Not all Shoggoth.net users think Cthulhu is just fiction. Some who visit the site know it isn’t. In the latest Sage of Wales tale, the line between fact and fiction is truely fine.

Life had been going along fairly normally for Edin and Andrew for quite a while; that is, a nice quiet life in their remote seaside house. For the first time since the Sage moved into his house in Pembrokeshire, he had been there in situ for over a month. In fact, he had finally been there long enough so that all the improvements that he had been wishing for but never starting, were started. This meant a constant monitoring of workers, all the while keeping them away from certain areas of his property, gently, without making an issue of it.

One area which seemed to attract the men when they were working around the outside was the ruin of the guest house. The tunnel connecting to the main house was intact, even after the violent destruction of the little house, and there remained the magical traps and persistent stench of something-not-quite-right. In addition, the Sage was continually faced with convincing each new worker on the job that Edin was not a hound of hell, Baskerville, or any other accursed place. Her boredom and latent interest in the works would occasionally lead her to dash off and bark at someone or something trivial. While the Sage was used to an occasional normal dog outburst, these seemed unnerve the workmen. As a consequence, even when egging on the workmen, the Sage kept Edin under foot and under command.

This situation was rather troublesome, as the Sage had been training Edin not to stick to him like a fly on dung. In the past, Andrew had fallen over the huge dog as she shadowed his every move. As the Sage did sometimes have to react very quickly, he needed to overcome the need to be ever watchful that his moving carpet was at least one step away. Perfect coordination of the two would be fine.

Rupert, on the other hand, was continually disappearing for days, muttering about a short job as explanation as he left. The druidic Celt never did tell the Sage, for whom he was a aide de camp, where he was heading off to. Just a promise to keep in touch, and off he went.

Call me on my mobile was usually as much as the Sage got from him when Rupert blew out the back door in a brood and into his Land Rover.

Finally, in the last few weeks that the Sage lashed out for an expensive satellite phone which he forced on Rupert that he could be reached in an emergency. As per normal Rupert would be in the middle of no where when actually needed. Rupert was wont to go searching for any of his former foes that got away. Ruperts ancestry came to the fore, the very knowledge that an adversary vanquished but not eliminated would return to strike again. Unfinished work must be pursued to its bitter end.

So the Sage, between supervisory chores was minding his beast and doing research on the internet Edin, the beast, settled, relieved to be able to curl up for a long silent nap at her masters feet. The Sage was now the proud owner of reliable broadband access and a rare thing it was too, on this remote coastal cliff.

One of the Sages first destinations was a site called Shoggoth.net, a mythos site easily the leading site of its kind on the net. What was most interesting to the Sage was a series of fiction stories written by an author of particular and perhaps peculiar insight. From no where, the writer seemed to have produced a whole series of stories for the site. Always eager for contributions, the administrators sprinkled his work over the weeks, clearly trying not to overexpose him and spreading the benefit to the site of this author who was attracting a wide following. The author, who called himself M.A.D., posted several rants on the sites forum complaining that too little of his work was up. He was cheerfully ignored and the measured pace of posting continued.

Unlike most of the stories on the site, MADs stuff was a bit too close to the bone for the Sage. Much of this writing was based on fact with slightly altered details. The stories were progressively more and more overt in their detail. Things that were normally hidden or implied were being openly peddled by this author. Formulae kept from the masses for centuries were being described in great detail with great precision. These stories were at the same time progressively thinner in plot and characters.

It was as if MAD wished that the readers might try the formulae and experiment with some of the forces on offer. It was becoming increasingly obvious to the Sage that MAD was in possession of the texts he cited. This was not researched, collected, second hand information but details directly from source, the original texts. As these pieces appeared on the site, the Sage was progressively disturbed by the direction this whole thing was taking. He was trying to figure to what end this was being done. MAD was like a hacker who posted his exploits with how-to instructions on his own site. MAD was taunting someone, and the Sage needed to find out who before even more vital information got out. There was little doubt that forces less noble were monitoring the work as well.

