Post by Deleted on Jul 24, 2010 0:48:33 GMT 1
This is a Cthulhu Mythos story that I wrote before joining the site. It's a retelling of a certain Lovecraft tale, and is my first experiment in writing a horror story.
Disclaimer: I do not own the Mythos.
Ah, George, you've come to see your old father, have you? Thank you, thank you. Be careful-the light injures me. Stay in the dark, mind. I don't look right, do I? Well, that is only to be expected. But you have no doubt learned, George, not to judge by appearances. I am more than I seem, although I am, how should I put this, altered. They are capable of great wonders, you know, the travellers from nighted Yuggoth. I am somewhat pleased to have met Them, despite all appearances. Why, if we had never crossed paths I might still be pottering about aimlessly in Vermont, or dead and rotting, worms picking my bones and feasting on my brain.
By the look on your face I can see that you're wondering how I got this way. It's an interesting story. Come sit down, my son, and listen.
It started with a newspaper, of all things. After the floods in Vermont, dreadful they were, people began seeing things in the bloated waters. I paid no heed to the mad superstitious folk who began rambling about monsters and demons living in the hills. That is, until I began to take notice of abnormal things in the forests around my property; strange, buzzing voices, dark ceremonies in the night, things of that sort. I could have settled back and pretended not to hear. But your father, boy, was nosy.
One night I left my farmhouse with a phonograph and recorded one of their ceremonies, and later found a black, carved stone of no terrestrial material, taking it back with me. Around that time I met a sorry creature who confessed to me that he had colluded with the things before putting himself out of his misery. We weren't that different, in the end. Perhaps I'd like to do what he did, perhaps not.
A little while after that folk from outside began writing skeptical articles in our Vermont newspapers, refuting the warped things from the river. One of these fellows was a Professor Albert Wilmarth from Arkham, Massachusetts, a particularly vociferous opponent of the flood-things. He happened to have written an article that I picked up and read. Of course, I knew better, and I told and showed him so. A couple of photographs and the phonograph was what I gave to him, evidence of the creatures' existence and presence on our planet. Together we began considering where they had come, and we settled on Yuggoth, of course you know it as Pluto, a dark world spoken of in certain occult books whose names I will not utter here. It is the planet of which They hail from, the living fungi who serve still greater and more fearful beings.
Step closer, George, let me see your face. Good. Tricky to tell what I'm looking at with no eyes, eh?
At the time I hated and feared Them, and I suppose I still do on some level after all these years. But in any case Wilmarth and I set up a sort of communication system, although I began to fear espionage from Their living agents, and not without reason. Something I did had upset Them, and They wanted me taken care of. Not killed, but safely out of the way, where I couldn't interfere with Their work. For some time I didn't know what They planned to do to me, but was desperate to fight back somehow, to cheat Their grasp. And fought I did! They told me that I put up an exceptional fight, that most gave in or went mad long before I fell. I attacked Them, bought and set the most ferocious hounds I could find on Them, shot and killed many of Their spies and soldiers, human and not. But They caught me in the end, George. They always win when all is said and done. I never had a chance, really, son. In fact, I believe that They deliberately put off the seizure to the last moment, because, you see, They had all the time in the world. I was only a toy to Them. They gleefully described what they planned to do, every detail of the process.
During that time of madness, I tried to send old Wilmarth the stone, but one of Their human agents intervened and it was lost from us. I think that was around when I accepted that there was no real hope for victory. They became fiercer and still more determined to ensnare me, and him as well if They could catch him. In fact, They began forging communication from me. I became equally fierce in my defense-more dogs, more gunfire, more killing. I think I got one of Their human agents then, a fellow named Brown, I think (forgive my memory, George, I am terribly old). I was so ferocious, a beast at bay in all senses of the word, that I began to fear that I was going mad. And perhaps I was. Perhaps I am mad, even now, as I speak to you. Why the shivering, George? My tale is not yet done. When They came, I was beyond resisting, tired and broken, a shell of a man. But when They did it to me, it barely stung. It's not that bad, really.
But, you see, I was lonely on that cold orb of Yuggoth. I needed company, human company. They are intelligent, more intelligent than both of us combined, but are not what I crave. And that was why we called you here, to give a poor old fellow company. Oh, George, there's a knock at the door. One of Them, most likely. Why the shivering? Why the fear? Why do you look at me so? Am I not your father, George? Come now, open the door. Let Them in. I promise you, George, it will only hurt a bit. And after that, son, we shall be reunited. Together, and immortal, forever.
