House of Long Shadows

The small army of specialized drones swarmed the first floor. Some vacuumed, some dusted, and others washed. When one of the vacuums came close and beeped, I lifted my feet and let it clean the area beneath me. The drone emitted two beeps, announcing that it had finished and moved along. I lowered my feet, refilled my coffee mug, and examined the state of my drawing.

"Not bad, it is coming along," I said.

I felt the moment, as I called it, blossom inside of me, and I lost myself in my work. Was it my subconscious vision and muscle memory blending? I didn't know. Some people might be terrified of losing control, but I welcomed it. With one last exhalation, I surrendered to the compulsion. The world disappeared, and I drifted unknowing and uncaring into the ether.

"One of your best," Kitten said, snapping me out of the trance. "I monitored your neural activity, and while your cortex and neocortex doubled in activity, your thalamus slowed, and its activity lessened. She is lovely; you should be proud."

I glanced down at my sketch pad, and that is when I saw the charcoal in my left hand. The sense of alienness returned more potent than ever. I gasped at the drawing; it was far superior to anything I felt I could create. This session was both a success and a disturbing episode. My father had taught me how to enter a trance and open myself up to my deeper self. He never mentioned anything like this.

"She is a real beauty," I said, and this version of her was a close-up depicting her head, neck, and shoulders. "Her eyes are her most striking feature, don't you agree?"

"They remind me of a feline," Kitten responded. "The iris is nearly a slit."

"Yeah, I noticed that," I said. "Ooh, I better get moving. I hate rushing around on campus to get to class. See you later."

"Goodbye, Al."

I grabbed my jacket, and Kitten's drone shook its head, but I carried it with me just in case the weather worsened later. The weather was mild, warm, and entirely unexpected for the first week of November. This area was the upper East Coast, which should be sloppy, bitter, and ugly. What the heck? The drive to school was pleasant as the AI took the scenic route down from surrounding hills towards the coast and the city of Arkham. The sun glittered off the water, and hundreds of ships anchored nearby. The sleepy little town had the fourth largest sea port on the coast, and many of the principal haulers bore the name of Marsh. They had dominated the industry over the last century and a half.

Halfway to town and isolated from everyone and everything else was Arkham Asylum. A world-renowned mental health facility that treated some of the most disturbed minds. Their success rate was no higher than other facilities, but the award-winning author William West Windgate had revitalized it and put it on the map. Windgate had gotten permission from family members to pen a biography of serial killers, rapists, and other severely disturbed individuals. While he changed the subject's name, many events were so well known that he might not have bothered. The asylum became more of a who's who of the mentally fucked.

The parking lot looked strangely vacant as I pulled onto the Miskatonic University campus. Had I missed a notice of canceled classes for today? No way, Kitten would have alerted me before I left. I parked my car near the Art Hall, the same building that bore the plaque carrying Owen Marsh's name, and announced to everyone that he had donated millions of dollars to rebuild parts of the campus after the event that no one wanted to discuss. You'd think that kind of history would get more views online, but it didn't. There were few biographical videos of the fire that tore through the university and resisted water, foam, and oxygen-eating chemicals to put it out. It had defied man's best attempts and the laws of physics simultaneously. Ultimately, it simply went out on its own as if it had been on a mission and had completed that task. There were many injured, but only one death was confirmed. The fire had burnt a body so wholly it had never been identified. DNA was useless, and the security footage never got a clear view of his face for the recognition software to be of any good—just another mystery surrounding Arkham, Massachusetts. That eerie ghost town vibe vanished as students filed out at the end of their class, and this campus area came alive.

"Hey, Al," Jordan called out and waved. "Did you do your sketches for today?"

"Yeah, and I ensured I didn't finish them, per instructions. Did you have sculpture today?"

"Yes. My chisel managed to find a flaw in the piece of granite I was working on. It split into six pieces as it tumbled to the floor. The risks of being an artist and, I suppose, gem cutters share the same danger. For me, it is a relatively inexpensive hunk of rock. Can you imagine shattering something like the Hope Diamond? Jeez."

"The Tavernier Blue," I corrected him. "Good old King Louie bought the hunk of dark blue rock, and out of it came a legend."

"How do you remember stuff like that?"