In reality, the Sage would admit later to a shocked Rupert, it was amazing that MAD was not already dead. His foes would not have to rely on tracing the author via electronic means. They had other, older, more effective methods.

It was the story Opening the Door that finally pushed the Sage to act. Towards the end of the tale, the author had promised in the next sequence to complete the formula for a passage to another existence.

The Sage lifted his phone and dialled Ruperts new number, secretly praying that all the money would now prove its worth.

What?

You are needed here, immediately. We have a big problem! You dont happen to know any good internet snoops do you?

Cant this wait Andrew? Im close to finding that bastard Galrog! grunted Rupert.

What? Youre still chasing him or is it, It? You stopped his group of loons, and you may have already got him! Besides you said that the last three times. Quipped the Sage knowing he would get an earful.

Sage, wit h the greatest respect, this bloke, I mean ex-bloke, tried to raise Cain at the end of century rave at the Millenium Dome!

Yes, but you stopped him, got the rest of his lot arrested for serious drug offences and other things, and still had time to make it to the Savoy for midnight champagne. Hardly a half-arsed job, as you so often put it. He paused, took a deep breath and made sure to chose his words very carefully. Rupert, if we dont find a certain writer very soon, you will be running around the country, nae the planet, stopping innocent dark fantasy fans from raising various daemons and devils and opening doors to all sorts of nasty places. I am sure that Cthulhu has taken notice. Its even possible this foolish writer is being used as a tool for some giant raising ceremony, no doubt to see if that gelatinous one can finally make it out of his cavern.

I see your point, Sage. This guy is being that specific?

Yes. That specific. Publishing word perfect formulas. Till now seen by three people a century, if that.

Ah. I see.

Whoever he is, he is doing a Cultists Cookbook, by weekly instalments. He is actively trying to get the site to post faster but thankfully they are ignoring him, or refusing. I am sure we can stop them posting any more, but then we need to find this guy before he posts anywhere else. IF we stop his posting on Shoggoth, he will post somewhere else now.

How long have we got Sage?

Well, just taking it in small steps, if I email Trollboy, I could probably get him to hold off an extra day or two and fake a server problem. Any more than that, and MAD is bound to suspect something.

Argh, damnit. Well, then, I will swing by Swansea and see a reformed hacker contact of mine. I should be back with you, preferably with him, by dusk.

In the Sages head he was figuring out roughly where Rupert was by the estimate for getting to Swansea and back to the house.

You had better order copious amounts of Red Bull, Diet Coke and Vodka if we want this guy to get right to it. See if you can scrounge up another computer, preferably a fast PC, as well. This bloke is a bit funny about Macs.

Sage was busily writing down his instructions as he heard a click on the other end of the phone. He looked under his desk at his enormous moving foot warmer. Edin, methinks this is going to be a late one.Try not to scare our guest, if you dont mind. I hear hackers sometimes have a very nervous disposition.

Edin grunted in approval and returned to her slumber, unperturbed by the awesome words and symbols on the screen.

The Sage removed his legs from under his guard and began to get up to go to the kitchen when the phone rang. Sighing, he sat down to answer the phone. Little did he know that he was about to waste an hour convincing the Welsh National Opera that his current task took priority over eliminating a particular ornery sprit from the Opera House. Nothing less than a refusal to allow any language but Welsh to be sung in the hall.

The whiney voice on the other end of the line croaked but we have five nights of sold out performances starting a few days. They have been sold out for six months. There is no alternative. You have to come and help us, Sage.

Get whoever it is to sing in Welsh then!
That is simply not possibleit is Chad Peters.

Who?

Chad Peters! You know the hit rising star of the opera world. The man makes throngs of women go weak at the knees. His albums are so popular he got on the cover of the NME in England.

Never heard of him. Cant you find someone to fill in for him in Welsh?