Disclaimer: I do not own the Mythos.
Ah, George, you've come to see your old father, have you? Thank you, thank you. Be careful-the light injures me. Stay in the dark, mind. I don't look right, do I? Well, that is only to be expected. But you have no doubt learned, George, not to judge by appearances. I am more than I seem, although I am, how should I put this, altered. They are capable of great wonders, you know, the travellers from nighted Yuggoth. I am somewhat pleased to have met Them, despite all appearances. Why, if we had never crossed paths I might still be pottering about aimlessly in Vermont, or dead and rotting, worms picking my bones and feasting on my brain.
By the look on your face I can see that you're wondering how I got this way. It's an interesting story. Come sit down, my son, and listen.
It started with a newspaper, of all things. After the floods in Vermont, dreadful they were, people began seeing things in the bloated waters. I paid no heed to the mad superstitious folk who began rambling about monsters and demons living in the hills. That is, until I began to take notice of abnormal things in the forests around my property; strange, buzzing voices, dark ceremonies in the night, things of that sort. I could have settled back and pretended not to hear. But your father, boy, was nosy.
One night I left my farmhouse with a phonograph and recorded one of their ceremonies, and later found a black, carved stone of no terrestrial material, taking it back with me. Around that time I met a sorry creature who confessed to me that he had colluded with the things before putting himself out of his misery. We weren't that different, in the end. Perhaps I'd like to do what he did, perhaps not.
A little while after that folk from outside began writing skeptical articles in our Vermont newspapers, refuting the warped things from the river. One of these fellows was a Professor Albert Wilmarth from Arkham, Massachusetts, a particularly vociferous opponent of the flood-things. He happened to have written an article that I picked up and read. Of course, I knew better, and I told and showed him so. A couple of photographs and the phonograph was what I gave to him, evidence of the creatures' existence and presence on our planet. Together we began considering where they had come, and we settled on Yuggoth, of course you know it as Pluto, a dark world spoken of in certain occult books whose names I will not utter here. It is the planet of which They hail from, the living fungi who serve still greater and more fearful beings.
Step closer, George, let me see your face. Good. Tricky to tell what I'm looking at with no eyes, eh?
At the time I hated and feared Them, and I suppose I still do on some level after all these years. But in any case Wilmarth and I set up a sort of communication system, although I began to fear espionage from Their living agents, and not without reason. Something I did had upset Them, and They wanted me taken care of. Not killed, but safely out of the way, where I couldn't interfere with Their work. For some time I didn't know what They planned to do to me, but was desperate to fight back somehow, to cheat Their grasp. And fought I did! They told me that I put up an exceptional fight, that most gave in or went mad long before I fell. I attacked Them, bought and set the most ferocious hounds I could find on Them, shot and killed many of Their spies and soldiers, human and not. But They caught me in the end, George. They always win when all is said and done. I never had a chance, really, son. In fact, I believe that They deliberately put off the seizure to the last moment, because, you see, They had all the time in the world. I was only a toy to Them. They gleefully described what they planned to do, every detail of the process.
During that time of madness, I tried to send old Wilmarth the stone, but one of Their human agents intervened and it was lost from us. I think that was around when I accepted that there was no real hope for victory. They became fiercer and still more determined to ensnare me, and him as well if They could catch him. In fact, They began forging communication from me. I became equally fierce in my defense-more dogs, more gunfire, more killing. I think I got one of Their human agents then, a fellow named Brown, I think (forgive my memory, George, I am terribly old). I was so ferocious, a beast at bay in all senses of the word, that I began to fear that I was going mad. And perhaps I was. Perhaps I am mad, even now, as I speak to you. Why the shivering, George? My tale is not yet done. When They came, I was beyond resisting, tired and broken, a shell of a man. But when They did it to me, it barely stung. It's not that bad, really.
But, you see, I was lonely on that cold orb of Yuggoth. I needed company, human company. They are intelligent, more intelligent than both of us combined, but are not what I crave. And that was why we called you here, to give a poor old fellow company. Oh, George, there's a knock at the door. One of Them, most likely. Why the shivering? Why the fear? Why do you look at me so? Am I not your father, George? Come now, open the door. Let Them in. I promise you, George, it will only hurt a bit. And after that, son, we shall be reunited. Together, and immortal, forever.
.