St John’s woods, London, 1893.
Barrington
was in a quite silly situation. Tightly strapped to a chair with
several leather belts coming from Pr. Smith closets, a huge tub on his
knees with his handkerchief stuck under his collar in case of violent
nausea like the ones Amelia had when she touched the fez. He felt like
laughing. George then proceed to open the hatbox and lift the fez with
his trusty fireplace poker and get it closer to his hand.
His
hilarity instantly died upon the proximity of this… thing. It was
disgusting, greasy… almost dripping, covered in unknown filth. He
would rather lick all the bathroom of grand station central with his
tongue than touching this abomination, but he had to. Shadows all around
were moving and became distorted. He began to saw some movement at the
edge of his vision and could almost hear whispering in his head. He
began to chant the persian mantra they found, again and again. He took a
deep breath and bravely put his hand on the fez. Retching and belching,
he stood still, focused on the mantra, even when he felt something
moving underneath the fabric.
After what
seems an eternity, the oppressing atmosphere created by the fez
gradually attenuated, to the point of being barely noticeable.
– We made it ! Now we can carry this abomination to Constantinople and destroy it ! Unstrap me, would you ?
The
temptation was enormous for Georges to let this babbling idiot tied up
in this grotesque situation, but the predicament they were in was too
serious to joke around. He started to untied the captain, and noticed a strange expression on his face.
– What is it ? Side effects ?
– Your name. I can’t recall your name.
– I’m Georges. Georges Banks
– Ah yes ! I forgot for a moment who you were. Quite strange…
Pencil doodle on A6 sketchbook
Excerpt from the Red Blood Fez Scenario from the Terror on the Orient-Express Chaosium Call of Cthulhu RPG campaign
