What to Do When You Meet Cthulhu

by Rachel Gray

  Re-gift it. Find that unspecial someone, and hand him or her a box with the shining trapozohedron. Make sure to mention it requires close scrutiny to grasp its full beauty.

  Run. Simple, but effective.

  FEELING POWERLESS

  You probably saw this one coming. Yes, the streetlamps proved useless during unexpected power outages. And then suddenly, Providence was plagued with them—power outages that is. During one extended outage, a few people spotted a black, wispy shape, shooting from Federal Hill toward the east. Not long after, Blake was found, staring out his window, up at the hill, eyes bulging with terror. He was indeed dead. Apparently, he’d died of fear.

  The local coroner, being one not to ask too many questions, attributed Blake’s death to “natural” causes. If you consider being frightened to death by an all-knowing supernatural creature, living in a realm accessible only by a Shining Trepozohedron to be natural, well, then, sure, the coroner hit the nail on the head.

  New york

  In the spring of 1923 I had secured some dreary and unprofitable magazine work in the city of New York; and being unable to pay any substantial rent, began drifting from one cheap boarding establishment to another in search of a room which might combine the qualities of decent cleanliness, endurable furnishings, and very reasonable price. It soon developed that I had only a choice between different evils, but after a time I came upon a house in West Fourteenth Street which disgusted me much less than the others I had sampled.

  —H.P. Lovecraft, “Cool Air”

  There were plenty of things in the Cthulhu Mythos that Lovecraft could have—should have—disliked. Consciousness-swapping aliens, mad scientists and their crazy experiments, frog-fish people, human sacrifice . . .. But, according to Lovecraft’s personal writings, he reserved most of his hatred for New York City. And rightfully so—it was crowded, dirty, and chock full of unsightly things. Furthermore, unbeknownst to most of its residents, the city was teeming with nasty Mythos creatures and cults—and also a few mad scientists. Alas, if you must live in New York City for any reason, keep to yourself. Don’t join any cults. Make sure you pay your air conditioning bill, and avoid Greenwich Village and Brooklyn, and things should be just fine.

  RED HOOK

  It appears from Lovecraft’s tale, “The Horror at Red Hook” that he wasn’t particularly fond of this neighborhood in Brooklyn. And if we are to believe what he wrote about it, it’s best to avoid taking up residence in Red Hook.

  After a series of strange crimes, Inspector Thomas Malone was sent to investigate the events. During his time in New York City, Malone had witnessed plenty of murder and mayhem (it was the early 1900s after all). Yet nothing matched the horror he uncovered during his stint on the streets in Red Hook—but that wasn’t what really got Thomas Malone all worked up.

  Thomas Malone had a terrible fear of buildings.

  Okay, maybe that’s a slight exaggeration. Malone wasn’t afraid of all buildings, just certain types of large buildings, and mostly if they appeared to be tumbling down upon him. And to be fair, the building phobia was a relatively recent affliction, mainly due to the events at Red Hook.

  THE STRANGE CASE OF ROBERT SUYDAM

  Malone first arrived in Red Hook to investigate Robert Suydam. The crotchety recluse hailed from Flatbush, but spent a great deal of time in shady Red Hook—enough to attract the attention of the federal authorities. Apparently, Suydam had developed a bad habit of hanging out with evil, gangster types, possibly organizing some sort of crime ring. Worse (at least from his family’s perspective), Suydam’s heirs feared he was spending his way through their rightful inheritance. The eccentric old man spent ridiculous sums of cash fixing up his Red Hook flat, and buying occult tomes from overseas. Those international shipment costs really added up.

  Hoping to prevent Suydam from burning through all of the cash, the family sought legal action against him. But the court didn’t favor the family. It seems Suydam had won the judge’s favor by confessing to the fact that he was definitely scruffy, scraggly, and weird. But he attributed his fascination with unconventional occult tomes to his studies of certain European traditions. And, he pointed out, Red Hook’s ethnic population allowed Suydam to study these traditions in closer detail.