But it will be a disaster! Think of all the screaming hordes of women waiting to see him. We have had to add extra seating!

Oh, the trials of the impresario! thought, Andrew.

Gwynd, if he sings in English those girls might just be screaming for other reasons. I dont think your staff would be ready to handle a panic on that scale. Look, I must go, Im sure youll find a solutionperhaps a change of venue.

He wont like it.

Gwynd, I doubt he will like it if he is accosted by an irate Welsh spirit yelling and cursing at him when breaks into an Oscar and Hammerstein encore either. Try the Welsh Rugby Stadium. Then you could sell even more tickets.

Opera at a sports stadium. Preposterous concept.. But we could sell some more ticketsand you, Sage, suggested it.

Good. You can work on that. I will leave that to you. And good luck. The Sage hung up the phone and sighed. I Think I prefer dealing with daemons than an enraged Opera prima-donna. He rushed off to prepare for his guest, while contemplating what to write to Trollboy to get right onto this more pressing problem. Edin followed her master, making sure her nose was close enough to touch the middle of his back, just in case he needed a prod or two.

Andrews destination was the kitchen to inform his cook cum handyman that there would be one more for dinner that night and Rupert too. Before this recent period of restful quiet, it was not unusual for at least one or two to arrive at short notice. Consequently, Derek had taken to cooking extra, so there was a fair amount of compensating going on. When there were no guests, there were leftovers.

As he entered the kitchen, Andrew reached for the phone just on the third ring this time, just stopping in time to avoid being propelled across the floor by the beast following him.

Sage, something came to me as I was driving into Swansea. Rupert had definitely come into a populated area as the reception was much improved over the Sages call an hour earlier. The good news is that we now know when he aims to have the last part posted and so we have one more day than we expected. The bad news is of course is that he aims to do this raising on the Winter Solstice. When the planets a-line, a big deal for the followers of Cthulhu isnt that right?

Of course it is, the Sage replied, how could I have missed that? Lost track of dates here in this quiet place. Ive been thinking about how we get to him when we do find him, this author

Got any contacts with British Airways or better yet someone who knows how to teleport? That would be our best shot, unless we are dealing with someone local to the British Isles.

Well, that is a possibility, at least this person speaks English natively.

We shouldnt even worry until we talk to my friend here. He will be able to trace where the postings are coming from. If we are lucky, the bloke who is doing this is not that clever as I think he has left a nice wide path for us to follow.

Well, since I am assuming the writer is under the influence of an Old One, I presume he may not be as careful as if it were off his own back.

True. Look, I am getting near this blokes flat. Ill see you when we get back to the house.

Good luck. I am in the kitchen to make arrangements with Derek and then back to studying those posts.

The Sage stopped and turned to his minder. Edin could you please make sure I make it safely around the house. It is important that I remain in one piece.

Edins ears perked up and she straightened her chest. Music to here ears, it was, having a job to do. Immediately, she transformed herself from lumbering hulk to bodyguard and minder. Edin was now so pleased, she came close to smiling.

The Sage sat down at the table to talk to Derek who had been patiently waiting for the middle bits of the story after hearing the telephone conversation.

Look Derek, we need to get a few specific things for our guest this evening. He is going to be working late and needs the proper fuel to keep him going. The Sage then wrote down a list of the things that Rupert had specified. Above the list he wrote dinner. Better make a large amount of pasta. That should keep us all going for as long as we need to keep at this.

I will get the wife to get this lot of things. I think she is headed to Sainsburys this afternoon. Should not be too big a problem. This is not the most difficult of lists you know. Now that other time we had all those guests. Finding halvah and Kosher food west of Cardiff, now that is a problem! Making sure all the meat was done the right way was a bit of job as well. You got off easy battling that big nasty black cloud thing, I can tell you.

Why does everyone around compare their task to fighting daemons? Do I make it look that easy? I must make sure to put on more of performance so I get some sympathy.

