Word Count: 1013 | Reading Time: 4 min
It was always the same. The screaming. The primal, guttural terror that ripped through their fragile human throats the moment they laid their eyes upon me. This one, a rather scrawny fellow named Arthur, was no different. He lay crumpled against the wall of his rather dusty study, eyes wide and bloodshot, a thin sheen of sweat glazing his brow. His breath hitched in ragged gasps, and a faint, acrid scent, the unmistakable aroma of human fear, wafted towards me.
“No, no, no,” he whimpered. His voice a faint murmur, “It’s… it’s impossible. A… a gibbering, tentacled horror from beyond the veil!”
Oh, the sheer frustration! It was a familiar line, one I’d heard countless times across countless dimensions, each utterance a tiny, pinprick on my… well, on whatever passed for my sanity.
“Listen, Arthur,” I began, my voice, if one ‘on this dimension’ could even call it that – a symphony of clicking chitin and rustling membranes. I tried to soften it, to make it sound less like the slow grinding of tectonic plates and more like, say, a gentle breeze through ancient reeds. It rarely worked. “Please. Just… stop. Stop with the Lovecraft. It’s not that.”
He shuddered, pressing himself further into the wall. A small, porcelain teacup, presumably once filled with lukewarm Earl Grey, lay shattered on the floor next to him.
“Not… not that?” he choked out, a hysterical giggle bubbling up from his chest. “You’re… you’re a swirling vortex of eyes and teeth! There’s… there’s a faint luminescence emanating from your… your lower appendages! You’re definitely a cosmic atrocity!”
I sighed, or rather, I expelled a gust of air that made the dust bunnies in the room dance.
“Arthur, the ‘swirling vortex’ is merely a… a more efficient sensory array. The ‘teeth’ are multi-functional, not only for helping me breathe in this environment but also for processing various other information, not for… you know… And… and the ‘luminescence’ is just a by product of my internal bio-luminescent processes. It’s a rather common metabolic function in my home dimension, I guess similar to the fireflies you see in yours, albeit on a slightly grander scale. And for the record, I have no ‘lower appendages.’ These are merely stabilizers.” I swayed gently, and what he perceived as several dozen ocular stalks rippled, causing him to emit a strangled yelp.
“See?” I continued, trying to sound as reasonable as possible. “This is precisely my point. You’re projecting your preconceived notions onto me. You’re reading into my… appearance… some kind of eldritch, sanity-shattering horror. But it’s not. It’s just… inconvenient. Don’t you have a saying about not to judge a book by its cover?”
Arthur stared at me, his eyes wide, and unblinking. “Inconvenient?” he repeated, his voice barely audible.
“Yes! Inconvenient!” I insisted, my various…protuberances… gesturing in what I hoped was a calming manner. “Do you have any idea how much paperwork is involved in manifesting in your reality? The inter-dimensional transit forms alone are a nightmare. And the permits for ‘temporary occupation of a sentient being’s living space’ are just… byzantine. It’s a bureaucratic labyrinth Arthur. A soul-crushing, nonsensical, logic-defying ordeal.”
He blinked. Once. Then twice. The fear in his eyes seemed to be slowly, infinitesimally, giving way to something else. Confusion perhaps,
“Paperwork?” he whispered.
“Exactly!” I said, feeling a flicker of hope. “And the regulations regarding ‘unauthorized perception-altering events’! They are incredibly strict. I’m telling you the Kafkaesque nature of it all is mind-boggling. You think you’re having a bad day? I have to explain to the Multiversal Inter-Dimensional Transit Authority that my incidental appearance in your study was a result of a misfiled sub-section Gamma-7g. Apparently, someone in sector 4-Beta neglected to tick the ‘non-threatening aesthetic’ box on my initial transit request. Now I will be facing a potential ‘reality-disruption surcharge’ and sit through a mandatory ‘re-education module’ on ‘Proper Dimensional Etiquette for Entities of Unconventional Form.'”
Arthur slowly pushed himself away from the wall, his breathing still ragged, but his eyes now holding a peculiar, dazed quality. He looked at me, then at the shattered teacup, then back at me.
“So… you’re not here to… to devour my soul?'” he asked, his voice still shaky.
“Devour your soul?” I scoffed, hoping that he may perceive it as amusement passing through my form. “Arthur, that’s such an archaic concept, and frankly, inefficient. The energy output from ‘soul devouring’ is negligible, and the clean-up is a lot of work. No, I’m here because my transit request was misfiled. And, now, thanks to your rather… enthusiastic reaction, I’m likely to be subjected to further administrative penalties.”
He slowly, shakily, raised a hand to his head, rubbing his temples. “So… I’m not going insane?”
“No more than usual I’d say,” I replied, my voice a soothing blend of clicks and rustles. “You’re just… reacting, and that’s the problem Arthur. This isn’t some cosmic horror tale. This is just… bureaucracy gone wrong. This is the existential dread of being lost in a system you don’t understand, a victim of arbitrary rules and illogical procedures. This is pure, unadulterated Kafka, my friend. Not Lovecraft.”
He sat there for a while, staring at me, his face a complex mixture of lingering terror, some form of bewilderment, and something that looked suspiciously like… pity.
“So,” he said, finally, with an oddly calm voice, “you’re saying, you’re just… having a bad day at work?”
I rustled my various appendages in what I hoped conveyed resignation. “An eternally recurring, dimension-spanning bad day, yes. And frankly Arthur, your initial screaming will not help me make my case to the auditors.”
He actually let out a small, weak chuckle. A genuine one. It was a start. Maybe, just maybe, this one wouldn’t end up in a padded cell, muttering about tentacles and Elder Gods. Maybe this one would understand. Maybe he would see the true, soul-crushing horror of the universe: the endless, baffling, illogical paperwork.
“I hope… At least you don’t need to get every order signed in triplicate.” Arthur chuckled.
