Tales of the Lovecraft Mythos

by Robert M. Price

  I moved slowly toward the instrument, my eyes fixed irresistibly upon the other side of the room. Mechanically I lifted the receiver.

  A voice came as though from a great distance. “Is that Dr. Randall? Please come across to the German-American Hospital immediately. Dr. Prendergast has gone insane!”

  4

  When I arrived at the hospital where my friend was being treated, the condition of my mind was far from equable. That the same calamity which I dreaded had actually befallen my friend came as no slight shock. But I strove to compose myself as I entered the building. If my suspicions were correct, there was work to be done, hard work and plenty of it—if this foul thing was to be foiled in its malign purposes.

  I found Dr. Prendergast in a comfortable private room—the best in the place. He was sleeping quietly when I entered. But before I had been there more than a few minutes, he awoke, and looking at me, shook hands cordially. He began to speak, in a natural, softly modulated voice.

  “Randall, there’s something strange and uncanny about this business. Ever since that affair when I had to call you into consultation, I have had an odd feeling that all is not well. I’ve actually been harassed by morbid phobias—if that’s what they are. I never dreamed of a psychosis coming to me. The more I think about the matter, the more I have come to believe that you and I are marked out as martyrs to the cause, though why, or how, I can not even begin to understand.”

  “You seem all right now, and certainly you never gave me the impression of being neurotic.”

  “That’s just it. I ought to be the very last person to crack, but though I am as sane as it is possible for a man to be at this time, in a few minutes that Thing may have me in its clutch, and I shall be a raving lunatic. It’s funny, Randall, to be able to analyze your own particular form of lunacy—if such it is. I can remember quite well what happened to me last night. It is much more real than the usual dream associations. And I dread its return more profoundly because of this. If this is lunacy, it is a form never before seen. But I don’t think it is lunacy at all.”

  “Tell me about it,” I urged. “Perhaps two minds can do what one can not.”

  “There’s not much to tell. I had been reading Freud until a late hour last night—his last book, you know. Thoughts that were assuredly not born of earth came to me. I began to feel an immense distaste for life—the life that we live today, I mean. I thought of the days of the jungle, and those primordial memories that lie dormant within every man came back to me. The artificiality of the world with its commercial systems, its codes of conduct, its gigantic material things, that after all have done little else besides making life harder to live, and shorter—all these appeared as the flimsiest futility.

  “It seemed to me that man was not made to live in this fashion. I thought that the giant primeval forest with its fierce combat of man against man and beast against beast was the fitting habitat of life. I thought of those monsters of the deep, glimpsed occasionally by passing vessels—huge beyond the conception of man. Once life had been lived altogether on a gigantic scale like that. I felt, I can’t say just why, a deep kinship, an affinity with those bloated colossi of the sea—the carrion that feed upon the bodies of the dead. They seemed to me to represent the farthest step that could be taken in a retrogressive direction—back from civilization, you see—back from the painfully acquired things that we count so valuable.

  “And—here is the strange part—it seemed to me that this thought did not come wholly from myself. It was almost as if something had whispered into my ear that abomination of regression. I felt that at the same moment, not I alone, but thousands and thousands, rather millions, were dreaming of the time when the cycle should have been completed. We always learned that things are cyclical, you know. Rome rose; was great; fell. So on with the other civilizations, all of them. So undoubtedly will be our own great civilization. It will be the mythical end of the world that seers have predicted for centuries. There will be no starry cataclysm, but a return of all life to the jungle.

  “Competent authorities state that if something is not done to stop this approaching catastrophe, we shall be literally eaten alive by insects—ants, for instance. There seems to be plenty of scientific basis for this suggestion. But who has thought of the awful possibilities that may arise if those unknown creatures, bloated to foul enormity, shall in concerted array overrun the civilized world?”

  “It’s an awful thought, but there’s no foundation for it,” I said.

  “I’m not so sure that there’s no basis for it. I’ve had a feeling, lately, that there is a tremendous movement under way that has as its sole object the overthrow of civilization and re-establishment of the life of the jungle.

  “And here’s what appears to be the reason for selecting us. We can exercise an enormous control over the minds of men; you agree? This unspeakable Thing has seized upon us, is trying to enmesh us in its net, to enlist us in the cause, because with the influence that we can exert we should be enormously valuable. Do you follow? We are to be apostles of this creed!”

  “What an appalling idea! I’d rather be dead,” I said with a shudder.

  “Dead! Who knows what might happen to you then? You might join the Master....”

  “You, too!” I cried.

  A spasm of fear crossed my friend’s face as the full import of his words bore in upon him. His muscles were twisted in an agony of internal strife, as he fought the influence.

  “They haven’t got me yet, Randall. But they are after me! I’ll fight them. I pray that my lucid intervals may be frequent enough to enable me to unravel this foul mystery. Good God!—I’m in a cold sweat all over. Tremors!”

  I started across the room to the table, and pouring a glass of water, handed it to my friend.

  He shuddered convulsively, and recoiled from it as from a living horror.

  “Away!” he shouted. “Take that contagion away! It’s after me! It’s alive! I won’t drink it. It means madness!”