  The judge let him off with a scowl, but the feds and Malone, continued their investigations—it seems his plea of “cultural education” didn’t go far with anyone else. After a quick raid on Suydam’s home, even the FBI and Malone were at a loss. The unexpected visit revealed little, other than Suydam’s bizarre occult painting collection (only proving his extremely bad taste in artwork). The feds also raided a dance hall in Red Hook—several children had gone missing in the area, and when neighbors spotted a young child in the dance hall window, it gave them cause. Besides, the dance hall was reputed to be a hangout for Suydam’s sinister gangster friends. But as with Suydam’s house, the search revealed nothing.

  MID-LIFE CRISIS

  And then, something very strange (or very common, if you’re getting a feel for the Cthulhu Mythos) happened. Suydam exhibited a sudden change in personality and demeanor. The shabby old man cleaned up his appearance. He shaved his scraggly beard and donned new threads. He whipped about town, behaving in a socially acceptable manner, throwing swank parties, acting generally less cranky.

  Suydam attributed his “second youth” to lifestyle/diet changes. True, this reasoning is not original to the Mythos, but people tend to buy into it every time.

  In time, folks around town started to like the “new” Suydam. Before long, he was engaged to the socially appropriate Cornelia Gerritsen of Bayside. Life looked good for the once crotchety old man. Until Suydam and his new bride left for their honeymoon on a ship out of Cunard Pier.

  Once the honeymoon cruise was underway, the crew were abruptly summoned by a horrific scream to Suydam’s cabin. There they discovered the grisly bodies of both bride and groom in the Suydam stateroom. Claw marks sliced Mrs. Suydam’s neck—scratches decidedly not from a human hand.

  Immediately a tramp steamer pulled alongside the ship. The tramp steamer’s crew bore a note from the deceased Suydam. Written in Suydam’s hand, it conveniently spelled out what to do in the event of Suydam’s (apparently very likely) death: His body must be turned over to the suspicious crew of the tramp steamer.

  Though puzzled, the ship’s crew allowed the strange seamen to depart with Suydam’s body. Only afterward did the flustered crewmates realize the tramp steamer crew had departed with most of Mrs. Suydam’s drained blood, as well.

  THE CRUMBLING MALONE

  Back in Red Hook, Malone investigated Suydam’s Red Hook flat. In the basement, a suspicious-looking locked door caught his attention. As Malone attempted to break through the door, it mysteriously gave way from the inside. Unexpectedly, Malone was sucked into the next room—a room crawling with monstrous horrors, strange, elemental creatures, and great, evil gods, cavorting and dancing. Clearly there was a celebration underway. And standing at the center of everything, surrounded by the dark, chanting figures of the tramp steamer crew, was Robert Suydam—looking a bit worse for wear.

  You’d think Suydam might have been delighted to escape death. Not so. Instead, the grumpy, newly reanimated man tore away from his circle of chanting friends, heading toward an auspicious-looking golden altar, promptly toppling it.

  Or at least, this is how Malone recounted it afterward—remembering little else. The building, and several neighboring structures, crumbled—likely due to the unstable network of tunnels, running from Suydam’s flat to the dance hall (the tunnels were once used for smuggling goods into Brooklyn, and goodies out of Brooklyn).

  In the end, everyone except for Malone died in the cave-in. Though Malone had no proof, he suspected Suydam and the tramp steamer crew was involved in some sort of sinister cult—the dancing monstrosities probably gave him the idea. As to the child kidnappings in Red Hook, the purpose was never discovered, but fortunately the kidnappings ceased when
the “cult” members perished.

  As for Malone, he agreed to go on indefinite leave traveling to Rhode Island for some quiet recuperation time. After all, nothing ever happens in Rhode Island.

  WHAT TO DO WHEN YOU GET INVOLVED IN THE OCCULT

  Although the exact nature of the ritual described in “The Horror at Red Hook” remains a mystery, as well as why Suydam had a change of heart, Suydam was clearly deeply involved in cult activities, and the practice of occult magic. This is pretty much a given in Mythos stories. And remember, Lovecraft liked “open” endings because it required the reader to use imagination, generating a much more profound horror than being told what was going on.

  Not surpringly, cults crop up often in the Cthulhu Mythos. Often, they worship powerful, extra-dimensional deities, practice supernatural rituals, and attempt dangerous summonings. They live on the edge.