"You forget that my ancestors were sailing men. One carried Tavernier from India to France, where he sold some of the largest and finest gems ever seen. Yeah, the Longshadows have been there for some of history's more noteworthy events, and that is just one of them."

"I better not keep you, Mr. Longshadow, Sir," he joked. "Good luck with your drawing class; the model caught Covid, and Kirkland is scrambling to find a replacement."

"He has the worst luck keeping reliable people. Thanks for the heads-up."

Earnest Thaddius Kirkland was a tall, stocky man who made a name for himself as a footballer across the pond. He came here to play soccer for a US team and got injured during his third season. Like anyone who fell in love with Massachusetts, he found another career; for him, it was teaching art. His mother is the celebrated sculptor Juno Kirkland, whose art sells for at least ten grand. Her larger pieces have found their way into private collections and reached auction blocks for over a cool million. The Kirkland family isn't hurting for money, but despite all that, Cutter, as he is known, is a down-to-earth kind of guy.

"Al!" Cutter greeted me warmly. "You made it. A protest has shut down the highway, and class might be quieter today. Show me what you have, and we'll get started. Julia and Tim have already shown me their assignments." I handed over my sketch pad, and he turned the pages, making his typical enigmatic noises until he reached the sketch of my dream material. He stopped, moved towards the window to view it under natural lighting, and ran his finger above the page as his discerning eye picked out elements of the drawing. "I was going to suggest you use charcoal for a piece. Don't get me wrong, your line work is top-notch, but sometimes you need to let go, and charcoal is perfect for that. Wait. Hold on." He gasped as he tilted the page and viewed it from more extreme angles. "When did you become a Southpaw? You did draw this with your left hand, didn't you?"

"Yeah. I tried a meditative technique I learned, and that is what came out," I explained, since I gained nothing from lying.

"Cutter. Al." A shaggy-haired Warren said in greeting.

"Did you just crawl out of bed?" I asked, noting his pronounced bed head.

"I did after spending the night with a delicious Indian girl who can tie a knot into a cherry stem upon request using her tongue. Who can say no to that kind of raw talent?"

"Not me," Cutter and I said simultaneously and laughed afterward. "Is the model portion of the class being canceled?" I asked.

"As a matter of serendipity, a woman of impressive beauty volunteered for your class. She is getting undressed as we speak. Take your marks and be ready to be shocked and amazed."

Cutter waited five minutes to see if any other students had arrived before telling the model to step out and strike a pose. The woman wore a hooded robe, dramatically removed it, and stood for our first sketch. I nearly dropped my pencil when I saw my mother naked and grinning like the Cheshire Cat. Despite the shock, I began drawing her. After half an hour, we took a short bathroom break, and Julia walked around to see how everyone captured her curves.

"Interesting," she purred as she reached my station. "I love how you captured my breasts."

"What are you doing here?" I asked in a hushed voice.

"If you whisper, people will think a conspiracy is going on. I called the house, and Kitten informed me that you were coming to class. Since my hotel room was so close, I thought I would surprise you. Surprise!"

"Do you know Julia?" Cutter asked, and his expression when he learned our connection was priceless. "Your Mom? Well, this has to be awkward."

"Not as awkward as seeing him naked earlier today," Julia bragged, and I winced. "You really shouldn't answer calls while in the shower. The poor boy has been an exhibitionist since he refused to wear diapers and ran around bare-ass all the time. It can't be helped, I suppose. There I am, being socially awkward again."

Cutter was laughing so hard that tears streamed down his face. It was useless to glare at her; she had just escaped an authoritarian cult, and society's polite norms eluded her for now.

"We are having lunch later," I added before Julia blurted out something like we were hooking up for lunch.

"Yes, lunch," Julia purred.

The next pose had Julia reclined, and she chose to place pillows under her chest and neck so that her tits were thrust skyward and her head hung over the edge with her mouth wide open. Lewd didn't begin to describe it, but Cutter let her fly her freak flag for everyone. Julia was in her element, sex, and loving it. After the class, Julia mentioned she was pondering starting a Vlog and pose for artists and amateurs alike. Great, just fucking great; she wanted to be a cam girl.

"I'm starved; let's go eat," Julia said as she grabbed my wrist and dragged me into the bathroom. "You've already seen me naked; relax. You have a real talent; don't waste it. I think your teacher finds me attractive."

