The Mountain - I

The Mountain

I.

There was a solitude that Lana appreciated in the libraries of Boston University. Being the youngest librarian in the school she was tasked mainly with record keeping in the many different storage rooms holding texts. She and four companions were set at logging, cataloguing, and upkeep of the storage rooms. Her co-workers simply abhorred it, wishing to be transferred out and be librarians in the main branches. Lana however loved working in the dark among the books. She sometimes lost herself in reading when she needed to be doing the paperwork, even being caught multiple times slacking off. Since keeping people in the position was so difficult, due to the generally lackluster conditions and separation from others, her manager didn’t dare cut her. She’d simply scold her in the moment and let her about her business. Lana knew she had security in the job and took full advantage of it.

                The past two weeks she had been cataloguing the new arrivals shipped from a school in Louisiana. According to the paperwork she received, it was due to a flood that destroyed part of the campus. All relevant texts and materials were shipped out and the Theology department, the second biggest receiver of such materials after the History department, was the recipient of the materials for Lana to file. She thumbed through index cards matching them up with their relevant papers when the phone started to ring at the filing desk. Usually Meredith was available to answer, when the phone kept ringing after the fifth chime of the bells Lana hopped up and ran. It was frowned upon to let the phone ring, especially since the caller was usually the Department Head. Meredith was nowhere to be found, probably out for a smoke as she was known to do, so Lana answered the phone. Her sheepish quiet voice crack as the first words left her lips. She couldn’t remember the last time she had spoken to someone that day. Or for the past few days that she remembered.

                “Records.” Lana said.

                “Meredith?”

                “No, this is Lana.”

                “Svetlana…where’s Meredith?”

                “I’m not sure.”

                “Probably out smoking. That woman is a smoke stack.”

                “Can I help you sir?”

                Lana could hear him mumble, as if he was speaking so someone in the room.

                “Yes…I have an inquiry request. Need some information.”

                Lana pulled up a paper and pen.

                “Go ahead sir.”

                “I need you to pull records from,” there was a rustling of papers, a cough, then his voice, “from a transfer back in 1937.”

                Lana’s eyes grew wide.

                “Okay. That’ll take some time. Filings over fifteen years will be a bit labor intensive.”

                “Fine, fine.”

                “Where was the transfer from?”

                “Miskatonic University.”

                Lana scribbled down the school name.

                “And the contents?”

                “Hmm?”

                “To narrow down the search we ask for what content is needed. School records, student information, certain subject matter.”

                “Meredith usually doesn’t have this many questions.”              

                “I’m just trying to be thorough sir.” Lana felt flushed.

                “Transfers to the Theology Department. For some book, I can’t recall exactly. Does that narrow it down for you?”

                Lana sighed.

                “Yes, that’s a start. When do you need the requisition completed?”

                “As soon as possible.”

                “I’ll put it in the log.”

                The phone line disconnected without a reply.

                “You’re welcome.” Lana said putting the receiver down. She sighed and tore the sheet of paper off the pad and folded it. Meredith walked in smelling of cigarette smoke.

                “We get a call?”

                “Yeah, I answered it.” Lana said moving away back into the darkness.

                “About what?”

                “A requisition. I’ll handle it.”

                “Good. I’m leaving early tonight; the girls are hitting up the new bar on the river.” Without another word Meredith scooped up her scarf and left the room again. Lana slid back to where she had been working and sat down. The dim light from the lamp was barely enough to light her desk and not much else. She pulled the folded paper out and looked at it again.

                “Miskatonic…” Lana thought for a second, recalling the name. She didn’t work for the university in 1937, barely three years old then, but the name was still ringing a bell. She shoved the paper away to continue her current work. The requisition could come after she was done filing.

Dr. Cairn, I’m glad to have you back on the program. How has the case progressed? It’s been a couple weeks since we last spoke.

It’s moving in many different directions Geoffrey. The different entities of discovery are moving in differing directions of inquiry. Where my partners in the police force are beating the path and knocking on doors, I have taken a more academic approach, as is conducive for my intellect.

Academic?

Yes, reading and researching. Looking at motives, historical patterns, similarities to other crimes, and context for the horrors we have thus far seen. My research is exhaustive.

I can only imagine! Do you feel a new book brewing in you as you commit yourself to this new line of inquiry?

Yes actually. It will differ from my previous work as it will delve more into the inner workings of cult behavior and less into individual will.

Cult behavior? Are we dealing with a cult doctor? Should people be worried?

I don’t mean to cause a panic. People should not be paranoid or look over their shoulders but they should be vigilant. No one can be too cautious in life. However, to answer your first question. There are cult machinations in play in the city yet I believe it is more about dogma and less about numbers.

I don’t follow.

We all know about the KKK that exists in the American South, an offshoot of the rebellion almost 100 years ago? They are a cult of numbers. Many men dress in garb and patrol the streets. However a cult in dogma is one that has few adherents out in public life. Dogma can penetrate barriers as it needs not a man in a costume to spill. I’m sure these men exist but in this case, with what we are dealing with now, it is more about the dogma.

….

I’m simply saying you won’t see men in silly costumes walking the streets. But we should be wary of strange talk and books. We must shield our youth from these messages as best we can. Take your family to church, hear the good word of God, stay away from ilk and cleanse your mind of unholy thoughts.

I see doctor. Perhaps the streets are less safe than I had hoped.

Oh Geoffrey, I don’t mean to be a fear monger. I simply advise that people do as they have always done. It seems that despite these dogma’s existing in our lives that only one man is ensnared by them. This Butcher is an island onto himself, fueled by a dogma.

Does this dogmatic revelation grow counter to your previous thoughts about the nature of evil and the madness of the man?

No, if anything it only strengthens my previous notions. The man, living a fantasy, influenced by negative dogmas, fallen from grace, is only more likely to join the cult. The link is strong. To surmount the evil we must scale the mountain.

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