The Mirror of Guilt

The mid-point of the year brought the Great Storm.

The sky turned a bruised purple. Thunder didn't roll; it cracked like a whip. The waves crashed over the top of the lantern room, submerging the tower in green foam.

Squish was agitated. He paced the kitchen, knocking over chairs. His form was unstable. One moment he was a wolf, the next a mass of tentacles, the next a shifting cloud of smoke.

"Squish, settle," Arthur commanded, though his voice lacked conviction.

Squish stopped. He turned to Arthur. A dozen eyes opened on his flank, all staring with an intensity that paralyzed Arthur.

A voice spoke in Arthur’s mind. It wasn't words. It was memory.

* FIRE. BURNING. SCREAMING.*

Arthur gasped, clutching the table. It was his memory. The burning of the Great Library of Alexandria—no, the burning of the Citadel of Hope. He had done that. He had ordered the fire.

* BAD,* the voice in his head boomed. *MONSTER. DESTROY.*

Arthur looked at Squish. The creature was shrinking back, shivering.

"Squish?" Arthur whispered.

* I AM BAD,* Squish projected. *I AM HURT. I AM YOU.*

Arthur realized with a jolt of horror what was happening. Squish was a psychic sponge. He hadn't just been absorbing the pickled fish; he had been absorbing Arthur’s mind.

And Arthur’s mind was a graveyard of guilt.

Arthur hated himself. He believed he was a monster who deserved to rot in this tower. And Squish, in his infinite love for Arthur, had learned that lesson perfectly. Squish believed *he* was a monster too.

"No," Arthur said, standing up. "No, Squish. That is my burden. Not yours."

* MONSTER,* Squish wailed mentally.

The kitchen wall exploded.

It wasn't the wind. A massive, scaled hand, webbed and green, smashed through the stone.

A Deep One pulled itself into the room. It was seven feet tall, smelling of brine and ancient rot. It hissed, its gills flaring. Behind it, more were climbing the tower, clinging to the bricks like wet geckos.

"The Master!" the Deep One croaked. "We come to liberate!"

Squish shrieked. It wasn't a fear shriek. It was a war cry.

Squish exploded outward. His form lost all cohesion. He became a vortex of black blades and teeth. He lashed out, not at the Deep One, but at the lighthouse itself. He was destroying the home he thought he didn't deserve.

"No!" Arthur shouted, casting a shield spell that shattered instantly against Squish’s power.

The roof of the kitchen tore away. Rain poured in. The storm howled.

Squish loomed over Arthur, a towering nightmare of shadow. The Deep Ones cheered from the windows. "Yes! Destroy! Consume!"

Squish raised a massive tentacle to strike Arthur.

Arthur didn't fight back. He looked up at the creature he had raised. He saw his own self-hatred reflected in those thousand eyes.

"I taught you this," Arthur whispered, tears he couldn't shed burning his eyes. "I taught you to hate yourself."