  With a frantic effort he dashed the glass and its contents upon the floor.

  I stared at my friend, aghast. Suddenly a thought came to me—a recollection of that night when a certain glass of water had glowed with iridescent fire; when, through the baneful influence of the fog, my own mind had skirted the borderland of lunacy. I began to understand.

  My colleague was calming himself again. Presently he spoke.

  “It’s going to be a fight for me,” he said. “But I’ll battle to the last gasp. Your part will be to watch, and, if possible, learn more of this awful Thing that menaces the sanity of the world. There must be some way to destroy it.”

  “How shall I start?” I muttered in puzzled bewilderment. I had only the slightest of clues to work upon. The newspaper cutting did little more than confirm what I already suspected.

  “Your key is the word of the Master: ‘B’Moth.’ Don’t forget— B’Moth. What it means, I can’t say. But the word has been ringing in my ears for days. That’s the Master—that’s the name of this cankerous rottenness that you must destroy!”

  5

  I left the hospital in a daze. How was I to destroy this Thing? I was already half in its clutches. I could do little but flounder in the dark. If, as Dr. Prendergast and that dead man had asserted, there were millions of followers, they kept their doings secret. “B’Moth”—the word was like a voice from another world—without meaning.

  I thought, and thought, in an agony of apprehension. I knew not where to turn for information. I spent hours in my library, greatly to the detriment of my practice. I exhausted most of the books of mythology and of anthropology, but still I could find nothing that seemed to have any bearing upon the matter.

  One day, when I was going through an ancient volume of Kane’s Magic and the Black Arts, bound with a heavy bronze clasp, and closed with lock and key, I came upon the following:

  There be many who revere the Devourer, though few have seen the full stature of this great power. It is a vision f
raught with eldritch horror, and much sought by wizards of early times. One, Johannes of Magdeburg, wise in the lore of the ages, hath met success greatly in his efforts. He asserteth that the Devourer liveth in the Deep, and is not to be reached by any means, yet he hath been able to feel his breath and know his will. The secret is in a vaporous effluvium. For the Devourerhath power to manifest himself where there is moisture. His breath is the fog and the rain. Wherefore, many do account water the elemental, and do worship it in divers ways.

  This Johannes hath told in his book of medicine how he did conjure from a heavy vapor in his efforts the very Essence itself upon occasion. The phosphorous light of dead things did swell into a great brightness and fill the chamber, and withal came the spirit of the Devourer. And Johannes hath learned that he liveth in the deepest Ocean, where he awaiteth only a time auspicious for his return to earth. Many there be who joyfully believe the time approacheth yet Johannes saith that many centuries shall pass ere the Master returneth to claim his own.

  Much astonishment hath one remark which he made produced.He saith that the Devourer is a familiar of every man and every woman. He liveth eternally in the Inner Man. He reacheth forth from the Deep, and the Inner Man doth hear. All-seeing is his eye, all-hearing his ear. None can destroy him, for he is intrinsic in all men. In times of evil and lust, of war and strife, of man against man, and brother against brother, the Devourer liveth lustily in men. His ways are the ways of the Deep. There be saints and mystics who believe they have exorcizedthe Devourer, but in them, also, he liveth. In the deeps of the waters, and in the souls of men, he sleepeth, and one day will awaken to take his own.

  I finished the ancient manuscript with a start. Though the Thing was called by another name, I could not doubt that the reference was to the same. I sought eagerly for the book of medicine that had been written by Johannes of Magdeburg, and after hunting all day I at last unearthed a copy in an antique shop. It was torn, and badly discolored, the writing in Latin, and in many places hard to decipher, but I found something of great interest to me.

  Johannes, after describing his attempts to communicate with the Devourer, told of his success. He had learned the secret from a philosopher of a still earlier day. I quote, translating as well as I am able:

  Being of a mind to discover the Ultimate, I sought diligently into the works of historians, and wise men of all ages. In my studies, I chanced upon a manuscript written by one, Joachim of Cannes. He had gathered a wealth of lore from men of every clime. He said the name of the Devourer was Behemoth,which, indeed, is translated into “he who devours the souls of men.” This monster is of great antiquity, and was well perceived by the ancients.

  In the Hebrew Bible, he is mentioned. The seer Job makes much in speaking of him. All men are agreed that his size is as great beyond a man’s as a man is great beyond the stature of a toad. He has the power to reproduce for ever, and after the flood times he was driven into the ocean, where he lives among the dead in the caves of crawling things.

  But the power of his thoughts is over all men. He has divers powers of manifestation. Through water, and through mist, is he felt, and his thoughts are the thoughts of the toad and the snake, wherefore these reptiles are accounted sacred by many. There is but one spell that can be cast to conjure him back to the ocean, and the parts of it . . .

  I dropped the manuscript with disappointment. In my extremity I was prepared to work any spell, if it would, as Johannes said, be successful in exorcising this dread Thing. And the careless handling of the ages had torn from the manuscript the page where the spell was formulated.