Derek began to sing the Rolling Stones Sympathy for the Devil doing a pretty good Mick Jagger imitation with a long spoon.

Everyone is a comedian as well! We I must get back to those bloody stories of this MAD character. There must be some clue to who he is from them. More important, I need to make sure I figure out who or what is telling him to write Any chance for a cuppa? Better yet, make that a pot of tea with a bit of lemon

Stay there for a second and I will fire up the kettle. I could use one myself. Better get out the big leaky teapot. You make this sound like a long night. When are you going to replace that bloody thing anyway?

Looking rather sheepish now, Next time I am in London, I will, I promise!

Ah dont worry about it, I will get the wife to find one in Pembroke the next time she goes there.

The Sage smiled as heard the kettle growling away as it warmed. Now, if you have ideas on this problem we have, dont hold back. We need all the heads we can muster on this one.

All right. Leave me the printouts. I will have a ponder while I cook.

After a few minutes of chatter over a cups of tea, the Sage poured himself a large dose and headed back to his office. He printed out a copy of all posts to have when his man came into the room to offer him more tea. He read his email. One was from Trollboy.

Dont know if this helps but I have gathered up some of his other posting on the site. Even I notice the change in his writing style. He went from pretty bad to the way it is now. I dont like his new style. It is too serious. I mean, just strange. We expect some imaginative stuff here, but usually pretty light-hearted, I mean essentially. I will pass on anything else he sends me. Tried to track down his location but havent had time to do a hard search.

The Sage began to read some of the older stories and related posts. He agreed with Trollboy that the style wasnt impressive. Very amateur and childish, not very original either. Maybe that is why whomever is feeding him info chose this guy, very good at apeing other writers but not good at doing anything original. But, this is more serious than that. The vocabulary and style of the later writings are just not on the same plane as the first one. It is just too much like a different person entirely. I dont like the look of this at all.

Soon tea arrived. Fresh tea was exchanged for the printouts. The Sage turned back to the papers in from of him and waited for Rupert. Alternately, he began to think through their contacts who could help them with this problem. Then too, if they needed to get somewhere far away very quickly. He had a lot of contacts. He just needed to search his memory for the right ones for this job and fast.

An hour or so later the Sages concentration was interrupted by a voice behind him. It was Derek.

Andrew, Ive brought you some more tea and an idea. Might it not be a good backup to write a fake one of these postings to make sure anyone who tries anything fails?

The Sage looked up and didnt turn around preferring to look at the calendar that was near his computer. Im just not sure how to handle this. I am deeply concerned about this situation. We have knowledge of the ages being spilled our to the nave. At first, it appeared that these pieces were just the work on someone who had stumbled onto some old sayings. Now, Im sure there is a guiding forcethe purpose can only be

The damage, if we do nothing, will be incalculable. The loss of life and then the continuing threat to whole nations if this old knowledge is spilled out into the uncomprehending world. Even so, I am afraid that your suggestion, while perhaps averting the worst, might still result in the death of many innocent dabblers in the arts. Derek, Let me think this through.

Yes, of course. But surely it would be better to lose a few innocents than to risk a lot moreand with these long term results you refer to if they succeed. He patiently waited for a confirmation of what he heard the first time, not willing to risk disfavour from his beloved boss and friend.

There are various ways to solve a problemIf your solution was done very delicately, it would serve as a good back up plan. It could not be seen to come from me..I am afraid that the Country, in appointing me The Sage of Wales, has many expectations of benefit. The struggle to avert threats to us all, is not acknowledged in the much heralded role of the First Sage of the new era. Although we all know that the most famous Sage was a bulwark against.the unthinkable. He paused, But so it is, and we too absolutely must struggle against this encroaching force. You mustnt tell Rupert. At least not yet. His view of these things is a little less diplomatic than mine.

I understand.

Thank you, Derek. We need as many minds working on this one as we can muster.

Until dinner, then.

Yes. And remember, Edin will not need her dinner until then. As you can see shes in her minder mode. Shell eat only when she is sure that Rupert is here and he is available to take over that role while her attention is taken up by food.

Im thinking she will get some pasta sauce with her nubbies. Shes working as hard as we are, after all, Derek said, sucking up to the beast under the desk.
Edin looked asleep below her masters desk, however when her name was mentioned one eye popped open for a brief instant. Her exposed ear twitched. In an effort to look a bit more awake she placed her enormous head on the leg of the chair aiming her nose at a right angle for full view out the door of the office.

Soon, Derek was sitting in the kitchen at the long deal table and writing an extended fake story on an iBook. Derek didnt do that much typing so he using a speedy hunt and peck method. The house was quiet, only the tapping of computer keys, the breathing of a resting dog, and the comfortably boiling kettle on the solid Aga.

By now the Sage was in constant contact with Trollboy via ICQ, each pursuing his task on either end of internet. Trollboy was involved in a full fledged trace of the postings. To make sure the wrong person was not accused, Trollboy was following the post trails in and out over the whole period, to link them all up to the source. A good documented trail. Trollboy was not new to bad manners on a site, and had established a good reputation for keeping an upbeat site. This he had maintained through diligent search techniques whenever something did not look right. As this particular search progressed, he did not pass on to the Sage his mounting suspicions. He judged it best to collect all the data before laying out the results to the Sage. The results of each step confirming to him the seriousness of the case, Trollboy raced along the through his deep search procedures .

The practical side things were moving right along. Rupert managed to collect his charge and get under way towards West Wales without too many problems.

Rupert drove the roads from Swansea, off the highway, then turning onto ever smaller, winding roads bordered by trees and hedgerows. Preoccupied by the need to reach their destination quickly, and safely, he tried to lend a small part of his concentration to the natterings of Simon as he blithered on about this or that hack. Rupert thought it best to keep his young hacker friend in the dark until they reached the safe haven of Andrews house. At any time, Rupert was inclined to hold his counsel.

Rupert knew of Simon, better known as Pharlax, since the time the hacker cracked a happy-clappy cult from the US. In that instance, Pharlax quite innocently opened a can of worms that Rupert had been trying to clean out for many a year. The cult, as with many evangelical sects around, had appointed themselves sole arbitrators of good and evil. For reasons unknown to Rupert, the cult Ark One, decided to expose all deamon hunters as instruments of the devil. The cult never did quite get the irony of their proposed actions. Most deamon hunters did not exactly advertise their services from fear of attracting the wrong sort of attention, whether from the other side, the police, evangelicals or just curious onlookers. It never paid to become famous enough so that the minute you showed up somewhere everyone knew something was afoota sure recipe for local panic!

Through a little bait and switch, plus a good plant, Rupert convinced Pharlax and his buddies to shut down the aggressive site, and to do a hard, that is permanent eclipse on it. Rupert let it be known to the Ark One loons that Pharlax and his crew called the Huntrz were actually online deamon chasers. Ark One posted an expose on the Huntrz and the Huntrz shut them down. In fact, so good was the job, that Ark One decided to give up high tech, retooling their dogma to construe tech to be yet another look of evil and they returned to using ink and paper. Rupert, on the mailing list of Ark One, got an hysterical email right after the attack. In a fit of triumph and remorse he forwarded the email to Pharlax, and thus a friendship was born. And so, since then, Simon occasionally did a bit of online snooping for Rupert.

Simon like many web addicts like nothing better than spending hours searching the internet for some shred of info. It would have been easier to head to the library or even the bookshelf but the sheer thrill of the hunt kept it online. “Why get up when you have Google?” It was not just an answer but a mantra.

The Sage while not typing away on ICQ or pondering over the posts in paper form on the table beside him, considered strategies to root out the burgeoning problem. He was becoming more and more aware that Derek had already solved it, that is that he had hit upon just the right solution. While taking a break, the Sage saw Derek at the table typing away while studying the post copies arrayed around him.

Without disturbing Derek, Andrew poured himself yet another cup of tea, this time with a splash of lemon. He returned to his office, Edin hard on his heel and sat down at his computer. His ICQ floater was flashing at him madly. As the Sage pressed the Apple key and R, the back door of the house opened.

The Sage did not get up immediately to see his friend and his new guest. Fortunately, he first read the short messages intently. He continued to read as he heard Rupert introduce Simon to Derek. What the Sage did notice was Edin, not moving but rumbling, then growling under her breath, her nose was aimed across his knee like a shotgun pointing in the direction of the kitchen. The Sage sensed some change in the air, a disturbance in the house. A chill. Could this be coming together under his very roof?

From the kitchen, Where is the Sage, Derek? I must introduce him to my young friend here.

From Trollboy, We have succeeded in getting a pin-point on the location of guy sending those nutty posts. He lives in the Swansea area. Not doing a very good job at covering his tracks, I must say. The reason this has taken so long is that I could not believe the trace was so fucking easy. The guy goes under the name Pharlax. He is supposed to be some shit hot hacker, but he can’t be that good leading this sort of trail! What a wanker! Did not even use Hotmail, posted under his

From Sage: I have to go meet someone right now! BBIAB

From Trollboy: K, tell me what you want done next. It is kinda cool doing this stuff for real.

When the Sage rose from his chair, he felt an ill chill rush down his spinal cord. As he walked closer to the kitchen, the chill turned into a sharp pain. Edin was next to his feet, nose to the front foot, as if ready to spring in front of her master to shield him with her body.

Andrew! I mean Sage! Come meet Simon Rupert paused and then spoke the words the Sage knew were coming. Simon is better known online as Pharlax. He is quite an infamous hacker. Reformed, he says, after being caught hacking into Steve Balmers personal computer after Balmer called Linux users a bunch of no-life freaks. You remember, Simon helped me with that daemon hunter site a while ago Rupert stopped his unusually long speech and just stared at Andrew.

The Sage looked actually pained when he heard the name. Oh nice to meet you Simon, I have heard so much about you. The air in the room belied the conventional words.

So do we need to have him get started right away? Time is short on this whole palava.

The Sage reached over the table in front of Simon and shut the cover of the iBook looking Rupert straight in the eye. I think it best if we feed you two, we can talk strategy after dinner. Things are going along well right now. I think it best if we keep Simon here in reserve right now.

Derek let me take the iBook upstairs for you. You can work there on that manuscript of yours in peace and quiet. The Sage quickly scooped up the printouts lying on the far side of the machine and carried them away with him as well and silence in the kitchen.

The Sage rushed upstairs and quickly hid the machine and papers in his own room. He placed a simple magical ward on the door to drive off curious guests. Edin was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs.

Andrew returned immediately to the kitchen, Rupert leave Simon with Derek and join me in my office for few minutes. Let me bring you up to date on the situation. Since Edin wants to stick with me, it is probably best if we feed her in there. You can take her food and water dish in with you.

Of course, Sage. I will make sure to put the food so you dont trip over it.

Derek, sensing a need to smooth over this odd activity said, Were usually more relaxed around here. The Sage has a lot of things to do. No doubt something.. he wanted to say cataclysmic, but continued, rather important that needs hisattention.

The Sage found Rupert in the office sitting in his chair and looking mighty anxious, but saying nothing,. When he saw the Sage shut the office door, his expression became as if frozen in place. Edin, despite her bulk, slipped in right before the door closed.

We have found our source

Where? How far away?

How far away is the kitchen table?

Simonyou are kidding right? Simon a Cthulhuian cultist? The bloke does not have a spiritual bone in his body!

His spirituality is not what the Old Ones care about Rupert. What they care about is his computer skills. Cultists are not known for the grasp of new technology.

But Simon?