  But, occult magic isn’t limited to just cults. Charles Dexter Ward often dabbled with alchemical experiments, as did Asenath Waite.

  And given the fact that Cthulhu is sleeping, but will someday awaken, you might find it useful to join a cult (other options are explored later in this book). At the very least, to have any sort of advantage, you’ll need to understand occult magic in order to survive what the Mythos throws at you. Remember the following tips to stay out of trouble:

  This should be obvious by now, but please remember: avoid sudden changes in appearance, language and demeanor. It’s a guaranteed indicator to the neighbors and family that you’re up to something.

  Take a lesson from Herbert West—think fresh! The fresher your spell ingredients, the better.

  Whether it be for experiments or sacrifice, don’t go local. You’re performing occult rituals, not opening a restaurant. Local ingredients should not be on the menu. Bodies, live humans, dogs, whatever you need—make sure you acquire your spell ingredients from remote locales.

  If you find yourself inadvertently wrapped up in cult happenings, all is not lost—you might not end up like the unfortunate Robert Suydam. Win over your fellow cult members. Put some charm and wit to use (or at least an inclination of “charming”). If that fails, spread vicious rumors about the current cult leader to get yourself elected in his place. While this can be risky, so is life in a cult. Once you’re in, be in it to win. Shoot for the top.

  If your fellow cult members ask you to write a note, explaining what happens to your body when you die, consider another cult.

  Avoid government and local police investigations. Honestly, there will be enough people investigating you already—friends, strangers, philosophers, lost travelers. There’s no need to get any government officials involved.

  Don’t wear cult icons in public. Sure, the cult of the Bloody Tongue likes to show off their sign. Deep Ones can’t help it. And members of the Esoteric Order of Dagon need the cult “look” to get admitted. But if you settle for a more relaxed cult, then dress normally in public, and save the black robes and silver dagger for weekly ritual nights.

  At first glance, it might seem wise to take over an abandoned church and turn it into a cult’s headquarters. However, in the long run, this never works out. It attracts attention, and folks begin to wonder what all the ruckus is about every ritual night. This leads to rumors spreading, dogs dying, and eventually, the burning or collapse of the vacated church. Consider a remote cabin, or abandoned cave. Far less local traffic, and the ambience is just as good if not better.

  Sure, you’re a cult member, but most likely you’re there more in name than spirit. Leave the dirty work to others. And when the night comes to summon the mind-shattering god the cult worships, don’t look. Keep your eyes closed, wear sunglasses, put on eye patches and claim you have an eye infection. Peering at Cthulhu Mythos deities always ends badly—usually with insanity, and possibly a long stay at the local asylum.

  Never tell the cult, “I quit.” Cults don’t take to this sort of behavior. It’s a secret society, and having former members strolling about blabbering on arcane topics is very risky. Instead, when you’re ready to leave a cult, burn down your apartment or house. Make sure you leave a rambling note (this makes the cult think you were very devoted as you were clearly insane). And then move to another place—preferably not Rhode Island.

  A CHILLING TALE

  Summertime in New York means the stinky smell of sewers and rotten trash in the hot, muggy air. And if you don’t have air conditioning, the heat is intolerable. In Lovecraft’s story “Cool Air,” he dabbles with the latest craze: air conditioning (remember these stories were written in the 1920s and 1930s). In this yarn, New York resident, Dr. Muñoz, suffers from an ailment requiring him to stay cool. So he created a home-made air conditioner. Utilizing an ammonia-based cooling system and gasoline engines, Muñoz kept his apartment a comfy fifty-four degrees Fahrenheit. Nevermind the leaking ammonia, seeping through the floor and into his neighbor’s flat below.

  Lucky for Muñoz, he built up good karma with said neighbor, after one of Muñoz’s odd medical concoctions saved the man from a heart attack. The two became friends (good approach). The neighbor visited Muñoz’s apartment regularly, never once commenting on how pale and clammy Dr. Muñoz looked. Clearly the friend was quite polite.

  SWEATER WEATHER

  As things always turn for the worse when involved in the Mythos, Muñoz’s illness worsened. He grew even more pale and sickly. But he kept his poor health at bay by cooling the apartment further—now he kept it at an icy thirty degrees. And, at a most inconvenient time in the middle of the night, one of the air conditioning pumps failed.