  But now at least I had a clue to the Thing. I snatched up a complete Bible, and read avidly all the references to the Behemoth in the Old Testament and Apocrypha. I also consulted other works described as Old Testament Apocrypha, and found more references. There were many, but they were all agreed upon the devouring quality of the destroyer, and all affirmed that he would some day return from the depths to claim his own.

  Winslow’s encyclopedia, which I consulted last, placed as a footnote to an earlier article, a paragraph stating that in many countries an organized worship of the Behemoth was practiced under various disguises, and that the cult was more prevalent near the equator, and among savage peoples. The learned historian suggested that the animal might be a hippopotamus!

  How little did he know of the power about which he wrote! But I gleaned from this short note another interesting fact. As I reflected upon it, it seemed a very natural corollary of the proposition. The worship was more prevalent in tropical countries, and among the least advanced of humanity. The reason was obvious: they were nearer the jungle, both physically and mentally. I also suspected that it would be common among the dwellers of such lands near the ocean. The isolated incident of the Devil’s Cauldron substantiated this belief.

  With some satisfaction in my heart I left the metaphysical library when I had finished my search for the day. As I crossed the sidewalk to the parking-station where I had left my car, I stood still in my tracks, gazing with horror upon the sight that met my eyes.

  A dirty, tousled figure was dashing along the street, pursued by two policemen. He was clad in the lightest of garments that looked more like underwear or sleeping-clothes than anything else. He stumbled occasionally, but some instinct seemed to enable him to keep out of the grasp of his pursuers. He was carrying something which he balanced with great dexterity. I looked closely as he approached me and saw that it was a tank filled with water, and inside the tank was a collection of lizards, water-snakes, etc. And as he approached me, eluding his pursuers by a hair, I saw that this man in pajamas was Dr. Prendergast.

  6

  But what a changed Dr. Prendergast! His professional manner had disappeared. His usually benign face was twisted in a snarl of fury, and his teeth gnashed and champed like a jungle animal lusting for blood.

  The policeman explained that they had caught him robbing a nearby aquarium, and refused to believe his story that he had been ordered to take the reptiles that he still carried with such a jealous care.

  My professional card and reputation, however, satisfied the officers; and, since the doctor refused to part with his treasure, saying he would die first, I finally agreed to pay for the stolen property, and the owner accepting my proposal, my friend was permitted to retain his prize.

  Throughout the journey back to the hospital he babbled unceasingly about things I could barely understand. Hundreds of times he repeated the words “Master” and “B’Moth.” He asserted that he had done the Master’s bidding in stealing the reptiles, and called upon the Thing to reward him when the time came.

  I questioned him a hundred times as to his reasons for stealing the tank and its contents, but a cunning look came into his eyes, and try as I would, I could not elicit from him any reason for his act. He clung to his statement that he had but done the bidding of the Master and that he was to be rewarded for it.

  His look held suspicion and distrust for me. Like that other poor creature, he sensed in me an enemy of his Master. At times I caught him leering at me with a murderous expression in his red-rimmed eyes, and I confess that I felt not wholly comfortable, there alone in a closed car, with this madman who had been my friend.

  It was with something approaching a sigh of relief that I drove in at the broad entrance to the hospital where he was still confined. He showed no disposition to resist the attendants who came to take him to his room, and seemed satisfied in the belief that he had accomplished his end.

  When he entered his room, he carefully placed the tank and its contents upon a table in the center, and apparently gave it no further attention. I left him, then, and went to the office of the hospital.

  The report was the same as usual. Dr. Prendergast had been sleeping well, eating, but his moments of lucidity were fewer and farther apart. Even then, he seemed to brood under the weight of the obsession that was dominating him.

  He had developed a mania for collecting insects of all k
inds. He had begged the authorities of the hospital to procure for him jams and other sweets, which, instead of eating, he placed in appropriate places about his room, and waited for the vermin that are bound to be attracted by the preserves.

  His room was overrun with flies, ants, and mice; but instead of destroying them, he used every effort to encourage them. He had constructed boxes that acted as traps, and which the superintendent of the hospital informed us were filled to overflowing with various sorts of insects. He had one box filled with grasshoppers, another with ants, a third with flies, and so on.

  This occupation was something that I could not understand. What was his purpose—for I felt reasonably sure there was a purpose— in making this collection? I could understand the tank of reptiles after my reading of Johannes. They were undoubtedly symbolic of the Master himself. Perhaps he had caught them in the belief that they were kin of that Thing. But the insects and vermin—these I could not explain at all.

  I was not to remain in darkness for long, however. On returning to the room, I stood outside for a moment, and peered through the aperture in the door that is frequently used for observation purposes in mental cases. The simulated indifference of the doctor had passed away, and, under the impression that he was now alone, he was working furiously.

  At first I could not understand his occupation, but soon it flashed upon me what his object was. In his hand was a box. It was filled with flies; in a semi-stupor the man was slowly sprinkling handfuls of the pests out of the box where they lay too weak to move. He then fed them carefully to the creatures within the tank! I noticed at his hand other empty cages, and supposed that they had been filled with ants and grasshoppers. He fed the last of the flies to a water-snake and with great contentment replaced the boxes in a neat pile upon a shelf.

  Grasping the handle of the door firmly, I entered the room.