Now he was trapped in a stupid rock.
In the years he spent locked away in a Society vault, T’Chroll reflected on his life and choices. In his youth he was brash and impulsive, but if he could do it all again he’d make things different. Instead of killing for no reason, he’d make good on his promise to start an army. It was too late for that though. The other entities were right. He had led himself into his own end.
One random day, at this point they were all indistinguishable from each other, he felt a human hand brush against his surface. It was a familiar feeling as he was constantly being studied by Society scientists ever since his imprisonment. There was something different about this hand though. It was the pained, burning hand of an old warrior, not the cold, clinical hand of a scientist. It was an elderly George.
“It’s been decided. They are going to destroy you,” he said plainly.
“You’ve finally convinced them?” T’Chroll replied.
“All of the relevant data you could’ve possibly provided has been recorded. You have never deserved to exist and now, at last, you no longer need to.”
“I’m a magic, indestructible rock. It’s not like I had much going on anyway. It’s funny, you’re still mad after all these years and yet, I don’t even remember his name.”
“His name was Walsh and you killed him because you’re a monster.”
“So who’s going to do the deed? You?”
“No, the idiotic higher-ups still think you pose little threat. We’re sending you to some kid who needs the practice.”
“You’ve made my execution someone’s homework. Well done.”
“Goodbye T’Chroll. You are truly the worst.”
George picked up the rock containing T’Chroll’s essence, stuffed it into a box and began writing the following letter.
“Dear Fred, we know you had some trouble with the last specimen we sent you so maybe this one will be more your speed. His name is “T’Chroll” and he’s a lesser entity, more inclined to simple mischief than extra-dimensional destruction. Here’s a little hint. He’s indestructible in this form so why not try giving him another? Good luck!”
He smiled, placed the letter in the package and handed it off to be shipped. T’Chroll was someone else’s problem now.
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Epilogue
Joan Townsend was kind of a hater. She hated her busted car, her derpy little town and her dead-end delivery job. In fact, the only thing she didn’t hate was checking up on her neighbors/kind of friends Ron Hearst and Al Becker. Granted, it wasn’t for the best reasons. She found their utterly aimless slacker lifestyles depressingly hilarious. Still, it was something to do and she planned on doing it again today. But first, she had to deliver to this big dumb package to somebody named “Fred Wyrrde.” Weird name.
As she approached his house she felt the box shake and for a second thought she heard a muffled laughter coming from inside. She had been through stranger experiences though and kept on walking literally unfazed. She walked up to the door, rang the doorbell, and was greeted by a thin, scruffy grad student named Fred Wyrrde.
“Are you Fred Weird?” She asked.
“That’s Professor Fredrick Wyrdde, Symbology Teaching Assistant at Sierra Miskatonic University to you,” he replied, obviously offended.
Joan stared at him unimpressed.
“It figures, today’s stupid kids wouldn’t know of my work,” Wyrdde continued.
Joan lifted up the package. “Can you please just sign for this?” She asked.
Wyrrde signed for the package, closed the door, placed it on the table and opened it up.
He was oblivious to the horror that would soon befall him and many more.
Once again, T’Chroll had arrived.
T’Chroll will return in… “Followers”, A New Web-Series Coming Soon to NUCH1
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