders buried in her computer's operating system. Perhaps a clever ruse but not against me, I knew what she did, and that the folder was always called "Wilson," her maiden name. Quickly I found her secret archive. One file was entitled "Post-Event Narrative." There were several other documents created the same day. I copied them all to a thumb drive, put things back were they were and made my escape

Patient Zero - Contamination

I am now reading the narrative prepared by Ann after her encounter with the anomaly. I first read this document days ago and still find it painful.

When we determined that the anomaly exists naturally in a stable condition once our clumsy attempts to "maintain" it were shown to be pointless, the question naturally arose how best to probe the other side. There were proposals for a remotely driven robot as well as airborne drones. The obvious advantage was reduced risk to human life. My objection was that neither would be sufficiently sensitive to surrounding conditions to provide something like a global overview. None of my staff was able to overcome that objection and the clear implication was that one of us would cross over to see what was there.

I made the decision that I would be the one. There was little preparation to be done. We prepped two robots and three aerial drones. I would be tied off to the robots, which were powerful enough to drag me back if I collapsed and return proved to be possible. I remember stepping through and I remember stepping back. This is what happened during the four years (subjective time) I was in that strange place.

For some initial period of time, I interfaced with an artificial mind that queried my knowledge encyclopedically. Infinitely deliberate, it correlated what limited things I knew to the vast and dark wisdom to which it had access. At the same time, as it made correlations, this strange mind planted concepts in my own brain until there was a telepathic language at my command that might connect me to sentient beings that had until then monitored me but made no contact.

The first tendrils of their probing left me frozen with terror. Elegant but inhuman, they catalogued in me all the concepts central to human existence. I watched in dismay as my human notions of emotion and morality found no corollary in their thoughts. They felt no emotion we would recognize. They measured themselves and their universe in mathematical terms. They understood music as a form of vibratory architecture. Love, hate, loyalty -- all were as foreign to them as color to the blind. I still find it remarkable that the common point of contact was sex. While our universe is binary, such is not necessary to a universe's existence and the place I found myself in had no such rule.

In this awful place, matter and energy also exist. Particles have the same properties. However, it was consciousness and not space that expanded. The cosmological choice for them is not between existence and nothingness. Their universe operates as an infinite relation, infinitely related. -- consciousness as an infinite network. So, the concept that one or more consciousnesses could join for pleasure and pain was recognizable to them.

There were long conversations with invisible telepathic interlocutors to discuss sexuality in general and my sexuality in particular. They built ta wealth of sexual knowledge, as bizarre as it was to them. Ironically, then they did what I would do. They designed an experiment to test sexuality and used me as their subject. Relentlessly, they were in my head, planting things and erasing others. I could sense I was changing but I was unaware how. Equally, they manipulated my body in ways not apparent when I stood naked and examined myself. Finally, there was a consensus, I could feel it. After so much time, I could sense when they were present and the general mood of their thoughts. It was time to send me back. It was time for their experiment to start.

I woke up in my bed set up in the laboratory storeroom. My assistants surrounded me. I nodded and they gave me water. Then, finally I was able to speak to another member of my species. They asked what happened and, I'm ashamed to say, I lied. I told my people that there had been a brilliant blue light. Everything began to spin and suddenly I was back. I could read their thoughts as if they had been spoken aloud. I knew exact how to manipulate them. I realized what had been done to me. I had been turned into a one-eyed man and sent back to the world of the blind.

I do not know what else they have done to me. I dread the changes I know must be coming. I am no longer human. When I see Elliott, I will tell him everything. He will know what to do. He was always afraid of cross-contamination and I am the plague bearer he feared.