Merciful it is that the foetid horrors of reality are too vast for the mortal mind to comprehend. Somehow the past becomes uniform - the most basic distinctions, such as those between dream and reality blend together. It is only the nightmare, jarring the sleeper to wakening perspiration, that leaves any real mark on the psychology. Those things that inhabit the dream - can we say that they are in some sense real? If not, is there any alternative remaining to the scientist but to say that they merely reflect some process within the mind? How can this be, when philosophers have so far been unable to refute the most basic of assertions: That reality itself is a dream. To argue both is to say that there is no reality at all; and that, we so dearly hope, cannot be true.
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After my grandfather's death in an unfortunate accident, I was called upon to settle his estate. His assets were, by that point, in quite a disarray, having been prayed upon by the many opportunistic vultures of the financial world. It was probably no help that his last decade was marked by a progressive madness that gradually came to overshadow even his perpetual drunkenness.
The task was long and arduous, not at all helped by the summer heat or my dislike of casual attire. For the most part the estate settled without trouble. However, inside of a locked bureau was found a collection of strange objects. These objects included a tome written in some strange tongue, a cloth pouch containing some type of preserved organs (possibly from some small animal), an assortment of tallow candles, a sharp but tarnished dagger, and the coffee mug, pictured below:
The decision was made to donate these bizarre materials to the Massachusetts Cults Collection at Miskatonic University. However, the curator of the collection was not interested in this coffee mug and so it remains in my possession.
Earlier this year I woke in the dead of night to a strange, atonal humming in my kitchen. For reasons that I cannot profess to comprehend, the unearthly noise gripped me with terror. Unable to sleep, I resolved to investigate.
The shadows seemed especially thick that night, as if some whispy, warm membrane were brushing against me. As I fumbled through the dark hallway from my bedroom, I thought I heard some kind of whispering. This whispering was distant, only audible because of its peculiarity, but at the same time it felt as if the thing that was whispering was practically breathing the words into my ear. Perhaps because of the atonal humming, I could not discern the words that were whispered.
Heart racing, I threw open the cupboard in which I had stored the mug. There it was, bathed in the moonlight, seething with unholy energies. Soon, I thought, soon I will awaken from this nightmare! Dreadfully, not...for this was but the first of many sleepless nights. Shrieking, I fled in my nightclothes to the safe confines of my automobile, in which I fitfully tossed until the morning.
Now I write this tract, pleading really, that some kind soul will be interested in my plight. I have suffered a remarkable run of bad fortune and my estate is bankrupt. I am possessed by a strange illness, and I fear that my medical expenses will soon devour the last of my legacy. I can't bear it...you must take it for a little while...just so I can catch my breath.
*WARNING! This mug is NOT MICROWAVE SAFE.
*May contain gates to other dimensions
*Is known to the state of California to pose significant health risks.
*Cannot be exorcised or purified by any earthly means.
*Will not make Starbucks(TM) coffee drinkable.
*May lead to permanent virginity (nerdicus gigans).
- Location: Eugene
- it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests