Eidolon

Sunlight streams in through the windows of the café attached to Ma’s Boarding House. It is midmorning and patrons of varying descriptions fill the stools and booths, chowing down on Ma’s well-known cuisine. Agnes knew many of the faces and names by heart, from a year of working in the café and living in sleepy little Arkham.

Not to say that she got much sleep since she’d moved there. The nightmares saw to that.

She carried a tray of coffee to the good Father as he sat writing his sermon for the next day. She brought a pastry to the quiet, reserved visitor from out of town who everyone whispered was an off-duty—or maybe on-duty—G-man.

Then Agnes walked to the corner booth, where a young but tanned and muscular woman was poring over a wide assortment of crusty old maps and charts. She’d been there all morning, emptying a satchel of strange parchments and tools onto the table and examining them frenetically.

“Would you like something to drink?” Agnes asked. The woman didn’t even look up, just laid down the object she was currently holding in a huff. Agnes raised an eyebrow. It was a small cube with an arched top and designs around the sides.

Agnes’ vision fogged and distant drums sounded in her ears. The light coming through the windows was suddenly blinding. She found herself suddenly off-balance.

Ursula had had a bad morning. The committee at Miskatonic had given her three more days to establish concrete proof of the location of the lost Etzli civilization or they were retracting their promises to fund the expedition. She’d cross-referenced every map and chart previous exploration teams had made with all her own research, to no avail. And the relic—the god damn box thing—wouldn’t open, no matter what tricks she tried.

Then she looked back at the waitress. Her mouth dropped open. The crazy woman had picked up the relic and was turning it over in her hands.

“Lady! That thing is three thousand years old! Don’t touch it!” But the woman, whose nametag read “Agnes”, didn’t seem to hear her. It was as if her mind was in a different place entirely.

The waitress raised the box into a beam of light from outside. Ursula started to move to grab it from her, then paused. After a moment the box began to glow slightly from within. With a few deft twists and after depressing a hidden panel on one side, the waitress caused the internal mechanisms of the stone box to slowly open.

Ursula was flabbergasted. The waitress, Agnes, shook her head as if coming out of a daze. “Sorry, I must’ve spaced out for a minute. I’m Agnes. Can I get you anything?” She followed Ursula’s stunned gaze to the box in her hand. “Oh, is this yours? How rude of me. Here you go.”

“How? How did you open it?” Agnes looked puzzled, then looked down at it. “Well, I suppose I just followed the instructions. It says so right there.” And she pointed at the relic.

Ursula looked at the box. The markings around the edges had looked like wear or artistic designs to her, but if it really were a language, then it was one that hadn’t been spoken for at least three thousand years. She looked up at the cheerful-looking waitress, behind whose eyes something impossible waited to be unlocked. Not unlike the puzzle box.

“Miss Agnes, how would you like to visit Mexico?”