"The entire class was drooling over you," I said.

"The whole class? That includes you, Albion; it is nice to know I haven't lost my looks."

"Maybe in the future, you should keep certain things to yourself. No one needed to hear about the call this morning."

"I didn't mean to embarrass you," Julia said, and she seemed genuinely remorseful. But, the problem is, she had spent so many years with my Dad that his manipulative ways became ingrained in every member of his little cult. I wasn't sure I could trust her. "I saw a taco place while looking for a parking spot."

"I know the place. It is right off campus, and we can walk there." I said as the door to the stall opened, and Julia stepped out wearing a half-shirt, Daisy Duke shorts, and slip-on tennis shoes. "That top is obscene; I can see your underboob quite clearly."

"Oh good," she tittered excitedly. "It was hard finding the right length to keep from being arrested for indecent exposure and showing off the right amount of skin. There are so many potential young men and women on this campus."

"Let's go, Lady Godiva."

"Ooh, that reminds me, I want chocolate. I haven't had any in years," Julia said, referring to Godiva Chocolates.

Nearly nine years had passed since Julia and I had seen each other face to face. She hadn't aged a day; I'd say she looked younger than I recalled. If we had just met, I'd place her age closer to my own than a parent to a child. I directed her to a mobile food cart run by an acquaintance and the one she had seen while driving.

"Juan, I'd like you to meet a friend of mine; we'll have two specials."

"Anything for you, Al," Juan replied as he prepared our food. "Did Al tell you how we met? He saved my life." Juan continued without waiting for Julia to respond. "I can't swim, you see, and I got caught by a rip tide that would carry me out to sea. Al jumped in without hesitation and rescued me. Man, he is a strong swimmer. He fought that current and won. There you go, on the house. Are you just visiting, or are you two a thing?"

"Juan, have you forgotten about Arya? She's living with me."

"Yeah, but," Juan began, and we laughed. "Come on, I've been married for years and still find time for a piece on the side."

"See, I could be your side piece," Julia purred and winked at me.

"Eat your tacos," I chuckled. "Juan, my man, you always make me laugh."

Foot traffic picked up, and I urged Julia to walk and eat. I hated crowds, and the few tables near Juan's stand would be crawling with students. Even after nearly a decade, the things that happened at the compound still haunt me. I plucked one of the napkins from my back pocket and wiped the grease from my fingers and mouth. A happy tummy makes for a cheerful Al, I thought.

"Great choice," Julia said, and then suddenly, the color drained from her face. "No."

"What?" I asked and then followed her gaze. My father stood twenty feet away near a late model Bugatti Divo. What the fuck was he doing here? My hands clenched into fists as he approached. "Get behind me, Julia. What the fuck do you want, old man?"

"Still so much rage," Carcosa Longshadow said in his soft, sibilant voice. "You still hate me after all I've done for you." He glanced at my fists and smiled. "You don't have what it takes to lay a finger on me. I'll prove it, pup." I didn't hear the word, but I felt like my entire body had been dipped in liquid nitrogen. As quickly as the chill hit, it faded. I cupped my left hand, reached back, and slapped the shit out of the man that had left me a human husk. My father tumbled to the ground, more shocked than hurt. "Well, now, you've proven me wrong. How did you manage that?"

"Get up and find out motherfucker," I hissed. "Crawl away, or you'll be the one in the hospital for six months." My rage faltered when I saw his reaction to the mention of my time after the car accident. "What?"

"I visited you every day I could, watched you sleep, well, coma, and read to you from the sacred tomes. I thought you might die. You hit like a man. I couldn't be more proud." He paused, got to his feet, and smiled. "Do you like the car? I had it converted to run on a powerful hydrogen fuel cell. If you want it, I'll have it delivered to your home. It is good that the house is in your capable hands. She's not your mother."

He was off his game. He came here with an agenda and a list of things he wanted to say. My slap had disrupted him profoundly; the last bit was just him rambling and making little sense. I smiled at his uneasiness.

"I know. It's just another of your games, and I am so sick of your mechanizations. Go, and leave me out of your religious bullshit. Got it?"

"Your message is clear. I am your humble servant. Julia."

"Carcosa," she replied so softly I barely heard it.