Not Simon, Pharlax. Pharlax is the one sending the stories, and not hiding it very well. He paused and sat on the guest chair in the room. This might not be such a bad thing actually.

What?

Well, from the information I am getting from Trollboy, Pharlax is not hiding his tracks very well at all

That means it isnt Pharlax surely He was cut off mid-sentence.

Rupert, youre not thinking here. Sure, this is unusually, this pretty young kid, single minded type, techieWe know how the Old Ones operate, do we not?

Ahyoure right. As many years as Ive been after these types, that was one I would not have suspected.

Whoever, whatever, is controlling poor Simon, it is not giving him freedom to behave normally in his online guise. When he is in the trance, his writing improves exponentially so, it is probable that he has little or no free will in that state. I suspect too that he has no memory or knowledge of what is happening. Why would he go back and look at his posts?

So what the hell do we do Sage? If its Simon, no doubt he has time-coded something to be sent.

Well , the first thing we do is have Derek send the fake tale he has written from the iBook. He will need to send it from another phone line, to make it harder for it to be traced. Best bet is that he send it from the pub telephone in the village.

Timingmmm. Of course! The 21st! Does this mean we have to mind Simon until the Solstice?

Yes, I am afraid sofortunately only three daysand it gets worse.

Worse?

Under no circumstances can he be allowed to go online!

Of course, you are right. But being online for that lad is like breathing. He will go mad! What can we do to prevent him, and more important the thing manipulating him, figuring out what we are doing?

Well, I think you will need to keep him pissed off his head until after the Solstice. We could drug his food, but that would probably make him more easily influenced. And we do not know yet how It is getting to him. You and Derek have to mind him all the time. How are your computer gaming skills, Rupert?

Ugh! No interest. I cant play them for toffee! Besides, we need two computers for that and hes a PC bloke as well.

Well get a console of some kind in then. A console with all the latest games, ones that he will want to master. Ill ask Trollboy what the latest and greatest console and games are. I am sure if we pay enough we can get one here by tomorrow morning.

Bloody hell! Daemon hunter to baby-sitter! But if the daemon is here, its hardly baby-sitting, now is it?

Another thing. We must make sure the pipe goes down until after the Solstice. Need to kill the telephone wire as well. Lets hope he doesnt have a wireless system in his PC.

Nah, I doubt it. He doesnt have enough money for that. Ill check and make it disappear or break if need be.

Good. I think if we all coordinate and spell each other, we can keep him at bay. His controller might get pretty aggressive if he catches on, so wed better be ready for anything. The Sage sat down at the computer and began to quiz Trollboy and a few other contacts on the what console he needed to buy. In an hour so, the Sage had blown 900 on a console, a TV big enough and good enough to play it on and five of the latest games. That done, he sat back to think about what they were doing, how this might play out.

The next days until the Solstice went better than expected. Rupert found he was no better at these games than the first time he tried them out. Getting beaten by this kid was not his preferred activity. But, overall, things were fairly peaceful. Both the Sage and Derek gave it a go a few times. Surprisingly, Derek was not bad at one or two of the games. After doing rather well at a snowboarding game, Derek confessed that his young nephews routinely forced him to play at family gatherings.

The day of the Solstice, Simon appeared edgy and a bit distracted. He complained more bitterly even than on previous days about the lack of online access. He came to enough from all the low alcohol they had poured into him for days, to complain that he wasnt doing what he came for so how about a ride back to the city.

An hour before the Solstice, at 6 pm, events began to get hairy. For days, Simon was not aware enough to see that his laptop could not go online with its remote device. As Simon muttered about email he frantically played with his machine on the kitchen table, swearing and cursing at it as he tried to go online. About fifteen minutes later his face changed colour and contours. He began to look very ill. Simon began to shake and sweat, babbling like Golem in The Hobbit.

