* X-NEWS: spcvxb alt.horror.shub-internet: 4P Relay-Version: VMS News - V6.1B4+SPC1 6/9/92 VAX/VMS V5.5-2; site spcvxb.spc.eduJ Path: spcvxb!rutgers!psinntp!psinntp!sunic!news.funet.fi!cs.joensuu.fi!iak$ Newsgroups: alt.horror.shub-internet. Subject: The Festival. (Some kind of story...)/ Message-ID: <1993Apr2.105948.246@cs.joensuu.fi> ) From: iak@cs.joensuu.fi (Ismo K{rkk{inen)  Date: 2 Apr 93 10:59:48 GMT # Organization: University of Joensuu 
 Lines: 134    C Someone asked for something like this, I think... Apologies to HPL.     ,                                 The Festival  K It was the time of the Flag Day, which humans celebrate for false reasons,  G although deep inside they know it is something more horrible than home  I computer BASIC or four-color glossies and which will ive longer than any   marketroid.   J Even years had passed from the Flag Day and I had at last come to the old L Internet-site where my people had lived and hacked when hacking was unknown L and where our sons would hack to ensure that the memory of ages-old secrets J would not be forgotten. My people was old, it had been old before ARPANET G was created. And they were peculiar, because they had been introverted  K inhabitants of silent old dinosaur pens and spoken their own jargon before  I they were any files about it. And now they had scattered and shared only  I the mystic rituals no suit could understand. I was the only who returned  H to the site that night as legend obliged, because only phreaks remember.  L The deserted road showed no signs of traffic and every now and then I heard G as if keyboard was being hit vigorously. Four of my relatives had lost  K their user rights in 1992 accused of cracking although I do not know where.   L As the road descended into the town I tried to listen to sounds one usually L hears but heard none. Then I remembered the date and figured out the people L might already be totally pain-stricken. After that I tried no longer listen 4 to signs of life but pressed on in the silent night.  J I knew where I would found the house of my relatives. I had been told I'd 6 be recognized and welcomed, since the legend lives on.  J Light shone from inside the house when I arrived at it and when I knocked K the door I was slightly scared. And when it was answered I was frightened,  L since I had not heard any steps when door already opened creaking. My fears J faded at this instant when I saw the calm face of the man, who wore cloak K and sneakers, informed me he was dumb by showing me the screen of portable  M computer he carried with him and which showed the old and peculiar greetings   with which he welcomed me.  E He showed me to a candle-lit room which felt damp and cold. An unlit  J fireplace stood in one corner and I wondered why it had not been lit. The H man's face seemed like a mask to me and fear got it's grip of me again. H With his gloved hands he typed a message which told me to wait before I J could be taken to the place of the Festival. After having waved towards a 0 chair, table and pile of books he left the room.  E As I sat down I saw that the books were old, worn and dusty and they  H included Joseph Glanvil's horrible Saducismus Triumphatus, the shocking A UNIX Daemonolatreia by Remigius and worst of all the ill-reputed  E Micronomicon by mad administrator Abdul Alhazred translated to Latin  H (examples in INTERCAL) by Olaus Wormius. The book I had never seen, but H of which I had heard horrible tales whispered. I tried to read and soon G I was absorbed shivering by something in that horrible Micronomicon: a  L thought and a legend which is too terrifying to be examined by intelligence H and conciousness. Waiting was really nerving and the satanic book at my  hands made it even more so.   I When clock stroke eleven the man entered and taking the book signaled me  
 to follow.  F We went out and headed through streets towards the computer-room. One F after another the lights of the houses went off and we were joined by J silent people all dressed in cloaks and sneakers, nobody making any noise.  G When we arrived at the dark building I waited until others had entered  H although my guide tugged my sleeve begging me to move on. We passed the J unlit front hall and descended down the long spiral stairs that led below K lowest floors frequented only by those interested in ages-old archives and   files.  K Then I saw light gleaming from ahead and flute-like voice greeted us as we  F entered a vast hall and I could not help feeling dizzy and gasping my I breath, for there were a huge pillar surrounded by ancient mainframes as  C well as new ones. Pillar was covered by print lists turned yellow.   Terminals circled the walls.  J People formed a half-circle around the pillar and moved to the terminals. I My guide signaled me to login, as I did, along with others. This was the  J Flag Day -ritual, older than ARPANET and destined to live longer than any L network. And in the gloomy hall I saw them serve the pillar chanting names. J I shall never forget that chant: duht, yzzyx, hgulp, derf, odlaw, ylprag, J tluarg, egroc, xuuq, xuq, zab, rab, oof, foo mane padme hum. Music poured I from the loudspeakers positioned on the top of one mainframe. Though the  4 hall was filled with dinosaurs it was cold and damp.  I My guide typed something and everybody moved to terminals repeating ages- H old command-series that also I had learned although never had I learned J their true meaning. Man held the Micronomicon hight above his head, music B changed, became mocking, high-pitched, powerful and more horrible.  E Soon everybody but me and my guide had typed the first sacred set of  I commands and he signaled me nervously to get on. I recalled things I had  B read from Micronomicon and hesitated. Man typed a message that he J represented my ancestors and the most secret parts of the ritual were yet D to be seen. As I still did not act he drew forth a tie and a ring I H recognized as having been belonged to my father. But the tie had proven I the death of my father as it had stucked into a tape-drive and strangled  J my father and since it had been unable to remove it was buried along with I my father. The man took my arm and as I waved him off his mask fell off.  D I cast one quick look at his face and horrified, I ran past him and  towards the door.   E I made my way out and continued running, for how long I do not know.  F Nobody seemed to chase me and finally I collapsed gasping for breath. H After having calmed down as much as was possible, I continued my escape I and eventually after peaceful but fear-driven joyrney I made my way back  J to Miskatonic, where I headed to the library of the Miskatonic University  Department of Computer Science.   K There I searched until I found the dreaded Micronomicon. One passage awoke  G my fears again, and I have tried as best as I can to translate this to   English.  K "The most secret executables," wrote the mad administrator, "are not meant  H to be seen by living eyes, because the wonders of those are strange and G terrifying. Cursed is the memory where dead thoughts live as fresh and  K strangely embodied, and evil is the mind that does not live inside a head.  I Wisely said Ibn Schacabao that happy is the mainframe no wizard has laid  H his hands upon and happy is during nights the city all wizards of which G have turned to dust. Because old is the rumour, along which soul taken  H over by evil does not hurry from it's earthly den but fattens and leads L the worm that gnaws it until from decline arises new life and the brainless K ghouls of earth become cunning to torment it and swell to be monstrous and  D to conquest it. In secrecy broad tunnels are being digged where the I dungeons of ground should suffice, and commanding have learned creatures   that should obey.      --  I +--------------------------+--------------------------------------------+ I | Ismo Antero K"arkk"ainen | 109740@joyl.joensuu.FI / iak@cs.joensuu.fi | I +--------------------------+--------------------------------------------+ 