April 1st, 2008


Cool Idol

I bought this cool-looking idol from a merchant in Salt Lake City Saturday afternoon. A bunch of us had walked to the outdoor mall just a few blocks from the World Horror Convention hotel to find some food. After eating at Joe's Deli, which turned out to be a chain, just like everything else in Salt Lake City, we started wandering back when I saw a guy hawking his wares on a table in front of the Starbucks, those wares looking a lot like scrimshaw, though he also had amulets and brooches.

Now, this guy was one weird-looking dude. He had a long scraggly beard and crazy hair and his left eye was filmed over and milky. He also cackled like a 1930s Hollywood witch after every sentence he spoke. Which was weird when I asked him to see the idol in question, because he was like, "Sure, hee hee hee!" Anyway, the idol is gorgeous. It's made of bone, I think, and shows some kind of ancient sea god or character from folklore. It's hard to describe and every time I take a photo with my digital camera to post here, it comes out blurry. More than blurry, really. The idol becomes a white smear, though everything around it remains in focus. I think I need a new camera, this one's pretty old anyway.

At the time, Paul Puglisi told me not to buy it, that my money would be better spent picking up a rare Piccirilli hardcover in the dealer's room, but I simply had to have the idol. It's so cool! So I bought it ("That'll be fifteen dollars, hee hee hee! Out of twenty, hee hee hee? Here's your change, hee hee hee!").

And that's when I started to feel like I was being followed. Everywhere I went, both inside the hotel and out, I kept glimpsing dark shadows out of the corner of my eye, following me. I found wet footprints on my hotel room carpet, but nothing of mine or Kelli's was missing. However, I'm almost certain the idol had been moved.

On the flight home, something dark and musty-smelling sat behind me on the airplane, kicking my chair the whole way.

And now I haven't stepped foot outside since returning home. I hear them scratching at the walls at night, see puddles of water leaking into my apartment under the door. Hark! That sound! A distant piping! The clarion call of the Old Ones! A CLAWED AND WEBBED HAND AT MY WINDOW!



Oh, wait, my mistake. It was a pigeon.