Must connect.must connect he repeated in an increasingly slithery voice. Suddenly, his yammerings stopped. He stood bolt upright, all seventeen stone of him. He lunged for his laptop and threw his bulk headlong for the back door. The other two doors of escape were covered. As Simon rushed the back door, Rupert leapt in front of him taking the full body blow of charging nerd. Edin, who was none too fond of the boy leapt on him from behind. Simon bounced off Ruperts chest and careened into the wall next to the door still headfirst. He slid down the wall. By the time he hit the floor, he had lost consciousness. His laptop bounced off the floor and another wall ending up in several pieces under the Aga.
As the chaos abated, and order was restored, the humans in the room turned their attention away from Simon.

So what do we do now? asked Derek.

Wait and hope that we have done enough. I do hope not too many innocent dabblers are involved in all of this. I hate to think what will happen to them if they use the wrong formula.

As they spoke, none of them noticed that Simon was now standing behind them, his eyes blank, his body quavering. Simon tried once more for the door. This time there was no Rupert to hinder his progress, but Edin was there. She leaped even higher this time and landed her two front paws on the top of Simons back, her almost 100 lbs of dog hitting him hard. By the time he hit the hard wood door he was travelling head first. His head struck the door with a crash. His body compacted with a crunching sound. He hit the floor, the bloody opening in his head first, his body crumpling in a vile heap of human parts.

Edin felt no pity for the fallen nerd. Her job done, she quickly her jaws around the neck of the fallen. As she began to lift the body so that she could shake it, she heard the command.

Edin, drop him now! ordered the Sage. The three men clamoured over to the body all praying Simon was not dead.

Edin sat off to one side glaring at the lifeless body of her quarry. She watched as the three men laid him out and propped up the teenagers head with a pillow, and raised his legs. She grimaced when she noticed the chest of the body was moving up and down as if still breathing. All that care over this vile thing.

Good. He isnt dead! sighed the Sage. We should probably call 999 now and then try to think of an explanation for his condition. There was a pause.

I wonder what time it is Sage? Derek looked at his watch. If the bad were going to happen, it would happen spot on the Solstice. Right?

Well, yes. The incantations would have taken place a bit before to culminate when the Sun was at its lowest ebb, replied Rupert who was now eyeing the keyed up and obviously agitated Edin.

I think we overcame it Sage. It is twenty past seven right now and we still seem to be here in one piece. He glanced outside. And the night looks normal for this time of the year. There is none of that blackest of clouds like the last time that lot attacked us.

Well we might not be their first priority right now.

The Sage fell to one knee on the stone floor holding his head and grimacing in pain as he felt the reach of a rage from some distant part of the planet. As the Sage held his arms in front of him steadying himself to avoid joining Simon on the floor, he said We have and they are not happy about it. It is all over this time.

Mirabile dictu! yelled Derek. Now I can get home to the wife. She is cooking a roast ham tonight. If you load Simon here into the back of my Land Rover I can take him by the doctor and say I found him wandering around the cliffs.

Will that wash, Derek?

We are still a small village here Sage. Its the middle of winter and he definitely does not look like a local. Make sure we tie him down so he doesnt wake up with a jolt.

They carried the young man to the back of the Land Rover and placed him on some padding, while bungieing him down like Gulliver in the back of the vehicle.

Well, Rupert, seems we got it right again. The Sage patted his friend on the back as they walked inside. Actually, this was all Dereks doing. He was a bloody star. You must be rubbing off on him. I have to go do quality time with Edin though. She really wanted to send the guy off for threatening her wards. And I need some time to think about this. And a rest

Yes. Derek did well. And Edin! He paused, `Sage, no matter how many dabblers we lost tonight, it is a bloody lot better than what would have happened if we hadnt done anything.

I know. Rupert. I know.

Both men walked back to the house and into the kitchen. Over the next few weeks, there were reports of occultists found dead in various places in various states of mangled and burnt death. A few more were reported missing and presumed dead. The happy-clappy sites were clamouring even more about End times. Little did they know.