  MYTHOS SURVIVAL TIP:

  IT’S A WHAT, NOW?

  So, you’ve heard rumors about a strange device in your neighbor’s attic laboratory. Or your new roommate is trying out some unconventional, home-brewed air conditioning system, aimed at saving a dime.

  If the machine glows, drips, emanates eerie, unnatural, pulsing lights, or otherwise exhibits odd behavior, stay away from it. Strange devices in the Mythos are rarely designed for the purpose of good. Even if they are, they rarely end up doing good, anyway.

  And if you’re not sure if the device is uncanny, measure the owner’s explanation: “See into other dimension,” “bring the dead back to life,” “contains the secrets of the universe,” or “I’m sick and I need to stay nearly frozen” are all explanations that point to trouble. Running away is the best option when confronted with such strange devices.

  Desperate, Muñoz called upon his neighbor to ferret out replacement parts. But finding parts for a home-made air-conditioning system, in the late hours of the night, is a daunting task. To keep Muñoz cool in the meantime, the neighbor enlisted a local loafer to make runs to the grocery store, delivering a steady supply of ice to the apartment.

  ICY DEAD PEOPLE

  After searching the city through and through, the neighbor hunted down the appropriate parts, and the necessary mechanics. He returned to Muñoz’s apartment, but it was too late. The grocery delivery boy neglected to deliver enough ice—typical. And in place of his friend Dr. Muñoz, the devoted neighbor only found a disgusting pile of mushy remains in the apartment, along with a polite (although slimy) note.

  The note explained Muñoz had actually been dead for eighteen-some years. A combination of medical cocktails and the extreme cold allowed Muñoz to retain his current, not so active, and somewhat lifeless lifestyle. And although it was most unfortunate, Muñoz realized he must eventually succumb to death.

  In the end, this left one devoted neighbor without a friend, a couple mechanics with nothing to do, a grocery boy with no tip, and an abundance of parts to rebuild an air conditioning unit powerful enough to keep the dead alive. Everyone agreed to go home instead.

  Other places,

  Other Times

  After he went to Ireland, Barry wrote me often, and told me how under his care the gray castle was rising tower by tower to its ancient splendor, how the ivy was climbing slowly over the restored walls as it had climbed
so many centuries ago, and how the peasants blessed him for bringing back the old days with his gold from over the sea. But in time there came troubles, and the peasants ceased to bless him, and fled away instead as from a doom.

  —H.P. Lovecraft, “The Moon-Bog”

  As you leave the domain of sleepy New England villages, tales of the Cthulhu Mythos written by H.P. Lovecraft tend to diminish. Not because the rest of the world suffers a dearth of Mythos activity. But Lovecraft couldn’t be everywhere at once, documenting every weird Mythos event in the world. So he primarily stuck to the East Coast of the United States. Yet, even with that said, the occasional account of Mythos history crawled out of different parts of the globe.

  SOMETHING’S UP AT THE PRIORY

  Lovecraft’s “The Rats in the Walls” takes us on a visit to Anchester, England. The great de la Poer family lived in Exham Priory, just outside Anchester, for hundreds of years—until Walter de la Poer decided to murder his entire family, flee to Virginia, and change his name to Delapore.

  It wasn’t like the de la Poer family had a great reputation prior to the murders—the de la Poer history was tainted with disappearances and murders. So when one of the younger Delapore descendants decided to buy Exham Prioriy and renovate it, he shouldn’t have been so surprised when the local village residents hated him.

  Undeterred, Delapore moved his seven servants and nine cats to his swanky new English residence. All was going quite well until he started to hear the scurrying of rats from within the walls. The scampering sound echoed throughout the house, driving both Delapore and his oversized cat collection crazy. His servants claimed not to be able to hear the sounds, maddening Delapore further. Determined to find the source, Delapore followed the noise into the sub-cellar, where he discovered a massive vault, apparently of Roman origin. With the assistance of a family friend (lucky Delapore), Edward Norrys, he convinced a team of scientists in London to travel to the priory, and assist him in further investigation of the vault’s depths.