Julia joined me and agreed to return to the house. She followed me back to the campus and my parked car. I half expected to see the Bugatti either in that spot or next to it.

"Oh well," Julia chuckled. "I saw the look in your eye. Remember, this is your father we are talking about. You bitch slapped him to the ground, something no one has ever done since he came into his power. You humbled him, take my advice, watch your back."

"Yeah," I handed her my backpack, dropped down, and checked the car's undercarriage for a bomb. Julia was right. Dad had used a command word on me, a post-hypnotic suggestion, and somehow, I had broken its control over me. How had I done it?

'It doesn't matter. You found the strength, and that is all that matters.'

My inner voice was right again. I unlocked my car and opened the passenger door for Julia. Being old-fashioned made me stand out in a crowd and feel uncomfortable. After getting into the vehicle on the driver's side, which has become obsolete since the establishment of the AI network.

"Home, scenic route," I ordered, and the vehicle did the rest. Though I practiced calligraphy and cursive writing, both were becoming lost arts. Voice recognition and AI made both unnecessary. Users dictated homework and other educational endeavors while AI formatted and grammar-checked the finished documents. The last time I purchased my sketchbooks, I bought them in bulk. The manufacturer was selling out to Amazon, and the multiarmed giant swallowed up another smaller business. How many generations before the concept of writing something by hand was forgotten entirely? Would AI completely replace human artists as they had so many other aspects of our culture?

"Did he know what kind of genie he had let out of the bottle, I wonder?"

"Who? What are you talking about?" Julia asked as she turned away from the natural beauty outside to face me. "What is bothering you?"

"AI is assimilating the human race," I replied. "First, it was labor-intensive positions, farming, mining, and underwater construction. How long before art is claimed by machines and, along with it, the soul of humanity?"

"I don't believe that will happen," Julia replied. "Nature has a way of compensating when things swing too far in one direction. Some think of it as mundane autocorrect."

'She knows something,' my inner voice declared, and my instinct backed up that feeling.

"You are holding back."

"Roadhead," Julia purred, and her hand settled on my thigh. "Before I met your Dad giving a guy head in a car was an adventure. There was a real danger that the driver would get so distracted there was the threat of wrecking, going off the road, or simply slamming on the brakes and getting fucked rotten in the back seat or on the hood or trunk. Now, with the auto drive feature, all risks have been removed. I could suck you off without the fear of dying. Sad."

"I am torn here," I admitted. "It has been a long time since I got blown in my car, but you practically raised me. I'm not sure how to process my cock sliding down your throat."

"Nice visual," Julia admitted. "No rush; we have all the time in the world. There it is."

The county's records listed it as the House of Long Shadows in the registry of protected sites. Any repairs required a permit, so that I couldn't make any severe changes.

"Welcome back to the House of Long Shadows. What the heck is that on the porch?"

"My luggage," Julia said with a knowing, naughty look. "I didn't think you'd mind me visiting for a bit."

"I don't mind at all. Arya, on the other hand, might require some adjustment time. Be patient with her."

Julia winked as the car parked itself. As I carried her luggage inside, I watched Julia's reaction to returning to this place. The myriad emotions ranged from fear, loathing, sadness, and finally, acceptance. She ran through the grief process in record time. I set down her baggage and asked if she needed a tour of the place.

"No, I know every inch of it. Don't worry about me."

"Really?" Arya snorted from behind us. "Every inch, eh?"

"Oh, hey, sweetie, this is Julia; she is my Dad's exwife. She is staying here for a while. I hope you don't mind."

"Ex? No shit," Arya said, and there it was again, a parade of emotions, though different ones this time-anger, confusion, shock, and finally, an agreeable smile. That threw me for a loop, and then my mind went straight to having a threesome with them.

'Cha-ching!' My inner thought rejoiced.

"He wants a three-way," Julia said, and Arya nodded in agreement.

"Yeah, he does," Arya laughed. "Which bedroom are you giving her?"

"The maritime blue," I said, watching Julia to see if she were agreeable.

"I was hoping for the desert-themed room," Julia said and frowned when I shook my head.

"Um, normally I'd say sure, go ahead, but the bed and other furnishings have been removed for repairs. A leak in the ceiling damaged stuff; I didn't have any choice."